Tessa clasped her hands in her lap. She felt a vague sense of unreality. Had things really gone so far that she needed to be warned off Will? And yet it was good to have someone to talk to about him. She felt a bit like a starving person being offered food. “I don’t know what I think he is, Sophie. He’s like one thing sometimes, and then he can change completely, like the wind changing, and I don’t know why, or what’s happened—”
“Nothing. Nothing’s happened. He just doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“He cares about Jem,” Tessa said quietly.
The brush went still; Sophie had paused, frozen. There was something she wanted to say, Tessa thought, something she was holding herself back from saying. But what was it?
The brush began to move again. “That’s not enough, though.”
“You mean that I shouldn’t wring my heart out over some boy who will never care for me—”
“No!” Sophie said. “There are worse things than that. It’s all right to love someone who doesn’t love you back, as long as they’re worth you loving them. As long as they deserve it.”
The passion in Sophie’s voice surprised Tessa. She twisted around to look at the other girl. “Sophie, is there someone you care for? Is it Thomas?”
Sophie looked astonished. “Thomas? No. What ever gave you that idea?”
“Well, because I think he cares for you,” Tessa said. “I’ve seen him looking at you. He watches you when you’re in the room. I suppose I thought . . .”
Her voice trailed off at Sophie’s flabbergasted look.
“Thomas?” Sophie said again. “No, that couldn’t be. I’m sure he hasn’t any such thoughts about me.”
Tessa didn’t move to contradict her; clearly, whatever feelings Thomas might have had, Sophie didn’t return them. Which left . . .
“Will?” Tessa said. “Do you mean you cared for Will once?” Which would explain the bitterness and the dislike, she thought, considering how Will treated girls who fancied him.
“Will?” Sophie sounded absolutely horrified—horrified enough to forget to call Will Mr. Herondale. “Are you asking me if I was ever in love with him?”
“Well, I thought—I mean, he’s awfully handsome.” Tessa realized she sounded rather feeble.
“There’s more to someone being lovable than the way they look. My last employer,” Sophie said, her careful accent slipping with her excitement as she spoke, so that “last” sounded more like “larst,” “he was always off on safari in Africa and India, shooting tigers and things. And he told me that the way you can tell if a bug or a snake is poisonous, like, is if it’s got really lovely, bright markings. The more beautiful its skin is, the more deadly it is. That’s what Will’s like. All that pretty face and whatnot just hides how twisted up and rotten he is on the inside.”
“Sophie, I don’t know—”
“There’s something dark in him,” Sophie said. “Something black and dark that he’s hiding. He’s got some sort of secret, the kind that eats you up inside.” She set the silver-haired brush down on the vanity, and Tessa saw with surprise that her hand was shaking. “You mark my words.”
After Sophie left, Tessa took the clockwork angel from her bedside table and strung it around her neck. As it settled against her chest, she felt immediately reassured. She had missed it while she’d been disguised as Camille. Its presence was a comfort, and—though it was foolish, she knew—she thought perhaps that if she visited Nate while wearing it, he might feel its presence and be reassured as well.
She kept her hand on it as she shut the bedroom door behind her, made her way down the corridor, and knocked on his door softly. When there was no answer, she took hold of the knob and pushed the door open. The curtains in the room were drawn back, the room half-filled with light, and she could see Nate asleep on his back against a mound of pillows. He had one arm flung across his forehead, and his cheeks were bright with fever.
He wasn’t alone, either. In the armchair by the head of the bed sat Jessamine, a book open on her lap. She met Tessa’s surprised look with a cool and level stare.
“I—,” Tessa began, and collected herself. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I would read to your brother for a while,” Jessamine said. “Everyone’s been asleep half the day, and he was being cruelly neglected. Just Sophie checking in on him, and you can’t count on her for decent conversation.”
“Nate’s unconscious, Jessamine; he doesn’t want conversation.”
“You can’t be sure,” Jessamine said. “I’ve heard that people can hear what you say to them even if they’re quite unconscious, or even dead.”
“He’s not dead, either.”
“Certainly not.” Jessamine gave him a lingering look. “He’s far too handsome to die. Is he married, Tessa? Or is there a girl back in New York who has a claim on him?”
“On Nate?” Tessa stared. There had always been girls, all sorts of girls, who’d been interested in Nate, but he had the attention span of a butterfly. “Jessamine, he isn’t even conscious. Now is hardly the time—”
“He’ll get better,” Jessamine announced. “And when he does, he’ll know I’m the one who nursed him back to health. Men always fall in love with the woman who nurses them back to health. ‘When pain and anguish wring the brow, / A ministering angel thou!’” she finished, with a self-satisfied smirk. Seeing Tessa’s horrified look, she scowled. “What’s wrong? Am I not good enough for your precious brother?”
“He doesn’t have any money, Jessie—”
“I have enough money for both of us. I just need someone to take me away from this place. I told you that.”
“In fact, you asked me if I’d be the one to do it.”
“Is that what’s putting you out of countenance?” Jessamine asked. “Really, Tessa, we can still be the best of friends once we’re sisters-in-law, but a man is always better than a woman for this sort of thing, don’t you think?”
Tessa could think of nothing to say in reply.
Jessamine shrugged. “Charlotte wishes to see you, by the way. In the drawing room. She wanted me to tell you. You don’t need to worry about Nathaniel. I’ve been checking his temperature every quarter hour and putting cold compresses on his forehead besides.”
Tessa wasn’t sure she believed any of this, but as Jessamine was patently uninterested in giving up her place by Nathaniel’s side, and it hardly seemed worth a battle, she turned with a disgusted sigh and left the room.
The door to the drawing room, when she reached it, was slightly ajar; she could hear raised voices from the other side. She hesitated, her hand half-lifted to knock—then she heard the sound of her own name and she froze.
“This isn’t the London Hospital. Tessa’s brother shouldn’t be here!” It was Will’s voice, raised to a shout. “He’s not a Downworlder, just a stupid, venal mundane who found himself mixed up in something he couldn’t manage—”