At least two dozen pairs of watchful eyes observed her as she walked into the heart of the room, taking a seat on a bed next to one of the bigger boys, though he was probably no more than ten years old, and a wisp at that.

“My name is Emily,” she said, offering him her hand, which he rather hesitantly held for a moment, staring at it as if it were a wonderfully precious object. “And what is your name?”

“William—William Gower, miss,” he said, regarding her with great wary eyes.

“How long have you been here, William?” Emily asked.

“Since I was six, I reckon, and I’m around ten now, miss.” William stared at Emily as if she was fearsome, which she supposed she was rather, especially to a boy who hardly knew kindness.

“William, your tutor Mr. Markham told me that you children tell one another stories, and I am wondering if you will tell me a story.”

“Which one, miss?” William asked. “We were just telling the story of the parting of the Red Sea, miss. Is that a good one?”

“That is a very fine story indeed,” Emily said with an encouraging smile, “but I am more interested in the story of the Crossed Keys monster.”

A ripple of concern swept through the group of children slowly gathering around Emily, who felt their scant weight depressing the pitiful mattress even deeper every time one of them ventured onto the bed.

“We are not allowed to tell that story, miss,” William said gravely. “Mrs. Poole says it’s a lie and that it’s a sin to lie, miss.”

“Mrs. Poole also says she’ll send the monster to take us when we’re bad, so is that a sin too?” came another voice from behind Emily.

“It is a sin to lie,” Emily replied, “but it is not a sin to tell a story—that’s another thing altogether, for a good story is a wonderful thing, even stories that may scare you a little. Why, even the Bible is full of stories, allegories and parables.”

William and his friends remained silent, entrenched in reluctance.

“If you tell me the story of the monster, I promise that Mrs. Poole will never find out. And I am a person of my word, William—you can rely on that.”

William looked for a long moment into her face, then at his companions for their approval. Emily pretended not to notice the nods of tacit agreement that encircled her.

“Very well, miss,” William said, his hand stealing into Emily’s. “Well, there’s a monster that comes to Crossed Keys, miss—not every night, not even every year, but sometimes, when the moon is dark and the monster is hungry, it visits and steals a boy away. Only I am lying to you, miss, because you wanted me to tell you a story, and it isn’t a story, miss—it’s real.”