Chapters (206)
- Praise for Maplecroft
- Title page
- Copyright page
- Contents
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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- A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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- I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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- Nance O’Neil
- THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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- AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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- THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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- CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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- HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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- A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Nance O’Neil
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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- Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
- Emma L. Borden
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- Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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- DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
- Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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- Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Emma L. Borden
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- FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Inspector Simon Wolf
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“I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “One small bargain between lovers—people do it all the time; they ask that one thing be off-limits.”
Quickly, as if she’d been waiting for such a moment, she snapped, “And in such a bargain, you wouldn’t choose your parents?”
I was honestly stunned. What little discussion we’d entertained with regard to their deaths, it’d all come down to the easiest lie—they were killed by my half brother, or so I professed to believe. And she professed to believe that I was telling the truth.
Were we both lying? To ourselves, and each other at the same time?
“Is that . . . ,” I began to ask, and then adjusted my approach. “Do I hear doubt in your voice? Or accusation?”
“Given the circumstances, you might as well conflate the two.”
“All right then, I’ll answer your question: No, I would not place my parents’ death off-limits in any bargain between us. We’ve already had that conversation, and whatever else you’d like to hear, I’d be happy to share.” I’d lied that lie enough. It had almost become the truth, or a fiction vastly better than the truth—because my half brother had vanished, and there was no proving anything with regard to his involvement. Or lack thereof.
Wherever he was, whatever he was doing . . . he sure as hell didn’t care what I said about him.
“Then why the cellar?”
“If I told you that, we couldn’t call it part of the bargain, could we? Now what would you like to place off-limits? What subject must I avoid at all costs, that you can withhold explanation until the day we die?”
She frowned. Puzzled, I think. She was thinking, considering, trying to figure out something she hadn’t shared already. For the most part, she was an open book. If she had any secrets at all, she hid them well—behind a wall of information, chattered without apparent restraint, delivered at the slightest hint of permission or interest.
“I’ll think of something,” she decided.
“But you agree to the bargain? Leave me the cellar, and you’ll stop hunting for keys?”
“I’ll leave you the cellar. And stop looking for keys,” she vowed.
I want to believe her. Desperately, painfully, with all my heart. But that’s only what I want, and not what I think.
Nance O’Neil
APRIL 22, 1894
I have the key.
Do I regret my trickery? Not at all. How can I regret the measures I’ve taken to protect and assist my beloved? I know she needs help. Whatever she’s hiding down there, it’s more than she can manage alone. I am confident of this. I am at peace with this. And I will do what needs to be done.
Now that I’ve begun, I must follow through to the end, mustn’t I?