one of them
now. And another two in the east wing. The west wing"—Alice paused, pressed her lips
together—"the west wing is mostly empty. Well, not mostly. It is empty. Best not to go
there. The floor's rotted in places. Miss Percy says it's not safe. One of the girls fell
through yesterday, wandering where she oughtn't, and was lucky she only came away with
a scraped leg rather than a broken neck."
HIS WICKED SINS
Page 33 of 103
Likely the injured child was the matter that had occupied Miss Percy the previous
afternoon.
"Thank you, Alice. I'm to take turns with the other teachers supervising prayers and
overseeing bedtime rituals for the girls. And now I know where to go. Beth smiled. "And
where not to go."
"That's right, miss. Best be wise and stay away from the west wing," Alice whispered,
plucking at her apron.
The line of pupils had moved along now, and only a single girl trailed behind. She was
pale and wan, with a fey and dreamy look. Her long, dark hair fell about her shoulders and
down her back, the ends ragged and knotted. Her pinafore was askew. One woolen sock
bunched about her ankle. She was by far the least tidy girl Beth had seen that morning.
But it was something more that drew Beth's notice, something in the girl's eyes. She was
shadowed by sadness.
Staring straight ahead, the girl walked slowly along the hall, alone, without a partner to
giggle and chat with as the others had.
Looking at her, Beth felt a cheerless pang, and a whisper of terrible, cold memory, long
buried. She well knew what it felt like to be alone, haunted by horrors others could not
know.
Poor, sorrowful child.
"Except her," Alice said, her voice low but vehement. "She has a room of her own,
when she stays. Can't have her in with the others. Can't turn her out, neither. So there you
have it."
She gave a little shudder, and Beth stared at her in surprise.
A puzzle. Beth looked at the girl and then back to Alice.
"Why do you say that?" Beth asked, feeling certain that if she could only open her eyes
a little wider, study the undercurrents of meaning just a bit more carefully, then she would
discern the answer. She always felt that way when presented with a riddle. Layers upon
layers of meaning, but eventually she would figure it out.
Her father had taught her that. He had held a great fondness for riddles and puzzles.
"Well, this is a charity school in part, isn't it?" Alice said. "Her father is generous with
his money and very, very rich, they say. The trustees want her here, and so, here she is."
Beth looked at Alice in surprise. A charity school. She had had no idea. "What do you
mean, a charity school in part?"
"Well, most of the girls come from families what pay, and some—a few—are local,
from families what could teach them to read a little afore they came here. Those are
supported by the good will and generosity of"—she pressed her lips together, lowered her
voice, and continued—"Mr. Fairfax. And old Mr. Creavy and Mr. Moorecroft, and others.
But mostly Mr. Fairfax. Miss Percy says this school is their experiment."
"I see," said Beth, though she really did not see at all.
Alice caught her lower lip between her teeth and her eyes widened. "I oughtn't have
said that, miss."
No, she oughtn't. But at this moment, Beth's greatest interest lay with the odd little girl.
"And why can that child not be put in with the others?" Beth asked.
HIS WICKED SINS
Page 34 of 103
"Why, she's cursed, isn't she? Shadowed by death."
With questions chasing each other to the tip of her tongue, Beth drew a breath, held it,
then asked in a moderate tone, "What do you mean?"
Alice shook her head and whispered, "Cursed and doomed, just like her father."
"Cursed and doomed? What… Who is her father?"
"Didn't I say? Mr. Fairfax, rot his black, murdering heart." Alice tapped the handle of
the carpet brush against her skirt, her fingers curled so tight the knuckles were white. "A
killer, he is. A
now. And another two in the east wing. The west wing"—Alice paused, pressed her lips
together—"the west wing is mostly empty. Well, not mostly. It is empty. Best not to go
there. The floor's rotted in places. Miss Percy says it's not safe. One of the girls fell
through yesterday, wandering where she oughtn't, and was lucky she only came away with
a scraped leg rather than a broken neck."
HIS WICKED SINS
Page 33 of 103
Likely the injured child was the matter that had occupied Miss Percy the previous
afternoon.
"Thank you, Alice. I'm to take turns with the other teachers supervising prayers and
overseeing bedtime rituals for the girls. And now I know where to go. Beth smiled. "And
where not to go."
"That's right, miss. Best be wise and stay away from the west wing," Alice whispered,
plucking at her apron.
The line of pupils had moved along now, and only a single girl trailed behind. She was
pale and wan, with a fey and dreamy look. Her long, dark hair fell about her shoulders and
down her back, the ends ragged and knotted. Her pinafore was askew. One woolen sock
bunched about her ankle. She was by far the least tidy girl Beth had seen that morning.
But it was something more that drew Beth's notice, something in the girl's eyes. She was
shadowed by sadness.
Staring straight ahead, the girl walked slowly along the hall, alone, without a partner to
giggle and chat with as the others had.
Looking at her, Beth felt a cheerless pang, and a whisper of terrible, cold memory, long
buried. She well knew what it felt like to be alone, haunted by horrors others could not
know.
Poor, sorrowful child.
"Except her," Alice said, her voice low but vehement. "She has a room of her own,
when she stays. Can't have her in with the others. Can't turn her out, neither. So there you
have it."
She gave a little shudder, and Beth stared at her in surprise.
A puzzle. Beth looked at the girl and then back to Alice.
"Why do you say that?" Beth asked, feeling certain that if she could only open her eyes
a little wider, study the undercurrents of meaning just a bit more carefully, then she would
discern the answer. She always felt that way when presented with a riddle. Layers upon
layers of meaning, but eventually she would figure it out.
Her father had taught her that. He had held a great fondness for riddles and puzzles.
"Well, this is a charity school in part, isn't it?" Alice said. "Her father is generous with
his money and very, very rich, they say. The trustees want her here, and so, here she is."
Beth looked at Alice in surprise. A charity school. She had had no idea. "What do you
mean, a charity school in part?"
"Well, most of the girls come from families what pay, and some—a few—are local,
from families what could teach them to read a little afore they came here. Those are
supported by the good will and generosity of"—she pressed her lips together, lowered her
voice, and continued—"Mr. Fairfax. And old Mr. Creavy and Mr. Moorecroft, and others.
But mostly Mr. Fairfax. Miss Percy says this school is their experiment."
"I see," said Beth, though she really did not see at all.
Alice caught her lower lip between her teeth and her eyes widened. "I oughtn't have
said that, miss."
No, she oughtn't. But at this moment, Beth's greatest interest lay with the odd little girl.
"And why can that child not be put in with the others?" Beth asked.
HIS WICKED SINS
Page 34 of 103
"Why, she's cursed, isn't she? Shadowed by death."
With questions chasing each other to the tip of her tongue, Beth drew a breath, held it,
then asked in a moderate tone, "What do you mean?"
Alice shook her head and whispered, "Cursed and doomed, just like her father."
"Cursed and doomed? What… Who is her father?"
"Didn't I say? Mr. Fairfax, rot his black, murdering heart." Alice tapped the handle of
the carpet brush against her skirt, her fingers curled so tight the knuckles were white. "A
killer, he is. A
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