The bathtub was an oval claw-footed affair hidden behind a Japanese screen in a corner of the room. Sophie had filled it with hot water that was already beginning to cool. Tessa slid behind the screen, undressed, and lowered herself into the bath. The hot water came up to her shoulders, warming her. For a moment she sat motionless, letting the heat soak into her chilled bones. Slowly she began to relax, and closed her eyes—
Memories of Will flooded in on her. Will, the attic, the way he had touched her hand. The way he had kissed her, then ordered her away.
She ducked under the surface of the water as if she could hide from the humiliating memory. It didn’t work. Drowning yourself won’t help, she told herself sternly. Now, drowning Will, on the other hand … She sat up, reached for the cake of lavender soap on the edge of the bath, and scrubbed her skin and hair with it until the water turned black with ash and dirt. Perhaps it wasn’t actually possible to scrub away your thoughts of someone, but she could try.
Sophie was waiting for Tessa when she emerged from behind the screen. There was a tray of sandwiches and tea at the ready. In front of the mirror, she helped Tessa dress in her yellow gown trimmed with dark braid; it was fussier than Tessa would have preferred, but Jessamine had liked the design very much in the shop and had insisted that Tessa have it made for her. I can’t wear yellow, but it’s ever so suitable for girls with dull brown hair like yours, she’d said.
The feeling of the brush going through her hair was very pleasant; it reminded Tessa of when she had been a small girl and Aunt Harriet had brushed her hair for her. It was soothing enough that when Sophie spoke next, it jolted her slightly.
“Did you manage to get Mr. Herondale to take his medicine last night, miss?”
“Oh, I—” Tessa scrambled to collect herself, but it was too late; scarlet color had flooded up her neck into her face. “He didn’t want to,” she finished lamely. “But I convinced him in the end.”
“I see.” Sophie’s expression didn’t change, but the rhythmic strokes of the brush through Tessa’s hair began to come faster. “I know it’s not my place, but—”
“Sophie, you can say anything you want to me, truly.”
“It’s just—Master Will.” Sophie’s words came out in a rush. “He isn’t someone you should care for, Miss Tessa. Not like that. He isn’t to be trusted, or relied on. He—he isn’t what you think he is.”
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.”