Emily had always found that the best policy when it came to long hallways full of whispering shadows was to walk as briskly and purposefully as possible, so as to dissuade any lingering ghosts from attempting to waste one’s time. It was not that she was afraid of ghosts—indeed, under normal circumstances, she was always very pleased to meet one—but not today. Today she did not have time for ghosts, not when there were monsters on the loose.

As Charlotte, Branwell and Anne headed towards the kitchen, following the scent of boiled cabbage, in search of the aforementioned Mrs. Seed, Emily took the first flight of stairs she found and ascended to the second floor. It seemed unlikely to her that in a house as large as this, the boys they had seen in the classroom were the only inmates. Sweet, young Mr. Markham had mentioned something about the departure of a member of staff recently. If that personage had yet to be replaced, it was likely there was a good quantity of boys elsewhere in the building awaiting their turn to drink at the font of knowledge.

Sure enough, as Emily reached the upper floor, sounds of muted, whispered conversation and brief bursts of laughter drifted down the windowless corridor—little snatches of fellowship amidst all this gloom and oppression. Standing still for a moment, Emily listened for more telltale sounds, but it seemed as if the children were alert to her approach, as they suddenly fell silent. Opening one door she observed one long room crammed with beds, so icy cold that her breath misted before her. The room was empty of all except one small boy, who, though his cough was fierce enough to make the bedframe vibrate, did not wake. Dragging two paltry blankets off neighbouring beds, Emily laid them over the boy, before quietly retreating, offering up a prayer that whatever it was that ailed him might be gone by morning.

Crossing the hallway she opened another door, only to hear the scuttle of feet and whispers, as boys hastened to sit bolt upright upon their beds, each with a tattered-looking book of prayer on their laps. The all-pervasive chill had this dank room in its grasp too, and many of the children had their thin bedclothes wrapped around them like makeshift cloaks. They did their best to look absorbed in their reading.

“You need not be afraid,” Emily said in the same way she might have addressed Keeper when he knew he’d done wrong but she was trying to tempt him inside anyway. “I have not come to scold you or to test you. I have only come to talk to you for a little while. And to ask you to tell me a story. You may close your books.”