by Barb Hendee
"Did the girl I'm replacing really disappear?"
"Got shipped off more likely." Marion frowned. "Some of these girls what keep flirting with their betters deserves it, I say. Pretty face and a round bum, and they think some squire will lose his head and forget who he is."
Such stories sounded romantic to Eleisha. "Who was she flirting with?"
"Who? Master Julian, that's who." Marion's frown relaxed into a thoughtful, distant look. "You mind my words and stay away from him. Something ain't right with him." She trailed off, and then smiled again. "But you're a good girl. I can tell. Let's find a uniform, and I'll pin up your hair."
Serving dinner turned out far differently than Eleisha expected. The house and its inhabitants had never seemed so alive. Lord William, dressed in a handsome black suit, laughed amidst gold-rimmed champagne glasses, and toasted his son's return. All the guests, dressed in exquisite splendor, grew intoxicated by his mood, and cheerful voices emanated from the great dining hall.
In her short life, Eleisha had known several girls who dreamed of being noble and wealthy, of drinking champagne and wearing silk gowns. Although she herself had no such aspirations, the silver trays and crystal chandeliers gave the evening a magical, almost unreal glow. Only one thing dampened her impression of the glorious dinner: Master Julian himself.
Sitting near his father, Julian neither smiled nor raised his glass. Taking in the sight of them together, Eleisha thought it nearly impossible that two men with such similar features could still appear so strikingly different. She wouldn't have placed them as father and son. Despite its fine tailoring, Julian's suit brought him no elegance. His dark hair had outgrown its cut and hung at uneven angles around a solid chin. Nearly black eyes glittered coldly in his pale face. Over six feet in height, he actually seemed taller but expressed arrogance rather than pride. While he did not partake in his father's exuberance, he did not appear bored either, and talked at length with several of the guests.
"You're right about the young master," she whispered to Marion while they refilled soup tureens. "He's odd."
"Look at the few people he'll actually chat with," Marion whispered back. "Only blue bloods. He won't even look at Lady Eleanor Endor. She married into her title, and he don't consider her to be one of them."
Julian's obsession with noble bloodlines meant nothing to Eleisha on that first night. She only sensed that he was a creature of few or deeply hidden feelings-someone to be avoided.
His dim shadow passed when he left a week later, and Eleisha was offered a real position with a moderate wage as Marion's assistant. She and her mother were assigned a small, whitewashed room in the east wing. For the first time in Eleisha's memory, they had a space of their own.
Time passed. Eleisha began taking a strange satisfaction in her work, quite different from before. The prospect of setting out lovely breakfast trays for Lord William (especially when somebody else had to do the washing up) evoked a nurturing instinct. If he had been anyone else, her feelings might have been different. But on her second morning of service, she forgot her place briefly and smiled at him when he walked in for tea. Instead of having her chastised or dismissed, he smiled back.
Their surface relationship never developed beyond small things-her extra care in setting his place, the occasional newspaper next to his plate, preparing his tea with the right amount of milk-but he made it clear she was to stay in the dining room until he had finished, and two weeks later her wages doubled. She grew to like his hunting jackets, his quiet manner, and the thin structure of his aging face. Something sad drifted behind his gray eyes, distant and lonely.
Lady Katherine never came down to breakfast or luncheon.
As with that first animated dinner party, dark spots in Eleisha's life occurred only with Julian's infrequent visits. One night in 1836, he burst unannounced through the great front doors, two guests in tow.
"Father! Come look," he called as though drunk. "You'll never guess whom I've brought."
Both Lord William and his wife were in the study, sipping brandy after supper. Eleisha followed them out to see Julian and the guests.
Julian stood laughing in the entryway, his cape covered in mud, his mouth smeared with streaks of blood. On one side of him stood a handsome, similarly mud-covered man. But all eyes turned to his other side. Even the eerie laughter, even the red smears on his lips, could not hold attention in light of his second guest.
Rather than pale, her skin glowed a soft ivory. Perfect features, framed by a mass of chocolate-black hair, almost detracted from the low-cut, red velvet gown she wore.
Eleisha decided later that it was not mere beauty, but something more, something exotic that drew such stunned and wordless stares.
"You all remember Miss Margaritte Latour? Maggie?" Julian bowed low in mock chivalry. "Philip's whore fiancee? You must ask her to tea sometime, Mother."
Lady Katherine's eyes clouded in anger. Perhaps she was the source of her son's belief in dominant nobility. Perhaps she was simply jealous of Maggie's overwhelming attraction. Perhaps both.
"Philip, my boy," Lord William said, walking over to clasp Julian's other guest in a quick embrace. "Good to see you. How are the vineyards?"
"Julian, wash your face," Lady Katherine hissed while the others fell into speaking French. "Eleisha, go fetch a washbasin and pitcher."
Only too happy to leave this macabre scene, Eleisha hurried down the hallway. Were they all half blind? Julian had blood all over his mouth and openly insulted one of his companions. Why did no one react? Why did no one ask him where he'd been?
She quickly returned with the water basin, and then fled the study before anyone noticed her. There was something else, something terrible in the room. Fear. It had been slight in the entryway, but grew stronger each moment he was home. A sickening, uncontrollable fear flowed from Julian and filled her with a panic she'd never experienced.
Locking her bedroom door for the first time, she crawled under the covers with her sleeping mother and passed a restless night. The previous evening's events felt like a bad dream the next morning while she set out trays of breakfast choices for Lord William.
"Will Master Julian be joining you for lunch?" she asked timidly.
"No." His gaze drifted into space. "He's gone back to Yorkshire."
Relief like tart water flooded into her mouth. Good. Let him stay there.
The following year, Eleisha turned fifteen, her mother passed away quietly, and Lord William began to forget things. Small things at first, like where he'd left his hunting jacket-while he was wearing it-and the names of books he'd just read. As he was well into his early sixties, these spells seemed simply a part of growing older. But then his actions grew puzzling. One afternoon scarcely an hour past lunch, he walked in and sat down at the table.
"Are you hungry, sir?" Marion asked.
"Hasn't my lunch been prepared?"
"Yes, sir. You've already eaten. Poached sole and greens."
His eyebrows knitted, and he looked at the mantel clock. "Oh, yes, of course…" He seemed about to say more, but then stood up and left abruptly. No one talked about it afterward.
Slight changes began taking place. Fewer and fewer dinner guests were invited. Lord William forgot the names of people who had just been introduced and kept asking them the same questions over and over. Marion stopped going over the menus with him and began giving the cooks lists of dishes he'd always liked. Lady Katherine stopped having brandy with him in the study after supper.
One morning at breakfast he spilled his tea and cringed with embarrassment.
"Oh, this is nothing," Eleisha said, toweling up hot liquid. "Last week I tripped over a bucket of mop water in the upstairs hall. That was a true mess."
"Would you read me the paper?"
The question surprised her. But why should it? People's eyes often gave them trouble at Lord William's age.
"All right, but I'll have to spell out the long words, and you can tell me what they mean."
Lady Katherine might have fallen into a fit if she had walked in right then to see Eleisha sitting at the dining table reading her master his morning paper. Five minutes after she read one column, he asked her to read it again.
Marion peeked in once to see if the silver breakfast trays had been cleared away. After listening for a few moments, she cleared them away herself.
When he was done hearing the morning paper, Lord William said, "Come pheasant hunting. Good hunting by the pond."
Eleisha's duties did not include going hunting with the manor lord. But Marion's head suddenly poked back in. "Go on, child. I can take care of setting up lunch."
It occurred to Eleisha that everyone else, including Marion, seemed to be avoiding Lord William. Did his condition distress them? Was it frightening or merely an annoyance?
She found some old boots and spent the entire morning tromping through the trees looking for pheasants. Lord William forgot to bring his gun, but that hardly mattered. They talked of senseless pleasantries like food and the manor gardens and then sat for a while by the pond pointing fish out to each other before she reminded him it was time for lunch.
While donning her nightdress for bed that night, she heard a knock on the door.
"Come in."
To her shock, Lady Katherine-quite striking as usual in a deep blue satin gown-walked in with a stiff, unreadable expression. "Good evening. Were you retiring?"
The question itself stunned Eleisha speechless. In the three years since their first encounter, those were the first words beyond instructions or commands she'd heard from her mistress.
"I am sorry to disturb you," Katherine went on without waiting for an answer, "but I couldn't help watching you today with Lord William. I have a good view of the fields from my window."
"Oh, forgive me, my lady. If you would prefer I remained at my normal duties…"
"No, it isn't that." She paused as though searching for words. "I've been thinking for some time about hiring a companion, someone to watch over my husband during the day. But the right sort of person is difficult to…" Her face clouded. "No matter how it may seem, I love my husband very much, and I won't have someone patronizing him, even if I can't stand to be in the same room with him myself."
The raw, messy emotion Katherine displayed to a mere servant embarrassed Eleisha. "Of course, my lady."
"You care for him, don't you? Not just as your lord, but you seem to truly care for him."
"Yes, he is a kind man."
"He is." Katherine's eyes flashed with pride, perhaps of days long past. "Women of my state have little say in whom we marry. I was more fortunate than most." She paused, this time for several long moments. "I owe him something. Your position has changed. You will be his nurse, his companion. But only if it pleases you. Do you accept?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Your wage will be increased accordingly. I'll have you fitted for appropriate outdoor clothing. Lord William is happiest outdoors."
"Yes, I know, my lady."
"I think you do." She stared at Eleisha. "Doesn't it bother you to answer the same question fourteen times and watch the pain on his face as he spills his brandy?"
"No. I spill things all the time."
Eleisha added no title onto her last answer. Katherine's face fell into defeat, despair, as she walked out the door. "You will begin tomorrow. Marion doesn't need you anymore."
No, Marion didn't need her anymore because the house was declared officially dead. No more parties. No more dinner guests. People like Katherine couldn't be publicly embarrassed by a doddering old husband. Eleisha's feelings remained mixed for some time. She later found this to be the most tragic stage of William's illness. His manners and grace were famous about Wales. Cliffbracken was known and admired for its fine food, good company, and pheasant hunting. But now the festivities were ended, and Lord William was still mentally intact enough to be aware. He noticed Lady Katherine's discomfort. He knew the servants avoided him.
Over the next year, Eleisha's importance changed slowly, gradually, until she became indispensable. William often got lost in the house and believed himself to be a boy in Sussex again with his grandmother. Instead of correcting him, Eleisha often played the part of whatever past relation he believed her to be, and soon he'd slip back into reality without knowing he had ever slipped out. She fed him all three meals and was silently given license to go anywhere in the manor. She was allowed to take him out in the carriage-indeed, encouraged to do so. No one called her too bold. No one insinuated she was living above her station. No one envied her at all. They simply prayed she would continue to occupy Lord William's days and be the one to deal with his illness.
When he ceased sleeping through the night and began to wake, crying and lost, she moved a cot into his bedroom and slept there. No one said a word.
Lady Katherine kept to her rooms, but she and Eleisha avoided each other. Something behind the mistress's calm face began to grow: hatred. It waxed clear that she hated herself and hated Eleisha even more. The need-to need anyone as much as she needed Eleisha-drove the proud woman to malice. Her revulsion toward William induced guilt that became obvious.
"You look out for yourself after the poor master passes on," Marion whispered one night. "She'll send you off, she will. No one's to blame, but she's got hard feelings for you."
"Why? I'm doing what she wants and being paid more than Mr. Shevonshire."
"'Cause she needs you. Every waking minute she's afraid you'll have enough of him and leave her to be the one."
"That's ridiculous. I'm not leaving."
"'Course you ain't. But she don't understand." Marion paused. "None of us do. How you spend nearly every waking moment wiping his chin and telling him where he is again. It's uncanny. It's odd. You make her feel a sorry excuse for a wife and in the same thought she's frightened you'll leave. Do you hear my meaning?"
"No."
Eleisha found them all pathetic. William was simply ill, not repulsive, not a threat.
When Eleisha turned seventeen, Lady Katherine began to show signs of age herself. Guilt turned to agitation, and she appeared to be waiting wildly for something. But what? When the servants began to avoid her more than William, Cliffbracken became a lonely, frightening place. Only Eleisha seemed to thrive.
One late night in November, she sat reading parts of The Iliad to William while he gazed into the study's burning hearth. They both jumped when Lady Katherine fell through the door, smiling madly, her satin dress torn at the waist, wine stains on her skirt, and wisping strands of red-gray hair floating about her face.
"He's here, darling," she said to William. "He's come back to help you."
"Who's here?" Eleisha asked.
Katherine's eyes narrowed. "You may retire."
Servant-master relations long forgotten, Eleisha was about to question her mistress further when a cold, dimly familiar essence floated into the room. Fear. "Master Julian's home?" she asked.
"Get out, you insolent bitch."
Gasping in spite of herself, Eleisha turned toward the voice to see Julian's tall, dirty form standing in the doorway. To get out, she'd have to slip under his arm.
But William drew his attention, and he entered the room, giving her a space to bolt. She stopped short outside. What was he doing here?
"I knew you'd come." Katherine's voice drifted out.
"After twenty-seven messages, you grew difficult to ignore."
"Help him. Save him."
"You ask the impossible, Mother." Julian's tone softened. "Let him die quietly. Remember him as he was. It's a kindness."
"But he isn't dying! Just fading away like some mad circus clown. Every day a little worse until the sight of him sickens me. Bring back his dignity. You can. I know you can."
"I can't."
"Then you never loved him. You never loved me! What good is your immortality if it gives nothing to those who gave life to you?"
"And then what? Then what, Mother? Do you
want to see him feeding on the stableboys? Living forever with a young mind and aged body? Without peace? Without rest? He isn't like me. He was always better than me. Killing to live would only hurt him. Don't ask me to do this."
While their exact words made no sense, Eleisha did grasp one surprising thing from this argument. Julian loved his father, understood the psychology of William far better than she ever imagined he could.
"Help him," Katherine whimpered. "For God's sake."
"No."
"Eleisha!" A ringing bell and screaming mistress brought Eleisha flying back into the room.
"Yes, my lady?"
"Take your master up to bed. He is tired."
The expression of profound relief on William's face at the sight of his young companion was not lost on anyone, least of all Julian.
"Eleisha, child," William said. "It's time to sleep."
"Yes, quite late," she said, smiling. "We won't dream tonight."
Toward the wee hours of early dawn, fear crawled into Eleisha's slumber, and her eyes opened to see Julian's nearly black ones directly above.
"Don't," he whispered before she could move or cry out. "No one will come."
Angry words gathered in her mouth. Terror overwhelmed them, driving them back down her throat.
"What's wrong with my father?" Julian asked.
His question threw her, and then she noticed the worried lines across his pale forehead. He must be desperate, or he wouldn't have lowered himself to speak to her in the first place.
"Age, illness. That's all."
"Don't patronize me," he spat. "It's more than age. I've seen old age."
"Why are you asking me?"
His hand jerked back to strike her, and then he stopped, breathing in harsh, shallow gasps. "I want no part of this… My mother's words say nothing. She's mad. A cold bitch at heart. Not like him."
Unlike Lady Katherine's emotional deluges, Julian's evoked pity. "He was a good father, wasn't he?" Eleisha asked. "Kind? Understanding?"
Julian lowered his hand. He walked over to the sleeping form of Lord William. "Yes, a good father. Wouldn't hear of a riding master. Taught me himself. Never pushed me or asked for more than I could give."
