Page 65 of The Light Between Worlds

I narrow my eyes. “Why? Was there some sort of suspicion?”

“Of course not.” Suddenly Max looks very tired. “If you met him, you’d know he could never. But he was the last to see her, and he took it very hard.”

“They’re not giving you any trouble, are they?” I ask.

“No. But then, we all saw this coming.”

“Yes, we did. And yet I still left.”

“Philippa, it’s not your—” Max begins, but I raise a hand to stop her.

“Could I see Ev’s room, please?”

The dormitory’s worse than the refectory. Girls loiter about the halls or linger in their bedrooms with the doors open. Several times I hear my name called, but hurry along without answering.

Max turns a key in the lock of the door to Evelyn’s room.

“We’ve moved Georgie in with me,” she explains. “She’s more cut up over all this than she lets on, and the only other options were leaving her in here across from an empty bed or having another girl take Ev’s place. Neither seemed quite fair, so the room’s been sitting unused.”

When the door swings open, a blast of cold night air hits us. Max switches on the electric light and hurries to shut the window, which has been left ajar.

“Faulty spring,” she says. “It never quite latches.”

The room is bare. No sheets on the beds, no personal belongings strewn about, and the wardrobe gapes open, showing its hollow insides. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find.

“May I have a moment?”

Max stops in the doorway. “I’ve got to be in the refectory shortly. Are you alright on your own for a bit? If you need anything, my rooms are open. Help yourself to tea, or the telephone.”

“Yes.” I sit gingerly on the edge of Evelyn’s bed. “I’m fine. Thank you, Max, truly. For everything. I don’t know what either of us would have done without you.”

The door shuts behind her, and I’m left alone in this too-cold, empty room, which feels more like a cell than any sort of home. Thebare light bulb casts harsh shadows against the walls, and flickers when a gust of wind rattles the window. With a little pop, the faulty spring gives way again, and the window slides open an inch.

I walk over to it, and the sight of the woods ensnares me, restless and sighing in the wind. Shutting the window, I set my jaw. No one here can tell me anything about Evelyn I didn’t already know.

But the river where Ev’s trail ran cold might.

Outside, the wind’s grown icier, and I’m in entirely the wrong sort of shoes for a trek through the forest. I traipse across the back field with my shoulders bent to keep in as much warmth as I can, and pound on the door to Hobb’s cottage.

There’s a clatter, the sound of shuffling feet, and the door swings open. Light and heat and the smell of something cooking pour out around me. Hobb stands blinking on the threshold.

“Miss Hapwell? Is that you?”

“It is. May I come in, Hobb?”

“Oh, aye.”

He steps aside, and I enter, setting my overnight bag next to the door. It’s a little place, the gardener’s cottage, just a single long room with a bed off to one side and space for a wood-burning stove, a table, and two chairs. But there’s a pot of stew bubbling on the stovetop and music crackling from the wireless, which Hobb shuffles over to and turns down, so we can hear ourselves think. Silently, he pulls out a chair and I sit.

Still without speaking, Hobb ladles out two bowls of stew and sets one in front of me, then takes the remaining chair. I eat a mouthful to be polite, and it’s far better than school fare—savory, and thick with meat and winter vegetables. I’ve only got throughhalf of mine by the time Hobb pushes his empty bowl aside and leans back with an expectant look.

“I need to borrow a pair of boots and a torch,” I tell him, setting my spoon down. “I’m going out to the river.”

Hobb nods. “Very well, Miss. But I’ll be going with you.”

I nearly argue, but he fixes his eyes on mine and I read regret there, of the same sort I’ve been feeling since I woke in the New England dark.

“Alright.” I bow my head in assent. “If you insist, Hobb.”