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Charles knew that he would be sent away, but it was his job to check on Mr Childermass each morning.
He went at 7:00 and he knocked. A voice on the other side told him that he was not needed.
It had happened this way every morning for the two months since Mr Segundus had died.
On the other side of the door, John Childermass glowered at his room.
His room, the one that was always kept for him to say he went back to, when his real home was next door in a room gathering dust.
Some nights, he went there to sleep any way. He had been found once, by a maid who was too scared to say anything to anyone about helping Mr Childermass back to bed.
Half an hour after Charles left, Childermass got up from the bed and he pulled on clothes. He went down to the hall to the library. It was known that was where he was to be found, when he was not in his room.
He sat reading all day.
Sometimes Charles came up with food. Sometimes with the post. Today, there was a letter from Emma Wintertowne. She wrote that she wanted to set up a scholarship fund in Segundus' honor, as soon as a new headmaster of Starecross was chosen. He set it aside to think on later. Jane Honeyfoot had written yesterday to help sort advertising the position within the magical community. She had sent her draft of the announcement and he was supposed to reply. He had not.
Charles brought dinner. He brought candles when it got dark.
Childermass sent him to bed around 12:00 because Charles thought he must stay with Mr Childermass always.
It had been what Mr Segundus wished in his will. A home for Mr Childermass as long as he wanted it.
The illness had been long. Throughout it, they slept in the same bed, when they could. Childermass did not care when Segundus coughed throughout the night. He did not care when Segundus' fever spiked and he warmed the bed like a furnace. He didn't care when he spent the whole night putting cool rags against Segundus' forehead and never slept at all.
He only cared when he needed to leave.
The early mornings when he knew the house would be waking soon, when he had to let go of Segundus and return the room where people thought he slept; that was what he did not like. The feeling of cold air hitting his body when pulled back the sheets, the sight of Segundus shivering when he did; that he did not like.
Before long, he began to feel Segundus whittled down, night by a night a little less of him. Childermass did not know how many nights he would have and that was what he did not like most of all.
The morning of July first, Charles beat on the door to Mr Childermass' room until several students came out in the hall, or in the case of the young ladies, poked out their heads and hid the rest of themselves behind their doors. His first knocks had gone unanswered and Charles could only think what Mr Segundus would say if here were to leave now and later find that something had happened to Mr Childermass and he had left him.
Childermass eventually threw the door open so hard that Charles stumbled back. The look on Mr Childermass' face made him stay put, stood a few feet back.
"Mr Childermass? I am sorry, it's only-"
"I want to be left alone," Childermass said. And he shut the door again with a slam that sent the students scrambling.
Charles did as he was told and left Mr Childermass alone, but he returned to the room from time to time to listen. He knew it was what Mr Segundus would want. After lunch, there was an unexpected guest. Or two.
Jane Honeyfoot herself, her aged father on her arm, arrived by carriage.
Charles apologized that there was no one to receive them.
"It's alright," said Mr Honeyfoot. "If you could tell him that we're here. I think he will know why."
Charles knew why. He had seen the papers when they published Mr Segundus' obituary. It would have been hard not to when all of them did, and in such prominent places. Today would have been the day he turned 49.
It started when he had trouble waking in the morning, trouble staying awake after the afternoon lessons. Childermass found him asleep atop grading more than once and despite the many protests, called a doctor.
Childemass had wanted to be in the room, but had to wait downstairs.
The doctor emerged with a frown that was the end of everything.
Childermass did not want to see Honeyfoot, but he knew that Honeyfoot would not rest until he had seen him with his own eyes. Probably, thought Childermass as he scowled at the ceiling and then at the sunlight, another of John's promises being kept.
He got the cleanest clothes he could find and stomped down the stairs where he found Miss Honeyfoot cutting a piece of cake for her father.
Childermass' heart softened. Honeyfoot had made another long journey and had done it for him, from kindness. The first had been for the funeral, in the spring, where he had spoken to the large crowd that come to pay respects to the beloved John Segundus.
"Ah, Mr Childermass," said Miss Honeyfoot when she saw him. She tried a polite smile that she she nearly managed. There was little more that could be said. Childermass knew he looked terrible and made courtesy difficult as a result.
Honeyfoot offered the seat next to himself and Childermass took it.
"England feels the same as you," said Honeyfoot. "England feels the loss, Mr Childermass. Not since Strange and Norrell have we lost such a good magician." John Childermass began to cry.
"Oh, Mr Childermass," said Miss Honeyfoot. She opened the small bag that sat beside her and retrieved a handkerchief, which she offered out to Chidlermass.
"Excuse me," he said, and he rose to leave.
"Please," said Honeyfoot. "Please sit back down, sir. There is no shame in it. He was a good friend to you. He was your partner in magic. And everyone knows how you love magic."
Childermass straightened himself.
"Aye," he said.
"But we will tell no one, if you prefer," said Miss Honeyfoot delicately.
"It doesn't matter," said Childermass. "There is no one you could tell that I would care if they knew."
The Honeyfoots exchanged glances and returned to their refreshments, making conversation around him.
Childermas sat while they finished their tea and then arranged rooms for them. He came down to dinner to eat that night, and all the students drank a toast to Mr Segundus on the day of his birth and said a word or two.
Childermass shakily lifted his glass when his turn came.
"To John Segundus," he said. He opened his mouth again but no words came out. The table waited. "To John Segundus," he croaked.
Everyone nodded.
He had not wanted to let it happen.
The coffin with him in it had done into the ground and then, there was dirt shoveled on top.
He hadn't want it. He had started to lunge at one point, to stop it, because it was not right that soon the hole would be filled and that would be the end of it.
A hand on his shoulder had stopped him.
"Take care, Mr Childermass," said Emma Wintertowne. "I think you nearly fell."
The he faced when he turned to look at her told him that she knew and she had done him a kindness.
"Mr Segundus would not want you to be hurt, on this of all days. Take care, Mr Childermass."
After dinner, Childermass excused himself to his room and no one said anything of it.
To go to his room, he had to pass the other one, the one where, for the last years he had loved a man in secret. There was no one to see, so he opened the door to the room where he had once lived out a relationship with John Segundus.
There was no family to bequeath any of his things to so it had not been surprising when all, save the books he wished to go to the school, fell into the possession of John Childermass, his closest friend. It was also not surprising that John Childermass had not yet decided what do to with any of it.
He opened the door and he stood in it and he watched the room, the dust disturbed by his entrance, a long shadow half hid under the bed.
Everything in it was John Segundus'. Everything in it was his.
He had slept here every night when he was able.
He had woken there. He had picked his clothes from the floor and he had dressed. When it was late enough, he had done it in reverse, come back to the room, to the bed, to John's smiling face and he had undressed and gotten into bed with him.
This was the bed where Segundus had told him he had never had anyone else before him and they had spent their first night together as lovers.
It was the bed where John had been sent when he was ill.
It was the bed where he had died. It was the bed he had set next to when Segundus' chest stopped moving and two people in the room became one. It had been hours before he had been able to pull himself away and when he did, the sun was risen and the house moving. It had stopped when they saw Childermass and knew what had happened.
He went into the room and he sat on the bed.
He had spent too many nights away from here, he could see that now, He had gone away too often over the years, to see about one thing or the other, when his place was here, with John, ensuring that he slept and ate and did not work himself into the ground.
He went to the wardrobe. John's things were still there. He would want Childermass to make sure someone who needed clothes got them. He wondered what John would think of the fact that the person who needed them most right now was he, to look at from time to time, to remember John Segundus' body wearing them.
Jane Honeyfoot didn't bring up the matter of choosing a new headmaster again until after lunch the next day, when he joined her for tea.
"Mr Childermass," she said. "If you are inclined, there is no need to advertise at all. You can choose to take the post yourself. The school is yours. It's also a thing I think Mr Segundus would approve of."
"I'm no teacher," said Childermass. He had let himself be poured a cup of tea and now he was annoyed with the thing for sitting in front of him like that when he didn't really want it.
"But you are a magician. And these young men and women want to be such as well."
"I will think on it."
"While you do, can think as well about the draft of the announcement, in case you want to use it?"
"You write well. The announcement is fine. I'll arrange to have it printed later."
"If there is need."
Childermass grunted in response.
"Just remember, Mr Childermass, that eventually not making a choice becomes indistinguishable from making one."
Childermass grunted again.
Miss Honeyfoot allowed silence to settle over them instead of making more conversation. After she was done with her tea, Childermass excused himself, leaving his cold where it sat.