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Her long brown hair was braided and pinned to her head in a style more common before the war. Wordlessly she looked from Ruan back to me.

“Mrs. Wauters?” I asked, thrusting the umbrella behind me and into Ruan’s hand. “I am looking for Mrs. Wauters. My solicitor had been in contact with her about a room.”

She looked me over again, slowly this time, from head to toe. “You must be Mrs. Vaughn. Mr. Anand said that you and your husband would be coming this afternoon. I have prepared my largest room for you.”

Ton mari. There was no mistaking the words, in French or in English. I was going to murder Hari. Just as soon as I got home. The fiend had lied to this poor woman—then again, I suppose marriage was an easier explanation than what we really were to one another. I gave Ruan an apologetic grimace. Whatever he thought of Hari’s ruse, he did not let on, but I was certain that I would hear about it later.

“You are very late.” Her expression softened as she gestured for us to follow her into the main room of the boardinghouse. “I was worried that something happened to you. You were due hours ago.”

The two of us trailed after her into the main sitting room. The house was blessedly warm and most importantly, dry. Exposed dark beams spanned the low ceilings, giving the interior space a far cozier appearance than the stark exterior. The whole of the room was heated by an old wood-fired stove in the corner. Two worn chairs flanked it—and a basket full of mending lay there between them. My stomach unknotted slowly.

See, silly girl. Nothing to be apprehensive of. Nothing at all.

I turned back to our temporary landlady, struggling to pull my thoughts back together. “I’m afraid we got turned around outside of Walcourt. My husband is not good at reading maps.”

Ruan made a strangled sound at the word. He was not as fluent in French as I—having learned the bulk of it during the war. A soldier’s French, they called it, but he understood the jab. One I was most certainly going to pay for once we were in private.

I could scarcely wait.

Mrs. Wauters’s expression remained strained and tight as she gestured for us to come deeper into the room. One thick with the scent of the evening’s supper. “You must understand. It is not safe to wander at night in these parts. The roads … they are treacherous. People have a habit of…” Her gaze drifted to the darkened window before turning back to the narrow stair leading to the second floor. “Getting lost here.”

I blinked uncertainly as I repeated the word back to her, “Lost?”

She shook her head again, gesturing for me to follow. “Come. I will show you your room.”

Unease returned to my belly as we followed her up the care-worn steps. Whitewashed wood planks lined the walls on both sides, rough-hewn by craftsmen centuries ago. Had this been in her family all this time? I ran my hand along the uneven grain as we silently walked up the stair, all the while wondering what she meant by lost? I hazarded a quick glance over my shoulder to Ruan, whose face mirrored the winter storm raging outside the boardinghouse’s walls. I could not wait to get my mother and leave this place. The sooner, the better.

After a few trips back and forth with linens and a basket for our supper, Mrs. Wauters left us alone for the night. The attic room was half the width of the one downstairs with a ceiling low enough in places Ruan had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the beams. It consisted of two adjoining rooms connected by a door. One for sleeping and eating. One for sitting. Both of which were sparsely furnished with objects that had been used up a half century ago.

“Charming woman,” Ruan grumbled, unpacking the hamper of cold meats and cheese she’d left for us, inspecting each one as if it were a live munition.

I placed my hands on my hips, eyebrow raised as he continued his stark inspection of our supper. “Ruan Kivell, I seriously doubt we are staying with a murderess. You’re being … paranoid.”

Ruan leaned on the table, his arms on either side of the basket and looked up at me. “In the six months that I’ve known you, you’ve been poisoned, shot, and attacked more times than I can count—forgive me for being reasonably cautious of strangers bearing food.”

I let out a cynical laugh, taking an apple from the basket and biting into it, holding his gaze with my own as I slowly chewed. Each of us on our side, with an invisible battle line drawn straight through the center of the table. I did not know why I was protective of Mrs. Wauters. The woman had done nothing to earn my favor, and yet I could not help but pity her. “She has been through a great deal.” I waved the apple at him before taking another bite and mumbling over the fruit. “The Germans occupied this part of the country for almost all four years of war. I can only imagine the hardships she must have faced.”

“I do recall what happened here,” he grumbled, turning to the wooden door, locking it and then sliding a worn armchair up against it and settling himself into it. A mutinous expression on his dear face.

I wet my lips as he struggled to make himself comfortable in the chair. “You know there is a bed—right here. I’m more than happy to share with you.” Truthfully, we’d shared a great deal more than beds these last few weeks, and yet somehow here in Belgium he was as far away as he’d ever been. Bristly as an alley cat, and I wasn’t certain what to make of it.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the door. “Good night, Ruby.”

I let out an irritated grunt and began unfastening my blouse, readying myself for bed. Perhaps he was right. One could never be too careful. Even in Belgium.

CHAPTER FOUROne for Sorrow …

WHEN I woke the next morning, the winter rain had stopped and a pale golden light flooded in through the window overlooking the village. The lace curtains were pulled back revealing the rain-slicked streets of Saint Oda outside. Standing water pooled in low spots along the cobbled road. By day, the village was vastly less bleak than under the cover of dark. Perhaps it had only been a trick of my imagination that made me wary, or growing anxiety from my past misadventures, which Ruan so keenly felt the need to remind me of.

The basket of food that Ruan and I quarreled over last night was long gone, replaced by a pot that smelled suspiciously of coffee and a loaf of warm bread. An apology for being such an ass last night. I rubbed a hand over my neck, surveying the cramped room. Ruan’s haversack full of medicines and herbs sat in the corner. A good sign, I supposed. At least he hadn’t fled in the dead of night, leaving me to my own fate. Not that I could blame him if he did. I was a bad bet in life and love and the fact Mr. Owen and Hari had stuck with me this long was a testament to their own moral failings. But Ruan—I let out a groan. Ruan Kivell was everything good in this world, and I was everything … not. He would figure that out in time, I was quite certain of it, but evidently, he’d not yet realized it.

I quickly moved to the enameled coffeepot, laying my hand over the decorative flowers. Warm still. As my fingers brushed the surface, a memory flashed sharp as a whip and twice as painful. A scene I’d watched a thousand times as a little girl returned in force, one of my mother doing the same thing. Laying her hand alongside a silver coffeepot making sure it was still warm before pouring a cup for herself. A knot settled in my belly as the gravity of the day returned.

Today was the day I’d see my mother again. I’d been quarreling with Ruan and feeling sorry for myself and … and it had all been to ignore the ache that was growing stronger by the moment. I’d believed her dead for the better part of a decade. What did one say to one’s mother after all that time?

That same litany of questions from the train yesterday saw me dressed. Would she remember me … would she have changed … would she be angry with who I’ve become? I was little more than a child last time I saw her. My hands trembled as I hastily washed in the ceramic basin and managed to down a cup of coffee before leaving the boardinghouse. I hurried across the slick cobbles of the village and up the old path to the priory grounds.

A cold damp breeze whipped against my navy skirt but I did not feel it. I felt nothing but the searing dread of what I would find at the top of the hill. The eastern wall of the old chapter house had collapsed at some point. The roof was gone, and part of the southern wall had tumbled down the hillside, leaving jagged bits of stone strewn like a child’s forgotten playset. Had this truly been her home these last few years? Such a bleak and sorrowful place.