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Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
  7. •   •   •
  8. •   •   •
  9. •   •   •
  10. •   •   •
  11. •   •   •
  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
  13. •   •   •
  14. •   •   •
  15. •   •   •
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  17. •   •   •
  18. •   •   •
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  22. •   •   •
  23. •   •   •
  24. •   •   •
  25. •   •   •
  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
  27. •   •   •
  28. •   •   •
  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
  30. •   •   •
  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
  33. •   •   •
  34. •   •   •
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  36. •   •   •
  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
  44. •   •   •
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  47. •   •   •
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  52. •   •   •
  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
  54. •   •   •
  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  57. •   •   •
  58. •   •   •
  59. •   •   •
  60. •   •   •
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
  63. •   •   •
  64. •   •   •
  65. •   •   •
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  69. •   •   •
  70. •   •   •
  71. Nance O’Neil
  72. •   •   •
  73. •   •   •
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  83. •   •   •
  84. Emma L. Borden
  85. •   •   •
  86. •   •   •
  87. •   •   •
  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  89. •   •   •
  90. •   •   •
  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  92. •   •   •
  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
  94. •   •   •
  95. •   •   •
  96. •   •   •
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  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
  103. •   •   •
  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  106. •   •   •
  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
  108. •   •   •
  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
  111. •   •   •
  112. •   •   •
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  114. •   •   •
  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  116. •   •   •
  117. •   •   •
  118. •   •   •
  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  120. •   •   •
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
  132. •   •   •
  133. •   •   •
  134. •   •   •
  135. •   •   •
  136. •   •   •
  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
  140. •   •   •
  141. •   •   •
  142. •   •   •
  143. •   •   •
  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  145. •   •   •
  146. •   •   •
  147. •   •   •
  148. •   •   •
  149. •   •   •
  150. Emma L. Borden
  151. •   •   •
  152. •   •   •
  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  155. •   •   •
  156. •   •   •
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  164. •   •   •
  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  166. •   •   •
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  171. •   •   •
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  174. •   •   •
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  176. Emma L. Borden
  177. •   •   •
  178. •   •   •
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  187. •   •   •
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  194. •   •   •
  195. •   •   •
  196. •   •   •
  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  198. •   •   •
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  202. •   •   •
  203. •   •   •
  204. •   •   •
  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

Later, when I came tripping lightly downstairs wearing Lizbeth’s robe, I saw a candle or two lit downstairs by Emma’s sleeping place. She was up, damn her—reading or writing, and within full view of my only passageway into the kitchen, to the cellar door.

So I gave up temporarily, thinking that I could try again some night when the cool weather returned, and the elder Borden had returned to her spot upstairs.

Back in Lizbeth’s room, she too was stirring. “Where were you, dear? Where did you go?” she asked.

“I only wanted some water,” I purred at her, as I slipped back between the light covers, and pulled my skin up against hers. “Go back to sleep.” I drew her into my arms. She felt very warm and soft, all drowsy kitten and velvet skin.

“I am very sleepy,” she said, and of course she was. I’d have been astounded to hear otherwise. If I hadn’t successfully worn her out, Mrs. Winslow should’ve done it.

“Close your eyes, then. I’ll sing you to sleep.”

“No, don’t do that.”

For a brief second, I took offense. “You don’t want to hear me sing?”

She shook her head, rocking it against my bosom. “Of course I do. But I’d prefer to stay awake . . .” She yawned. “Rather than insult you by drifting off during the performance.”

I squeezed her, and adjusted myself on the pillows, so that I was lying on my back with her head atop my chest, and my arms around her more comfortably. “You’re a silly thing,” I told her, but I loved her, and maybe all love is silly in its own way.

“You, too,” she said in return, and then she was out again. Her breath was damp and sweet against my skin, and it was lovely, this evening alone in bed, with the butter-soft moonlight to keep us company and no one ringing a bell for attention.

I petted her hair and tried to enjoy the moment, but in the back of my head, I was wondering how much more I ought to give her in a dose—in order to keep her sleeping soundly while I explore.

•   •   •

This was all the night before last.

It’s still warm enough now that Emma remains downstairs again, but the old familiar chill is creeping back into the air, and I think we’ll reinstate her to her proper bed this afternoon. This will all be so much easier when I only have to sneak past one of them.

But I can’t put it off too much longer.

Eventually Lizbeth is bound to notice that the key she wears isn’t the one she thinks. Somewhere a clock is counting down, waiting to reveal my deception. But I don’t know where it is, and the only way past it is downstairs, through a strange door, and into whatever mystery awaits me beyond it.