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In light of that virtuous resolution, she made a sandwich (then, considering, made a second) and piled them on a paper plate with some of the brownies Rachel had pressed on her before leaving the farm. She opened the box that contained the nurse’s notebook and shoved it—along with the flashlights, candles, matches, and a cold can of Diet Coke—into her tote bag and made her way upstairs to eat and read in bed.

The notebook wasn’t especially riveting if one were reading for personal interest, but it held a wealth of details about the infirmary at Havencross School, including what supplies and drugs were on hand. It was tempting to leaf through and skip to the interesting bits, but Juliet had enough academic discipline remaining in her to refrain. Best to take things in context, always. She made notes on her laptop with questions to be researched and lines of inquiry to be followed, as well as a few of the seemingly trivial kinds of details that made for the best narrative history. For example, that one of the schoolboys had already been in the infirmary at the time of the influenza outbreak, suffering from exposure and a broken leg. If she could learn the story behind that injury, it would make a good counterpoint.

She yawned at last and set the nurse’s notebook on the bedside table with her laptop. Then she slid into a comfortable position against the pillows and used her cell phone to check social media.

It’s all part of returning to the world, she told herself. I used to scroll Twitter at least twice a day.

Her curiosity tonight was repaid rather in the manner of the proverbial dead cat. She opened Twitter and saw someone had sent her a direct message with a photo. The account wasn’t one she knew, but she didn’t have to. She knew exactly what she was looking at. The photo showed a tiny infant swaddled and capped with a rose-bud mouth and a perfect button nose.

Welcome to the world, Marcus Dane Whittier. @duncanw and I are head over heels for you.

Duncan’s son. Fathered not with his wife of eight years but with a twenty-two-year-old graduate student. The girl he’d been in bed with while Juliet labored alone to deliver a baby boy whose heart had inexplicably stopped beating when she was eight months’ pregnant, a baby boy with perfect features and a secret smile on the mouth that never drew a breath. The baby boy she had named Liam months before.

Juliet fell asleep with wet cheeks and a sore throat and a heart that felt as though it would never be whole again. It was like the first weeks after Liam’s death, so it was no surprise when she woke up in the dark, knowing she hadn’t slept more than an hour or two. She lay there with that dull feeling that she hadn’t realized she’d started to leave behind. Now it had returned full force. The kind of dullness that meant she didn’t have the energy to do anything more than lie there and breathe.

The kind of dullness that meant she didn’t realize for some time that a faint light was glowing through her open bedroom door.

She had shut that door when she came up. And locked it.

Nothing like adrenaline to jolt one fully awake. Juliet sat up so fast that her head swam, giving her a moment to consider what to do. Grab her phone? If someone was in the corridor, they would hear her talking. Her best bet was to get the door shut and locked before anything else. Maybe drag the desk in front of it for good measure.

She threw back the covers and stepped cautiously onto the floor. The door was no more than eight steps away.

She’d only made it three steps when the light flared up and died back almost instantly. Juliet froze while she blinked away the spots in her vision. Only it wasn’t just spots—the light had coalesced into an outline. A small, fuzzy, but distinctly human outline.

As Juliet stared, unable to move, the outline took on details: a young boy, no more than nine or ten, a cloak over his pale shirt, and a sweep of fair hair over wide eyes.

And then the boy extended his right hand and, without opening his mouth, said straight into Juliet’s head, Come hide with me.

The spell broke.

Juliet crossed the space in a violent movement and slammed the door shut. Even before she’d finished locking it and dragging the desk to block it, she knew that it—whatever it was—had gone.

That didn’t keep her from staying awake the remainder of the night.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DIANA

OCTOBER 1918

As the sun rose, Diana woke Beth Willis and succinctly filled her in about Austin’s nighttime excursion to find his mother, as well the “ghost” sighting that had prompted it.

Beth blessedly maintained the calm demeanor of the school secretary, with only her furiously tapping fingers betraying the worried mother. “Austin didn’t say any more about what he saw?”

“I didn’t want to press him. I kept him in the infirmary the rest of the night. I’ve asked Mr. Murray to escort Austin here once you and I’d had a chance to talk.” She checked her watch. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. I can give you the room to speak with him.”

“No, stay. And perhaps Mr. Murray could go back for Jasper. Where one is involved, the other will know something.”

In the event, Beth asked Joshua to remain as well. Diana was afraid that three adults facing them would overawe the brothers, but they clearly gained courage from each other. And though he was only thirteen, Jasper had the cocky surliness of an adolescent.

“Have you been telling Austin stories?” Beth asked her older son.

“No.”

“Jasper—”

“It wasn’t me, mum. Honest. Everybody talks about the ghost.”