Of course it had stopped—or its muffled tones didn’t reach this room. I sighed and shook my head, waving her back to bed. It had been so clear, though. Very soft and almost faraway, but distinctly piano music. I moved back into the hall, placing my hands on the wall to still my spinning senses. The music faded in and out, like my grasp on reason.

Hadn’t Clara claimed to hear it too? Hadn’t Rosamond’s song once reached her ears? Or had that been someone else? Things were fuzzy.

Perhaps the music was meant only for one person at a time, whoever the ghost . . .

No. This was preposterous. I was tired beyond reason, and that’s all it was. Auditory hallucinations happened when one lacked sleep.

Kneading my temples with a long sigh, I moved farther down the corridor to keep awake and silently cursed whoever had not shown up to relieve me. The music continued to echo in my skull, almost a ringing sound, and as I paced, I began to plan for how I could steal a small sleep the following day. I was growing desperate.

Shadows shifted. Wind howled like the moans of an old woman. I blinked bleary eyes, half expecting the promised ghost to walk out of the darkness and beckon me. The only result was dry eyes and jittery nerves. I moved up and down the corridor, mind growing numb.

Then a shuffling ahead jarred me to alertness. My night shifts so far had been uneventful, but now it sounded as if a scuffle were going on. Then, a woman’s muffled cry. I hurried toward it with a pounding heart but saw no one. “Hello?”

A tri-folded letter lay open on the ground just outside the locked ward gate. I reached through the bars to pick it up and a flutter of dried pink rose petals tumbled out as I lifted it. Hand shaking, I drew the page in toward me and flipped it open. It was old, yellowed sheet music—a page of a Bach concerto on one side, distinctive handwriting on the other.

Please help me. I have enemies even now, and I cannot escape. Only you can help me, and you know it. Don’t leave me here. Do not abandon me. You may not believe in me, but I believe in you.

I have every confidence you can find me, if only you’ll look in the right places.

The writing was spidery. Light and wispy. I blinked, lowering the page as a faint echo of pianoforte music sounded in the distance, and I wanted to cry. It was happening again. The dreams—the vivid dreams. Shifting shapes on the window, low moans—my imagination fired like a steam engine.