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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
  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. •   •   •

Indeed, my body betrayed me within twenty or thirty seconds—but the doctor’s hand upon my shoulder gave me some steadiness, some of the calmness I could not manufacture on my own accord. I finished coughing and went quiet, except for the rasping tone of air wrestling in and out through my mouth and nose.

He added a gentle pat to the comforting gesture. “Are they always this bad?”

I rallied enough strength to respond, though I did so through my handkerchief. “No. But sometimes . . . it’s worse.”

When I withdrew the handkerchief, it was stained with pink, but not much red. I went to hide it away, to cram it quickly in some pocket or corner where he would not see it—and this was preposterous, I know. I should’ve held it up for display and scrutiny, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so.

He saw it anyway, and waved his hand, urging me to pass it to him for inspection.

“See? Not so bad,” I attempted with a note of cheer, but his expression of solemn contemplation did not bend.

He said, “Not so bad, but not so good.” And then his demeanor became more quiet; he stared at the scrap of fabric as if it held an extra measure of meaning—or that was my first impression. But then I realized that he was looking through it, toward his knees, past the floor. Staring at nothing, and using the dirty cloth as an excuse to think.

“Doctor?”

“Miss Borden,” he said quickly in response, as if catching himself half asleep. Then just as quickly he added, “Might I ask you something of a . . . related nature, perhaps? It might be relevant to your condition, but it’s a delicate subject all the same.”

“Of course.”

He glanced about the room, checking to see that we were alone, which piqued my curiosity. “It’s about Matthew Granger,” he began slowly, organizing his words with caution.

Whatever subject I’d expected, this was not it. “Young Matthew? Down at the shore?”

“Yes, that’s him. His godmother asked me out to see him; she had some concerns about his behavior, and wondered if he might be falling ill.”

“I certainly hope the poor boy’s well,” I said with a frown.

“As do I,” he assured me. “But this is why the matter is delicate, and I do pray you’ll take no offense that I broach it here: Matthew’s behavior, his appearance, his demeanor . . . it . . . what I mean to say is, it reminds me of something. It reminds me of someone—your stepmother, if I’m to be honest. Shortly before she and your father . . . died.”

That last word hung in the air, lingering between us like the miasma from a cigarette.

I was stunned, but not quite to silence. And not for the reasons he must’ve assumed.