“Have you seen Master William?” the butler, Alfred Jamison, asked in a hushed whisper to his momentary companion on the stairs.
“No, Sir. I haven’t seen him for the last three days.” Mary replied while looking up at Alfred, trying to keep the worry from seeping into her eyes. “I don’t know why. He’s never locked himself up in his room before.”
“Yes, I know. It is quite troublesome. I daren’t ask Mrs. Pratt, what with her taking a turn for the worse.”
Mary could only nod in silent understanding.
All of the household staff were beside themselves with worry for both of their employers. The young master had not been seen for at least three days, refusing calls to dinner, and begging the staff to lie to his mother about his whereabouts.
He’d never asked them to lie for him before.
Then, the Missus took ill, adamant that her son not be told. She was so pleased by his recent happiness that she couldn’t bear to be the one to change that.
Mary turned her gaze back and took in his appearance. Alfred was looking quite agitated and, quite frankly, worried about their entire situation. Then, Mary supposed, they all were. The servants, Mrs. Pratt, and William were such a tight knit little unit; they felt each other’s pain as if it were their own. The lies and deceit in the house didn’t help matters either.
“I hope he eats something soon –”
“I doubt he’ll be eating anything too soon. Stubborn is what he is,” Cook interrupted and took the tray of un-touched food from Mary as she and Alfred entered the kitchen. “We’ll have to force feed him soon enough!”
“Cook –”
“No. Don’t scold me Alfred. I love that boy as if her were my own.” Upon seeing Alfred’s raised brow at her forthright remark, Cook added, “And don’t look so surprised. I know you feel quite the same way.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right Agatha. It’s just that, well,” he stopped, trying to collect himself. “Well, that boy feels like he’s mine, too. And the Missus, of course, is family as well. We’ve been together so damn long.” Seeing the slightly shocked expressions of his two female companions, he muttered a brief apology for his etiquette.
He couldn’t help it; he just felt so helpless. Two of the people that he cared about most in this world were suffering, and he didn’t know where to begin fixing everything. In the case of the Missus, even more so because there was no helping the consumption.
Ever the optimist, Mary added, “It’ll all be all right in the end. Everything always works out for the best.”
Cook refrained from throwing the tray in Mary’s direction.
William sat in silence, his sightless eyes attempted to ignore the mocking shadows caused by the pulled drapes in his room. He was haphazardly settled in a chair, his hair shaggier than normal, evidence of his habit of tugging at it with his fingers when he was distressed. His shirt was half un-tucked, his tie hung limply around his collar, which in itself, was askew, and he was in the same clothes that he’d been in since that day.
The day when his world ended.
The day Buffy Sumner broke his heart.
“You’ll never be enough,” were the words that echoed in his head, gaining in volume until he was sure that he would be drowned out by them. “Never enough” was his new mantra. He’d known it. Known it since the day he first laid eyes on her. Even before that, with Cecily’s rejection and with every previous person who never deigned to know him.
He was, after all, worthless.
Not enough.
Now she knew it, too.
William let his thoughts turn darker, angrier. He’d been waiting. Waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. How could fate possible allow him this one pleasure? The love of this one girl. Bloody impossible, right? He was just a love sick fool; a poncey git with horrendous poetry.
Feeling the rage boiling inside of him, he thought about how he must have sounded to her, whimpering out his pathetic poetry, filling up her head with his nonsensical words. She must have been laughing on the inside.
*CRASH*
William looked up in astonishment. Where did all of the glass come from? Realizing finally that he had thrown a teacup against the wall made William take stock of his rampant emotions.
He shouldn’t be angry with her. It wasn’t her fault that he was so impossible to love.
His rage piddled slowly out of him, and in every second that he let go of the rage, desolation started filling in the gaps.
Of course, she doesn't want you. You pathetic git. You were never fit to stand in her shadow. Why would you think that you could even begin to touch her radiance?
Looking about the room, as if for the first time, William saw the spartan existence he led. He wondered, not for the first time, if it really was him.
There had always been a small part of him that held onto the hope that he just hadn’t found the right girl yet. She was out there, just waiting for a man like him, or rather, waiting to bring the man in him out.
Never enough.
Maybe she had it right all along; he just wasn’t enough.
William wiped at the tears that ran down his face.
Gazing out of her bedroom window and humming softly to herself, Buffy thought about all of the times that Spike used to sit outside of her Sunnydale bedroom window and look in on her, making sure that she was safe.
She missed him so much; William that is. He said that he had to go out of town for a couple of days and that if things went well he might not come back for two weeks. Some sort of family business she assumed. Knowing her dislike of family finances, William had kept the details to a minimum.
Although, the only thing that Buffy could think about was William’s declaration of love. She’d forgotten how his voice sounded when he said that. The deep rumbling purr that always accompanied those words and no other. He could make her melt with those three alone. And, she thought with a pout, she couldn’t hear them again for who knew how many days.
Life just wasn’t fair at times…
She wanted more William smoochies.
Unbeknownst to the wishful-thinking girl upstairs, Mrs. Fairfax had arrived at the Rawlings estate late that afternoon, begrudging her employer for summoning her with such short notice. She was well into her sixties for heaven’s sake.
Walking into his study, she looked at him in apprehension. Rawlings sat in his chair, looking like a veritable king, waiting for his subject to appear.
And in a way, he was.
“You called for me, Sir?”
Finally acknowledging her, Rawlings gave her a look that promised such dark deeds. “Yes, Mrs. Fairfax. It would seem that phase one is complete.” Rawlings then tipped his head back and laughed.
What a sound it was. Mrs. Fairfax could only sigh in response.