One morning at breakfast he spilled his tea and cringed with embarrassment.
"Oh, this is nothing," Eleisha said, toweling up hot liquid. "Last week I tripped over a bucket of mop water in the upstairs hall. That was a true mess."
"Would you read me the paper?"
The question surprised her. But why should it? People's eyes often gave them trouble at Lord William's age.
"All right, but I'll have to spell out the long words, and you can tell me what they mean."
Lady Katherine might have fallen into a fit if she had walked in right then to see Eleisha sitting at the dining table reading her master his morning paper. Five minutes after she read one column, he asked her to read it again.
Marion peeked in once to see if the silver breakfast trays had been cleared away. After listening for a few moments, she cleared them away herself.
When he was done hearing the morning paper, Lord William said, "Come pheasant hunting. Good hunting by the pond."
Eleisha's duties did not include going hunting with the manor lord. But Marion's head suddenly poked back in. "Go on, child. I can take care of setting up lunch."
It occurred to Eleisha that everyone else, including Marion, seemed to be avoiding Lord William. Did his condition distress them? Was it frightening or merely an annoyance?
She found some old boots and spent the entire morning tromping through the trees looking for pheasants. Lord William forgot to bring his gun, but that hardly mattered. They talked of senseless pleasantries like food and the manor gardens and then sat for a while by the pond pointing fish out to each other before she reminded him it was time for lunch.
While donning her nightdress for bed that night, she heard a knock on the door.
"Come in."
To her shock, Lady Katherine-quite striking as usual in a deep blue satin gown-walked in with a stiff, unreadable expression. "Good evening. Were you retiring?"
The question itself stunned Eleisha speechless. In the three years since their first encounter, those were the first words beyond instructions or commands she'd heard from her mistress.
"I am sorry to disturb you," Katherine went on without waiting for an answer, "but I couldn't help watching you today with Lord William. I have a good view of the fields from my window."
"Oh, forgive me, my lady. If you would prefer I remained at my normal duties…"
"No, it isn't that." She paused as though searching for words. "I've been thinking for some time about hiring a companion, someone to watch over my husband during the day. But the right sort of person is difficult to…" Her face clouded. "No matter how it may seem, I love my husband very much, and I won't have someone patronizing him, even if I can't stand to be in the same room with him myself."
The raw, messy emotion Katherine displayed to a mere servant embarrassed Eleisha. "Of course, my lady."
"You care for him, don't you? Not just as your lord, but you seem to truly care for him."
"Yes, he is a kind man."
"He is." Katherine's eyes flashed with pride, perhaps of days long past. "Women of my state have little say in whom we marry. I was more fortunate than most." She paused, this time for several long moments. "I owe him something. Your position has changed. You will be his nurse, his companion. But only if it pleases you. Do you accept?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Your wage will be increased accordingly. I'll have you fitted for appropriate outdoor clothing. Lord William is happiest outdoors."
"Yes, I know, my lady."
"I think you do." She stared at Eleisha. "Doesn't it bother you to answer the same question fourteen times and watch the pain on his face as he spills his brandy?"
"No. I spill things all the time."
Eleisha added no title onto her last answer. Katherine's face fell into defeat, despair, as she walked out the door. "You will begin tomorrow. Marion doesn't need you anymore."
No, Marion didn't need her anymore because the house was declared officially dead. No more parties. No more dinner guests. People like Katherine couldn't be publicly embarrassed by a doddering old husband. Eleisha's feelings remained mixed for some time. She later found this to be the most tragic stage of William's illness. 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?