Page 36 of Down Comes the Night

“May I ask you a personal question?”

Lowry’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course.”

“You’ve gone through a great deal of trouble to bring me here. To some, I imagine it would seem to be more trouble than a servant is worth. Why?”

“To some, she says. A mysterious entity, thatsome.Have you been listening to rumors about me, Ms. Southerland?”

“Nothing like that.” She frowned. “Just… a curious mind.”

Lowry ran a hand through his hair. He looked preoccupied, distant, as he turned his gaze to the frost scoring the windows. “It’s a fair question. I suppose I can’t help but feel this is all my fault.”

“Unless you’re a pathogen, this is in no way your fault.”

“Somewould certainly argue the case,” he said with a wry lilt, “but I digress. I know it’s unreasonable, but I feel responsible for Henry in particular. I normally leave matters of household management to my staff, but I hired him myself. He appeared on my doorstep a few weeks ago, completely unannounced and looking for work.”

Wren perked up at that. Why would Hal leave Vesria to comehere? And if he truly only showed up a few weeks ago, how could he have ingratiated himself enough with Lowry to become his favorite?

“He had no references and hardly any belongings,” Lowry said. “On any other day, I’d have turned him out, but there was the small matter of the estate being… understaffed. His arrival seemed a blessing, really.”

“He just appeared? Did he say where he came from?”

“No. I know it sounds strange, but I didn’t want to push him. I wish I could adequately describe how he looked. So determined and burdened. I felt sorry for him. He’s so young, but his eyes…” Lowry paused. “They held secrets. I assumed he was running from a difficult past and looking for rest. How could I deny him that? A man is entitled to his silence. I figured he would tell me about himself in time, but Henry… Well, he’s a humorless sort of fellow. Rather like a salted snail—withdraws into himself whenever you try to talk to him.”

Wren wrinkled her nose at the too-fresh memory of their encounter, his surly silences and clipped retorts, the swaths of bruises still untended beneath her sleeves. “He is rather morose.”

“I can’t say I blame him. This whole house isheavy.Can you feel it, too?”

Wren hesitated. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel as though I’m being haunted by death. First my father. Then the servants in the east wing. Now this.” He laughed, but it was hollow, almost mournful. “I didn’t call for healers quickly enough, and I paid the price. When Henry came, no one had fallen ill for weeks. I thought the worst had passed, but I was wrong. I should have turned him away.”

“You couldn’t have known it would come back.” She had no energy to pity Alistair Lowry. Right now, she couldn’t afford to pity anyone but herself. But as always, her traitorous heart compelled her. She placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “No matter how sinister this disease seems, I will get it under control. Try not to worry yourself.”

“I shall certainly try,” he said. “Worrying doesn’t become me. Now shall we take that tea I promised?”

After escorting her out, Lowry lifted the key from around his neck. It spun on the end of its chain until he took it in hand and locked the door behind them. Thesnickof the lock was an unspoken but decisive message:Keep out.

But Lowry said nothing about it. Only slipped the chain beneath his collar again.

Unease settled over her, as thick as his despair. She had hoped Lowry would give her clarity, but instead, she felt even more lost than she had before. It left her with a single grim prospect. If she wanted answers, she’d have to get them from Hal himself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Hello, Cavendish.”

At the sound of his name, Hal turned toward her. Wren immediately dropped her gaze to the floor and cursed herself for her cowardice.If you can see Cavendish,the drill sergeants had told her time and time again,you’re already dead.An old habit, she supposed. Although she no longer feared for her life, he still unsettled her with those eyes like a starless sky. Cold and completely unknowable.

“I brought you lunch.” She lingered in the doorway, breathing in the rich smell of barley and herbs as it wafted from the bowl of soup in her hands.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Try to eat anyway,” she said irritably. “It’d mean the whole world to me.”

As she met his hazy, dispassionate gaze, she couldn’t decide whether to feel relieved by his semilucidity. On one hand, itminimized the chances of his reflexive paranoia injuring them both again. And on the other, it meant they had tointeract.

“I’ll try,” he said at last.

How low had her expectations sunk that his concession pleased her? Wren settled into the chair at his bedside. Fragrant steam billowed from the bowl, weaving a partition between them. She counted five of his rasping breaths before she wanted to crawl out of her skin with discomfort.