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Peterson checked his watch before answering, giving me the distinct impression he was waiting on someone. “Eva was trying to leave here.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “How do you know?”

“Because she’d run away before. It was because of her that von Keller stopped letting patients go into the village. He said it wasn’t safe for Eva—for any of them. Not any longer—and now … she’s dead.” The grief was thick in his voice and I felt the most impossible impulse to comfort this man who was grieving for my mother.

My fingers absently moved to the locket around my neck, and I ran it along the chain waiting in silence for Dr. Peterson to make his next move, and yet he remained still in a thick sea of grief.

He glanced to his watch again. “I … I don’t know what came over me. We should get you to von Keller. He hates it when people are late.”

And like someone flipped a switch, the young doctor turned and continued down the corridor. I closed my fingers over my locket, holding it against my chest as if the cold metal would explain his strange fit of emotion.

Dr. Peterson pushed open yet another heavy door and we stepped into a shady passageway. The stone walkway was old and uneven from having been trod millions of times during the centuries of its life as a priory. A holy recluse. That’s what they said of Saint Oda. Truthfully the notion of disappearing into a wood with my thoughts and books sounded rather lovely.

Lovely. Suddenly my mind flickered back to the woman he’d been speaking with when I saw them first. I caught the inside of my cheek in my teeth, wondering whether my luck would continue. “That woman earlier … the one you were speaking to…” I asked, focused upon the back of the American doctor’s head. “She didn’t seem very happy here.”

He hesitated for a half second too long before answering. “Another patient. She gets excited sometimes. Flies into fits. Harmless though. Pay her no mind.”

Yet that brief pause in his response told me all I needed to know. Especially as she wasn’t dressed like any of the other patients here. Nor did I see the silver bird pin denoting patients that Mrs. Wauters had told me of, the one Father Étienne had fastened to his breast. No matter how forthcoming Dr. Peterson had been about my mother, he too was hiding something.

We continued around the edge of this inner courtyard where a pair of men in bathrobes played chess before an audience of three small children, cheerfully narrating the downfall of the white knight in defense of his queen. The first sign of life I’d seen since entering the hospital. These children were dressed like those from the orphanage and far younger than the ones who had gone into mass earlier. Perhaps four … five years old at the most. The wholesomeness of the scene unraveled the ball of worry that had been tightening with every step.

Dr. Peterson, on the other hand, did not look as pleased with the scene as I. He gestured to the children gathered around the two men. “This nonsense is why people are losing patience with him, you know.”

I didn’t, in fact. Hari had mentioned von Keller was controversial, but I’d not given it much thought beyond it providing the push I needed to bring myself to Belgium.

Dr. Peterson folded his arms across his chest, watching the patients. “Von Keller is a strange fellow, that’s for certain. And a genius—there’s no question. But he’s not had the outcome expected here. At least not what the hospital’s patrons would hope.” He paused again, glancing up at the sun before shaking his head. “No sense not telling you, as everyone already knows his days are numbered … Part of the agreement for the hospital to remain here at Saint Oda was that von Keller would continue his work in psychotherapy and rehabilitate the patients for the real world—not to coddle them in hopes that with enough sunshine and conversation they’ll suddenly recover. There are many who believe he’s taken too gentle of a hand with them. Allowed patients to malinger.”

I stared at him dumbstruck. “You mean they’re shutting down an entire hospital because they don’t like the lead physician’s theories of psychotherapy?”

Dr. Peterson made an odd face, raking a hand over his middling-colored hair. “Nah. They’d never shut it down. We have far too many patients here for that, and where would they go? Most aren’t ready to be sent back to their families and some families … forgive me for saying this, Miss Vaughn … but some families don’t want to remember.” His expression gave the distinct notion he thought I was one of the latter.

Peterson chattered on as we left the courtyard, entering yet another wing of the hospital. “If I were him, I’d be more focused on appeasing the hospital’s patrons before he gets pulled out of here. He does good work, but he does not make friends easily. Now that is what he ought to do. Save a bit of face in all this nonsense.” Dr. Peterson cocked his head to one side. “Add to the fact he’s German—not a popular thing to be these days.”

He was likely correct on that score. I wasn’t entirely certain how much I cared to meet this Dr. von Keller fellow. The picture painted by both Mrs. Wauters and Dr. Peterson was a muddy one. But the one thing I knew for certain, von Keller must know what happened to my mother. And while I did not quite trust Dr. Peterson, he was right on one thing—I should be wary here. Unfortunately, I did not know of whom.

CHAPTER NINEA Muddled Glass

DR. Peterson made a quick goodbye, leaving me alone in the hallway outside Dr. von Keller’s office. He’d claimed he was late to see a patient, but the uneasiness in his shoulders and the furtive way he looked from von Keller’s door and back to me said he was likely more afraid of von Keller learning he was the one who brought me here than being late to his rounds.

Who was this man I was about to meet? The one who disallowed visitors and made plain patients could no longer leave the grounds. I could scarcely find a soul to say a good word about him. He’s a genius, but a terror. Then a second thought returned. Dr. Peterson told me my mother had run away before, just as the priests had mentioned. Peterson thought Dr. von Keller had shut down the priory to protect my mother and the other patients from some unknown danger, but was that really the case? I did not yet know.

I ran my thumb under the chain of my locket. The one my father had given me the day I boarded the steamer to England. Wrapping my fingers around it, I gave it a squeeze for luck. From somewhere beyond the cracked door there was a soft chiming of a clock.

Eight o’clock. I was early.

There was a rustle from within—papers upon paper. The door was pushed just to, not latched, and a glow from the electric light flooded out. My heart raced as I debated knocking rather than simply pushing it open. Von Keller must be inside, I could enter and get it over with, but something stilled my hand. That same newfound caution that had me wait to return to the priory until this morning had served me well thus far. I must trust it.

Another scrape of a drawer and rustling again. I’d finally resolved to knock when footsteps sounded behind me. I turned on my heels to be face-to-face with the German doctor I’d met outside the priory on my very first day here at Saint Oda’s.

The one I had believed was not Dr. von Keller. The priest had told me he was away … that he would not return until today. A thousand thoughts, none of them good, flashed through my mind.

The man’s expression was merciless as he took me in.

It couldn’t be.

And yet he must be.

Otto von Keller.