A Light Amongst Shadows

by Kelley York

  It’s with great reluctance we rise from the bed and begin our day together. It was only a few months ago that Oscar was the one fighting me for the mirror and washbowl in the mornings while we bantered about. Mornings with William are softer. Quieter. He washes and shaves and does his hair with practised ease, and I enjoy watching him do these things so much that I don’t even try to nudge my way in to steal the mirror from him. Instead, I strip down and ready myself while he dresses.

  It feels a touch scandalous leaving the room together, and I have to remind myself we were given express permission for him to stay with me. Still, I’ve no interest in attracting more attention to us. I cannot begin to imagine what rumours might be floating around about what happened last night.

  The dining hall seems louder than normal when we arrive. It could be attributed to exam day excitement, everyone ready and eager to get home for holiday. I think of Mother’s letter in my room. I shall have to write to inform her I won’t be returning. Not now. Maybe not ever. Dramatic of me, perhaps, but my relationship with my family is a mountain I have not had a chance to scale with everything that has been going on here.

  We take our usual seats, and we get no further than saying good morning to our friends before Virgil arrives and takes up the chair to my left, the one previously only ever occupied by Oscar. Certainly, as he has always sat several spots down, it’s unusual, and has the lot of us falling silent and turning our attention to him.

  “Good morning,” Benjamin finally says, always the first to go out of his way to be friendly.

  “Morning,” Virgil agrees, beginning to serve food onto his plate from the platters before us. He looks, I think, as though he hasn’t slept much or well. “I thought it prudent to inform you that Charles Simmons will be leaving Whisperwood this afternoon.”

  William’s head snaps up. My eyebrows lift.

  “Is he all right?” Preston asks.

  Virgil skewers a sausage with his fork, takes a small bite, and the pause makes me want to shake him. “I informed staff that he had a fit last night in the halls. He spent hours babbling nonsensically to the point where Doctor Mitchell felt it necessary to drug him so he would sleep. He’ll be departing this afternoon to be committed until he begins making sense again, however long that may be, I don’t believe he will be allowed back as an apprentice.”

  None of us breathes a word, perhaps unsure what the correct response to this news should be. Manners suggest we ought to express regret for his poor mental state but I, for one, cannot find it in me to do so.

  Then, to my right, William lets out a laugh. Soft at first, and then again, louder, until he has to bow his head and put a hand to his mouth to try to hold it back. The others watch him in stunned silence. Although the reasoning is clear enough to me, I touch a hand to his leg beneath the table in hopes to settle him. He does after a few moments, clearing his throat and keeping his gaze lowered with a mumbled apology. Still, I can see the smile tugging at his mouth, and I cannot say I blame him.

  Exams go better than expected. That is to say, I’ll be shocked if I haven’t utterly botched my Latin test, aced English, and did passable in history and maths. My eyes are burning from a lack of sleep and stress, and I don’t have it in me to be energetic after the last lesson of the day lets out and the other boys are rushing to their rooms to begin packing.

  Instead, I fall into step alongside William, and we enjoy the remaining few hours of daylight walking the grounds together. We head to the stables, because although William doesn’t enjoy riding, he does enjoy meandering from stall to stall, stroking the horses’ noses and leaving little braids in their manes.

  He’s been quiet today, I’ve noticed. Not unpleasantly so; he hasn’t seemed to be in a poor temper. Just…quiet. Withdrawn. Idly I worry he’s feeling unwell again, but when pressed he assures me that isn’t the case.

  On our way back from the equestrian centre, a carriage passes by on the main road. At a glance, I think it might be Charles I spot inside, leaving the property.

  Good riddance.

  We enjoy a final meal with our friends, and I find a sense of melancholy settling over me, as though this is, truly, the last time we will have this moment. Am I afraid of what the future holds? Of what will happen should our ghost hunting endeavours turn deadly? What’s worse, what if something were to happen to William while I escape unscathed? I steal looks at him throughout dinner, the fear in my chest growing denser and deeper.

  “Come sit with us by the fire awhile, would you?” Benjamin asks on our way back to the dorms. I can hardly refuse him such a request on their last night here, no matter how tired I am.

  The common room is, for the most part, void of anyone but our group. Others are too busy packing and getting into bed early, eager to wake and leave come morning. William takes a seat upon the floor near the fire while I occupy my usual chair, sparing a look towards the seat Oscar most frequented. None of us have sat in it since. I wonder if it’s a conscious decision on our parts, or if we simply know not to occupy the space of someone we’ve lost.

  From the moment I get settled, however, I notice I’m being observed. Preston, Benjamin, and Edwin are exchanging looks, clearly waiting to say something, and I try not to sigh.

  “Come on, out with it.”

  Preston takes a deep breath. “All right. Well. We wanted to ask you—both of you—what in the hell is going on.”

  My gaze flicks to William, who has his focus upon the fire and hardly seems to have heard a word. “I’m not certain what you mean.”

  “Don’t insult us by playing stupid.” Preston frowns. “For weeks, I’ve summed up your behaviour to grief over Frances—Lord knows we’re all struggling with that—but then last night, and you asking around about the ghosts. What’s happening?”

  I try not to squirm in my seat so nervously. “You and Benjamin made it clear you don’t believe anything supernatural is happening here, and so I hardly see a reason to bring up the topic again.”

  Benjamin shakes his head. “We’re listening. Truly, we are.”

  “Whatever it is you’re going through, we need to know in order to help you.”

  I drum my fingers upon the arm of the chair, relocating my attention to the fire, and to William. “That’s a very long story, I’m afraid.”

  “We have time to hear it,” Edwin says.

  What do I say? How much do I tell them? It seems cruel to leave them in the dark when they’re directly asking, when I’ve already divulged information to both Virgil and Mr. McLachlan.

  With great uncertainty, I begin to recount to them everything of importance that’s occurred at Whisperwood. I tell them of Oscar’s run-in with the headmaster, but I leave out the part of the letter for now, not wanting to betray that secret of Oscar’s more than I already have. What he held in his heart was for him only, and no one should be privy to that even in death.

  I tell them of the ghost who attacked me in my room, of the one I followed into the woods. I speak of our search for the tunnels and what I encountered within them. Through it all, they listen and watch, interjecting only for clarification. To their credit, no one scoffs, no one turns their nose up at what is undoubtedly an incredulous story.

  When I’m done, they remain silent still, absorbing the information I’ve just thrown at them.

  “You think King murdered Frances?” Benjamin asks.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I’ve put a great deal of thought into that. King is an old man; I hardly think he’d be physically capable of harming a student unless he caught them unaware. Not to mention, moving Oscar’s body after the fact, all by himself?”

  “Then, an accomplice?” Edwin asks.

  “I’ve thought that, too. Doctor Mitchell, perhaps. Hell, I wouldn’t cross Simmons off the list. He’s played loyal servant to King a number of times already this year, and I suspect it was him who ratted Oscar out to the headmaster in the first place.”

  Preston scoffs. “Well, he’s out of the picture.
”

  “What happens now, then?” Benjamin looks to Preston, as though relying on him for an answer to that.

  He shrugs. “If we had more time, I would write to my aunt, see if she has any ideas, but…”

  I look between them, a flicker of relief and hope striking within me. “You believe me now?”

  “I believe you,” Preston agrees. “And I’m fairly certain Benji never doubted you.”

  “He was certainly adamant enough about ghosts not existing,” I point out, not without a touch of bitterness. Benjamin has the grace to look ashamed of that.

  “I won’t get into my own feelings on the matter. Just know that I’m sorry. I think I’d just hoped you were wrong. I didn’t want you to have reason to be afraid.”

  As brushed aside as I’d felt, I cannot say I ever thought any of them had ill intentions in discouraging me from pursuing silly ghost stories. “It’s over and done with now. All is forgiven.”

  “Then—” Benjamin pauses as he glances to William, and the frown on his face immediately draws my attention, as well. “Are you all right, Esher?”

  William is watching the flames in an almost trance-like state. More than that, his expression is slack and vacant, and he’s sitting closely enough to the fire that I cannot imagine it’s comfortable.

  “William,” I call, scooting to the end of my seat. “William.”

  His spine straightens, and he inhales sharply. “What? Sorry, I was…”

  “Are you all right?”

  He shakes his head and picks himself up from the floor. There’s something in his movements, an uncoordinated sluggishness, that is too reminiscent of his earlier days of being ill. “Excuse me a moment. I think I need to step outside and get some air.”

  I’ve already risen to my feet in concern as he begins to cross the room, and I recognize the signs he displayed that day in Mr. McLachlan’s class. The way the colour drains from his face, the way he reaches to brace himself on whatever he can find, and then—

  I dive for him, managing only just to catch him beneath his arms as his legs give out. The others are promptly out of their seats and rush to help me lay him down. The first thing I notice upon touching his face is that he’s covered in sweat and burning hotter than I have ever seen a person get.

  Fear surges bright and vicious in the pit of my stomach. “Someone, go fetch Virgil!”

  Edwin promptly flees the room to do as instructed while Benjamin makes quick work of undoing William’s tie and the top few buttons of his collar and shirt. “Christ, he’s scalding.”

  “William.” I pat his cheek, stroking back his hair, anxiously awaiting the opening of his eyes. That day in maths, he was only out for a matter of moments before coming to again, but the seconds are ticking by into minutes, and he is still unresponsive. Panic lodges itself in my throat, makes it difficult to talk. “William, sweetheart, please, you need to open your eyes.”

  What is only a minute or two seems to take forever before Edwin returns with Virgil, who rushes straight to our side and crouches. He scarcely needs to touch William’s forehead before he says, “Let’s get him downstairs. Fill one of the baths immediately; we need this fever down.”

  Preston, Edwin, and Benjamin rush ahead. Virgil assists me lifting William from the floor and transporting him, taking care in going down the spiral staircase to the ground floor. A few boys we pass in the halls crane their necks to watch, met immediately with Virgil’s sharp reproach that sends them scurrying back to their rooms.

  Into the bathing room we go, where the others have already gotten enough buckets of water transported from the faucets into the tub to fill it halfway. Virgil and I get William out of his jacket and shoes and waistcoat before we ease him into the tub. Almost immediately, poor William gasps, grabbing hold of my arm and trying to claw his way out of the icy water like a drowned cat. It pains me to have to grab hold of him and shove him back down, and it requires Virgil and I both to keep him pinned there while the others continue running back and forth across the room with bucket after bucket.

  Yet for his struggling—and now, his fierce trembling—William doesn’t properly open his eyes, nor does he speak; he only lets out the most pitiful of sounds that shred my heart to pieces.

  “It’s all right,” I croon, wincing as he has a painfully tight grip upon my bicep. I bring my free hand up, smoothing back his hair, letting the rivulets of water slide down his flushed face. “Deep breaths, darling. Deep breaths. We just need to get your fever down.”

  William shakes so fiercely I’m terrified we’re somehow hurting him further, but Virgil’s watchful eye on him is confident and sure, and I must trust him as someone who has far more experience in this than I.

  Minutes tick by. Occasionally, one of the boys scoops some of the water back out to replace it with fresh, cold water. My own shirt—Virgil’s, too—is sopping wet all up the sleeves and down the front, and I cannot feel my fingers anymore.

  Eventually, slowly, William eases his grip enough that we can draw back, though it’s not as though I venture far. I continue petting his hair, whispering to him, hoping that even unconscious my voice might somehow reach him.

  Virgil rocks back onto his heels with a sigh. “What in the hell happened this time?”

  “No idea,” Preston says. “He got up, and then down he went.”

  “He’s been feeling better. I haven’t a clue what came over him so fast,” I add.

  “Has he complained of stomach pains?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Breathing problems?”

  I shake my head. “Sometimes the weather causes him distress, but, no, not recently.”

  Virgil frowns as he stands, wiping his damp hands against the thighs of his trousers. “We’ll give him a little bit longer in there, but we don’t want him to get too cold, either. Watch him a few minutes. I’m going to fetch a blanket.”

  “He’s going to need some dry clothes,” Edwin points out.

  I let out a breath. “Go to his room. Just fetch one of his nightshirts and see if Virgil needs help. There are spare blankets beneath William’s bed.”

  Edwin nods and slips out briskly, leaving me alone with William, Benjamin, and Preston. I sigh, bowing until my forehead rests against the cool lip of the tub. Nothing has scared me quite like this, and still my heart is galloping wild.

  Neither of them speaks, permitting us to sit in silence for a while, for which I’m grateful. Eventually I draw away, in dire need of stretching my legs, which have begun to develop a horrible ache from crouching on the hard floor. I grant myself a moment to step into the hall and around the doorframe, just out of sight, shoving a hand back through my hair and reassuring myself that everything will be all right.

  Preston accompanies me. “All right?”

  “All right,” I tiredly agree.

  “You’re positive we shouldn’t fetch Doctor Mitchell?”

  “William would murder me if we did.” Though I’ll admit, the idea has crossed my mind. Virgil is an invaluable asset, true, but asking him to act as our doctor when he hasn’t the formal training is unfair, and puts him into a horrible position should something go wrong.

  Nothing will go wrong, I sharply reprimand myself. William will be fine.

  From in the room, I hear the sloshing of water and suspect Benjamin is swapping out warm for cold again.

  Except then I hear, “Esher!” and Benjamin’s voice sounds equal parts confused and concerned. Preston and I exchange a brief look before we’re hurrying back into the room.

  William is no longer in the tub. Which makes no sense in any world because he had been unconscious, and Benjamin would never be capable of lifting him alone. Instead, William is very much standing on his own, poised before the windows that overlook the grounds. Benjamin stands several feet away, looking as though he was in the process of approaching but stopped for some unknown reason.

  A wave of relief washes over me. He’s conscious again and standing on his own; that’s
good. Yet as I cross the room to go to him, a new sensation crawls across my skin. Something unsettling and wrong. I halt a foot or so behind him, and the moonlight catches on his face, granting me a look at his reflection in the glass panes of the windows, and my heart stops.

  His eyes. Something is wrong with his eyes.

  “William.” I speak soft and uncertain, fear not prohibiting me from reaching to him, touching his arm and attempting to turn him to me. He does so without fuss, but the direness of the situation hits harder the moment I can see his face, and the milky white of his eyes.

  I am staring into the face of a dead man standing before me, and that should not be possible.

  Even more impossible still is that William steps forward, towards me at first and then around me. He shuffles for the door in uncoordinated, sluggish steps that remind me far too much of the creature that attacked Charles.

  Preston steps into the doorway, blocking William’s path, and William stops, staring directly at nothing and simply…waiting.

  “What is he doing?” Benjamin whispers.

  I don’t know, but I don’t believe it’s William we’re dealing with right now.

  “Let him pass,” I say. “Let’s see where he wishes to go.”

  Preston seems relieved and more than happy to move out of the way. William advances the moment he does, disappearing around the corner, and the three of us swiftly follow. I instruct Benjamin to hurry upstairs and inform Virgil, lest they return and find us all gone.

  The halls have emptied now, and it isn’t far before we reach the front door. William opens it and ventures outside. I fear being out in the cold will exacerbate his condition. He walks bare-footed out into the wet grass, seeming not the least bit bothered, and yet I’m already being chilled to the bone through my wet shirt and so I cannot imagine how it isn’t bothering him.