by Kelley York
“What’s in the black books, exactly? Isn’t that where they keep track of who gets into trouble?” I slip Timothy’s file back in its place.
“Every housemaster has one,” William says, head bowed as he flips through the pages. “Any time a student is caught breaking a rule, the prefects are to dole out the appropriate punishment and record it in the black book. I imagine this would include anything the headmaster does, too.”
That snags my attention. I fetch the candle and head over to his side. “Would Oscar’s be here?”
William shakes his head, offering out the book to me. “For this year? No. Simmons would still have it for our house.”
I begin to flip through the book while William removes another from the shelf; it appears to be last year’s. It takes me a few minutes to find what I’m looking for, but when I do, I pause, disturbed.
“What is it?” he asks.
I turn the book to show him, not knowing how to put it into words. In neat writing down the pages—and there are two or three of them—are a list of punishments Timothy underwent over the course of the school year. Canings, lashings, waterboarding—something they surely would not get away with these days. William frowns deeply. He places his finger on the last entry. “This here… Isn’t the date of this last punishment the date he died?”
“It is.” I lift my head to look around the room, feeling a sense of unease, as though we aren’t alone.
“So, they were beating him while he was ill? That reeks of something suspicious.” He looks up at me, brows furrowed. “Do you remember any of the other names we saw at the cemetery? I want to cross-reference.”
“If I didn’t have a bad feeling about all of this before, I certainly do now,” I mutter.
William scours the black books until he locates another familiar name, tapping the page. “1854, Jonathan Harrison.”
I head to the corresponding cabinet and locate Jonathan’s file, flipping to the back. “Cause of death listed as suicide. December fifteenth. Another supposed thief.”
The way William frowns suggests the dates correspond again. “All right. 1843, Mitchell O’Connors.”
It takes me a few minutes to locate it, but—“Caught out past curfew two days prior to his death. Listed as suicide. Second of April.”
The standard punishment for nightwandering isn’t so bad. A student might be made to stand out in the hall for the remainder of the night, depriving him of sleep. The housemaster or a prefect would make note of his name, and so long as it did not happen again, not the end of the world, right? At worst, a handful of lashes.
“Suicide seems a bit extreme a reaction to getting caught out at night,” William says.
“This also says his body was found in the tunnels.” I look at him. “What tunnels?”
He blinks. “There aren’t any tunnels that I know of.”
“According to this, there are. ‘The deceased was located by head gardeners in the access tunnels beneath the school.’” I’m trying to think if anyone has ever mentioned them, even in passing. “Perhaps they aren’t in use anymore?”
“Because a student killed himself down there?” William places the black books back upon the shelf.
“I doubt it’s anything that simple.” I slip the file into its place, turning to William as he comes up to my side. The firelight makes the shadows across his face look more pronounced, increasing the expression of worry he bears. “You aren’t going to like my next suggestion.”
He drags in a deep breath. “I imagine that I’m not, no.”
“I think we should try to find these tunnels.”
William’s face blanches. “Pardon?”
“Where else might we find any answers? Should we ask the teachers? Staff?”
William opens his mouth with a protest upon his lips, and I fully expect him to say no, that it’s a stupid idea and we’re delving too much into something we cannot begin to grasp. “I suppose you’ll be doing this with or without my help.”
As much as I don’t want to do this alone… “I have to. It might help me figure out what happened to Oscar.”
I wouldn’t blame William for saying that I’m on my own. The ghosts have him spooked, and he’s already done so much.
He sighs, taking hold of one of my hands, and there is little hesitation in the way he says, “Then I suppose we have some exploring to do.”
I grasp his hand tightly, unable to work past the lump in my throat at how grateful I am for that. “Thank you.”
It’s growing late, and I don’t want to keep us out longer than necessary. I take up the candle and, hand in hand, we head for the exit. William stops me at the most recent cabinet, however, and despite my questioning look, he begins rifling through the current students. At first, I assume he must be looking for our own records, but I realise he’s thumbing through the last names beginning with F. I crowd in alongside him, and it only takes us a few moments before realization dawns and I’m fighting back the urge to be sick.
Oscar’s file is missing.
For the next week and a half, we set about exploring every inch of the school that we can. My suspicions are proven in that finding the tunnels is not a simple task, and we have no one we can really ask. William contemplates needling his contact amongst the maids, or even pestering some of the gardeners, but I tell him to hold off for now. The moment staff gets involved in this will be the moment they shut us down and we find ourselves in the headmaster’s office answering for our nosiness.
The number of hours we spend wandering the grounds, the hours in the library trying to piece together information that just isn’t there… We’ve come up on a week of searching and are no closer than when we started. All I have are dismal gut feelings, and those gut feelings are pointing me in the direction that something dark has been happening at this school, and that Oscar was somehow dragged into it.
But, oh, I am infinitely grateful for William’s presence. I know he doesn’t want to do it, and the idea of what we might encounter should we manage to find the tunnels terrifies him—hell, it’s frightening for me, too—and yet he never hesitates. Although he complains now and again, he always does so while at my side, willing to go wherever I wish or do whatever I think needs to be done to get us a little closer. He is steadfast in his loyalty.
It’s why I decide a day off is in order. We can hardly spend our Christmas day surrounded by books and theories we’ve no proof of, after all, and I owe William a thank you. We both slept right through breakfast this morning, likely due to having stayed up late the previous night. I arrive at William’s door around lunch time with a basket in hand, a blanket slung across my bent arm. The snow has let up; it will be cold and wet and slushy, but I think I know of a place to take him where it won’t matter so much.
William answers the door adorably ruffled and sleepy-eyed despite the late hour. He’s never quite at the top of his game when he first wakes, still sluggish with the effects of his medicine. “You’re here early.”
“It’s nearly noon.” I spread my arms wide, showing off that I am both bundled up and have the picnic basket and blanket in hand. “I thought we’d earned a day off and could start by enjoying a quiet lunch together.”
He blinks, rubbing at his face as his gaze drops to the basket. “You’re taking me on a Christmas picnic?”
“If you’d be so kind as to join me, yes.”
A small smile pulls at his mouth as he takes a step back, so that I’ll step inside to follow him.
“Will there be kissing involved on this outing?”
I ease the door shut behind me. “I’ve no mistletoe, but if all goes according to my evil plan.”
“Your evil plans are quite enticing.”
“And thus you fall right into my trap.”
I wait patiently as William resumes getting ready. I caught him in the middle of washing, and I admit, I am unabashedly studying him as he hunches over his washbowl, scrubbing himself down, envious of the droplets of water that slide do
wn the lean lines of his body. I have half a mind to slip up behind him and suck some of the moisture from that beautiful neck of his, but I’m afraid it might put us in a position I know I cannot deal with just yet. It’s tempting all the same.
He votes against wearing his uniform today, which is the first time I’ve seen him in anything quite so casual. But he dons his heaviest coat, buttoned up high, and scarcely bothers with his hair beyond giving it a quick brush back. Rumpled William is quite possibly my new favourite thing.
The extra layers of clothing are welcome as we head into the woods. I’ve taken this walk a few times before, and the path is worn and leads the way. The cold aside, it’s a lovely morning. William falls into step beside me, our strides matched. “What brought this idea on, anyway?”
“You’ve been so kind, I thought I should return the favour.”
He chuckles. “‘Kind’ is not a word I think I’ve heard used about me…ever.”
“That’s because no one else knows you very well,” I say, and he smiles at that response.
Just a quarter mile into the woods is a pond, largely frozen over, and a patch of frosty grass that has been modestly protected from the snow by the overhead canopy of trees. I hand the basket to William so that I may spread the blanket out. The wool ought to prevent the snow from soaking through, at least for a while. Once I’ve taken a seat, I turn to flash William a grin. “Come over here,” I say, and when he joins me, I lean into him, shoulder to shoulder. “What should we do today, do you think?”
William closes his eyes for a moment, tipping his head to ghost his lips against my cheek. “I can think of a number of things.”
The feel of his breath against my ear makes me shiver. “Like…swimming?”
“We’d freeze to death attempting it,” he muses, pressing a soft kiss against my skin.
I breathe in slowly. “Then we’d be the ghosts, I suppose.”
He nips at my jaw for that remark. “Not funny.”
It evokes a laugh from me, and I sling an arm around William to draw him to me. “I’d haunt you every day of the week, darling.”
“I would much prefer you to be alive and pestering me in this world rather than the next.”
“You’re no fun.” I turn my head just enough to kiss him properly. Even when I draw back, William has a slightly dazed, warm look upon his face. His entire body has seemed to melt against me.
“I am plenty of fun, I’ll have you know.”
“Are you?” We’re so close that every word I speak has our lips brushing together. “I’m not certain.”
“I am,” he insists, cupping his palms to my face as he shifts closer. He catches my bottom lip briefly between his teeth, and it sends a jolt down my spine.
“How do you figure that…?”
“Who else would follow you out into the cold just for the chance to kiss you?” One of his hands has dropped from my face and come to rest upon my waist. “I would say that’s fun.”
“Almost as fun as the way you squeal like a child and cling to me when you’re frightened.”
“I do not squeal like a child,” William says in the most indignant-sounding voice imaginable. His annoyance is overshadowed by the fact that he’s slipping into my lap, an action that catches me off-guard, but not in an unpleasant way. Having him atop me like that, straddling me, thighs against my sides, it makes me think all sorts of inappropriate things I should not be thinking.
I swallow hard. “Yes, you do.”
He sniffs, expression close to a pout. “I do not. And if you wish to continue being kissed, you’ll not be cruel.”
I pinch lightly at his side. “I’m not being cruel. I’m teasing. I do so enjoy you flustered and indignant.”
“Cruel,” he mumbles, covering my mouth with his before I can taunt him further.
His fingers are in my hair, and the subtle movements of him in my lap are enough to make my mind blank. William is impossibly warm and comfortable in every imaginable way and, oh, Lord, I would very much enjoy getting to continue this. To slide my hands up beneath the layers of clothing to touch him, to see just what he looks like to have my mouth all over him.
But it’s ruined by that dull, rising sense of anxiety in the pit of my stomach, fuelled by bad memories nipping at my heels and making it difficult to concentrate. I know fully well what I want and how I want it and who I want it with, but maybe…maybe it isn’t time yet.
Breaking away from kissing him is the most difficult thing I’ve had to do in a while. He was being so good, even, not allowing his hands to wander, and I feel guilty for the chastised and worried look that immediately crosses his face when I say, “Let’s eat, hm?”
A lovely flush has risen to his face, and that coupled with the way he licks his lips and his breathing is coming just a little quick, not unlike my own, makes me desperately want to just…continue kissing him. I’m almost waiting for him to be angry with me. Instead he says, very softly, “All right,” and slides out of my lap to sit beside me once more.
The last thing I want is for William to think this is about him. I catch his chin in my fingers and draw his face closer so that I can kiss his forehead. “I promise, you’ve done nothing wrong. Trust me?”
He breathes in deep and lowers his lashes. Admittedly, that’s a rather cruel thing to ask him because of course he won’t say no. He nods once and swiftly embraces a change of topic.
“What did you bring us to eat?”
“All of the goodies I could steal from the kitchen.” Although the cooks were more than willing to give me some of the treats they had available, being that it’s Christmas and all.
William smiles a little. “Sneaky of you, darling.”
Opening the basket, I begin removing the various things I procured to spread them out on the blanket with care. Some sandwiches, sweets, pastries. “I’m a very sneaky individual.”
William goes straight for one of the pastries, a flaky, glazed sweet with some sort of filling in the middle. I know from meal times spent together that he has a bit of a sweet tooth, especially for baked goods. “You know, I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you.”
I snag one of the sandwiches for myself and lay back on the blanket as I take a bite. “Hm?”
He looks down at me only briefly. “What do you plan to do after leaving Whisperwood?”
There’s a loaded question. One I’ve thought about plenty but have yet to come up with an answer for. “Why do you ask?”
He tears off a piece of his pastry and tucks it into his mouth. “It was just a question.”
“I haven’t a clue, if I’m honest.”
“You don’t like to discuss your family,” he points out. “It dawns on me that I don’t even know if you are an only child. If you have a business or an estate to inherit. If your parents expect you to enlist or continue on to university…”
Dear William knows how to weigh an atmosphere down, doesn’t he? I cannot entirely blame him. He’s hinted at wanting to know more about me more than once, and I’ve been less than forthcoming with information. “I don’t know that I’ll have anything to inherit, William,” is my honest answer. I’ve not received a single letter from my parents, despite that I’ve forced myself to pen several to them. I haven’t the foggiest idea what awaits me even during the summer holiday, let alone when I graduate from here altogether. “I don’t know where I stand with my family, and so I don’t know what I’ll do when I leave here.”
William has turned to watch me as I speak, so enrapt in what I’m saying and eager for any shred of information I’m willing to offer. He opens his mouth and I think he might beg me for more, ask me to clarify things that I’m not sure I can yet, but he hesitates. “You could come with me, you know.”
I have another bite of sandwich in my mouth and nearly choke on it in my attempt to say, “Pardon?”
“I don’t pretend to know what my family has in store for me after this. My elder brother will inherit the estate and the family bu
siness, my sister will be married. But knowing my parents, I’ll likely be given a stipend and sent off, so long as I’m out of their way.” His gaze drops to the pastry in his hands. “So, if you wanted to join me, wherever I go, it would please me to have you along.”
It’s a ridiculous thought, when it comes down to it. I would be abandoning my own family to…what, to go live with another man and hide our relationship forever? On the off chance either of us can find the means of which to make a decent living?
Yet, the offer has my mouth splitting into a wide grin and I’m immediately overcome with excitement, and perhaps that says something. Because the truth of the matter is that I have no interest in returning home after this is over. Because if that man is there, I don’t believe I could convince myself to do it, anyway.
And because I could envision myself with William, the two of us living quite happily, no matter how much of a secret we must make of our relationship.
Without thinking, I sit up and drag him to me, leaning in so that I can rain kisses across his startled but hopeful face. “Nothing would make me happier, you ridiculous man.”
He leans into the affection gladly. “Really?”
“Really.” I duck my head to kiss him solidly on the mouth, a gesture which makes him whimper softly.
“I cannot promise how well it will go. I just know that I want to wake up beside you every morning. Whatever I must do to make that happen.”
When thinking back to the first time we spoke, how guarded he was, how cautiously he’d studied me, how he’d recoiled anytime I drew too near… This is incredible. I find myself very fortunate that William has chosen me, of all people, to show his true self to. “How very romantic of you.”
“I am quite romantic, even if I don’t have the flair for poetry that you do.”
I want to crawl all over him and smother him in kisses. “That can be forgiven in lieu of your other romantic qualities, I think.”
“In a rather unromantic fashion, I would like to point out you made me drop my food.” He gives a forlorn look at the pastry, which has indeed landed on the blanket, glazed side down, and the pout upon his face makes me laugh without meaning to. I can definitely see myself spending an exorbitant amount of my life with this man.
