“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 is heavy. 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. The snick of 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.