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