Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

DIANA NOVEMBER 1918

Jasper Willis had a broken leg. Though Diana knew she was perfectly competent to set it, she had Clarissa ring the local surgeon just to cover all the bases and provide comfort to Beth Willis.

Dr. Bennett, a man in his midsixties, was Northumberland born and bred with a keen eye and an unusual tolerance for progress if his manner to Diana was any indication. She didn't take his bluntness personally; anyone who'd worked with army officers was accustomed to abruptness. He told Beth Willis that Jasper's leg had been adequately set, which the mother greatly appreciated.

Clarissa had been present from the moment Mr. Murray brought Jasper in. Her hectic appearance had gone, and the competent headmistress had returned. Still, there was something in her eyes Diana did not like, and she determined not to leave her alone with Jasper.

She'd expected the doctor would want to speak to Clarissa about the circumstances of the boy's injury, but it was Diana he closeted himself with after everything had been done.

"What's going on at this school, Nurse?" he asked.

That was more abrupt then she'd expected. "What do you mean?"

"Schoolboys can find trouble locked in the bottom of a barrel, but at the better-run schools you don't generally misplace eleven-year-olds in the middle of the night. Especially not outdoors. If the weather had been any colder, or if it had been raining, you'd have more than just a broken leg on your hands."

"I know."

"Also, I've known Clarissa Somersby since she was born. She's one of the most intelligent people I know, but she's also high strung and prone to obsession."

"If you know the family, then you know about her brother."

"Yes, I helped search. As did Michael Murray, who found your boy today. But back then we got the worst result of all: nothing."

"That's worse than death?"

"Oh yes. And don't tell me you don't agree. It's not those families you wrote to from France telling them about their son's or father's last hours that suffer the most—it's the ones who will never know for sure where those they love lie. I suppose Clarissa believes these ghost stories coming from the boys?"

"I think so. I think … she seems to hope that it's Thomas."

"A ghostly boy who wants other boys to follow him—she probably hopes one of them will lead her to Thomas's body. Maybe this house isn't as locked up at night as you think."

She didn't like the implications of that at all. Would Clarissa deliberately leave doors unlocked in order to allow schoolboys to wander at night?

"You should speak to her," Diana told the doctor.

"She won't listen to me. She never has. If she did, she'd have left Havencross long ago and got on with her own life. Keep an eye on her for me, will you?"

After promising to return in two days to check on Jasper, Dr. Bennett departed, and Joshua almost immediately took his place in her office.

"Clarissa has asked to speak with you," he reported. "Are you all right? You've looked rather shaken since the search. Did Weston say anything to upset you?"

"What? No." It was hardly the time to get into the unsettling whatever-it-was that had accosted her in the attic. "We're all shaken and sleep-deprived and hungry and worried. How did Clarissa seem to you during the interviews with Jasper's friends?"

"Definitely more traumatized sister than capable headmistress," he said.

A succinct assessment, and worrying. Diana sighed and Joshua touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "You can't fix everything," he told her. "Surely you learned that lesson in France."

"The very first day," she said wryly. "But I never learned to stop trying."

"And I, for one, am grateful. Be careful with Clarissa Somersby. That kind of distilled grief can pull you down with it."

An apt metaphor—for entering Clarissa's office was a little like stepping to the edge of a whirlpool. Diana could feel the pull of the woman's emotions even before she saw them swirling across her face. She had never seen Clarissa look so alive, or so on edge. She didn't even try to sit down after urging Diana to do so but paced in large circles around the Persian rug.

At least Clarissa asked her the appropriate question first: "Are you and Dr. Bennett both convinced Jasper Willis will recover completely?"

"Yes. It was a simple, clean break. As long as he stays still and exercises it appropriately when the time comes, there should be no problems."

"Has Jasper said anything more about … his experience?"

"No. And before you ask, I don't want him questioned any more today."

Clarissa shot her a look keen with intelligence. Whatever her current emotional state, there was nothing wrong with her brain. "You mean you don't want me questioning him."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "No, I don't. Certainly not in your current state."

"You think I would frighten a child for my own ends?"

"Not deliberately. But I think you would do almost anything to get the answers you want."

Astonishingly, Clarissa laughed. Far from being offended, Diana's blunt words seemed to have calmed the outward signs of her agitation. She perched on a leather footstool and wrapped her hands around her knees in a surprisingly young gesture. "The answers I want," she repeated. "Nicely phrased. Meaning you think I'm more interested in confirming my own suspicions than in actually knowing what happened to my brother."

"Meaning that I'm worried about you. Of course you can't be completely objective when a boy goes missing for any period of time—no one expects you to be."

Clarissa ignored that opening and stared intently at Diana. "I am more interested in questioning you."

"About what? You don't think I had anything—"

"No, no. I wanted to know if you had any … unexpected experiences while searching the medieval part of the house."

"Why would I? I've been sleeping and working there for weeks now."

"You hadn't been up to the solar before now."

Diana narrowed her eyes, meeting Clarissa's gaze head-on. "I take it you have."

"Yes."

"Why don't you tell me about your experiences?"

"Ahhhh." Clarissa straightened up, satisfaction in her smile. "So you've felt it."

"I … I don't know what I felt. Searching in the dark, worried about a missing boy—"

"That's why you felt it! That's when it happens, when she comes, when you're as sick with worry as she was once, terrified for the safety of a child—"

"She who?"

"That I don't know, at least not her name or dates or anything else you would like to know to confirm the reality of what you experienced. Property records get murky past the late eighteenth century. It doesn't matter. Just tell me that you didn't feel the same things."

"The mind is a flexible instrument—" Diana began, and was immediately cut off.

"So you think I'm crazy, just like everyone else does. ‘Poor Clarissa. Locked herself away all these years, she's grown mad tormenting herself with guilt, creating ghosts to ease her loneliness.' I know that's what people think. No one except my father has ever dared say it to my face, although Dr. Bennett hints from time to time. Did he tell you to disregard anything I might say about ghostly sounds and elusive images?"

"He told me that you are one of the most intelligent people he's ever known, not that I needed telling. You are obviously sane, Clarissa, if understandably sensitive about ghost stories and missing boys."

"So, passably sane with a very vivid imagination?"

Diana bit her lip, thinking hard about which would do more harm—continuing to evade Clarissa's original question about the solar, or answering it. "It seems unlikely that I would conjure up precisely the same scene as you did, no matter how vivid my own imagination. I saw … shadows. Outlines of furniture. I heard horses and men, and saw a banner. And I felt—" Diana stopped, searching for just the right word.

She said it at the same moment Clarissa did: "Terror."

Clarissa's smile could have powered half of London. It made Diana want to smile back, in spite of the day's seriousness.

"That doesn't mean I believe in ghosts," said Diana. "And I definitely do not believe that the ghost of Thomas is trying to contact you by haunting schoolboys."

If she'd expected to shock Clarissa by using her brother's name, she was disappointed. Clarissa simply looked at her with absolute confidence and said, "Nor do I. Of course not. Why would you think that of me?"

Diana floundered for words. "Because … but you've been so interested in the sightings, so curious about how I was being haunted … if you don't think this ghost is Thomas, why do you care?"

"Because Thomas saw him too in the last days before he disappeared. I am certain that my brother was following the ghost boy when he vanished."