“I mean, at least you aren’t ugly as the last one. Pock-marked face, lazy eye… Still, I suggest running while you can. I’m told I am an undesirable, stubborn, difficult woman. Not likely worth the dowry.”

  “Are you saying that because you want me to go away, or because your parents have beaten it into you?”

  Margaret’s jaw clenches.

  My heart hurts for her, although I think she’d be displeased to have my pity. Still, it’s clear the Tumblesons aren’t as wholesome as I’d initially thought, if their daughter feels this way. I wish I had some magic words to say to bring her comfort. “I don’t think any of that is true.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Prichard,” Margaret says as she turns away, “you don’t know anything about me.”

  She leaves me there by the mantel and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all, wondering how my life changed from being surrounded by friends to standing in a room where the majority of the people present cannot stand the sight of me.

  My final year at Whisperwood began in the most bittersweet of ways. After the events of the previous year, we’d all gone to our respective homes—with the exception of Spencer, who’d accompanied Esher to his family home and then paid a two-week visit to Preston—and we attempted to cleanse ourselves of the darkness that had hold on our hearts.

  While at home, it was easy to just pretend Oscar Frances, too, was away on holiday, that we would see him in a few weeks. But arriving back at school again was a grim reminder of what we’d gone through.

  And of who we’d lost.

  Frances would never have the chance to walk these halls with us. He’d not be a smiling face to greet me in the mornings, or a fierce protector at my back. He would never graduate. He’d never again see his little sister, whom he’d adored so much.

  I felt this loss like a dull ache the entire trip to Whisperwood. Even more so upon entering the fourth-year hall. I’d seen Preston over the summer, albeit briefly as Mother had taken me along on a holiday to Paris—where I was largely left to my own devices because she was there to see Father on his business trip—but it had been several weeks since we’d even had the opportunity to write to one another. The chance that we would be rooming together again was slim, and yet I’d held out hope regardless.

  There was no sign of Preston or Spencer in the bustling dorm, however. I lingered on the ground floor, spotting several familiar faces, but none of the ones I’d hoped to see.

  “Prichard?”

  I turned, brightening. “Esher, good to see you!”

  William Esher and I were hardly close, but even so, he was someone precious to Spencer in ways I could only imagine, and thus I’d been more than happy to bring him into our fold. He looked as put together as he always did, already donning his school clothes and sans luggage, leaving me to assume his things had already been brought to his room. He tipped his head, unsmiling, but even in our short time together in third year, I’d come to recognise that Esher was simply not the sort to smile much at anything (or anyone) who wasn’t James Spencer.

  “Were you waiting on Alexander?” he asked.

  “Or Spencer,” I agreed. “Or—well, you, too. Are you rooming with anyone this year?”

  “I’m in a single again, thankfully.” He dipped his chin and took the class schedule and room assignment that I offered out to him, and then he headed for the stairs and beckoned me to follow. “James was still at Alexander’s. They ought to be arriving together.”

  “He never did go home, did he?”

  “They’d have had to drag him kicking and screaming to get him back there.” A slight smile ticked at the corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it appeared.

  “Did you two enjoy summer together, then?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t prodding too much.

  Esher glanced at me, something akin to wariness in his eyes, and nudged his spectacles up a bit. “It was enjoyable to have his company.”

  A curt answer, but I’d expected no less.

  The relationship between Spencer and Esher was a fascinating one to me; as someone whose leanings mirrored their own, the moment I realised the two of them were, in fact, more than friends, I’d grown very interested. Perhaps it was a part of me that longed to speak to someone openly about it. Now an outlet had presented itself, but I’d still been too timid to broach the subject. Esher was such a guarded person about his personal life anyway that I suspected I would have better luck speaking about it with Spencer.

  We navigated the busy stairwell and the first-floor hall, watching the room numbers go by and coming to a stop outside my designated door. Esher pushed it open without giving much thought to the fact that my roommate might very well already be there.

  And he was, indeed. Esher and I stepped inside, and I found myself face to face with Martin Beckett.

  Since our run-in on the fields in second year Beckett had, for the most part, left me well enough alone. His harassment was limited to the occasional sneer and muttered insult, or a rough, “unintentional” shove in the halls. He may not have outright assaulted me again, but I’d still felt his presence, and I’d known the only thing keeping me safe had been Preston and Frances.

  Becket straightened up from where he was busy unpacking his trunk and raked his gaze over me with an unimpressed sneer. “Hello, Prichard. Funny seeing you here.”

  “Hilarious, I’m sure,” Esher said dryly. He glanced from Beckett to me and back again, and I wondered if he could feel the tension in the room.

  “Beckett,” I greeted, managing a feeble smile. I wanted to think this was fate, that rooming together might help Beckett to see me in a new light. Maybe we could never be friends but finding some sort of common ground to maintain civility would have been nice. “How was your summer?”

  He turned fully to face us, but the smile on his face was not kind. “Oh, just fine, thank you very much. How’s your mum? Business going well?”

  So much for civility. If I’d ever had doubts about Davies spreading my personal information around before, I certainly didn’t after hearing that. The only other people who knew about my mother’s past were Preston, Spencer, and Frances, and I would never for a moment believe they’d open their mouths about it.

  Before I could think of a response, Esher stepped in front of me. He and Beckett stood about the same height, though Esher’s thin, spindly frame was hardly a match. However, it could be said that Esher—while not a terribly imposing figure—had an extraordinary talent for looking down at people and making them feel incredibly small. A talent which he employed just then, inclining his chin and peering down his nose at Beckett in distaste.

  “I’d hate to think we’re going to have a bad time on our first day back. If you feel the need to bluster about to overcompensate for where you’re lacking in other departments…” Esher’s gaze dropped briefly, “…you’ll have better luck elsewhere. Unless this is one of those instances they speak of—where a little boy tugs on a girl’s pigtails in some desperate, misguided plea for attention?”

  Beckett’s face went several shades of red, from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. “Just what are you implying?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you not hear so well?”

  “I fuckin’ heard you. I’m not some poof!”

  “No? You sure?” Esher looked him over once more, thoughtful. “No real loss there, really. In that case, perhaps keep your mouth shut if you can’t say something nice.”

  Beckett lurched forward, planting his hands against Esher’s chest and shoving him back. But he did so as a means of clearing his path so that he could stalk out of the room. Esher straightened up and adjusted his spectacles.

  I wanted to hug him just then. For half a moment, I’d thought back to Davies, turning his head the other way when he saw me in trouble. At the time, I’d not truly blamed him because had he stood up for me he’d have surely put himself in their warpath. He’d have made himself a target.

  And yet Esher stepped in and did just that, without so much as batting an eye.

  He turned back to me, expression as calm as could be, as though nothing had happened. “I do hope you’ll let us know if he continues being an arse.”

  I wrung my hands together, unable to bite back a smile wanting to break free. “I can handle the likes of him, but…thank you.”

  Esher tipped his head. “Perhaps you can, but that doesn’t mean you must. All right on your own for a bit? I need to unpack.”

  I assured him I would be fine left alone, knowing Preston would seek me out when he arrived. Esher took his leave, and I set about unpacking my own luggage, which had been delivered upon my initial arrival.

  By the time Beckett returned two hours later, Spencer and Preston had joined me, both sprawled on my bed like big, lazy cats as they chatted about their summer adventures from the last two weeks. Beckett came in, took one look at the lot of us, scowled, and slunk off once more.

  Preston and Spencer watched him go, and Spencer twisted to look at me, upside down from his position. “What’s his problem?”

  I just smiled. “Suppose he’s had a bad first day.”

  For the most part, Beckett and I managed to avoid one another. It was clear after the first evening that he was making it a point to lay claim to the room, not wanting to be pushed out of his space. I went about my business without minding it much; Spencer, Preston and I stuck to the common areas or, when the three of us wanted more privacy, we’d invade Esher’s room instead.

  At least, until he went off his laudanum. After that, Spencer found himself largely preoccupied. Preston and I tried to help—it was Preston who found Esher in tears in the hall one evening, paralysed and unable to even articulate what was wrong—but there was little to be done.

  “Just needs to get that stuff out of his system,” Spencer said at dinner one night, running a hand over his face. He looked exhausted himself, although he still managed a smile when he thought people were looking.

  It meant Preston and I were left to our own devices quite often—not that I minded in the least. When the weather was pleasant enough, we walked the grounds, visited the horses in the stables, or sat at the fountain in front of the school and did our school work before the sun could set.

  It was there that Preston once asked me, as I sat on the ground with my back against the fountain, “What do you suppose you’ll do after graduation?”

  Ah. There was a subject I’d given plenty of hours of thought to, and still couldn’t answer. I shrugged, lifting my eyes from the book in my lap. “I don’t know. Mother would love for me to go to university, but I haven’t a clue what I’d go for.”

  “What about being a doctor? You’d be good at that. People like you.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, twisting around to look at him. “I need far more than a pleasant bedside manner to be a good doctor. I’ll leave that profession to Appleton. What about you? What are you going to do?”

  Preston, laying on the fountain’s ledge, stretched out and rested his book upon his chest while he turned his gaze skyward. “I could stay at home and work the farm. It would be mine someday, if I wanted it.”

  “You and I both know that you don’t.”

  He chuckled. “You also know that I want to travel.”

  “Where would you go?”

  “Anywhere. I don’t know, really. India, Germany, America? No shortage of options.”

  I turned my gaze forward again, not wanting to look at him. I knew my eyes and face were too honest sometimes; they betrayed me when I tried to mask what I was feeling.

  And what I was feeling in that moment was dread. I’d known for some time that Preston might leave after finishing his time at Whisperwood. He’d wanted to travel for as long as I’d known him. He was a restless sort, stars in his eyes, desperate to explore the world. It had seemed like such a far-off problem that I’d turned a blind eye to it like it was just another ghost in the room.

  Now, graduation was practically at our doorstep. Soon we would have little choice but to open the door and face it.

  “No regrets about leaving, then?” I asked.

  For a long moment, Preston was silent. Then I felt his hand against my arm, fingertips brushing across the fabric of my coat. “I suppose that would depend on whether I had a reason to stay.”

  I shivered despite myself. There was very little I’d ever asked Preston for, and yet I knew he’d not deny me if I only had the courage to tell him that he should stay. That he should stay with me.

  But what kind of person would I be if I made such a request? He might stay, yes, but at what cost to his own hopes and dreams? I couldn’t imagine travelling abroad—certainly, I couldn’t imagine leaving Mother—and he couldn’t imagine staying in one place for the rest of his life.

  We were at a stalemate, neither of us willing to ask the other to sacrifice.

  So my answer, as it so often did, came out vague and noncommittal. “I want you to do what makes you happiest, Preston.”

  His hand fell away from my arm, and he exhaled heavily enough that it was almost a sigh. “I know, Benji. I know.”

  The letter arrives late one evening with one of the last deliveries of the day, a few weeks after my dinner with the Tumblesons. My heart soars at the familiar scrawl of Preston’s writing upon the envelope. I’ve written him three letters since seeing him last and had begun to worry I wouldn’t hear from him before moving into whatever new housing Father finds for me. As it is, I’ve been making the commute every day, and have been putting thought into begging him to let me continue doing so. I could pay rent, I’ll say. I want the house desperately enough for that.

  For as swiftly as my hopes inflate upon receiving that letter, they’re just as quickly dashed.

  Dear Benjamin,

  I hope this letter finds you well and that you are settling into your new role in life without complaint.

  I am writing to let you know that I, too, have finally found some direction in my life. You remember how I always said that I’d enjoy travelling abroad? Well, a chance has finally presented itself. Aunt Eleanor has a client who needs some peculiar (haunted?) object transported to America and, much to Esher’s delight and Spencer’s dismay, I have offered my services in their place.

  My parents and sisters will be in fits that I have agreed to this, but I must admit to a certain excitement on my part. After all, it is not as though I have any prospects here. Could anyone really imagine me settling into an average farm life or, even worse, the travesty of an industrial city? Without a dream to chase here or anyone to hold my heart, I see no reason not to pursue this chance.

  Pray for me, my friend. Pray that both my travels overseas and whatever awaits me there are full of excitement and happiness, as I pray you find your happiness with your new job and soon-to-be bride.

  Pray also that I survive this week prior to leaving, surrounded by women complaining and crying at me. Ha, ha.

  All of my love,

  Preston

  America.

  Preston is going to America.

  That’s a good thing, I tell myself once the initial shock has worn off. I’ve known it was coming. The only reason Preston would have stayed in England was to look after me. But even as I’m reminding myself I need to be happy for him, I cannot help but dwell on the worst.

  Any number of things could go wrong. He’s taking on a job—one of Spencer and Esher’s jobs—meaning it will be dangerous. More dangerous than the trip itself. He could fall ill, he could encounter problems travelling all by himself in a new world, not to mention what might happen in his dealings with ghosts.

  Or perhaps he’ll enjoy it so much, he’ll choose to stay in America and not return to England.

  I’m also distinctly aware of how stilted his written words sound in my head. Preston’s letters have always been so casual, simple, almost nonsensical at times as he writes the first thing that comes to mind. This letter reads as though he put an immense amount of thought and care into his word choices, and it comes across as…distant.

  Without anyone to hold my heart…

  I read and re-read the letter, sinking further into the realisation of what it means for him. For me. For us.

  Except there is no us anymore, is there? I ended any chance of that.

  Now, I run the risk of never seeing Preston again. This is my doing.

  Having to put him at arm’s length was one thing. To have to see him, to speak with him, to see his face without ever being able to feel his arms around me, the gentle scratch of his jaw against my cheek, whispered conversations shared before a fire while the rest of the school slept... I could have stomached all of that if only because I cared for him so much that having him in my life in any shape would have been better than nothing.

  How do I continue on as I have been these last few weeks with no end in sight? I’ve been doing well at my job. Mr. Tumbleson has been impressed. I’ve already worked through the backlog of shipments, created a system of organisation. My employer is pleased, Father has had no complaints, which means I am well on my way to job security and a wife.

  But now, that life does not include Preston? Is this truly what Mother wanted for me?

  Because I have the weekend off and I’ve not been able to sleep, Sunday morning I skip church to visit Mother’s grave with the intention of asking her. Not that I’ll actually receive an answer, but I’ve not been to see her since her funeral. I suppose I worried I wouldn’t feel her there. She’s more present at home, where I still have the bare bones of our belongings around to remind myself of her. Sadly, Preston has the most important things, and I mean to keep it that way until I’m more confident Father won’t take them away from me.

  The cemetery is quiet, a place of serenity and contrast from some of the overcrowded cemeteries in the middle of London. I’ll grudgingly admit, Father chose a good location for her interment.

 

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