by Kelley York
“Has it hit already?” I ask, curious, when I’ve taken notice that he’s stopped trembling and a quiet, glazed look has passed over his tired face.
“Starting to,” he murmurs.
We get him down to his undergarments and William seems to decide that’s good enough. He falls into bed and I join him in short order. As I lay on my back, William tucks himself against my side, head upon my shoulder, and I put my arms around him protectively.
It’s hard to ignore how it feels, having him pressed against me. Even through my own shirt and his undershirt, the warmth of him sinks into me. He rests a hand upon my chest, fingers splayed out as he draws in a deep breath. “So, what do we do now?”
I frown at the ceiling. “I’m not sure. It isn’t as though anyone else has shown any level of willingness in speaking about any of this. Don’t ghosts usually have a reason for lingering?”
“I’ve heard that, I think.”
“Certainly cannot be because they loved this place so much that they cannot pass on.”
“James.”
“Right, right. Perhaps we should start by doing some research on the school.”
William has closed his eyes, his breathing beginning to even out. “The library,” he murmurs, voice slurring the slightest bit as the laudanum has begun to fully take hold. “Perhaps some of the old student books…”
I feel my expression softening as I look over at him as best I can from this angle. Rather than try to continue the conversation, I allow William to fall asleep, stroking my fingers back through his hair. For the next hour, I lie there with him, just listening. Convincing myself, I think, that he’s all right, and savouring the comfort of him being near.
But I need to get back to my room. With Oscar not having shown up to the party, I want to see if he’s there and make sure he’s all right.
When I get to the room, however, it’s empty and silent. I frown to myself, wondering if maybe he was set on chores of some sort for the evening. But after so many hours, that would seem like a bit much. Maybe he’s at the dance now and I simply missed him. I’ll get some rest, and surely, he’ll be here when I wake in the morning.
Where else could he be?
Since arriving at school, not once have I ever woken up to an empty room. Oscar has always been there, usually still fast asleep. His bed is vacant, and nothing appears to have been touched. I wash and dress. The rest of the dorm is abuzz with noise and movement as students bustle about, eager to leave for break. By tonight, I expect most of the school to be empty.
I stop by the room that Preston and Benjamin share, and find them readily packing their things. Benjamin greets me with a smile and a good morning.
“Getting out on good behaviour?” I say.
“Glad to see home for a few weeks,” Preston agrees, turning to flash me a grin. I haven’t expressly told any of them I won’t be going home myself. I’m fine keeping it that way for now. No sense in getting into it.
I lean against the door frame. “I don’t suppose either of you ran into Oscar last night?”
The pair of them exchange looks, then turn frowns in my direction. Benjamin says, “We didn’t. I meant to find you and ask where he’d gone off to, but you were noticeably absent.”
“I cut out early,” I say dismissively. “He got called to the headmaster’s office yesterday and said he’d meet me at the party, then never showed up.”
“That’s worrisome.” Benjamin closes and latches his trunk. “Have you asked the headmaster?”
“Would you ask the headmaster?” Preston muses.
“Fair enough.” He tips his head. “I’m sure he’s fine, James. Maybe he was sent home early.”
Without any of his things? With no warning? Ridiculous. But the two of them have even less of an idea of what Oscar’s been going through in recent weeks than I do, and I suppose I don’t want them to spend their holiday concerned over something they cannot help. Which is why I smile reassuringly. “You’re probably right. The two of you have a safe trip home and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Entering the nearly empty dining hall—which has been put back into its pre-party layout—is a little surreal. Most of the students won’t bother to eat this morning, too busy getting ready to leave. When Oscar fails to show up for breakfast, my worry kicks in full-force. True, he was due to leave school for his uncle’s today, but he would not have left his things behind.
William joins me after a while, slightly dishevelled with shadows beneath his bright blue eyes. It seems like he might not have slept off the full effects of his medicine, and he shows little interest in his breakfast. Yet, he’s still focused enough to observe, “You look troubled.”
“My shadow is still missing.” I frown down at my own food, which isn’t looking the least bit appetizing. “I’m worried. I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him since before the party.”
“You don’t think he went home early?”
“Not with all his things left behind.”
“Ah. I’ll help you look. He’s got to be around somewhere.”
I jab my spoon into the bowl of porridge, stomach turning anxiously. “I hope so. I told you he’s been acting so strange lately. What if something’s happened?”
William touches a gentle hand to my leg beneath the table, and neither of us end up taking more than a few bites of our food. When we depart, the courtyard is full of boys with their belongings, being shuffled onto carriages and omnibuses to take them to the train station. We bypass the lot of them to return to the dorm while I’m trying to determine how we even begin searching for someone in this school. Perhaps starting with our room is our best bet. When we step inside, I’m struck with the fact that someone has been in here.
All of Oscar’s things are gone.
It’s the books I notice first, and the trunk at the foot of his bed. My chest cinches tight. I march over to the dresser, yanking open drawers—all empty—and to the wardrobe—also empty.
“What in the hell…” I turn to William, trying not to let panic overtake me. “All of his things are gone.”
“Everything? Is anything at all left?” William frowns, stepping further into the room and shutting the door. He moves to the dresser to go through the drawers while I begin searching around his bed. The row of books that used to sit beside it, his inkwell, his papers, shoes, clothes. I almost give up, until I think to look beneath Oscar’s mattress. There, a book is tucked safely, and my heart sinks. The History of Pendennis.
“This is his,” I whisper when William steps up beside me. I pick it up, turning it over in my hands.
“Could he have forgotten it?”
“Absolutely not. He wouldn’t have. It was one of his favourites; he said it was a gift from someone special.”
William touches my shoulder as I continue staring at the cover. “Let’s ask around. Maybe one of the teachers knows something.”
Don’t panic. I swallow hard, drawing the book to my chest and trying to breathe around the thought that something is very wrong. “Right. Let’s ask Mr. McLachlan.” I don’t know why he’s the first that comes to mind. Maybe because I spotted him this morning, so I know he’s still on school grounds.
I realise I haven’t moved yet, still inwardly battling with my nervousness. William takes my face in his hands, drawing my attention to him. “Deep breaths, darling,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure this out.”
It’s such a simple thing, but I feel like I can breathe again. I grant myself a few moments to lean down, resting my forehead against William’s, soaking up the comfort his presence provides. When I feel as though I can focus again, I pull away, place Oscar’s book beneath my own mattress, and lead William back out of the dorm and to the school.
I don’t know if Mr. McLachlan is one of the teachers who leaves for break, honestly. But he was here earlier. By some grace of God, we find him in his classroom, seated at his desk and bent over a stack of papers as he grades the remainder of final exams. He doesn’t notice our pres
ence until I speak. “Sir, are you busy?”
He lifts his head, peering at me over the tops of his spectacles. “How may I help you, Mr. Spencer?”
I move into the room. “We were just wondering if you’ve seen Oscar, by chance? The last time I spoke to him was yesterday before the party. He wasn’t in bed this morning and now all of his things are gone. I’m concerned.”
Mr. McLachlan’s expression doesn’t change, exactly, but there’s a brief, subtle way in which his pen stops against the paper. His voice is quiet. “My apologies, but I don’t believe I’m allowed to divulge personal information regarding students to other students.”
Then he does know something. “I’m not asking for personal information, sir; I’m just trying to find out why my best friend is suddenly missing and if he’s well.”
He sighs a heavy, tired sigh, and leans back in his chair. He slides off his glasses and runs his hands over his face. “I’ve been informed that Mr. Frances is no longer a student at Whisperwood.”
That does not do a damned thing to quell my worry. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means exactly as it sounds.” The look he gives me is sincere in its regret. “I’m sorry, but that really is all I’ve been told.”
I want to ask him to tell me more. That surely there’s something else, that he knows why and how and when. But I don’t get the impression he’s lying to me, and if he honestly doesn’t know, then pestering him is pointless. I lower my gaze, feeling sick to my stomach. “Thank you, sir.”
He watches us as we turn to leave. Before we can get out the door, he sighs again. “James. Do you have any reason to think that something is off about Mr. Frances’ departure?”
Of course something is off. Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here? But the way he words it, the hesitation in his voice, I get the impression he’s trying to ask—in the subtlest manner possible—if something about his absence is suspicious.
I turn back to him. “I know there is, sir.”
His mouth presses thin. “What makes you say that?”
William and I exchange looks, uncertain just how much I ought to say. “A number of reasons. His mum didn’t like him being around; she never liked him coming home for holidays, so he was going to his uncle’s for holiday. But that means she wouldn’t have been the one to pull him out of school. He also left something precious behind in our room. And…”
“And?”
“He’s my best mate,” I say, quietly. “He wouldn’t have left without telling me goodbye. Even just a note…”
Mr. McLachlan breathes in deep through his nose. “Thank you for the information. I assure you, this will be a matter I look into.”
“I hope that you do. Thank you, sir.” I bow my head before turning to leave again.
Outside of the class, I step to the railing overlooking the foyer below, bracing against it with a heavy sigh. William leans his hip into the railing, arms folded. “I’m sorry. I had hoped that would be more productive.”
“There has to be someone other than the headmaster who knows what happened,” I say. “We just have to figure out who.” Asking headmaster King directly? Horrible idea. Given what he’s been putting Oscar through, I have no doubt he would take our asking as insubordination and dole out punishment.
“Any of his other teachers? Friends?”
“Benjamin and Preston hadn’t seen him. And—” My spine straightens. How could I have forgotten? I turn to William. “Didn’t you and Oscar have English together with Mr. Hart?”
He blinks, mulling that over. “We did, yes. He seemed rather fond of Frances, now that I think about it.”
“He asked me about Oscar last night at the party. He seemed a little concerned and when I said Oscar hadn’t shown up, he left.”
“I’ve not seen him today. If he isn’t in his classroom, we might find him in the teachers’ dorms.”
A search of Mr. Hart’s class and the dining hall yields no sign of him, so to the teachers’ dorms we go. Although the staff quarters are not expressly out of bounds for students, it’s highly frowned upon for us to be traipsing about here without permission. Desperate times, desperate measures, right?
It’s been threatening snow for weeks, and the sky has finally let loose. William keeps close to my side as we cross the grounds, our heads bowed. Most of the teachers who live in the dorms are either at the main building or have gone home for holiday, so I’m hoping we’ll not have any issues getting in and locating Mr. Hart’s rooms.
Inside, while the layout of the building is reminiscent of our dorms, the similarities end there. The wallpaper is different. Newer, I think. It feels more like one large house than the student dorms do, complete with a large parlour and sitting room and a full kitchen, all of which we pass as we look around. Much to my relief, each set of rooms appears to have a placard upon the door with a name engraved. We locate Mr. Hart’s on the ground floor at the far end of the hall, and glance at one another uncertainly before I lift a hand to knock.
It’s silent for so long that I begin to give up hope of getting a response. Maybe he’s out. Maybe we missed him, and he did leave the grounds. Then the door opens and my first thought upon seeing Mr. Hart is that he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the unkempt manner of his hair catches me off-guard.
Almost as off-guard as Mr. Hart looks to see two students standing at his door. He sticks his head out into the hall, glancing both directions as though he expects someone else to be with us. “Can I help you boys?”
“We need to discuss something important with you, Mr. Hart,” William says. “May we have a moment of your time?”
For a moment, he looks as though he might just close the door on us without commentary, but then he sighs, steps back, and beckons us in.
Some part of me is hoping we’ll find Oscar here. Seated at the table, stuffing his face or something. We’ll find this is all one big misunderstanding and my worry has been for nothing. But Mr. Hart appears to be alone.
He gestures to his sitting room, an elegantly decorated space with a collection of fine, red plush chairs and a sofa in front of a burning fireplace. Hanging from every wall are paintings and framed, glass cases of insects. Butterflies, mostly.
“Please,” he says, “make yourselves comfortable. I was just about to pour myself some tea.”
William and I share another look before taking a seat upon the sofa, hip to hip. His gaze wanders, surveying the room, while I keep mine locked onto Mr. Hart as he steps out of the room into the adjacent kitchen. When he returns a moment later, it’s with a tray and tea set, which he carefully places upon a table. “So, how may I help you gentlemen?”
No point in mincing words; might as well get straight to it. “Do you know what’s happened to Oscar Frances?”
I could swear that Mr. Hart flinches. “What have you heard?”
“Only that Oscar is no longer a student here.”
His mouth pulls taut. His attention swivels to the tea, to filling each cup. “That is all there is to it.”
Irritation tugs at my features. “It seems peculiar a student would leave so abruptly, sir. Especially without prior knowledge of the staff. Considering you asked me just last night if I’d seen him, that leads me to think there is more to his departure.”
Deep breath. He straightens up, offering out a cup to both William and myself, which we take out of habit. “The staff is not always privy to matters that are ultimately up to the headmaster.”
“You seem bothered, though,” William presses. “Mr. McLachlan did, too, when we spoke to him.”
“It’s unfortunate when a well-liked student leaves without warning,” Mr. Hart responds. “It’s not the first time it has happened, and I doubt it will be the last. He’s likely at home with his family, preparing to enjoy Christmas with them.”
I curl my fingers around the tea cup and look away, frustrated that we’re running in circles with no answers. Mr. Hart knows someth
ing, I know that he does. William meets his gaze, unflinching. “You knew Frances well enough to know that he really did not have a home to go to.”
As my gaze is diverted, something catches my attention upon the fireplace mantel.
A paper lily.
Mr. Hart opens his mouth to reply to William and I set the cup of tea aside, completely untouched, cutting him off. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Hart, but we should be going.”
William, just about to take a sip from his own tea, frowns. “We should?”
Mr. Hart, too, studies me in confusion as I pluck the cup from William’s hands, set it back upon the table, and coax him to his feet. “Yes. We’ve bothered Mr. Hart long enough, I think.”
William looks like he wants to object, but he exhales heavily. “Thank you for your time, sir. Enjoy holiday.”
Mr. Hart sees us to the door where he gently says, “Please try not to worry about this too much, boys. I’m certain Mr. Frances is all right.”
I don’t bother trying to smile. I’m going to crawl out of my own skin if I don’t get away from him immediately.
It isn’t until we’ve retreated outside that William asks, “What was that about?”
I continue briskly through the cold evening air towards the dorms. “He had a paper flower on his mantel.”
“A paper flower?”
“His sister’s name is Lily; he’d make them for her when he wrote home. That man definitely knows more than he’s saying, but I don’t think we’ll get him to admit it.”
“Then, what, you think Oscar and Mr. Hart were…?”
“I don’t know what I think,” is my honest answer. “Except that I’m certain he was somehow involved in Oscar’s disappearance.”
