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“Are you lost?” I asked in French.

The girl did not respond, she simply stared at me, her nose wrinkled like the curious hare that brought me to the cemetery. The expression gave me the distinct impression that she could see straight through me. A preposterous thought, as only one person had that ability—Ruan—and he was likely back at the boardinghouse. The girl took a step closer, her hand outstretched. She touched my filthy cheek—her skin warm despite the cold rain.

And I could have sworn I heard my mother’s name, Niamh, echoing somewhere in the recesses of my memory. The priests’ brandy must have been stronger than usual if I was hearing things.

A child shouldn’t be alone in this storm. She belonged somewhere safe and warm. Dry. I might not have protected my mother, but I could certainly make sure this girl was all right. I tried again in German in case she spoke that language.

But the girl did not answer. She remained stock-still—her hand against my face. She shook her head at last, making a soft tutting sound with her tongue and pointed. I settled back on my rump, chastened by a girl who could have easily been my own daughter. She took a step backward. Then a second as I looked over my shoulder to see what she was pointing at.

Nothing.

There was nothing there.

Niamh … Again my mother’s name echoed in my head. Stronger than before. Almost as if she were calling to me, the word carried upon the wind. I heard a crack of a twig and turned back to the child in time to see the hare darting off into the woods beyond. But the girl … she was nowhere to be found. The little doll lay in the mud alongside the snowdrops she’d been holding. I reached down, picking it up. The poppet’s head had been painstakingly carved from wood, the dress made of scraps of worn cloth. I stood and tucked it into my pocket. I’d return the dear little thing to the orphanage tomorrow when I went to call upon the doctor. I certainly had a great many questions I intended to ask of Dr. von Keller when I got there. But at present my mind was in chaos. Far too cloudy to properly investigate anything at all. I’d gone off half-cocked in previous investigations and it never ended well. I could not risk that same outcome when investigating my own mother’s death.

Especially if she had truly been murdered.

I raked a hand through my hair, shaking my head twice before hurrying back to the boardinghouse, desperate to forget the hollowed grave and the sickening emptiness taking hold where grief used to be.

A HALF HOUR later, safely ensconced in the upstairs room of the boardinghouse, Ruan stared at me agape, taking in my muddy, half-soaked state. “What in the gods’ names happened to you? I thought you went to find your mother.”

“I did,” I said gruffly, struggling to pull off my drenched stockings before tossing them on the floor.

He paused, settling himself down in the worn armchair, his elbows on his knees and chin resting upon his fists. “And?”

And she’s dead, likely murdered. But the words would not come, at least not yet. My mind raced over the conversation with the priests, of how she had run away from the hospital at least twice, and they found her body in the lake. Of the second dead patient and the peculiar argument I’d overheard outside the church. Every single sign pointed to something nefarious. If not murder, then something very close to it. I hoped he could hear it, because I could not bear to say such things out loud—for if I said them then they became real. My hands trembled as I fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, angrily pulling it from my skirt.

Something flickered in his expression. Doubt. Uncertainty. The same thing that echoed in my own. I reached into my pocket, withdrawing the little doll the girl had dropped and laying it on the table beside me before continuing to struggle with my intractable buttons.

Ruan’s brows rose as he stood and came closer. His proximity warm upon my back. “What’s that?” He gently touched the poppet, tracing his fingers over it.

I fought back a shiver. “There was a child in the graveyard … by my mother’s grave…”

Ruan sucked in a sharp breath, looking almost puzzled at the very notion. “Your mother’s dead?”

Evidently, he’d not heard my thoughts. I drew in a weary breath and, bit by bit began to tell him all of it, every one of the words I could not bear to say—and how I was increasingly convinced that her death was not an accident. That she had been running from something. Or she’d found something. He listened in silence, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his trousers, allowing me this and I was grateful for it. When I finished, Ruan reached out for me and I swatted him away, not wanting his sympathy.

“Are you … are you all right?”

I shook my head. No. I hadn’t been in a very long time, but weeping and feeling sorry for myself weren’t going to bring her back. I turned away from him, fiddling with the buttons on the back of my skirt that did not want to give. The wool and Belgian soil had somehow managed to lock the fastening into place. “I need to talk to the physician tomorrow. I want to know what happened that night. Why she might have run away—” I swore loudly as I snapped my nail on a button and thrust the dirty digit into my mouth. The metal tang of my blood mixing with fresh dirt.

“Ruby…” His voice was low and gentle, but I didn’t want gentle. I didn’t want kind. I wanted my mother back, and in the absence of that I wanted the truth.

I nodded to the little doll sitting on the table. “I have to take that back to the orphanage tomorrow too. So many things to do. I need to think straight. I need to be clear. I—”

“Ruby.” Ruan tried again. I shook my head angrily, working with the tight, wet wool button. I’d known Ruan for months now. Seen him happy. Seen him worried. Seen him afraid. I’d never seen this expression on his face. This mixture of bone-deep sorrow and pity that made my stomach knot.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that, Ruan Kivell. I need my friend, I don’t need whatever that is.” I gestured at his face. I’d not meant to be cruel, but I knew that if he gave me an ounce of compassion I would shatter into a thousand pieces and I wasn’t quite certain I would ever put them back together. I could handle anger. I could handle apathy. I could handle violence or cruelty, but not kindness. Not from him.

Ruan struggled to not show the sentiment that he so desperately felt, that deep divot between his brows growing deeper with every moment. He worried I might break. He didn’t realize that I’d already done so long before we met. It was only my guilt and stubbornness holding the bits together. “I know that our experiences have proven the contrary … but not every death is murder. Sometimes … sometimes horrible things happen and it’s no one’s fault. Not yours. Not hers…”

I let out a strangled sound, tugging on the fabric before spinning around to him, resting my fist upon his chest and thumping him gently. “I’m going back to the hospital. I need to understand what’s happened here. What those two men were so afraid of. They were speaking of my mother, Ruan. I need to know who they are. And why.”

“Tonight?” His brows shot up, glancing down at my state of half undress.

I shook my head. “No. I think it might take until morning to get all this mud cleaned off. My head is a mess and I am filthy in places I didn’t even know one could get dirty.”

He tried not to smile at the image I’d conjured. It felt good to have a puzzle again. Better than worrying over my grief.