Hopping from foot to foot, Elijah drew as close to the stove as he dare and
rubbed his arms to try and warm up. His belly hurt from the cleansing, though
it wasn’t a thorough as some his father had administered, and for that
he was pathetically grateful. Brutus had seemed confused by his stoicism, but
Elijah hadn’t seen fit to enlighten him. Instead he had shrugged the questions
away and concentrated on getting through the ordeal with as little fuss as possible.
The make-up was, in some ways, more disconcerting, reminding Elijah, as it did,
of the whores his father brought home to ‘save’. But all of that
was now over and it was at least an hour since the brothers had gone, leaving
Elijah on his own in this cold uninviting room with only a light robe for warmth.
Squatting down, he massaged his aching ankles to shift the chill seeping into his bones and wished Brutus would return. The big Irishman still terrified Elijah on some level he didn’t understand and to trust him was beyond Elijah for the moment, but any company was better than none.
“I have something for you,” Brutus said, re-entering the room as though answering Elijah’s silent plea, and held out a plate containing a very sugary looking cake. “Eat it all,” he ordered, “It will help you relax.”
Elijah took the plate and, still shifting his weight on his uncomfortably cold feet, bit into the confection. The sweetness of the honey was overwhelming and yet it could not entirely conceal a slightly bitter aftertaste. Under Brutus’ watchful eye, he devoured the whole thing, chewing methodically, and then handed the empty plate back.
“Good lad,” Brutus said. “Now let’s be taking you up to Cropper while you can still feel your feet.”
Elijah trailed up the steep steps after the bigger boy, relying on Brutus’ guidance for where to go in the warren of rooms. Once, Elijah had questioned Bonny about Cropper’s seemingly untouchable status in the school and how he came to merit such accommodations and Bonny had muttered something about sizeable donations to the school and bankruptcy which, he seemed to think, explained everything.
By the time he reached the bedroom door, Elijah’s heart was pounding so hard he found it difficult to draw breath. Panting heavily he put a hand out to steady himself and frowned at the tremble in his fingers. Was it something in the cake that had given him this palsy? Had it been poisoned? Was he about to die?
Panic gripped him and it was all Elijah could do not to turn and run.
*
“Do you think he will be quite all right?” William asked, kicking his feet as he walked and sending up sprays of small stones and leaf mould.
Brolly shrugged and launched a stick into a large elm, missing a jay’s nest by inches. “You were. And it’s hardly a trial, though I could live with never suffering another cleansing. Brutus is good with his hands but even that is not enough to compensate for the discomfort. I swear there were times when I didn’t shit properly for a month.”
William nodded glumly; he didn’t miss them either, but their lack simply reminded him who was undergoing the indignity in his place. He leaned against the base of the tree and hugged himself, torn apart by the desire to be mature and creeping concern for his friend. “I wish Cropper had let me stay,” he said eventually
“To do what? Hold his hand while he gets buggered?” Brolly abandoned his barrage and crossed his arms looking William critically up and down. “I can’t imagine he’d thank you for that.”
“I know, it’s just…”
He hadn’t even realised he was scowling until Brolly grabbed his hair and said, “If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that.”
William wrenched his head away and slid further round the bole, the last thing he wanted was Brolly’s teasing to add to already foul mood. Brolly appeared to take the hint and vanished into the trees, presumably on a quest for more mischief.
That suited William just fine; he wanted some time alone, anyway, because the more he thought the situation and what he had nearly told Brolly, the more uncomfortable he felt. There had been no means to complete that sentence without getting himself, and possibly Elijah, into serious trouble, because a major part of his discomfort was jealously. Since kissing Elijah in the prep room that day, William had craved him, all of him. But Brutus had been the first to take his mouth and now Cropper would be the first to possess his body and by the time they had all finished there would be no firsts left for William. The thought left him resentful, self-pitying and more than a little mortified. If desiring another boy allowed him to lose sight of the bigger picture then Cropper was right, he was only a puppy.
William was still deeply immersed in guilty shame several minutes later when a large gob of mud hit him on the arm, followed a moment or two afterwards by another in the shoulder.
“Leave me be, damn it!” he yelled in the direction of Brolly’s giggling and received a rather large splat to the side of the head for his trouble.
That did it. Flicking his hair to clear the mud, William took off in hot pursuit of the howling Brolly, bellowing every despicable name he could think of as he ran. The other boy stayed easily ahead, whooping and whistling as he led William a merry dance through the woods, periodically lobbing more mud.
Lyall appeared from nowhere, and William, who had no chance to stop running, smacked into him, tumbling them both to the sodden ground.
“Ho there,” Lyall gasped, clutching at the boy attempting to scramble free of him. “What’s going on?”
“That cad, Brolly,” William answered. “Cropper will be furious, I only bathed this morning and now look at me.”
Lyall did and tried his best not to laugh. With his hair plastered to his head, smears of earth all over his face and a pout, William looked like an adorable mudlark. “I think another may be the order of the day,” he grinned and rolled to his feet, tugging William up after him. “And it just so happens I was heading for the pools myself, so we can bathe together.”
“I’m coming too,” Brolly announced stepping out of the undergrowth, his hands covered in mud.
Before Lyall could stop him, William flew past and launched himself at the other boy, bringing him down in a large puddle and rolling them over and over until both were filthy.
“Get him off me!” Brolly hollered and flailed wildly at the growling limpet attached to his chest.
Far from dismayed, William managed to manoeuvre them so he was on top and began pounding his fists into the older boy, yelling, “You sod! Look at my clothes! They’re ruined!”
All Lyall could do was lean against a tree, watching the pair wrestle and laugh until the tears ran down his face.
*
They were staring at him with the devil’s eyes; reaming out his soul, stripping open his innermost thoughts and mocking the fear they found there. The fear and… the filth, the stinking mass that Elijah knew grew inside him like the foulest of cankers, making his body crave things it should not, things his father tried to beat out of him. The desire for hard muscular bodies rather than soft womanly curves, the need to be taken and possessed, to feel strong arms around him keeping him safe, for rough lips to kiss his neck, to bend him, to break him, until he could take no more. It was evil. He was evil. Only the most depraved could do the things Elijah had done. Only the most corrupt of creatures could bring a minister to his knees and drag him into the darkness with a single look. Only the most debased of children would encourage the touches and kisses that polluted the soul of a holy man.
His father was right. It was Elijah’s fault. Everything was Elijah’s fault.
“He looks sick. Did you give him too much?”
The voice came from far distant, almost drowned by the rapid thud, thud, thud in his ears and Elijah pressed his fingers against his teeth to hold them in place.
“Just the same as the others. Could be he’s more sensitive.”
Something approached, huge and dark like the shadows in his mind, reaching out to devour him, to rend and tear his flesh and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think and this was it. They were going to kill him.
He flinched when the hands touched him, unable to stop the shudders that wracked his body as they pushed and pulled at him, moving him around.
“Oh, for goodness sake, I blame you for this, Brutus. No, don’t offer any excuses, I have no desire to hear them.”
“Well, he’s relaxed enough, though high on the ropes from it. Do you wish to try tomorrow instead?”
“No. If the boy is still conscious we’ll proceed, but you must stay. I do not wish to lose an eye if he decides to fight after all.”
They closed in from all sides and Elijah whimpered as the soft bed beneath him turned to the unforgiving stone of the vestry floor, silk took on the harsh texture of a minister’s robes and the smell of beeswax candles became the cloying sweetness of incense.
A voice. A lilting brogue. “I’ll not be hurtin’ ya, lad. ‘Tis naught to fret yerself over.”
He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to be there again. He didn’t want to feel clammy hands pet and stroke him.
“That’s a good lad y’are. Now keep still.”
He didn’t want to be held down and held open. He didn’t want to feel that thing pushing into him, steel in his guts and making him retch. He didn’t want the hot gush of fluid as his body betrayed him.
All he wanted was William.