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“I need … I need a minute.” I ran from the room and down the corridor. Heart hammering in my chest, I burst out the front doors of the children’s home into the dappled morning sun on the priory green and settled myself onto a bench beneath the leafless limbs of a gnarled oak.

Hands shaking, I broke the seal with my thumb. All those years I’d believed her dead and yet she lived. I held the proof, at last, in my hands. She might not be here with me, but she had made it off that damned boat. She’d found land … she’d survived.

My darling girl. I know you will not understand why I’ve left you again, but I hope in time you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I trust you understand now why I sent Violet to find you. I knew when you arrived at Saint Oda’s you would see in Manon what I did. That you’d understand what she is and you would protect her. Her life will not be easy, but you are more than able to take on the task.

Understatement of the millennium, Mother. I blew out a breath. If only I had the faith in myself she did.

I returned my attention to the letter as birds settled into a nearby hawthorn tree watching me curiously.

Do not come looking for me. There is something I must do first. I miss you, my Ruby. I promise I will come to you as soon as I can. Take care of Manon. Take care of them both. Their curse is our responsibility. You must understand that by now.

Your ever faithful,

Mother.

I folded the pages back up and numbly stuck it into my pocket before withdrawing my silver cigarette case. Their curse? What could she mean by that?

I pulled a cigarette out and lit it, drawing the smoke into my lungs and exhaling with a groan. Would I have to give up cigarettes when raising a child? I shook my head. Good God, I was going to be an utterly terrible guardian.

I heard the soft sound of footsteps beside me and opened one eye to find Violet Devereaux walking across the grass to meet me.

“Mind if I have one?”

I held the case out to her, and she took it from my hand, lighting her own cigarette and sinking onto the bench alongside me. She didn’t look at me, just stared out onto the empty courtyard.

“I didn’t come to Saint Oda to find your mother. Not at first. I hope you know that,” she said softly. “Patrick had heard stories about this place—”

“The first reporter?” I asked her, turning the cigarette over in my fingers.

She nodded. “Yes. There were rumors of a miraculous child. As he began to ask questions, he began to worry something evil was happening here. Patrick learned that Father Crawford believed there was a link between your mother and the girl—he’d been trying to make sense of it, but when his letters stopped, I knew something terrible had happened.” She made a sad sound, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

I glanced over to her as she studied her hands—staring at the palms as if his blood was there upon them. “He was already dead, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He’d asked me to find you, to ask your help because what he’d found was too big. I was about to go to meet you but then I received word from the priory. Djhan Wauters told me something had gone wrong, that our plans had changed. I left Oxford at once and came here. We never meant for you to come. It was why we tried so hard to frighten you away. Why Dr. von Keller tried to convince you your mother had died. Your presence risked our ability to hide Manon. To keep her safe from Father Crawford.”

My heart fluttered in my chest. A peculiar, birdlike creature that had only begun to come to life. “Is that why you were arguing with Dr. Peterson the day I first saw you?”

She nodded. “He wanted to tell you straightaway what was happening. He said you’d understand. That you’d help us. I urged caution and I regret it now. I wonder now if we’d taken you into our confidence if things might have ended differently. If he might still be alive.”

My mind flitted to the empty grave, to the mud on both Félix and Dr. Peterson on the night the latter was thrown from the priory. “I don’t understand … what happened the night he died?”

She closed her eyes. “Félix and Dr. Peterson were coming back from the caves. We’d all three been out there checking on the child, we were bringing supplies for her and Djhan in preparation of moving her farther from the priory. Félix saw Father Crawford in the cemetery and confronted him, the priest had uncovered Eva’s grave—he must have known she was not truly dead and came to see for himself who lay in her grave. Crawford realized Dr. Peterson had lied when he said your mother was dead.” Violet shook her head. “I saw them there across the river, but Crawford didn’t seem angry. I assumed it would be all right, but I should have known…”

I could see the scene all too well in my head. I wet my lips. “And Djhan, where is he now since Manon is safe with us?”

“With his mother. Once Father Crawford was dead, I went to the caves to get him. He went straight home once it was safe to do so. I believe things can go back to how they ought to have been. The way they were before…” she said softly.

I furrowed my brow, recalling the brandy in my room. “Mrs. Wauters? The woman poisoned me!”

Violet grimaced and shook her head. “I am sorry about that. You were not supposed to drink it at all. Father Crawford always had a crate of brandy brought in from the village every week. He was ever so fond of the stuff and I’d thought perhaps I could end things once and for all, with no one any the wiser…”

I stared at her, agape. “You tried to kill a priest.”

“It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it. Unfortunately, I poisoned you. I am sorry for that. I had no idea Mrs. Wauters was going to buy one of the bottles off the delivery driver. Once I realized what happened I broke into your room to get it. That’s why I was in your room. I’d intended to take the bottle and leave but you arrived sooner than expected.”

Again, I stared at her, recalling how she’d broken the bottle upon leaving the room. The wily alley cat. Her plan might yet have worked with enough time—Father Crawford would eventually have drunk one of the poisoned bottles. I could not help but admire her cleverness. “You have been the bane of my existence for the last four months, yes. But couldn’t you have just come to me and told me what happened? Writing warnings on walls, stories of creatures in lakes…”

She let out a strangled sound. “Me? V. E. Devereaux? I’d already made your life a living hell for years. But I had to pay the bills somehow. And writing is honest work. How was I to get you to believe I meant you no harm and my being here was just a terrible, horrible coincidence?”