Page 28 of The Forgotten Boy

“You’ve fed me authentic English fish and chips. I think I owe you.”

He walked her to where she’d parked, and they lingered by the car.

“You’ll be all right getting back in the dark?” he asked.

Juliet was too happy to remember her earlier misgivings. “I’ll be fine.”

“Would I be overstepping if I asked you to text me once you’re safely back?”

“Not at all. It’s nice to have someone care.”

“Care,” he repeated. His voice softened and his eyes swept her face. “If I wanted to kiss you good night …”

She caught her lower lip with her teeth, a habit of adolescence. Feeling more bold than she had in years, she said, “It doesn’t have to be on the cheek.”

“Good.”

He kissed her with a thoroughness that left her shaky. Whatever his romantic history, he clearly had one—Noah Bennett knew how to kiss. She imagined he knew how to do a lot of things. She let herself imagine a few of those while she drove back to Havencross, humming as she went.

Even the bridge wasn’t as terrifying as she’d feared. It was a clear night, the moon was full, and her headlights provided a steady path across the river. Juliet floated into the house and up the stairs, and listened to herself humming until she reached her bedroom.

Where she heard something else. It was the same sound she’d caught four or five times since she’d arrived, at odd hours of day or night. Something rhythmic, almost like drumming, but less familiar. It came, as always, from the door that led to the medieval solar.

Still buoyed by the pleasure of the evening, Juliet got as far as opening the door to the spiral steps. No way in hell was she going up that tightly enclosed spiral in the dark—she just thought she might hear more clearly with the door open, maybe identify the sound as coming from the boiler pipes. Or something on the roof. It had almost an animal feel, as though raccoons or dogs were running across the highly-peaked roof.

Horses.

Juliet didn’t know where that thought came from, but she knew instantly it was right. It was horses she could hear. Obviously not on the roof, but heard through the windows from the solar above her: the drumming of hooves on packed earth, the creak and murmur of leather saddles, the iron jangle of armed riders.

Seized by an impulse to race up the stairs—How many riders? Whose men?—Juliet had gotten three steps up when her phone sounded a text alert. Immediately everything else fell silent. Backing down slowly, afraid to start that unsettling experience again, Juliet eased herself into the corridor and shut the door.

“That was terrifying,” she said aloud. “Little ghost boy, whoever you are, tonight would not be a good night to show yourself.”

At least hearing her own voice yanked her back to reality. Text alert, right. It was probably Noah, checking on her. She fumbled the phone out of her bag and looked.

It was not from Noah. It was from Duncan.

Do you remember when we went on the haunted trolley tour in Boston? Five years ago tonight. Do you remember what we did later in the hotel? I miss you, Jules. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. Please tell me you forgive me.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

DIANA

NOVEMBER 1918

“You sure you want to do this?” Joshua asked.

Diana was very much sure that she did not want to do this. In fact, she could think of twenty things she’d rather be doing on the first Saturday of the half-term holiday than voluntarily walking into an enclosed space.

But she’d been desperate on Wednesday to distract Joshua from the scratches on her neck, and exploiting his interest in the hidden passages had been the first thing that came to mind. Not that he’d looked particularly deceived, but he’d allowed himself to be redirected. For the moment. She suspected it would come up again. Maybe later today, when they walked to his family’s farmhouse to take tea.

So now the two of them stood in a third-floor storeroom holding industrial torches, a mostly empty school beneath them. Fifteen boys remained for the holiday: scholarship students or war orphans with no easy homes to retreat to. The masters had gone too, except for Joshua and Luther Weston. This morning Clarissa herself had joined Weston and Beth Willis in accompanying the left-behind boys on an expedition along Hadrian’s Wall, leaving Diana and Joshua to their exploring.

It wasn’t fair that Joshua looked even better in flannels and a hand-knit sweater than he did in a suit. Diana kept fingering the scarf tied around her neck and then dropping her hand hastily before Joshua could be reminded of the scratches. At least they were healing nicely.

She must have done it herself. It was what she’d said to Joshua and what she kept repeating to herself over and over.

Maybe soon she’d believe it.

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