“That’s exactly how he reacted.”
“And he believes you?”
“I’ve passed his tests.”
“Then it must be so.” Mrs. Van’s long fingers played with a brooch pinned to her lapel. “A long time ago, there used to be many who claimed to be able to speak to ghosts. I’ve never heard of one who is able to see them. Still, I’ll trust the master’s judgment.”
“How do you know him?”
Mrs. Van sighed, and went to remove the kettle from the fire, pouring Leena a cup. “Is that your question?”
Leena nodded.
“I worked for his father, and his father before him…”
They stared at each other. Leena’s heart thudded.
“How old are you?” Leena whispered. The other woman’s face was oddly devoid of wrinkles—stone smooth, but aged in the same way bricks and boulders age.
“Very old, Miss Al-Sayer. Now drink your tea. Your brother needs tending.”
—
Leena could not stop shaking as she went to see Rami. She couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard, and for one moment she’d desperately wished that Mrs. Van was lying. Life was tumultuous, and the one surety was that it eventually ended. To think that a creature like Mrs. Van could live and live and…
It was madness.
Theodore Daye followed her, his ghostly form flickering in and out like a mere trick of the light. It was also madness that Leena could see phantoms. It was madness that the dead did not always die.
She swallowed—but what did that make Mrs. Van?
More important, what was St. Silas dealing with?
Rami was sitting up in bed; he had been given a chamber near her own. The bruises had transformed from a garish purple to a fading yellow. His left eye was still bloodshot, although less so, and he could now open the curtains without wincing at the bright light.
It had been a rough week—and at the worst of it, Rami had cursed her when she’d suggested sending for the doctor.
“No doctors,” he’d yelled on that second night. His forehead was burning by then and he’d begun to hallucinate, thrashing so violently that Arthur had to be called to restrain him. Once he was subdued, Mrs. Van had shoveled a sleeping draught down his throat. Just as Rami’s eyelids became heavier and his words slurred, he had tugged Leena’s arm. “No doctors…please.” There was such desperation in his voice that she couldn’t refuse.
The last time Rami had seen a doctor was for his amputation. They couldn’t afford the anesthesia, and the surgeon wouldn’t take Baba’s shoes or Leena’s faux jewelry as payment. It had to be done without. Rami had been awake throughout the entire operation, witnessing his own butchering, falling into unconsciousness only afterward. Baba had wrapped the limb in newspaper and taken it to the cemetery, and Leena knew that Rami had never forgotten that a part of him had been buried while he slept.
“You look awful,” Leena said—the same greeting she had givenhim every morning for the past week. This time, her voice shook with the weight that now plagued her mind, and she felt sick withit.
“Still have all my teeth,” was his usual response.
Leena had already told him of all the events leading up to her contract. His eyes had blazed when he’d heard of Leena bargaining her secret for Rami’s medication, the fire growing even steadier when he heard the details of her contract.TheSaint will have to employ me as wellwas all he said.For as long as you are indentured, Leena, so am I.
Leena didn’t know if her brother would be allowed to stay; St. Silas had already stretched his mercy to the limit by allowing Leena to shirk her duties to care for Rami.
Rami noticed her pale, trembling face, and he told her to sit on the chair beside the bed.
“What’s happened?” he asked, holding his ribs and grimacing as he turned to face her.
A part of Leena was afraid that Rami might not believe her. That if she accused the housekeeper of beinganother creature,he might give her that same pitying look as her neighbors. She didn’t think she could bear that.
“Are you thinking about the Black Coat you buried at the cottage again?” Rami asked. “Has his ghost come back?”
That was somehow easier to speak about. “No, not again,” Leena said quietly. “Do you remember what Margery used to say?”
