“Yes, madam. Algaraan,” Leena replied, approaching closer to the armchair.
The old woman’s expression turned distant. “His Algaraan Lordship used to visit the House often. He was a great friend of the master.”
Lord Hargreaves,Leena thought. Once more his name had been mentioned alongside that of Lord Avon, adding weight to Lady Hargreaves’s embedded dreams. “How long did you work at Weavingshaw?”
The housekeeper wrenched her head up. “What happened to the Algaraan lord?” She gripped Leena’s arm, her taloned fingers digging into her skin. “That filth, that half-breed. Curse him! Curse him! May he rot!”
Leena lurched away. The old housekeeper no longer looked as harmless as she had initially appeared, her white hair wild across the visible area of scalp, spittle forming on her thin lips.
Her heart beating faster, Leena tried her questioning again. “Why do you hate Lord Hargreaves?”
But the housekeeper continued as if she’d not heard. “How I grieve for the House, all alone on the moors. First they took the boy, then the master.”
Leena stared blankly at her. “Who took the master?” But then she paused, a sudden sinking feeling in her chest. “What boy?”
“What boy?His Lordship’s son, of course.” The old woman rockedback and forth. “Oh, by the Saint of Lost Children. Oh, by her olive trees…keep him safe.”
Saint of Lost Children? Olive trees?Leena remembered the empty tomb, her hands cold.
She’d never known Lord Avon had a son. Her gut twisted and she didn’t realize she had taken a step toward the woman.
St. Silas himself had confirmed that the Avon line had died with Percival…
By that point, there was no one left in this world to inquire after him.
His words on her very first night of employment rang in her ears.
St. Silas had lied.
Of course he’d lied—just as he had hidden so many other things from her.
Leena could not avert her gaze from the old woman’s face.
“How old would the boy be now?” Leena whispered, but the woman continued with her jumbled speech.
“They told everyone that he was missing, but I know different.Theytook him.”
“Who took him?” Leena insisted, trying to keep pace with the conversation that was rapidly falling out of her grasp.
The woman leaned forward, baring teeth that were surprisingly strong and white. “The Wake.”
Leena’s breath caught. “Why would they take the boy?” Her hands gripped the fabric of her dress until her knuckles turned white. “Is Lord Hargreaves in the Wake?”
The old woman kept rocking back and forth. “They took him, that little darling.”
Leena knelt by the woman, urgency welling in her throat. “What was the boy’s name?What was his name?”
The woman continued to mumble.
“Please,” Leena pleaded. “Try to remember. What was the boy’s name?”
The old woman’s foggy gaze landed on Leena once more. She tenderly brushed a curl from her face.
“You are beautiful,” she said vaguely. Then her eyes fastened on the golden chain around Leena’s neck, pulling at it gently to reveal Margery’s broken timepiece with the nameFrayengraved onit.
The old woman abruptly rose, as if seeing Leena’s timepiece had triggered a lost memory. She walked toward the hearth where a small box lay, opening it carefully. Turning, the old woman showed her an identical timepiece, and Leena could not hide her surprise.
“Where did you get this, madam?”
