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The man stared down at me—a feat as I was a rather tall woman—with a stern expression on his face. “I expect you’ve come to ask about her.”

I nodded, taken aback by his straightforwardness, when a second thought struck me. If Otto von Keller was here outside his office, then who was inside rustling about in his papers? I opened my mouth to warn him someone was inside—but he pushed open the door before the words could come out. And there, behind the desk, stood Father Étienne. His hands were behind his back, the little silver magpie stark against the black of his cassock.

In the light of day, the young priest was undeniably handsome, his cheeks smooth-shaven, revealing his high cheekbones. His brows were dark slashes across his face, giving him the look of a Renaissance sculpture come to life—even I had to gawp despite the fact my heart was presently occupied by a devastatingly dear and occasionally surly pellar. I’d not paid much mind to Father Étienne when we first met, as I’d still been stunned by the news of my mother’s death, but now—with my head clear it was difficult to look away from the fellow.

Good grief, no wonder the old priest let him say mass. Attendance must increase tenfold when he’s at the lectern. His flock coming just to gawp at him. And yet this was the very man who found my mother in the lake. The same one who was most certainly hiding something. Hiding things and rummaging around in Dr. von Keller’s desk. But why?

“What are you doing in here, Étienne?” Von Keller asked, echoing my very thoughts. Based upon what everyone had said about the German doctor, I would have expected the man to be in a fury, but instead his tone was soft. Light. As if he were asking nothing more consequential than what the priest would like in his tea. This was not the volatile man that had been described to me.

“I was looking for you…” Étienne frowned. The golden light behind him cast a shadow across von Keller’s desk upon the papers neatly stacked there. The priest’s left hand came down, resting gently atop the desk beside the stack.

“It is Félix again, isn’t it?” Von Keller made a sad sound, before walking across the room, pulling out the chair next to Father Étienne, and taking a seat. He gestured for me to join him in the one across the way, but I remained stone-still in the doorway.

Félix? Mrs. Wauters had mentioned a man by that name this morning. The handsome young priest looked from me to von Keller with an unreadable expression. “He’s not well. There was another episode this morning. He keeps…” His eyes flitted across my face consideringly before speaking. “He is seeing his angels again.”

Von Keller drummed his fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “Can you keep him calm? At least until I’m finished here. I can bring a sedative up if all else fails.”

Father Étienne shifted, his fingers curving around something in his fist. The edge of a piece of paper poked out over the top. And I’d bet my life his appearance here had nothing to do with this Félix fellow, or whatever angels he might or might not have seen. No. The priest had been searching for something—and goodness knew I’d done enough sneaking about to recognize it when I saw it.

Oh, he was a collected one. That beautiful face hiding his deceit. I should say something—do something—yet I remained immobile. For the truth was, I did not know who to trust. Not yet. Father Étienne nodded to von Keller before disappearing out the door, his cassock brushing past me as he left.

Von Keller waited until the latch clicked shut behind us before looking up at me. His short, sandy hair was mussed, giving him a disaffected air. Thick lines of worry creased his face. A face far older than his years had earned. His eyes were a pale, piercing blue that stole all the warmth from the room as he watched me. “Sit, please.” He gestured again to the pair of leather armchairs across from the desk. There wasn’t much choice as the one on the left had a pile of misaligned medical books stacked upon it. In truth, Dr. von Keller’s disorderly office resembled my own bookshop. Stuffed to the brim with this and that. Likely he knew where everything was, but I feared it wouldn’t take much to send everything toppling over upon itself.

I stepped around a stack of books on the floor before taking my seat, folding my hands in my lap as demurely as possible.

“You’ve come to ask about Eva … Étienne said you came yesterday and Father Crawford informed you of her fate.” His voice had the same soothing tone he’d used when speaking to the priest moments before.

“Yes. He said she drowned and was recently buried down by the river.”

“It is uncanny. You are the very image of her.” He gestured helplessly at my face with two fingers before continuing to twist his fine ink pen between his fingers. Dark clouds built in the sky outside his window, portending yet more rain. I looked from the window back to his sorrowful expression.

“I heard in the village that Father Étienne was the one who found her body.”

He drew in a weary breath, folding his hands on the table before him. The light caught on the golden ring on his little finger. “That is what they say, yes.”

Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my trousers. “But what do you say? It seems rather straightforward. Either the priest found her or he did not and someone else did.”

“One would think. Yes. But I’m afraid I cannot say.” Von Keller shifted and let out an odd little huff of air. Almost in disbelief of the words he said.

“Why can’t you say?” The hairs pricked on the back of my neck.

He flexed his hand twice, staring at his fingers before answering. “Because I do not know myself.”

Whatever I’d expected him to say it certainly wasn’t that. My mouth worked soundlessly struggling to find the words.

“Two patients escaped the hospital that night. Only one was found.”

The air left my lungs in a rush. Father Étienne had said the other patient was dead. “Perhaps they would not try to run if you did not lock them away like prisoners.” So much for minding my tongue.

Von Keller’s expression hardened and he let out a low sound in his chest. “Perhaps if someone were not killing them, then I would not have to protect them.”

Protect them. Our conversation had echoes of the one I’d overheard outside the church. The skin at the back of my neck pricked. Protect them from who? Whatever it was I’d expected him to say, it was not that. “Someone is killing them?” The words spluttered out in a rush.

Von Keller ran his hands over his eyes and he shook his head. “Since December at least three separate patients have disappeared, your mother among them. The two women, your mother and poor Anna Marchand, were found in the lake, dead. The third patient is missing. Then of course there is that poor orphaned child.”

My head spun from the newfound information, grateful I’d done as he asked and sat in the chair. I didn’t like the sound of this. Not at all. “What child?”

“A girl. One of the orphans. Her mother was Anna Marchand. The first to die here.” He ran his hands through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. The doctor was visibly affected by his own words. “We searched for weeks for the child, but we’ve yet to find her. Research indicates melancholia runs in families—that she likely suffered as her mother did. But it never sat right with me.”