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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
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  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
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  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
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  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
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  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. •   •   •

Fear is the routine that has come to feel ordinary. That, and Lizzie’s search, her quest for understanding. Her struggle to find a solution before her investigations are found out—as they very well might be, someday. We use a great deal of gas power. We send and receive an inordinate amount of mail, and from strange places. Stranger people. No matter how much caution we exercise, the details may eventually betray us. Now our terror is not merely that we’ll both be thought mad, and possibly criminal. No, it’s worse than that. How much worse, I dare not speculate.

No. That isn’t true, and I shouldn’t lie here. When I lie to myself, I lie to everyone. Here’s the truth: I speculate all the time.

The threat is great against the pair of us, if we are found out before we can explain ourselves fully. At best, we might find ourselves incarcerated at a sanatorium, and what would become of Maplecroft then? What of Fall River? Massachusetts? For yes, the threat extends to the entire region—that much has become appallingly clear.

And how much farther than that?

To the whole of the nation? To the world?

We are pulling at threads in the darkness, traversing a labyrinth of ancient and awful design. There are worse things than minotaurs at the center. That much, I can state with utmost confidence.

•   •   •

And now, here comes Gertrude.

Nancy with the fancy actress name. “Nance,” Lizzie calls her with enough affection that it makes me ill. Tall and pretty and strong, in some sense Nance makes a better, more reliable companion than I do. But she’s naive and quick to take offense, and quicker still to leap to judgment. Her moods are mercurial under the best of circumstances, and Lizzie has enough to manage without her.

This having been said, my sister’s mood has been grim for years, and it remains grim almost always . . . except when Nance brings herself around. When she’s in Nance’s company, she’s as happy as I’ve seen her since before Father passed.

So there’s one point in Nance’s favor.

Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll offer another: It could be worse—the girl could be stupid. But she’s only rash and inexperienced.

•   •   •

Lizzie is already beside herself with regard to Nance’s impending visit, her heart torn in the two most obvious directions. She’s glad for the opportunity to see her young friend, but horrified at the sheer extent of what must be hidden before she arrives.

Over the winter we’ve settled into these awful patterns, these anxious routines, and they’re beginning to show outside the cellar laboratory. The laboratory itself is easy enough to hide: You shut and lock the door, and it’s sorted.