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“What … what does it say?” she asked me, her voice quivering. She recognized the word as English but must not have been able to read the language.

I weighed how much to share with her but decided to be frank. There were too many secrets here. Too many lies. I was not going to add another to the tally. “It seems someone does not want me here.” I hefted the basket onto my hip and wrapped an arm around the woman, leading her into her home. It took a little bit of doing, but I managed to get Mrs. Wauters settled down by the stove and set on a kettle to boil. I rummaged around in her cabinets for an old teapot and pulled one of Ruan’s herbal concoctions from his haversack. He carried several different blends with him at all times. A tea for any occasion. I often wondered if it was for himself or simply to calm my own skittish nerves, but whatever his reason I was grateful for it now.

“Has anyone been around the house today?” I asked. “Besides us.”

She shook her head, eyes wide. I stooped down beside her, covering her trembling hands with my own. They were nearly as cold as Félix’s.

“Mrs. Wauters … did anyone come down today from the priory? Anything unusual happen? It’s very important you tell me everything.”

She opened her mouth then closed it back shut. Eyes glassy. “I thought … I thought I heard Djhan…”

I rocked back onto my heels looking up at her, still clasping her cold hands between my own. The kettle began to whistle on the stove but I ignored it. “Your son?”

“I went out with the basket.” She gestured to the pile of linens. “I heard his voice, but there was no one there…”

My mind reeled. I knew good and well patients were not allowed to leave the hospital. I also knew strangers were rarely allowed within the walls of Saint Oda’s. I swallowed hard, unable to get the nurse’s bloodstained apron from my mind. It was likely that someone from the hospital had come here. But could it have been Mrs. Wauters’s own child?

She looked to the kettle forgotten upon the stove. I hastily grabbed it with the sleeve of my jumper, pouring it into the nearby teapot. “How long ago was that?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps a half hour. Or less?”

That timing did not work. If Djhan—or whoever it was—had been here a half hour past, that was after Félix accosted me at the priory. Unless Félix’s escape from the isolation room was a ruse to allow someone else to make it into the village undetected. I swallowed hard, not at all liking the trajectory of my thoughts. Félix’s behavior this afternoon would certainly make it easier for someone to slip out of the priory grounds unnoticed. But why would he have asked me to find someone if he wanted to scare me away?

I hastily poured a cup for Mrs. Wauters and another for myself—my own nerves being far beyond their breaking point. I placed the tea beside her on the small occasional table. “Drink. You will feel better.”

She glanced from the cup to me. “I am sorry.”

I gave her hand a reassuring pat. “It’s not your doing. Ruan will fix this, I promise.”

She did not believe me and I couldn’t blame her. The little poppet burnt a hole in my pocket. I longed to ask her about it, but it wasn’t the time. Truthfully the time might never come. I did not want to draw our kind landlady into any more of our troubles than necessary.

“You were at the hospital today?” she asked me softly. “Did you see my Djhan when you went?”

I shook my head, running a thumb thoughtfully over the warmth of my own cup. “No.”

Mrs. Wauters closed her eyes, the disappointment evident. I could not bear to see it. Not after how kind she’d been to us.

“I did meet a patient there. I believe his name is Félix Thys.”

A pained expression came over her face. “He was a good boy. He came to the orphanage when he was young. Djhan and he grew up together.”

I suppose if Félix and Djhan were close, my earlier hypothesis about collusion to create a distraction was possible. Though I’d not seen Djhan. Nor had anyone, save Mrs. Wauters, even mentioned him. I gave her a warm smile all the same, struggling not to betray the workings of my mind. I traced the rim of my cup before asking, “Was Félix born here in the village?”

“I do not know. He came here when he was ten or so, after his parents died. The sisters took care of his education and his upbringing. It was here he discovered his love of art.”

My mind flitted back to the doll and the nun’s mistrust of Félix. “Was Sister Marie-Thérèse here back then as well?”

“No. She came later. During the war. The prioress herself requested the sister come here from the motherhouse to take over the running of the children’s home for she’d grown too old to keep up with the day-to-day matters.”

“I did not realize the orphanage had been here that long.”

The clouds of worry left her face as she took another sip of Ruan’s concoction. “It has been here as long as anyone can remember.” A thought crossed her mind, but she brushed it away with a sad small sigh. Unshed tears glistened in the dim light of the sitting room. I reached into my pocket for a handkerchief, offering it to her.

Tentatively, she stood—her palm resting lightly on the arm of the chair. “I think I need to lay down for a moment. Forgive me.” She paused beside an unopened bottle of brandy. “I thought you might enjoy it. I bought it off the fellow who supplies the priory. I almost forgot…”

“There’s nothing to forgive. Sleep. You’ll feel better. All will be well. I promise you that.”

She smiled, handing me the bottle. I took it, watching as she walked down the hall and closed herself in the room. Once the door shut, I tucked the brandy beneath my arm and went to the bookshelf, perusing the titles for something written in Walloon. It did not take long before I found an old book of fairy stories. I lifted it from the shelf and went straight up to the attic room.