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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At least she’s talked Nance out of a party. As always, that was the first thing the girl wanted upon her arrival, and the last thing we needed. So Lizzie is capable of putting her foot down on the big things, and thank God for that. I’d be happier about this development if I didn’t know all too well how it’s the little things that’ll catch us in the end. They check the details for devils, you see.
Already, the poor girl has become fascinated with the cellar door, and we all know nothing good can come of it. Lizzie is almost out of excuses. And whatever’s calling from down there . . . whatever it is . . . will undoubtedly win out over locks and prohibitions.
It’s only a matter of time, I fear.
Hell, isn’t everything?
Lizzie Andrew Borden
APRIL 21, 1894
Doctor Seabury came today, and I hardly know what to make of his visit.
I am both invigorated and terrified, for he seems to be on the very edge of grasping how much there remains to be understood, and how far away is any mortal mind from understanding it. I hesitate to consider it, but we might well prove kindred spirits after all. My new optimism stems from the Hamilton murders, which occurred last week on the other side of town.
(Oh dear. I really shouldn’t call it “optimism,” considering.)
Regardless, my feelings are predominantly positive, tragedy aside. Some good may come of it yet, if the doctor and I can bring ourselves to trust one another enough. We came very close to naming a collaboration today, but not quite yet. We’re both very afraid.
We have every right to be.
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As for the Hamiltons, whose grisly end has brought us together . . . I never knew the family well, but I knew of them.
Everyone did, like everyone in Fall River knows everyone else, on sight if not in person. The Hamiltons owned a store down by the pier, catering mostly to mariners and those who like to pretend to such things, by way of keeping the trappings about their homes. The family unit consisted of a husband and wife a few years older than Emma, and a boy in his teens—their godson, otherwise orphaned some years previously.
It would seem that the boy attempted to drown his godmother, and Mr. Hamilton intervened—and this intervention required a gun. Mr. Hamilton has been taken to Boston, but I don’t think he’s been arrested. I suspect they’re evaluating him, considering whether or not to place him in an asylum.
That’s the best ending he might expect, I’m afraid (assuming he’s told the truth). His other option is likely prison, in the event that he’s manufactured some cunning lie. And from what I recall of Mr. Hamilton, “cunning” wasn’t the first descriptor that sprang to mind.