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Diana asked, “What do they say?”

He attempted a casual shrug, but there was definitely a flicker of nervousness there. “A boy died here. Murdered, probably. That’s why he’s a ghost.”

“Have you seen him?”

Jasper shook his head. “It’s only ever the first-years who see him.”

Well, that was definitely the kind of thing that would prime sensitive, grieving nine-year-old boys—with the right kind of imagination—to see ghosts. In a school full of students who had all suffered losses from the war, it was a wonder all fifteen of the first-year boys weren’t wandering at night.

“Austin,” Beth asked gently, “was this the first time you’ve seen the boy?”

He shook his head.

“When did it start?”

He spoke under his breath, looking down. “The second week.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

His eyes fluttered to his mother, then back to his lap, where his hands were twisted together. He shrugged.

“Was last night the first time you left your room?”

He nodded. “He wanted me to follow him. He kept saying, ‘Come hide with me.’ So I finally did.”

“Why?”

In a heartbreaking whisper, Austin said, “I thought he could help me find Papa.”

Diana met Joshua’s eyes in a shared glance of empathetic agony as Beth gathered her youngest boy into her lap. Austin sobbed like a toddler, and even Jasper’s adolescent shield melted away and he moved to his mother’s side.

Without a word, Diana and Joshua left the little family to mourn alone.

Diana leaned against the wall at the far end of the corridor and put her hands over her eyes. Her head ached from exhaustion and sorrow. She felt a brief, gentle touch to her shoulder and straightened up, eyes opening.

“You all right?” Joshua asked.

She ignored the question. “So the youngest boys are being fed stories of a ghost their own age—a ghost who beckons them to follow—and then … what? Are there any stories about what the ghost boy wants?”

A sarcastic snort came from her left, and she snapped her head around. How did Luther Weston manage to be everywhere she didn’t want him? He appeared at the top of the staircase having clearly heard them, and answered before Joshua could: “Don’t all ghosts want revenge? Or justice? Maybe Miss Somersby should get a medium up here to find out.”

Joshua spoke without noticeable heat; his threat all the more chilling. “If you say one word about mediums and séances within earshot of a boy, I will throw you out of this school myself.”

“Doesn’t it get exhausting being so righteous all the time? You’re not the only one who watched men die in France, Murray.”

“No, I’m not. And I’d wager Miss Neville has witnessed more men die than either of us could count.”

“For heaven’s sake, shut up. Both of you,” she said, with a warning glance at Joshua. “What do you want, Weston?”

“Miss Somersby asked for an update on the Willis boy. I take it he will not be sleeping in the dormitory tonight?”

“I’ll speak to Miss Somersby directly.”

His sour smile lingered unpleasantly as he clattered down the stairs with a quick ease that Diana thought might be aimed at Joshua. Weston may not have been a frontline soldier, but he’d also returned without frontline injuries.

She turned to the matter at hand. “Whatever is going on in this school, there’s no way Austin Willis is my midnight prankster. He hasn’t the nerve. Perhaps we’ll get somewhere if Beth can discover which boys have been spreading stories.”

“If you can get any of the boys to focus long enough.”