Page 53

Agathe touched my hand gently. Her skin cold and dry. “I must go. But you must not mention Manon again. Not at the priory.”

I furrowed my brow. “Why? Do you know where she is, where my mother is? Are they safe?”

Agathe’s expression flickered again as she made the sign of the cross before her. “May the Lord protect you from the darkness that is coming. But soon there will be light.” And in a flutter of white she was gone.

She knew.

I glanced down at the grave—Anna Marchand’s grave—and saw the poppet lying there in the grass. The white of its little dress blowing in the cold February wind. I stooped down in the dirt to take up the little doll. It smelled oddly sweet, but otherwise was nearly identical to the one Manon had left here days before. I’d return it next time I was up to the priory, along with Manon’s. At least I knew who to leave them with. It was curious Sister Agathe would have that doll, particularly after how Sister Marie-Thérèse responded upon seeing the first one.

I turned it over in my hand and gave it another sniff. The sweet scent was familiar, but I could not quite place it. I tucked it into my pocket, my bare fingers brushing over the cache of letters from the powerhouse. I’d nearly forgotten about them. I stood for several minutes watching the flow of the river before turning my attention to the letters beneath my palm. There were dozens here. Neatly folded and bound together. I needed to examine them, see if I could uncover any other clues—anything to link my mother to the missing child. And yet my body and spirit were restless. Neither wanted to be confined to the boardinghouse, waiting on Ruan to return. My mother had been drawn to the river. Manon had been found by the river. Everything came back to this place. I drew in an uneasy breath as I stared at the flowing water and began to walk, determined to unravel the secrets it held.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENUpon the Water’s Edge

I continued down the riverside path pulled on some invisible thread. Only the slightest wisps of clouds blurred the blue of the sky. Mother. Manon. Djhan. I turned their names over and over in my head. All three were missing and I was increasingly certain all three were alive and hiding somewhere close. The only question was, would finding them help me reveal the killer or simply deliver them to him?

Violet had been right to be wary.

I continued past the power station onward in the direction of the woods when I noticed a fork in the river I’d not noticed before. The larger branch meandered lazily out across the fields and disappeared into the horizon. But a smaller stream went another direction; it had been obfuscated by the tall grass, as it wended its way to the tree line. I followed alongside its cold and muddy banks until the ground gave way into a deep gorge. I stood at the apex, looking at the rocky terrain carved by time and water into a nearly symmetrical bowl. Violent, frothing torrents lapped at the stone. I inched down the rocks to get closer to the water. Debris and limbs from the recent floods had gathered in the pool, annoying the water even more than the stone walls enclosing it. The pool wasn’t particularly deep, but was swift enough that one trying to wade across would likely be swept from their feet. Though I suppose it could be deep—perhaps that was what caused the rapids upon the water. Regardless, it was the perfect spot to read the letters without being disturbed.

Perhaps I’d learn more about the dreadful Violet Devereaux and what the dead reporter had discovered before his death. Poor man. I swallowed hard, recalling his final entry in the journal. His last act was to send for me. How many lives might have been saved had I simply come right away? It wasn’t my fault, and yet I felt a keen responsibility for the deaths here.

I settled myself down on the promontory jutting into the pool of water, pulled off my shoes, one by one setting them alongside me, before dipping my bare feet into the ice-cold water. My mind began to settle. I pulled out the letters and began to read. One after another.

They spanned the summer of last year. Each one from Violet Devereaux. My stomach twisted as I read. It was evident from the correspondence that Violet had been close with this man. Patrick. The first reporter had a name, and somehow it made his death all the worse. Colleagues, friends, lovers. Perhaps a mix of all three. I swallowed hard as I continued reading, getting an uninvited glimpse into the hearts of two strangers. The final letter weighed upon me.

My darling, I need you to be careful. If you are right in your supposition about what is happening there, then things are far worse than we expected. I have done as you asked and located the American, but she will not speak with me. I am to meet her solicitor again today, perhaps he will see reason. I’m running out of options. I beg of you, please give up this fool’s errand. What started as a curious story for you has become an obsession. You cannot save them all. Please speak to the gendarmerie, let them know what you suspect. For I need YOU. I need you to come home. Yours, Violet.

I blew out a breath, staring into the water. It was hard to dislike Violet after reading her words. Was that the reason she was here—to finish what her lover, the first reporter, had begun? I tucked the letters back into my pocket. There were four dead bodies. First this reporter, who’d discovered the truth about what was happening here. Then Manon’s mother. And last, the two found in the lake last night. At least three of the four had known about what was happening at Saint Oda’s. The same must have been true for Manon’s mother, Anna.

The lines were being drawn up in my mind for who might be behind the killings and I had two, perhaps three different camps and not a one fit neatly into the clues I had. Dr. Peterson was the most likely. He and von Keller. I groaned, wishing Ruan would return from Walcourt. It was so much easier to think when I had someone to discuss my ideas with. The sun hung much lower in the sky than it had been when I sat down upon this stone. Dying embers of day stretched across the sky as I glanced down at my pin watch and pulled out the little poppet Sister Agathe had dropped hours before. I tilted it over in the sunlight. It was nearly identical to the one her cousin, Manon, had left for me in the cemetery.

Did this one bear a message too?

I ran my thumb over its dress, feeling for signs of a hidden message. The frock on this doll had been sewn out of a tired muslin that had long outlived its original purpose. I could almost hear Ruan’s exasperation with me as I examined it without him. His voice echoing in my head. Be careful with the otherworld, Ruby. Just because you don’t believe in it, doesn’t mean it does not believe in you.

I shrugged him away. The doll meant me no harm. I ran the sweet-smelling fabric between my fingers as my head began to ache. The fabric was thicker here. I tested it gently, bending the stiffness. There was something tucked between the layers. I reached into my bag and withdrew my folding knife, flicking it open. I tested the blade along my thumb to make certain it was sharp before slipping it between the layers of fabric, slitting the threads and revealing a pocket sewn into the poppet’s gown. I pulled the fabric apart and a folded slip of paper fell out. A message had been hastily scratched out in an unfamiliar hand. Not sewn as the message on the first doll had been.

Meet me in the strangers’ cemetery tonight. You are in grave danger.

Had the girl meant the message for me or had Félix left it for the young nun? Worry climbed up my throat. Footsteps grew louder, coming down the rocky path behind me. I hastily tucked the warning into my pocket before turning to find Ruan standing there, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, wind whipping his dark curls.

“What have I told you about playing with strange charms?” The edge of his mouth curved up into a fond smile.

At least he wasn’t cross. That was something. An answering warmth bloomed in my belly as he sank down beside me on the sun-kissed stone. I dropped the poppet in his lap along with the scrap of paper I’d found. “Any ideas what it means? There was a cryptic note inside warning me of death and destruction.”

“When is there not?” Ruan sighed, turning the doll over in his large hands, examining it much as I had before turning his attention to the note. “How very odd.”

I nodded in agreement. “Do you suppose it was meant for me, or the doll’s owner?”

Ruan shook his head with a frown. “You should know Owen is on his way back to England as we speak.”

“Good.” I’d worried the old man would give him trouble, but Ruan had his ways.

He made a low sound of agreement in his chest. “I thought I was going to have to sedate him to get him on the train, but in the end good sense prevailed.” Ruan ran his thumb over the doll’s worn dress before setting it down between us on the rock. I stared across the water at the dark stone face covered in scrubby vegetation. There was something intriguing about the darkness there. Something almost beckoning to me.

“I need a way to get inside…” I said softly, my voice quiet enough I wasn’t even certain I’d spoken. But Ruan tensed all the same. “Félix made those dolls. I would stake my life Félix left that warning…”

“Inside where exactly?”