Andrew had hardly gasped out the words when Cropper slid into action, and all
William could do was sit and watch in open-mouthed respect.
“Lyall, find Brutus. Then bring me that traitorous wretch. I want him here within the hour. And where is Price? He was told to return by three.”
“By the stream, past Three Acre wood,” William volunteered. “With Brutus.”
There must have been a touch of resentment in his voice, enough to make Lyall turn towards him with an eyebrow raised in question. William immediately found his hands fascinating, thus neatly avoiding any uncomfortable questions.
“Excellent,” Cropper continued, tapping an irritable tattoo on the desk. “Send him home. There are tasks for him-”
Brutus chose that moment to barge in through the door, dressed only in trousers and shirt, and half carrying, half dragging a coat-draped Elijah. The sight was such that no one moved. They all remained rooted to the spot, until Brutus gasped, “He was fine. We were talking and then he just… he just collapsed.”
Lyall came around first, rushing to take Elijah from his brother’s arms and helping him carry the unconscious boy over to the fire. As they fussed, William stared at his friend, a knot of nausea unwinding in his stomach. Blue tinged lips, such pale skin. Was he dead?
“I thought he was recovered,” Brutus was saying and William could see that his hands were shaking as they carded through Elijah’s hair. “He was breathing well and talking and-”
“What happened,” Cropper snapped finally rousing himself and pushing through the others to kneel next to Elijah. He pressed the back of his hand to that pale forehead and cursed, “He’s freezing. What on earth were you doing?”
“Swimming and he got pulled under. I rescued him, got him breathing again, and he seemed fine, we were talking and-”
Cropper swung ‘round and barked at William, “Don’t just sit there! Get blankets! And something hot to fill him.”
William bolted for the bedroom and hauled the eiderdown from the bed. As he wrestled it over to the door, Andrew appeared and between them they carried it back out to the study. In the few seconds they’d been gone, Lyall and Brolly had both stripped off their own clothing and now lay on either side of Elijah, their arms and legs wrapped around him. Cropper grabbed the bedding and threw it over the three of them, giving William a chance to gawk at Brutus who was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, and looking for all the world as though he were crying.
“Hot food! Broth, soup, something, now!”
At Cropper’s command, and without looking back, the two younger boys took off for the kitchens.
*
A good couple of hours later and William was staring at the bedroom ceiling listening to Elijah breath quietly next to him. A warm hand tucked snugly into his own and periodically William gave it a rough squeeze, just to reassure himself that it hadn’t wandered.
“Does he still sleep?” Brutus spoke from the doorway and William propped himself on his elbow to squint over at him.
“Yes,” he said, sparing a glance for the pillow beside him and smiling at the healthy flush of Elijah’s skin. “And has done since you brought him to bed.”
Brutus followed his gaze, creeping closer, and William was again struck by the expression on his face. There was an almost tenderness in the way the hulking fellow gazed down at the boy, sleeping peacefully and hidden by piles of the best blanket.
“I’m glad,” Brutus said, his hand reaching out as though to stroke Elijah’s hair, only to be pulled back as he cleared his throat in a businesslike manner. “Cropper needs you. There are things to be organised. Come.”
Waiting until Brutus had left the room, William scooted out of the bed and cast a final backward look at Elijah as he drew on his robe. He couldn’t be bothered to dress completely this late in the evening but the silk garment would help preserve a little decorum if they had unforeseen visitors.
Somewhat drowsily, William stumbled into the study and, when Cropper held out an arm, he went willingly to curl up on the couch next to him, resting his head on the reassuring expanse of the bigger boy’s chest. The conversation continued around him as he gathered his wits – the upcoming cricket season, Lyall’s determination to prove the mathematics master wrong on some obscure calculation and gossip gleaned from court announcements in The Times.
He didn’t notice Brolly’s absence until the door opened and the boy in question slipped back in. There was a second of silence, which William may have found suspicious had he been more awake, and then Cropper cleared his throat, calling the meeting to order.
“I have some unfortunate news to impart,” Cropper began, his words rumbling in his chest under William’s ear. “A few days ago I discovered my pocket watch missing, a rather attractive piece given to me by my mentor for my seventeenth birthday. Having spoken to Andrew at some length,” he gestured to the boy sleeping in the chair, “I have been given to understand that Jones has recently come into possession of such.”
Aghast, William stared up at Cropper. “How could he do that?” he gulped out. “To lower himself in such a way!”
Cropper’s hand on his hair calmed William a little, though the indulgent smile went further to slow the shocked hammer of his heart.
“Ah, boy, we never do know what treacherous scorpions we harbour in our breasts, do we. It is well that we discovered him now, for who knows what other dastardly schemes he may have concocted given time.”
William nodded in complete agreement. First the plot and now this? Were there no bounds to Jones’ depravity? Truly the boy was bully of the worst sort but William had never thought him a thief.
“Needless to say, this trespass will be brought to the attention of the schoolboard,” Cropper continued. “However, I think it fitting that we investigate the crime ourselves and render appropriate punishment if it should be discovered to be true.
“William? Tomorrow, before breaking your fast, you will go to Craven and tell him of our suspicions. Together you will search Jones’ belongings and, if you find the trinket, you will return here to inform me. Do you understand?”
William did, and the following morning he went in hunt of Geoffrey Craven, efficiently squashing down any lingering feelings of resentment towards the other boy. What had happened was not his fault and it had all worked out for the best in the long run, anyway.
It came as no surprise when Samson answered Craven’s door and gave William a quick once over before stepping back to let him in. The servant’s face remained polite when his master’s whereabouts were enquired after, and he said simply, “The master is still abed. If you wait hereabouts, I’ll go wake him.”
Watching Samson’s receding back, William had to work hard to convince himself that this impassive statue was the same man who had been so helpful on his last visit. The cordial familiarity was gone, replaced with the sort of cool distance reserved by servants when conversing with masters or senior boys. It was an odd thought to be placed in such illustrious company.
“Bartlett?” Craven said, wandering groggily into the room, clad only in his underdrawers and rubbing his hands through his hair, which stuck up in all directions like a windblown haystack.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” William replied, remembering
at the last moment that he was now addressing the new head boy. “Cropper
instructed me to come. There has been a problem with one of the fourth form.”