by Kelley York
The next morning, I have every intention of catching William at breakfast to talk to him, but his seat is noticeably vacant. The headmaster’s announcements include a stern reminder about curfew, and I’m concerned it’s William he’s referring to until he turns a sharp look towards a group of first years. He also reminds us—not for the first time in the last few weeks—about the end of term. Exams, the importance of studying and, of course, the Christmas party.
Every teacher has brought it up at some point recently. Each year at the end of first term, just in time for Christmas, Whisperwood hosts a ball and invites a nearby girls’ school. Mr. Hart said it’s a means of rewarding us for a semester well spent, and a learning experience for those of us who have little practise in engaging in social events. I cannot say I’m looking forward to it.
I don’t see William until Latin, where he arrives with only seconds to spare. He hurries in with his cheeks flushed red and his hair mussed, as though he ran to get here on time, and I smile to myself.
After class, there’s not enough time to corner him if we both want to get to our next lesson, and at meals there are simply too many people around to have a discreet conversation. Lunch, then, after we’ve eaten. William tends to slip out early and sit near the fountain to read. At least, that’s the plan until Oscar blindsides me with the fact he’ll be reporting to the headmaster’s office again after maths.
I twist in my seat to turn my full attention to him. He’s scarcely touched his food, and he spoke the words so softly that I gather they were intended only for me.
“It’s nearly the end of the bloody semester. How long does he intend to keep this up?”
“I don’t know.” He furrows his brow down at his plate as though it’s caused him some distress.
I’ve done my best not to pry, but this situation cannot be ignored forever. “Oscar, what’s going on? What is he doing?”
“I told you; I have to—”
“You’ve told me a string of lies,” I interject, feeling only mildly bad that I’m accusing him of such things. “Something isn’t right, and I want to be able to help, but I cannot if you won’t even admit what’s going on.”
Oscar sets his fork down, stealing a glance at the others around us who are, thankfully, engaged in their own conversations and have not taken notice of ours. He draws in a slow breath, leaning in towards me to speak with his voice low. “Look, it’s…complicated. The headmaster thinks that I did something I didn’t do, and he’s intent on pressing me until I admit to it. Which I bloody well won’t because I’ve done nothin’ wrong.”
That makes a little more sense than the idea that Oscar would ever do something like cheat on an exam, but it’s still difficult to grasp. “So, you’re—what, being interrogated into confessing to a crime you didn’t commit?”
“Something like that,” he admits quietly.
Out of reflex and an urge to comfort, I reach to put a hand upon his back and note the way he immediately flinches, pained, from my touch. Any and all good humour I began my day with quickly vanishes. “Oscar…”
“I’ve got it handled, mate.” He collects himself and grasps my shoulder as he offers me a smile. “All I can ask for right now is for you to be you. Make me laugh when I come home at the end of the day, maybe save me some dinner now and again if you think you can get away with it.”
I swallow hard, studying his face. There are shadows beneath his eyes, a bit more definition in his cheekbones than I remember there being the day we met. I don’t like that. And I don’t like that he feels he cannot confide in me when I so desperately want to help. I cannot force Oscar to talk to me, so if all I can do is what he asks, then I’ll give him a smile of my own. “I’ll see what I can do.”
When I finally do get the opportunity to seek out William, it’s after maths when Oscar slips away to endure another round of—I guess—interrogation by the headmaster. I saw William steal out of the classroom, though he met my gaze briefly before doing so, and I’m quick to follow after saying my goodbyes to Oscar.
Outside, it smells thickly of rain. This time when I spot William at the fountain, there is no Charles looming over him, and he appears to be waiting specifically for me because he meets my gaze as I approach and, oh, God, he smiles.
It’s a small smile. Not grand in the great history of smiles, but it’s far more than he’s ever granted me before and I have to bite back the urge to return it with a dopey smile of my own.
What’s more, he gestures to the spot at his side, a silent invitation for me to join him rather than the usual uncertain, sullen stares I’ve grown used to. I take the offered seat without a second thought. “Lovely day out, isn’t it?”
“It looks like rain.”
“I like rain.”
“Mm.” He folds his hands atop his lap. “I have something for you.”
Oh, dear William is full of surprises today. “Is it a hug? I do like hugs.”
With a roll of his eyes, he reaches to the other side of himself and retrieves a book, which he then offers out to me with a downcast expression I can only describe as shy. Upon the worn cover is the title Stories that Might be True, and Other Poems by Dora Greenwell. I desperately want to take his face in my hands and tell him what a perfect creature he is, and it’s only with great constraint on my part that I refrain. I can think of no other way to split my heart open and show him what such a gift means to me, especially coming from someone so reserved as him. I settle for taking one of his hands in my own, sliding my thumb across his knuckles and savouring the way that William doesn’t instantly pull back from me.
He bows his head with a blush, but his voice is crystal clear when he speaks.
“…When closer ties have failed us,—meeting here,
Both born in Yorkshire, we are friends at once,
Old friends as we had known each other all our lives;
And if you still will talk to me like one,
I will put off my journey to to-morrow,
Just for the sake of hearing you.”
“And you told me you weren’t any good at memorisation,” I tease, still positively beaming as I release his hand. “Thank you, William. Such a sweet and thoughtful gesture, and it means the world to me.”
“It’s only a book,” William says, but the way he keeps his head down and fusses absently with his tie while his mouth twitches up at the corners suggests he’s quietly pleased. “I had worried you might run low on poetry to recite to me. Fresh material.”
I stick out my tongue at him and clutch the book to my chest, over my heart. “Me, run out of love poetry? Perish the thought.”
“Do you make it a point to recite love poetry to all of your friends?”
“Only you.”
He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and not for the first time I am struck by the clear blue of them, how they always convey so much even when the rest of his face remains so well-guarded. “Why is that?”
“Because you like it. And because I want to make you truly smile; it would be quite lovely to see, I think.” And—yes, there it is again. A brief uptick of the corners of his mouth.
“If you want to make me smile, you could accompany me to the Christmas party tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to that about as much as I’m looking forward to exams.”
“That’s too bad.” William absently circles his thumb across one of his cufflinks. “I’ve found myself thinking more than once that I’m disappointed I won’t be able to ask you for a dance.”
I study him with the utmost curiosity. Where has this sudden boldness come from? I wonder if it has something to do with me escorting him to his room last night, if that encounter knocked down some unseen wall between us. “Not the actual dance, no. That may be a call for expulsion. Quite a shame, that.”
“A shame indeed. I enjoy dancing, and I think I would especially enjoy doing dancing with you.” The look he gives me is nothing short of inviting and—dare I say—flirtatious. At least, as flirtati
ous as I believe William is capable of being. Those eyes of his could reduce any man to a puddle.
“Ask nicely and perhaps you’ll get a dance in private.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He shifts his position to uncross his legs and cross them again the other way. In the process of inching closer, his hand brushes mine, and I wonder if it was intentional. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, by the way. What brought you to Whisperwood?”
The smile I offer this time is cheeky. “Certainly not for murdering my family.”
That gives him pause, and then he sighs. “Ah. Is that the story you’ve heard?”
“I daresay that makes you quite legendary, being here for such outlandish reasons.”
“Not a doubt in your mind that it isn’t true?”
I chuckle without meaning to. “I’ve never even entertained the idea. I imagine the truth to be far less exciting.”
William’s mouth twitches. “If you wish to know, my parents disagreed with some of my…hobbies. They sent me here with hopes it would encourage my interests to stray elsewhere.”
Really, I didn’t need him to say that aloud for me to assume as much. “Hobbies like dancing with boys and reading poetry?”
He glances at me, thoughtful. “Amongst other things. You’ve heard the rumours; not all of them are untrue.”
I’ve now born witness to his laudanum use, yes, and although I’ve not overheard anyone speaking of it, Edwin’s single comment last night was enough to tell me that others are, apparently, aware of it. “Vague and intriguing, as usual.”
“More information than you’ve given me,” he says with a tilt of his head.
More information than I intend on giving him any time soon, too. “Misbehaviour is why I’m here, dear William. Quite boring.”
“Vague and intriguing,” he mirrors my words, but doesn’t look particularly bothered about my lack of clarity. For that, I’m grateful. He rises to his feet, fingertips touching briefly to my knee as he goes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some studying to get to.”
Without thinking, I catch hold of that hand, unwilling to relinquish his attention just yet. “Allow me to walk you back. We’re going in the same direction, after all.”
His gaze flicks down to my fingers wrapped about his. He slides smoothly from my grasp but permits me to begin walking back with him to Gawain Hall. Truthfully, I would love nothing more than to keep the conversation on good things, but I did seek him out to inquire about the spirits. When I do, William seems almost disappointed I brought it up.
“I’m afraid I’ve told you all I know,” he says, casting a look skyward as the first few raindrops begin to fall. “I’ve heard noises since I started here at the beginning of second year. I initially attempted to speak with some of the other students and one of my prefects about it, but it didn’t go well.”
“They didn’t believe you?”
“The other boys laughed me off. Our prefect at the time, he…” He purses his lips, and I wonder if he’s ever had to discuss this subject with anyone before. “…He said my medication was clearly causing me to hallucinate.”
I cannot say I know enough about laudanum to know if that’s possible. Mother keeps a small vial of it for her terrible headaches, but she takes it sparingly. I’m getting the impression William’s use is more frequent than that. “That prefect—you mean Simmons, don’t you?”
“That would be him.”
“I see.”
“At any rate, it’s been worse this term, in this hall.” He rolls his thin shoulders back into a shrug. “It makes going out at night all the more terrifying.”
He’s proven it doesn’t stop him; he goes out to fetch his medication, which says something about how desperate he is for it. “Yet so many people either aren’t hearing anything or won’t speak up about it. You don’t find that peculiar?”
“Of course I do. I presumed some were not as susceptible to otherworldly influences. Perhaps they don’t see what I see.”
That would be an explanation for it, but I’m not entirely convinced. Then again, beyond ghost stories in books, what experience do I have with this sort of thing? I wish Preston had been more open to discussing it, given he has a relation with a background in the supernatural.
My silence must bother William, because when we reach the dormitory entrance, he stops me and places a hand to my chest. I swear I can feel the warmth of it even through my clothing.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” he assures.
I want to believe him, but something nags incessantly at the back of my mind. Never the less, I smile reassuringly. “Of course.”
“I should be getting to my studying.”
“Naturally.” Before he can withdraw that hand, I cover it with my own, holding it to me. “We must do this more often, though. Tell me you’ll have breakfast with me.”
A slight pink tinge rises to his cheeks and his gaze lowers. “With you and your friends, you mean.”
“Well, yes. You’d be welcome with us, William.”
He pulls back, and I reluctantly let him go. “We’ll see,” is what he answers, but the way he smiles as he ducks inside leaves me with hope.
I put serious contemplation into dragging Oscar up to William’s room in the morning, intending to walk with the two of them to breakfast. In the end, I chicken out of doing so, although I do find myself dressing quickly and standing outside his door, crouching down to slip one of my folded poems beneath it. If that doesn’t solidify my invitation to him or make my intentions clear, I don’t know what will.
Oscar has waited for me, and he says nothing, although he raises an eyebrow because he likely knows where I’ve been. I only offer him a sheepish smile before falling into step beside him as we walk to breakfast.
I’m famished enough that I load up my plate a good deal more than is proper, not wanting to risk the buttered bread being eaten up before I’ve had my fill. Oscar seems tired, but isn’t in a bad temper, and I enjoy the sound of his conversation with Preston as the two of them discuss the Christmas party.
I notice Edwin frowning deeply in my direction, but then realise—he isn’t looking at me, but past me. I twist around to see William standing just a few paces away, looking extremely uncomfortable and as though he wants to turn tail and run. He glances at the seats around me and I realise he wants to sit with us.
With me.
My heart must grow three sizes at this ridiculously darling man tackling his awkwardness on behalf of my invitation.
“Do you have a problem, Esher?” Edwin inquires.
I greet him with a bright smile. “Yes, do you have a problem, dear William? Standing there like that and not taking a seat.” To the boy sitting next to me I say, “Budge over one, would you?” so that he shifts into the empty seat to his right.
Edwin startles. “Seriously? You’re asking a—”
He cuts off with a yelp, and I think Oscar has kicked him beneath the table to demand his silence.
“If you have a problem, there are plenty of free seats elsewhere,” I say without taking my eyes off William. He takes up the newly vacated seat, and I desperately wish I could reach out to touch his nervous-looking face. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”
He settles in his chair, hands in his lap and lashes lowered almost shyly. “It seemed rude to ignore such a gracious invitation.”
I laugh, discreetly brushing my fingertips against his knee beneath the table where no one can see. He even attempts to give me a small smile in response. I turn my attention back to my food and address the group as a whole. “Is anyone prepared for the upcoming maths exam? I don’t think I’ll ever be.”
“That’s because Mr. McLachlan is a slave-driver,” Oscar says absently, pushing his food around on his plate. He’s hardly touched it, which is worrisome.
William has served himself a plate of eggs, bread, and gravy, and he eats while being the epitome of manners. He pauses between bites, dabbing at his mouth with a nap
kin before speaking. “He’s not so bad.”
“Are you good at maths, William?” Benjamin asks, and I’m grateful he isn’t giving William the same distasteful scowls some of the others are. “I find it such a disagreeable subject.”
William looks alarmed that anyone other than me has addressed him. “I don’t find it enjoyable, but I can navigate it well enough. If someone needed some extra help…”
“Frances helps us out when we’re struggling,” Edwin says, not unkindly but the undertone is there of what he means. We don’t need your help. I want to throw him into a lake. If he makes William regret coming here even for a moment…
“I could always use the extra assistance,” I’m quick to say. A cover-up that William seems to recognize for what it is, but his expression remains soft at the edges, so I think he’s all right.
William eats his breakfast, silent except when I ask him a direct question. Yet I don’t take his quietness as a bad thing. He lacks the pinched, anxious look to the corners of his eyes and the tense pull of his lips I’ve grown accustomed to seeing. On the contrary, he seems at ease despite the negative energy from those who don’t want him here. I do my best to include him without swivelling the spotlight onto him directly.
He excuses himself before the rest of us, though he does so with a polite nod of his head and a promise that he’ll see me in Latin. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Edwin leans forward to speak. “Fair word of warning, mate; you might want to keep that one at arm’s length or you’ll be waking up with him crawling into your bed and a hand under your nightclothes.”
I pin him with an intense, unamused stare. “Are you jealous that it wouldn’t be your bed?”
Disgust visibly settles across his face. “What? No—only trying to look out for you. The headmaster is not kind about buggery in this school.”
I smile although it’s forced. “The headmaster is not kind about much but thank you for your concern.”
Next to me, Oscar shifts uncomfortably and puts his fork down, and it sounds oddly loud even in the busy hum of the dining hall. He pushes his chair back. “I’m gonna get to class, too,” he says. I follow him with a worried gaze, but don’t give chase.