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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
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  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
  30. •   •   •
  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  69. •   •   •
  70. •   •   •
  71. Nance O’Neil
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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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.
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  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  150. Emma L. Borden
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  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

I do not know how she undid the ties that held her to the bed. I did not see her escape. I did not watch her tiptoe across the floor. I do not know if she saw me, or if she paused to look down upon me, or offer some kiss of affection—but I know how likely that last part is, so I’ll put it from my mind. It only makes me feel worse.

I do not know how I slept through it, and I’m surprised that Emma did.

But Nance arose; I’m not sure when.

She extricated herself; I’m not sure how.

She found her way to the washroom, a large, modern one here on the second floor. It has always been one of my favorite things about this house—with its wide dimensions, elevated iron tub on lion’s feet, and all the lovely pipes feeding back and forth, in and out of the wall. I have always loved that room.

I awoke to the sound of dripping water, so soft but so near, I thought it must’ve begun to rain. And in my half-sleep state, I wondered at the nighttime shower raining down outside, pattering against the windowsills. Rainstorms are such soothing things. So pleasant for sleeping through.

But the drip, drip, drip, was not the last of April’s showers, and something in the back of my mind insisted that I must collect myself and investigate.

I did so unwillingly. I was so tired, and so heavily asleep. Reluctantly, with awful slowness, my mind dragged itself up to alertness, or something like it. The effort to lift my head was herculean, and unkind.

Drip, drip, drip.

Coming from the washroom down the hall. There was no other water source so close by. Had I left a tap loose?

I rubbed my eyes. I forced them to focus.

And on the floor beside the bed, I saw the ties I’d used to keep Nance secure. Tangled but unknotted, lying in a loose heap.

My heart stopped.

It started again, banging like a hammer, and I threw myself from the settee—flying forth from my blanket and discarding it into some corner, somewhere. I ran to the bed, where the imprint of her body remained. There was no sign of how she’d undone the ties, but I did not have time to wonder about it—not when the water was there in the bathroom, drip, drip, dripping, and I knew where she must have gone.

Any minute I expected to hear the clang of Emma’s bell, but I didn’t, and for a tiny, horrible moment I wondered if she was even alive anymore. She might have died in the night, expiring from her persistent illness; or no, I’m lying again—because it crossed my mind that Nance might’ve gone on a spree like the rest of the maddened victims, or like so many of them have.