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“Three hours,” Ruan grumbled, rewrapping a clean set of bandages and placing them back into his haversack. “It’s been three bloody hou—”

“Welcome back to the land of the living, lass,” Mr. Owen—my landlord, employer, and apparently now father—interrupted. The old man gestured for Ruan to be quiet. I blinked at him twice. Mr. Owen was dressed in a worn gray traveling suit, his old homburg sitting atop a small traveling case. Dark circles etched themselves beneath his eyes.

“Do I pass muster, lass?” He sat at the very table I had struck on my way to the floor. A bit of my blood had dried upon the corner. “The lad said you were poorly so I came straight away, but it seems you are hale enough to me. Minus the stitches, of course.”

The springs squeaked beneath my weight as I drew my stockinged feet up and stared at Mr. Owen. “What are you doing here? You are supposed to be in Exeter with your cats.”

“With your cats, you mean?” He reached over, took my half-empty bottle of wine, and poured it into a hazy glass. The burgundy liquid splashed appealingly. He handed one to me and poured himself a glass. “Yes well. Kivell had me believe you were about to cash in your earthly chips. I thought I’d like to be with you when the time came as I was not granted that favor for any of my boys.” Mr. Owen took a pointed sip of wine. His bushy white mustache twitched as he watched me over the rim of his glass. The stark reminder of the sons he lost in the war cooled my temper at once. I was being horrid to him and regardless of whether I was or was not at death’s door, Mr. Owen came here in good faith.

“Mr. Owen, I really—”

“That’s the thing about free will, my love,” he interrupted, taking another sip of wine to punctuate his thought. “I am free to come and go as I please. And this time … I pleased.”

“I’m glad I’m not dead too, if it’s any consolation.” My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d not eaten for a good twelve hours. I reached across the table, grabbing an apple, and took a bite. I had to fortify myself before making it out to the lake to meet Narcisse. Good God, I hadn’t missed our appointment, had I? I looked at the clock on the table and breathed out a sigh of relief. Not yet. That was good, as I had a great deal to share with Mr. Owen, and very little time to do it.

I understood the old man well enough from our several-years’ acquaintance to know I would never be able to conceal the truth of what was happening here from him. The only question was how much to share, and how much he already knew. I ran a hand over my face. “How much do you know already about what’s afoot here?”

“More than enough from that solicitor of yours. Kivell here filled me in on what’s happened since you left. Seems as if you two have been busy.”

I let out a dark laugh, the movement tugging at my stitches. “What do you think is at the root of it all? We have two dead women in the lake, a missing patient who was friends with two of the fellows still in the hospital. Then there’s the mysterious child who I keep seeing. Honestly, Mr. Owen. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m going mad.” My hand fell limply to my side.

Mr. Owen looked at Ruan consideringly. “Didn’t you say the Félix fellow had visions of death?”

“Yes. And the young priest, apparently hears voices—at least according to Mrs. Wauters,” I replied.

Mr. Owen frowned turning back to me and settled into his chair. “Then there’s the matter of your mother.”

I waved him off. There was no matter with my mother, unless we counted her disappearance as the issue.

“All I am saying, my lamb…” Mr. Owen’s tone told me he had a great deal to say and intended to do just that. “Is that perhaps the questions about your mother, the patients with the peculiarities about them … maybe they are connected. You know as well as I do, how people respond to the otherworld.”

I shook my head. “There’s no reason to believe this is anything but murder, plain and simple.”

“The man made a poppet,” Ruan grumbled, gesturing at the little doll lying cheerfully on the table. Its frock still stained from where it cut me. “The bloody thing stabbed her in the finger.”

“My love…” Mr. Owen said sweetly as he set the poppet down and looked at me. “Could you suppose—just for a moment—that the otherworld is at play here? Ruan has already told me about how oddly his abilities are behaving. There are two clairvoyants in that hospital, at the very least. Your Félix and Father Étienne … Not to mention rumors of a water spirit in a lake seeking unholy vengeance. Honestly, my lamb, the fact you are convinced it is only murder has me concerned you hit your head a great deal harder than we thought.”

Irritation rose in my chest, but I could not fully discount the notion. The peculiar appearances and disappearances of the child. Félix’s visions of death. Even I had to admit the poppet was a little odd. I supposed that would be one more thing to puzzle out when I spoke with Narcisse tonight.

Good God, I was likely to end up in Saint Oda’s myself at this rate, though if I did, at least I might be a little closer to the truth. A disturbing thought, but one I could not discount quite as easily as I once would have.

CHAPTER NINETEENA Moonlight Requiem

MRS. Wauters was happy to rent out a second room for Mr. Owen, and we quickly got him settled in across the hall. Despite his denials that the man was concerned for me, it was clear he’d been fretting about my fate all the way across the channel and the worrying exhausted him. I was troubled too. For while I was not dead, it was growing clear someone did not want me to discover their secrets and was willing to kill to keep them.

The only problem was, I didn’t know whose secrets they were. Could von Keller, the German doctor, be at the root of it all? Or the patients led by that peculiar priest, Father Étienne? Or was it someone else altogether—someone I’d not even thought of. Someone like Violet Devereaux with her fathomless, deceitful eyes. But why kill me, when she could make a fortune writing lies about me instead? I suppose I’d suss out the truth soon enough. For I was certain Narcisse held the key to the troubles here. I just had to earn his trust.

Once Mr. Owen was fast asleep, Ruan and I set out for our evening assignation with the orderly. We were, for once, in unspoken accord on the matter of Mr. Owen. While the old man was often a boon in our investigations, both Ruan and I knew we could very well be walking into a trap.

“Do you think Narcisse will still be there?” I asked as Ruan closed the door to the boardinghouse with a soft snick of the latch. It was a cold night. Clear and bright, with a full moon rising high overhead in the eerily purple night sky.

I tugged my coat tighter around me, teeth chattering in my jaw from the brutal dampness. Ruan’s silence underscored my own uncertainties. All the while, my mind retraced what we’d learned so far. Of the people who’d disappeared. The dead. The lost. I wet my lips. There had to be something they had in common.

Mr. Owen’s otherworld flitted to mind yet again. Perhaps he was right. The otherworld or … “What about the child?” I asked Ruan suddenly. “How does she fit into all of this?”

His cap was pulled low over his brow, his dark curls poking out from beneath. “She doesn’t make sense. The patients, yes. But why take a child?”

“There has to be something tying them together. Some commonality … Narcisse said my mother looked after the others. Félix. Djhan. Even the girl, Manon. Perhaps she was trying to protect them from something?” The words sounded hopeful, searching for some truth.