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She got up from the bed without thinking and raced to the door. She cracked it open and held herself still there, waiting. The howling grew louder. And she walked out of the room, making her way down the cavernous hall. It was a huge home. Not unlike Bybee House. Though less Grecian in style. She had noted the frescoes painted on the walls; they were a bit more vivid than the ones to be found there.
But it wasn’t the frescoes that had her full attention now. It was that sound. Like a wounded animal.
William. She knew it was William.
She raced towards it, not thinking. And pushed the door open. It was another bedchamber. A child’s room. And the child was on the floor, dressed in his bed clothes, weeping and thrashing.
He had not met her, not yet. They had only seen each other from a
distance, and she hesitated to make a move, for she would be a stranger to him. But no one else was here.
So she raced towards him and dropped to her knees. ‘William,’ she said.
But he said nothing in response. He only kept screaming and crying, twisting to get away from her. It took her a moment to realise that he was sleeping. Sleeping, and lost to reason. Lost to any sort of reach.
‘William,’ she said softly, reaching her hand towards him, her heart contracting painfully.
She had never experienced anything like this. But when she was a child her body had been in agony sometimes. And she had felt as if no one in the room could truly reach her. As if she was living in her own space, where there was only pain. And she had learned to place herself there firmly, to find a way to endure it. But it was always lonely. There was never connection there. There was never a space to be comforted.
There was only enduring.
And she broke, for this boy. For this boy who was experiencing that now.
This boy she saw alone.
She lurched forward, just as he retreated to the wall, hitting himself against it. She grabbed hold of him and pulled him against her body, holding his arms down, holding him still.
‘Be still,’ she said, making a shushing noise. ‘Be still.’ She held on to him tightly. ‘You are well. You are safe.’
It took a time, but eventually the screams quieted. Eventually, he surrendered to the way that she held him.
He was not alone now.
‘Be at peace, William,’ she whispered.
Silence descended, finally. He was damp with sweat and breathing hard, his exhaustion palpable.
She held him against her breast, swaying back and forth, some instinct guiding her.
The door opened, and she could see it was Mrs Brown.
‘Your Grace,’ she said. ‘I apologise. You should not have been disturbed. It took me a wee while to rouse myself...’
‘Does this happen often?’ she asked, already knowing it did, for this was not the first time she’d heard him.
‘Yes. He has nightmares.’
‘I have heard him...upset like this during the day as well.’
‘It is not the same. He is easily...angered by changes in his routine.’
‘I see.’
‘This should not have fallen to you. It is my responsibility to see to him at night. His governess needs rest. She is in a room far from him for that reason, after her day she is tired.’
‘I do not mind,’ she said.
‘Often, when he is here, His Grace sees to him. He must be in his study still.’
