A Light Amongst Shadows

by Kelley York

  Oscar smirks. “Well, of course not. Look at this face. Plus, my sense of humour is better.”

  I strip out of my nightshirt with a laugh. “Now, that’s just not fair. William doesn’t have much of a sense of humour to compare.” Which isn’t entirely fair either, I suppose; I should think that he does, it’s simply a very dry sort of humour.

  “I’ll make sure to tell him you said that. You ready for the dance tonight?”

  The water jug delivered to our rooms each morning is, as always, utterly freezing. I fill the basin and set to scrubbing myself clean. These last many weeks, if nothing else, have certainly acclimated me to the cold. “As ready as one ever is for something they have no interest in.”

  Oscar steps up behind me with a brush in hand, trying to steal a sliver of the mirror to see what he’s doing as he works on his hair. “I hear it’s an excuse for good food. King goes all-out, likely to make us look better in front of the girls’ school.”

  I glance at his reflection. “Are you looking forward to it?”

  “Hm. I don’t know. Food, pretty girls to dance with, no school work…”

  I’m in need of a shave, I note, but I’ll save it for tonight. I’m too tired to care, and it isn’t enough to warrant being lectured by the staff. I think. “I’m certain all of the ladies in attendance will flock to you.” Which isn’t me being patronizing, either. Oscar is a good-looking lad.

  “Why wouldn’t they?” he muses, although the prospect doesn’t sound as though it overly excites him. He sits long enough to pull on his shoes. “If nothing else, it’s the last day of the term. That’s something to celebrate.”

  True enough, I think, as I finish with my washing and fetch a uniform to dress. “Did your mother ever end up writing? Will you be returning home for holiday?”

  Although I’m not looking at him, I can hear the good humour fading from his voice. “Ah, no. Not home, but I’ll be going to my uncle’s. I leave first thing in the morning.”

  Something to do with his poor relationship with his mother, I’d wager, which is unfortunate. I see him writing home to his sister quite often, always tucking those paper lilies into the envelopes. I’ve never seen him receive a letter back. “It will be quite lonely without you.”

  “What about you? Going home?”

  I direct a sunny smile at him. “I’d rather throw myself from the roof.”

  “None of that.” He gives me a pointed look. “The others always leave, but it might please you to know that I think Esher usually stays around during holidays.”

  By the sound of it, a fair number of boys do. When they’re unwanted boys whose parents have discarded them here, their families have little interest in seeing them. It’s the same reason why few relatives come to visit. “I’m glad I’ll have someone to pester.” Two weeks of time to myself? In a largely empty school? Much of the staff leaves, too, with only a skeleton crew to manage meals, clean, and watch over the students who remain behind. Which means largely unsupervised time with William. That sounds quite nice.

  I finish dressing, still fussing with my neckwear as we exit the room. It’s there Oscar nearly runs into—literally—William standing in the hall, and the pair of them startle and blink widely at each other before William’s attention turns to me. “Ah, good morning, James, Frances. I thought I would walk with you to breakfast, if…that’s all right.”

  My mouth spreads into a wide grin. Every time I grow accustomed to the nearness and attention William offers me, he closes the gap a little further and it never ceases to please me. “Only if you give me your leftovers.”

  “You’ll get fat,” William says dryly. “You already eat Frances’.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “If you’re fat and cannot fit into your desk, you’ll fail all your classes. It would be a shame for you to lose your figure.”

  “Admiring my figure, are you?”

  “You need to have something going for you.”

  “Ooh, that wounds.”

  “If you two are done flirting,” Oscar says patiently, “we’re gonna be late, and then the headmaster will be sending us all home for Christmas in pieces.”

  I laugh and fall into step between them, thinking I could live happily if every morning began this way, between my two favourite people in a place far from home.

  Final exams are headache-inducing, but I believe, thanks to Oscar’s tutoring, I manage to pass each of them. I look forward to sending word home of my good marks. During maths, after our test, Mr. McLachlan lectures on the etiquette and manners expected of us at the Christmas party. The proper way to approach the ladies, the manner in which we are to dress, the polite forms of conversation and what topics are appropriate versus what we should avoid. These are all things I already know; I’ve been attending such events since I was a child. I imagine for some—like Oscar—this is a very new thing indeed, and I see him leaned forward in his chair, listening intently.

  Oscar needn’t run off to the headmaster’s after we’re released, and he seems to be in a jovial mood as we sit down for dinner, which is held directly after classes today. This will be our last meal together like this for a few weeks. I sit amongst my friends and enjoy their faces, the sound of their voices, the warmth of William at my side, even if he says little.

  Dinner is a brief affair, however; we’re ushered out, so the staff can begin clearing the room to decorate for the party. And, of course, to grant the students time to ready themselves. Which is what Oscar and I are planning to do as he, William, and I head back to Gawain. William retires to his own room to change, and I cannot help but wonder what he’ll look like done up like a proper gentleman. This is the one night where we’re granted permission to dress in our finest rather than the school uniform.

  I have my outfit laid out upon my bed, and I make it a point to get Oscar’s out of his wardrobe for him, as well. Upon closer inspection, I observe his second-hand waistcoat is frayed and not of the best quality, and I can see where his shirt has been poorly repaired at the seams—not something anyone would notice beneath his coat, but even so. It’s a reminder that Oscar is only here because his tuition is being covered by a gracious uncle, and not because his parents are well-off. He’s had a rough time of it, I think, even though he’d never say as much. After he’s washed and begun to dress, I debate with myself. I have a spare waistcoat that is much nicer than his, but I’m unsure if offering it to him would come across as patronizing. I lay it beside his clothes, just in case, as a silent invitation.

  I strip down to my undergarments and wash up for the second time today. Not because I really need it, but just because I did a rather lazy job of it this morning when half asleep, and tonight is a special occasion. Not to mention, I skimped on shaving, so that’s a must. From the corner of my gaze, I see Oscar examine the extra waistcoat, glance my way, and admire the embroidery upon it before hesitantly slipping it on.

  I still have shaving soap upon my face when someone raps at the door minutes later. Oscar—fully dressed and finishing with his hair—exchanges a look with me with a frown. He answers it, blocking my view of whoever is on the other side. The smooth voice that reaches my ears is familiar enough.

  “Evening, Mr. Frances. The headmaster has summoned you.”

  Scowling, I swipe the remaining bits of soap from my face and step around the open door, tall enough to look over the top of Oscar at Charles and his smarmy smile. “What on earth for? The term is over.”

  Charles’ gaze slides slowly over to me, as though he finds it annoying to have to address me at all. “Be that as it may, his presence is required.”

  God, he has a face only appropriate for punching. “Give me a moment and I’ll go with you, Oscar.”

  “No,” he says quickly, smoothing his hair back one last time. “It’s all right. Finish getting ready and I’ll meet you there, yeah? I’m sure it won’t take long.” He smiles, and were it not for the fact that he looks far more confident and certain of himself than he h
as in days past, I might argue with him. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “I’ll see you there?” I ask, noting the uncertainty in my voice.

  Oscar steps out into the hall, adjusting his necktie and flashing me a wink. “‘Course. Save me a dance.”

  A laugh bubbles from my throat. “I’ll save you all the dances, mate.”

  I watch as they disappear down the hall together, trying to stamp down the discomfort edging its way into my chest. Slipping back inside, I run a hand across my jaw to ensure I didn’t miss any spots and then set to refilling the water basin to wash up and dress myself.

  My own outfit consists of all black, with a striped red-and-black silk waistcoat, matching cravat, and shoes shined to perfection. It’s been so long since I’ve worn such an ensemble that it feels odd at first. Where my finer suits are made of higher quality cotton and silk, the uniforms are mediocre wool designed solely to protect from the elements. Useful and practical and easy to make in large numbers to cover all the student body, and certainly cheaper, but hardly the peak of fashion.

  With my hair parted and swept to the side, cologne placed sparingly behind each ear, I peer at my own reflection and think that I make a decent enough picture. I look more like the me who grew up in the busy city, who attended all the big parties alongside my parents. The me who had a promising future, once upon a time.

  Now, I haven’t a clue what will be in store for me after graduating. Will Father be willing to shell out the funds for me to attend university? Will I be expected to join the Army? I have the fortune of being his only child, and the only male amongst any children even in the extended family. Should he want to pass on his estate and business to someone with his name, I’m his only hope of doing so.

  But given recent events, maybe I’ve tipped the scales too far out of my favour.

  I’m stunned by how abruptly that hits me. That I haven’t a clue what I’ll do after leaving Whisperwood, and that everything I’ve built in the short time I’ve been here—the friendships, the relationship I’ve forged with William—will come to an end.

  The future is uncertain, and that bothers me. Immensely.

  I turn away from the mirror, drawing in a deep breath. Tonight, I refuse to dwell on such dismal things that are out of my control. Even if I don’t care to humour a bunch of girls looking to flutter their lashes at me all night, I do think I will enjoy myself by spending the evening with my friends. I will admire William and the food and being in a social setting that I am familiar with, and it will be good.

  Given the hour, I have a little bit of time to kill. Which I will do by taking a seat at the table, bowed over a few sheets of paper, a pen, and an inkwell. The words flow easily. Even if not everything is usable later, the fact that I have my muse back is a beautiful thing. I wonder if William received the poem I slipped under his door, and what he thought of it.

  Eventually, the bell chimes six o’clock. Thirty minutes until the party begins, which means it’s due time for me to give myself one last look in the mirror before heading upstairs to see how William is getting along.

  He answers the door and I give myself a moment to simply appreciate the sight of him. William always looks so elegant and put together, but this takes it a great step beyond the norm.

  His hair is parted and combed back, bandoline ensuring that not a single strand is out of place. Beneath his jacket is a gorgeous silk waistcoat in cobalt blue, adorned with silver embroidery of the highest quality and intricate detail, and a similar, silvery silk cravat. There is something to be said for how a man looks in a finely tailored pair of trousers and coat, and William’s has definitely been fitted well.

  He bears the scent of orange blossoms, though not so much to be overpowering. Just enough that it makes me want to duck my head and bury my face against the crook of his neck to breathe him in. I desperately want to run my hands through that hair and pop every button on his clothing to get at him. Such a beautiful piece of art begs to be properly ravished.

  I settle for smiling instead. “Good evening, dear William. Are you ready to accompany me to the dance?”

  It occurs to me that while I was admiring him, William seems to have been admiring me, as well, as he lifts his gaze back up to my face. “You say that as though I’m to be your suitor for the night.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  His mouth twitches into a brief smile. “Where is your shadow?”

  I shrug helplessly in response to that. “Meeting us there, it seems.” The headmaster has to make an appearance at the dance, doesn’t he? So, Oscar won’t possibly be kept all night.

  William lowers his lashes. He extends a hand, palm against my chest, smoothing over one of the lapels of my coat and making my heart skip a beat. “I’ll enjoy having you to myself for just a bit, then.”

  “We can cut out early, if alone time is what you’re after.”

  William sidles closer, the hand upon my chest sliding its way north until his palm is cupped to my cheek, and it sends every inch of my body alight in both nervousness and delight. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted someone to touch me.

  “Planning to steal me away from the ball, are you?” he hums.

  I cannot help but tilt my head into that touch. “That was my intention, yes.”

  His lower lip tucks itself between his teeth briefly, and I have half a mind to kiss him senseless. I think that I just might, or that he might kiss me first before I’ve had the chance.

  Except the door to our right swings open and Virgil steps out just as we’re swiftly putting distance between us to avoid looking as though we were mere seconds away from engaging in anything improper. He looks quite sharp in his outfit and with his hair slicked back, and he gives us a most intense stare before nodding once in greeting and heading for the stairs.

  Alone again, but even so that rather interrupted the mood, didn’t it? “Let’s go before we’re lectured on punctuality.”

  As we head downstairs, we’re greeted with the bustle of others also venturing out. How strange to be amongst my peers and see them wearing such finery in contrast to their uniforms. It’s a reminder that we all existed outside of Whisperwood before, and that we will all exist outside of it again someday. Some of us undoubtedly better than others.

  Outside the building, many of the boys linger, craning their necks to peer down the long driveway and keeping an eye out for the arrival of our guests from the girls’ school. They’re all ushered inside in short order by staff. I spot a few of my teachers, Mr. McLachlan and Mr. Hart among them, and it’s even stranger to see them dressed so finely than it is to see my peers.

  The dining hall has been luxuriously transformed. An impressive fir tree towers in one corner, adorned with paper chains, candles, and handmade ornaments. One quarter of the room has been arranged with tables and playing cards, encouraging those who don’t wish to dance to still sit and socialise. What other few tables remain are pushed close to the walls, draped with cloths of a vibrant red and lined in garland befitting the upcoming holiday. The windows are trimmed with more garland and tinsel and ornaments, and the musicians have set up at the head of the room; even the grand piano from the foyer has been relocated in here for their use.

  On silver platters and trays is a spread of food ranging from cakes and pastries and sweets to sandwiches, eggnog, fruits and more I cannot immediately make out. I would have preferred a proper sit-down Christmas feast, but it does look delicious.

  Given that I’m not returning home for the holidays, a Christmas dinner isn’t in the cards this year. I’ll admit, it’s a holiday I’m going to miss spending with my family. Watching my mother and cousins create their own Christmas crackers out of patterned paper and stuffed with treats, while the smell of cooking turkey and pigeon and potatoes filled the entirety of the house.

  I steal a glance at William, who is observing the room at my side, and wonder if I shouldn’t do something special to ensure the holiday isn’t utterly di
smal for the both of us. Without our family Christmas traditions, we ought to create some of our own.

  What I don’t see, as I look around, is Oscar. Or the headmaster, for that matter. My stomach twists into an uncomfortable knot.

  “This is silly,” I mumble under my breath. “This entire event reeks of wanting to show off.”

  “Is that not why most anyone throws lavish parties?” he responds, leaning in so I can hear him over the sound of other conversations. “My mother has a tendency towards grand galas, too. Always ridiculously expensive and for no reason other than to appeal to her peers.”

  “Some people throw parties just to have fun, don’t they?”

  “I hardly see what’s fun about them. Except the dancing, I suppose.”

  At long last, the doors open back up and the headmistress from the girls’ school steps into the room, followed by her stream of third and fourth-year girls, every one of them in the most beautiful dresses. Their cinched waists, discreetly painted faces, and complicated hairstyles must have taken hours. I feel the utmost sympathy and am grateful corsets on men faded from popularity when I was still a child. The girls move so stiffly, without the practised elegance of older women who are well accustomed to moving in constricting clothing and wide-backed skirts.

  I notice William watching them with a mild spark of interest in his eyes. The already anxious feeling in my chest takes an abrupt, jealous turn. “Will you ask the girls to dance, then?”

  He tilts his head. “It would look rather silly if I danced by myself, wouldn’t it? I’m certain there are some lovely dancing partners in there.”

  “I think it would be fun to watch you dance by yourself.”

  “It would be ridiculous, I assure you. What about you?”

  “Better to dance than stand around bored, I suppose.”

  When William looks to me and smiles faintly and allows his fingers to brush the back of my hand, it quells some of the building bitterness at the idea of some girl he’s only just met having his undivided attention. It’s not a pleasure I’m able to indulge in, as much as I would love to dance with him in front of every person in the room.