A Light Amongst Shadows

by Kelley York

  I approach without thought, determined to interrupt the situation if it needs to be interrupted. When Charles notices me, he inclines his chin and offers me a vulpine grin. “Afternoon. Spencer, isn’t it?”

  “Mr. Simmons,” I greet him with a pleasant smile in return. He doesn’t offer his hand out to me, so I don’t offer mine to him. “Terribly sorry to intrude, gentlemen; is this a bad time?”

  “Not at all.” Charles returns an intense gaze down to William. “Esher and I were just chatting. We’ve not had much time to do so since the term began.”

  “Ah, yes. The duties of a housemaster must keep you very busy indeed! Although I’m afraid I’m here to steal dear William away. We’ve maths work due tomorrow and I had a question about it he offered to help me with, you see. That is, if you still have time, William?”

  William’s brow furrows. He spares a look up at me and then rises to his feet, and I’m glad he’s seeing my offer for help and swiftly taking it. “Yes, of course. Why else was I waiting out here for you in the cold?”

  It could very well be my imagination, but Charles’ eyes seem to narrow a fraction, though his smile stays in place. “By all means. Good day.” To William he adds, “I’ll be by some other time to see you,” before turning to head off in the direction of the dorms.

  The further he goes, the more William’s shoulders seem to relax. The urge to touch a comforting hand to his back is strong and I have to fight it back. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he assures, hugging his book to his chest. “Simmons was the prefect for Lancelot House last term when I was a second year. We didn’t get on well and he enjoys pestering me.”

  “Now you’re stuck with him for a housemaster. That’s a cruel twist of fate.”

  “Life is full of those.” He squints at me, as though he half expects me to have some sort of shifty ulterior motive for assisting him. “Did you really need help with maths?”

  “I’m likely beyond help in that subject, I’m afraid.” The school bell rings, signalling a ten-minute warning to get to our third lesson. I wonder what class William will be scurrying off to. Regardless, I can at least begin the walk back inside with him. “I do have an assignment for you, though.”

  “An assignment for me?”

  “One of utmost importance. You see, I have a poem memorised, but I cannot for the life of me recall who it’s by. Maybe you can help?”

  He ducks his head as we ascend the steps, brows knitted together. “Spencer—”

  “James.”

  “—I believe poetry to be a much stronger subject for you than it is for me. I enjoy reading it, but I cannot say I have a single poem memorised nor am I particularly good at remembering who wrote what.”

  “Fair enough. But it wouldn’t be an assignment if it were easy, would it?”

  The foyer has flooded with students emerging from the dining hall and scurrying down hallways and upstairs. This is where I’m to head down the left hall, and it looks like William intends to go down the right. He sighs at my persistence, and I decide to take the opportunity to lean in to speak against his ear where he might better hear me.

  “Love is enough: though the World be a-waning,

  And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,

  Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover

  The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,

  Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder…”

  I pull back to see his gaze lowered and, dare I say, a tinge of rouge to his cheeks that pleases me immensely. “There’s more to it, but I’ll leave that to you to figure out,” I say. And because I need to get to class, and because William is utterly perfect in his shy, flustered state, I’d like to frame this moment and not say another word more that might ruin it.

  I notice Oscar’s discomfort throughout maths. Something that only seems to increase as the time ticks by, but I don’t have much of an opportunity to ask him about it. As soon as we’re let go for the day, he lingers at his desk even as I’m grabbing my things and eager to get out the door. His hesitance has me pausing.

  “What is it?”

  He heaves a sigh, sliding slowly from his chair. “Remember how I told you I have to check in with the headmaster for extra work?”

  Oh. “Today is one of those days?”

  “It is.” He sounds so dismal when he says it that it doesn’t sit right with me. Sure, it’s certainly frustrating, but Oscar acts as though he’s being sent to the gallows, and he isn’t a man prone to theatrics over things. If anything, he tends to downplay.

  “Why don’t I go with you?” I offer. The headmaster wouldn’t let me into his office with him, no, but—“I could wait for you in the hall.”

  Oscar’s expression softens, and he smiles. “S’all right, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  We walk together out of class, and I cannot help but let my attention be diverted to William when he slips past us, but only momentarily. I bid Oscar farewell for the time being before heading back to the dorms.

  Having the room to myself borders on unsettling. Normally the pair of us sit at the table and do our school work together. Oscar’s so bloody brilliant at everything except English, which is perfect because that is the one subject I excel in. Between the two of us, we do well for ourselves. I’ll finish what work I can on my own, leaving aside a set of maths problems I’ve little hope of completing (correctly) on my own, and pull out a fresh sheet of paper to dabble in my poetry for a bit.

  It’s the first time in some months the words come easily to me. Things at home were so strained, so tense, that I couldn’t for the life of me put pen to paper and come up with anything decent. Now, the process still feels disjointed and a little stiff, but the words are coming easier. Perhaps it’s because I have something on my mind that does not weigh heavily upon me. For the first time in ages, it feels like, I have something I can think about and it brings a smile to my mouth, a flutter to my chest.

  I think of William when I write.

  I think of the way his eyes are so beautiful that they should be considered a work of art. The soft curve of his mouth, the way his lips purse together so gently when he is thinking about something. I think of the way his hair will sometimes fall into his face and I am always left with an irresistible urge to lean forwards and brush it back for him.

  Stagger me into grace

  With such soft eyes

  And even softer lips…

  I think, most of all, about how at ease I feel with him. For as standoffish as he is, for as odd his tendencies, I feel oddly content simply to have him near. His company feels as natural to me as night and day and I feed off that feeling, that warmth. Ridiculous how I find myself so enamoured, given we’ve only just met and hardly spoken. But there’s something there, a spark, a flicker between us. Shared interests? Shared pain? I cannot say I know.

  The time passes swiftly, several pages full of poems—although not all of them any good. I’d expected Oscar to have returned prior to dinner, but since he hasn’t, I accompany Benjamin and Preston to the dining hall to meet up with the others. We’re all very much aware of the empty seat to my left, and even Virgil and Augustus stop as they pass and give the chair a frown.

  “Where’s Frances?” Virgil asks.

  I’m honestly a little surprised he’s unaware of Oscar’s situation, but I’m not about to divulge details. “He was summoned to the headmaster’s office,” is all I say, because any other answer might get him into trouble for missing a meal. Virgil purses his lips and the two exchange a look, but they head to their seats without further inquiry.

  Oscar does not show up.

  I spot William in his usual seat, and I’ve tucked one of the poems I wrote into my pocket, having thought that I might slip it to him on my way out, but he exits the hall before I have the chance.

  We retire to the common room after we’ve eaten our fill. Benjamin sits with Preston
, patiently going over something they discussed in philosophy that day, and I busy myself watching Edwin battle it out in cards with a few other boys. I sit it out. Boring, I say, because it’s not as though betting is permitted, and what’s the point of a good game of cards if you get nothing for it?

  The hour grows late before Oscar joins us, and it’s around that time I’ve begun to worry a little about his lateness.

  Preston looks up from the cards in his hand, which he took up as soon as he and Benjamin had finished their work. “There you are. What took so long? Were you really with the headmaster all this time?”

  Oscar sinks down into the armchair beside mine. When he exhales a sigh, he seems to be pushing an exorbitant amount of tension out of his body. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  I stretch out a leg to nudge one of his feet with my own. “You missed dinner.”

  “My stomach noticed.”

  “Are you well?”

  “Fine.” He flashes me a small smile that is not any more reassuring than it was the last time he spent an evening with that man. Before I can press him on it, he turns his attention to the others. “What are we playing? Deal me in.”

  Cards, as it turns out, is not as entertaining to watch as it is to play. But I can enjoy the warmth of the fire and the sound of chatter and laughter about the room, which dies down as some people retire for the night when curfew draws near. I could, in fact, almost doze off right there in that armchair, and I’m just about to do so when the sound of footsteps racing down the hall drags me back to my first night here and the unseen presence outside my room and—

  When my eyes fly open and I sit up straight, looking to the door, it’s William I see stumbling into the room. His sudden appearance draws the attention of all the boys in the den, and the fact that his skin has gone white as a sheet and his eyes are wide as saucers has every onlooker dead silent and still. Immediately concerned, I rise to my feet as he struggles to get words out.

  “There was… In the hall, a boy crying and he… It was one of the ghosts. I’m certain of it.”

  The moment the word ghosts leaves his lips, most of the boys groan and go back to whatever activity they were previously engaged in. A few others quietly laugh. Edwin sighs with a roll of his eyes. “Looks like someone’s a bit overly drugged this evening.”

  I shoot him a dour glare. “Oh, hush.” Regardless of whether anyone cares what he has to say, William is clearly distressed. “Let me walk you back to your room, William. You don’t look well.” With the utmost gentleness, I take him by the elbow to coax him out the door and away from the snickering from within. Even as we relocate into the hall, William twists towards me, grasping my arms in a tight, trembling grip. “There was a boy—I swear it. You believe me, don’t you? I promise, I did not imagine it.”

  “Of course,” I croon, putting an arm about his shoulders to lead him down the hall. “Come now, you need some rest.”

  Together we walk down the corridor, passing by my own door, one of William’s hands fisted in the fabric of my coat. He attempts to recount what happened. “I was heading to my room when I heard the crying. I rounded the corner and it was by the stairs. It grabbed me, James.”

  The moment we approach the end of the hall, where it rounds to the right and dead-ends into the stairwell leading to the second floor, William digs in his heels and refuses to budge another inch. He’s no longer staring at me, instead he’s looking down that direction as though advancing around that corner might mean certain death.

  “I believe you,” I assure him again in the softest, most soothing voice I know how to use. “I’ve heard a lot of strange things since arriving here, too. Including the crying.”

  William drags in a quaking breath. “It was just around there, at the base of the stairs.”

  I think back to the first night. The breath against my skin, the impossible to ignore sensation of someone standing behind me. Those horrible rushing footsteps that sent me scurrying into my room like a frightened child. It could all be nothing. It could be something. Either way, I steel my nerves and untangle myself from William to slowly walk the rest of the way to the end of the hall. Despite his fear, William dogs my heels, hands wrung together, watching me intently as I lean forwards and look around the corner.

  Just a dark, empty stretch of hall and an even darker stairwell. Why aren’t any of the candles lit? “There’s nothing there now.”

  William doesn’t relax, but he does crane his neck to peer around me to confirm what I’ve said. He uncurls his hands, rubbing at his left arm, and then he undoes his cuff and pushes up his sleeve with a wince, and we both look on in mixed horror and shock. There, upon otherwise unblemished skin, is a set of dark purple bruises in the shape of fingerprints.

  My heart struggles to climb its way up into my throat and I have to force it down, attempting to remain calm and comforting for William’s sake. “Let’s get back to your room.”

  For the remainder of our trip upstairs, William is silent. I’ve not had cause to go up to the second floor yet, but it’s a great deal quieter than any of the others. Both prefects reside here, along with the pricier single rooms for students. None of the second-floor boys need to share with a roommate, meaning William’s family paid a hefty sum for him to have his own space.

  Still visibly shaken, the moment we step inside he releases his hold on me and hurries to his dresser, rummaging in the top drawer and retrieving a bottle. I recognize it as, possibly, the same bottle I saw him sneaking into his pocket that night from the bookshelf. Now in proper lighting, I can sort of make out the label that reads laudanum across the front. Edwin’s earlier comment makes a bit more sense now, and while opium use is hardly uncommon, I think the faculty might have something to say about a student smuggling it in and taking it without a doctor’s permission.

  I close the door and lean back against it. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Just fine.” He uncorks the bottle and makes quick, practised work of putting several drops into his mouth. I get the impression this is not something he’d do in front of someone in any other situation.

  That done, he closes the bottle, takes a deep breath, and turns back to me. Some of the colour is returning to his face. “You’ve heard the sounds before, too? Really?”

  “A few times. At first, I thought it was a homesick student.”

  William looks away. Now that he’s begun to calm down, he seems embarrassed. I wonder if he’s second-guessing himself and what he saw. He tucks the laudanum back into the drawer and re-examines the bruises upon his arm. Those alone prove something strange happened. “I’ve heard that sound—the crying—many times since coming here,” he softly admits. “From the very first night.”

  “But not just crying, right? Whispers, scratching, footsteps?”

  He hugs himself. “Yes. Like nails clawing at the walls. My doorknob rattles at times, like someone is trying to get in. Ever since, I’ve kept a chair jammed up beneath the door knob while I sleep.”

  My head drops back against the door as my gaze rolls to the ceiling. “It’s so strange no one wants to discuss it. I would think they’d use it to make this place seem more interesting.”

  The look William shoots me at my attempt to lighten the mood is an unimpressed one. “I could do without spirits causing my heart to stop, thank you very much.”

  “Better than dying of boredom… no? Just me?” I smile. “Do you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

  William opens his mouth as though to say something, catches whatever it is and shoves it back, biting his lower lip. He ducks his head into a nod. “Yes. Thank you, James.”

  I wish he’d ask me to stay longer; I would gladly oblige. Should I offer? Would it be too forward? “Happy to help,” is all I say, tipping my head to him before letting myself back out of the room. William steps into the hall after me and watches me go, as though wanting to ensure I get down the steps without incident. As I descend the stairs, I hear his door quietly close, and I’d b
e lying if I say I don’t walk a bit more briskly than is necessary to my own room.

  Oscar is hunched over on his bed, reading by candlelight, and his head snaps up with a worried pull to his features when I enter. “Everything all right?”

  He likely won’t want to discuss it, will he? But I’ve made it a point to be as honest with him as I’m able, so— “I really think he saw something.”

  His mouth turns down and he slowly closes his book, running a hand over the cover that reads A History of Pendennis, by W. M. Thackeray. “And if he did, what’re we supposed to do about it?”

  A good question, and not one I really know the answer to. “I suppose…we try to figure out if anyone else has had similar experiences and have been too frightened to talk about it.”

  A tilt of Oscar’s head shows his dubiousness. “Then what? Staff still won’t want to hear it.”

  Sighing, I begin to strip out of my clothes to dress for bed. “And then we get the ghosts to make the staff hear it, Oscar, I don’t know. But something has to happen. Poor William has bruises.”

  That gets his attention, eyebrows darting up. “Bruises?”

  “Yes, where the ghost grabbed him.”

  Oscar sinks back against his pillow, bed frame giving a poignant creak. He appears to be mulling this information over. Truthfully, I half expect him to drop the subject and simply go to sleep, so he surprises me when he says, “All right. I don’t know that there’s ghosts runnin’ about, but I trust your judgement, so if there’s somethin’ I can do…”

  I pull my nightshirt over my head and swivel around to face him, unsure what’s made him finally agreeable on the subject. A pleased smile splits across my face. “You’re the best mate in all the world, do you know?”

  He responds with a quiet laugh. “Not so sure about that. I know I’ve been a beast to deal with lately. Suppose we get some shut-eye for the time being, though? Maybe you can get some more information out of your darling Esher tomorrow.”