Jane reads her expression. “Why don’t you go into the library and rest for a bit,” she tells Nan. When the housekeeper hesitates, Jane says firmly, “We’ll join you in a moment.”
She waits until Nan has left. “I’ve told her the bare details—that he’s someone who was once in our lives and now wishes us harm. She had no idea he was tied to us at all. And no idea who he really is. Her mother had a brief relationship with him and broke it off when she became pregnant with Ed. Apparently he could be quite charming but had”—Jane hesitates—“violent tendencies.”
Holly notices Jane shares her reticence to say Peter’s name, as if it could call him here. “What do you think she’s told him about us?”
Jane shakes her head. “Nothing intentionally. She doesn’t care for him at all. But he’s been very, very sly. He told Ed I needed a new housekeeper and that Nan should apply. How on earth could he have known that?”
“He’s been watching this house the entire time,” Holly says. “Even longer than we thought.”
Jane shudders. “Do you really think Christopher can help?”
“He’s going to the cottage.”
“Is that wise?” Jane raises her eyebrows.
Holly recalls Christopher walking into the night, that flash of silver. It gives her courage.
“Maybe not for Peter,” she says.
* * *
All they can do is wait. Jane toasts crumpets, spreads them with butter and jam, brews another pot of tea. Then, having taxed her culinary abilities to their limit, she sets a tray and carries it into the library, insisting that Holly come and speak with Nan.
“It’s not Nan’s fault,” she says. “Anyone can see she’s worried sick as well. She’s had sole responsibility for that boy for years—she’d never knowingly endanger him. Or Jack. Besides, you both need to eat.”
“I didn’t know,” Nan says as soon as Holly enters the library. Her face is so tight and pale that Holly immediately dismisses her suspicions. “I swear, I didn’t realize he was somebody who wanted to hurt you. But I don’t understand why he’d want the boys. He can barely stand to have Ed around most of the time.”
There’s nothing Holly can say about Peter’s intentions that will be reassuring, nothing that will take away the fact that Ed’s life is in danger. Instead she stretches out a hand and places it atop Nan’s. “It’s not your fault. Peter is very adept at using those around him to get what he wants. But I have a . . . a friend. He’s very good at finding people. He’s looking for them now. If anyone can help, he can.”
Maybe it’s the warm food and tea, but she believes her own words. Surely if anyone is a match for Peter, it’s Christopher.
So when her phone rings and it’s Christopher’s number, a wave of optimism surges through her.
It’s short-lived.
“Are you home?” he asks, his voice grim.
“Yes. Did you find them?”
He hesitates. “I need to talk to you. In person. I’m already on my way.”
Jane takes one look at her face and crosses to her side. “It’s bad,” Holly says, her voice so low she has to repeat herself. “He’s coming here.”
Beside her, Nan clutches her hand. “What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Holly finally manages. “He’s on his way.”
When the doorbell rings, Jane collects herself first and hurries to answer it. Holly tries to follow, but her heart is pounding and her legs have gone boneless again and all she can think is, Please, please, please. She leans against the library wall for support.
And then he’s in the room, and she looks at his face, and her voice deserts her. It’s Nan who speaks.
“Tell us,” she demands, her voice high-pitched. “Did you find them? Please, tell us.”
Christopher shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I went back to the school. To the caretaker’s cottage. There was a body in the back bedroom. A boy. It wasn’t Jack.” He turns to Nan. “He has pale skin, curly hair. Facial features similar to yours. I think it was your brother.”
Nan lets out a wail and falls to the floor. Holly wants to comfort her, but she can’t move, can’t breathe. “I took a picture,” Christopher says, holding out his phone. “Is it him?”
Holly doesn’t want to look, but she can’t look away, either. It’s a photo of a handsome boy, dressed in a gray sweatshirt. In the picture, it looks as if he’s smiling. He’s curled on the bed. He could be asleep.