It is not your place.

How those words feel as if they are burned onto my skin. I have thought of nothing else since I left Mr. Carver at the edge of Rectory Wood, when he turned and walked away, not affording me one more glance.

It is not your place.

I am furious and ashamed and so very exhausted of knowing this to be the cold truth. It is not my place to say one word out of turn. It is not my place to speak my mind. It is not my place to have just one lock of hair not perfectly coiffured into position. It is not my place to do anything other than what is expected of me.

I have barely said a word to Marie all the way home and although her eyes had widened at the mere sight of me – for without one of my combs, which is now lost forever in Rectory Wood, fixing my hair proved to be an incredibly difficult endeavour, and I could do very little to make myself presentable again – she pursed her lips and said nothing. Whatever she had seen in my face was enough to hold her silence.

The heat of the day wanes since my pursuit of Ebba Cole through the town. Why does it feel as if months have passed since that moment, when it is just mere hours? Why do I feel so different to the person I was just this morning? The one who couldn't help but be thrilled by the adventure she was about to undertake?

I do not feel thrilled now. I feel exhausted to the bone. And empty of the answers I sought to find.

The idea that Mama may have lied to me about the curse bothers me greatly. It sits as an uncomfortable knot in my stomach. I might not always agree with everything Mama says and does, but I love her immensely and I have always known that she only ever has my better interests at the root of everything. She desires for me to have a good life, a comfortable life, with a respectable husband of good standing. I know she desires for me to have the love that exists between herself and Papa. I know all these things, and I know her to be a good person at heart, which is why I cannot fathom why she would speak so falsely of the Sin-Eater and why she would speak of him as if he were the Devil himself.

I know Mr. Carver is not the Devil. Of course, I don't claim to understand his work and it truly does seem a thing of darkness to consume souls, yet I saw no presence of evil in him. He seems a man seeking to do naught but provide for himself and in return, we have shunned him and exiled him to that dreadful place.

It is not your place.

Mayhap, he is right about that. His place is not my place. We live but a few miles from each other and yet we might as well live whole oceans apart. He looks upon the likes of me with disdain and repulsion and I did nothing to encourage him otherwise. I am utterly bereft that not only did I come away with more questions than answers, but I came away knowing that my presence did nothing but irritate him. Lizzie would tell me to not allow it to bother me so, for she believes a man's opinion of a woman is worth no more than a grain of salt, but I just cannot help myself. I am not used to people wanting rid of me and whilst I am aware how arrogant that must sound, I am also aware that it is but a tiny seashell in an ocean compared to what Mr. Carver must feel every single day of his existence.

Marie turns the trap into the approach to the house. Ahead, I see Silas is waiting, his tall, broad-backed figure often seeming as much a part of the building as the windows and doors. Much like Aggy the cook, Silas has been here for as long as I remember and longer still, having served the Elmes' estate when my grandparents were alive. He is but a few years older than Papa, but has the strength of a much younger man, although I often think he carries his age in his eyes. He says little but sees everything, I am sure of it.

'Easy there,' he croons to the horse, as Marie pulls on the reins and slows the trap to a halt. 'Here, Miss,' he says to me. 'I'll help 'ee down.' His eyes widen as I take his hand. 'Ow bist, Miss Elmes, what happened t'ee?'

'Oh, it is nothing, Silas,' I say, doing my utmost to brush down my skirts which seem to have much of Rectory Wood still attached to them. 'I slipped is all. Nothing hurt apart from a lady's pride, I can assure you.'

'I'll have to go at it with a needle and thread, Miss,' Marie says, eyeing me as if to suggest she believes nothing about my assurance to Silas.

'Well, if anyone can fix this mess, I am certain it can only be you, Marie.' I glance at the house. 'Now, I am in dire need of a bath, I think.'

I just need to wash my back, Miss Elmes. Unless of course you believe you can do it quicker. You are welcome to try.

Daniel's voice thrums in my ear. Heat tickles the base of my spine. I shake it off and muster the strongest smile I can afford.

'Of course, Miss.' Marie nods. 'I'll be up presently with the water.'

With that, I leave them to attend to the horse and trap and head straight for the house.

As soon as I enter, I find William sitting on the staircase, a few steps up, his hand curled around a baluster.

I begin to speak, surprised to find him there, but he raises a finger to his lips and silences me, before gesturing towards the parlour, where the door stands ajar by less than an inch. From within, I can hear the muffled voices of Mama and Papa.

'William Elmes,' I whisper as I draw close to him. 'Are you eavesdropping?'

'Something has happened, Lily,' he whispers back, his eyes wide with barely concealed excitement. 'Something bad.'

I am at once stiff with fear. Surely Mama and Papa cannot know of my journey into Rectory Wood? Would Stella have spoken of it to someone on her journey home?

'What on Earth do you mean?' I croak.

'I don't know,' he says. 'But Mr. Darborough came with Rector Williams to see Papa and they looked mighty aggrieved about something. Mama almost had a fainting fit and Aggy had to fetch her a glass of port to calm her nerves.'

'Mama drinking port?' I reply. 'Goodness, whatever it is, it must be bad news indeed.'

'I think she might even have had two...' William trails off, his eyes clearly taking in my half-dishevelled state. 'Goodness, Lily, you look like you could do with a port or two yourself, what on Earth happened? Have you been climbing trees again? Mama might need the whole bottle at this rate.'

'Oh, I slipped and fell,' I say, attempting to brush off his question, and irritated by the amusement in his expression.

'From a tree then?' he says, with a snort.

'Not from a tree, no. I merely lost my footing is all.' I pinch his arm, as he attempts to muffle his laughter, failing miserably and issuing a yelp instead.

The parlour door opens abruptly, and Papa fills the doorway, his eyes drowned with worry. His pallor is pale and drawn and my concern instantly peaks. Whatever this is, Papa is truly troubled by it.

'Papa, is everything okay?' I say, going to him and taking his hand. 'William said Mr. Darborough and Rector Williams were here?'

Behind Papa, I see Mama sat in the armchair, the one Grand-Mama Rampton seemed often to take root in when she was alive. Mama too looks quite ghostly and is dabbing at her face with her handkerchief.

'I see it is still impossible to have a conversation without you two glued to the other side of the door,' Papa says, but not unkindly. If anything, he seems weary to the bone. An exhaustion hangs off his body, weighting him to the floor.

'Sorry, Papa,' William grumbles. 'I was just concerned.'

'Is it something to do with the Church, Papa? Is that why Rector Williams was here?' I ask, referring to Papa's comment outside Lutwyche Hall about the Church declaring heresy on anyone involved in the Sin-Eating ceremonies.

Papa pats my hand in the way he often does when he seeks to reassure me, but I can see the look in his eyes and am certainly not reassured. I think William's assessment was right. Something bad has occurred.

'Come in, dearhearts,' he says, ushering us both into the parlour.

The scent of Mr. Darborough's pipe still hangs in the air. I see the window has been opened, whether to relinquish the room of the tobacco smoke or to give Mama some much-needed air, I am not certain.

'Mama,' I say, going to her side and kneeling by the chair. 'What ails you? Are you unwell?'

Mama clasps my hand in her own and brushes my chin with trembling fingers. If she has noticed my partly dishevelled state, she seems too distraught to let it bother her and for that I am grateful, but not so much that I wish Mama to be this distressed. 'Oh, Lillian, it is awful, it really is. It is truly, truly awful.'

'Now, now, dear,' Papa says. 'Do not upset yourself again.'

'What is it, Papa?' William says, loitering in the doorway as if he is almost too scared to enter the room. Whatever excitement he felt before seems to have transformed into trepidation, mayhap from seeing Mama so very upset.

'My children, we hope to keep this matter as quiet as we possibly can and what I say now, cannot leave this room, do you understand? We wish not to cause Major Smallman any further cause for concern.'

'Major Smallman?' I ask. 'What of him?'

Major Smallman is an acquaintance of our family and the owner of Wilderhope Manor, a dreary, gritstone house on Wenlock Edge, an escarpment which runs from the town of Craven Arms all the way to Much Wenlock. The house has always been a bleak and joyless place, even before Major Smallman had the misfortune to suffer the loss of his wife just five months afore. Major Smallman's grandfather, also a Major himself, was killed when his horse bolted and fell from the edge, plunging them both to their deaths. William always took great delight in taunting me with the rumour that the ghost of Old Major Smallman haunted the hallways of Wilderhope. Having visited there several times during my childhood, I would have ascertained that it wasn't just Major Smallman's ghost that lurks there. It always seems steeped in such an unsettling air, that my skin prickles as soon as I step foot inside.

Papa's voice is grave as he speaks, and he pulls William into the room and closes the door.

'Something is amiss at Wilderhope,' he continues, leaning against the mantle.

He glances up at the portrait of Great-Grand-Papa Elmes, I wonder whether to give himself the strength to say whatever story it is he must tell. Next to it, the visage of Grand-Papa Rampton stares down at me, a stark reminder of that terrible day from my childhood. I do so hate the parlour room now. Sometimes I think the stain of death has never left this place, it clings to the rugs and drapes far stronger than tobacco smoke ever could.

'I can only assume that Francis has quite lost his mind since the passing of his dear Edith. It can be the only explanation.'

'What is it, Papa?' I urge gently.

Mama squeezes my hand a little tighter. 'He says he has seen her,' she says, her voice naught but a hoarse whisper.

'Seen who, Mama? Who has he seen?'

'Edith. His wife. Francis says he has seen her walking the hallways and gardens.'

I grow cold.

I see Mr. Hawkstone then, his bloated grey face and swollen blackened tongue.

No. They cannot surely mean what I think they mean.

'But Mama, Mrs. Smallman passed in late March hence. The Major must be mistaken, surely?'

'Of course, he is, dear,' Papa asserts. 'There is no other explanation.' He moves to the table where the bottle of port still sits and pours himself a draught. Seeing Papa's hand shake as he raises the glass to his lips makes me wonder whether he believes his own statement or whether he simply seeks to convince himself, as well as us.

'Has Dr. Benedict been summoned?' I ask.

'He has not. Francis sent word for the Rector. He cannot risk the scandal of this getting out, nor his own part in it, not with the Church drawing ever closer. He knows Rector Williams is loyal to our parish and will help him.'

'Yes,' Mama says, almost to herself. 'The Rector is a good man. He is one of us, that is for certain.'

'But Mama, if Major Smallman is unwell, what can the Rector do that Dr. Benedict cannot?'

There is a silence then that creeps under my flesh and pulls tight around my heart. I am not used to my parents' silence and know from experience it only ever means one thing – they are unsettled and there is more to come with this tale. Something they do not wish to confess out loud.

'You are not sure he really is unwell, are you?' Dread grips me then with sharpened claws.

Papa glances at Mama, their locked gaze full of secrets and fear.

'It must be investigated, Lily,' Papa says. 'If it is discovered that Francis is mistaken and not of sound mind, then Dr. Benedict can be called upon to attend him, but we must be sure. We must be certain that his story is just that – a story and nothing more.'

'But Papa,' interjects William. 'You cannot think it to be anything but, surely?'

'We will know soon enough,' Papa says, supping his port down. He pauses, looking into the bottom of the glass and turning it slowly in his hand. The hand that still shakes. 'The Rector has summoned the Sin-Eater.'

My heart judders in my chest. 'P-pardon?'

Mama is dabbing again at her face, looking more like a ghost than ever.

'He has many questions to answer. If Mrs. Smallman walks still, this is his doing,' she says, a bitter edge to her tone. 'He must fix it.

My stomach churns like a furious storm. Everything Daniel was worried about is coming true. First Mr. Hawkstone, now Mrs. Smallman. The dead are not at rest, and he cannot possibly confine this to the shady boughs of Rectory Wood. His secret is out now, and Daniel's abilities are already being called into question. How long will it be before everyone knows? How long will it be before he loses everything?

'You believe this to be Mr. Carver's fault?'

Mama's face is pinched tight as she stares out through the open window of the parlour room. 'We will know soon enough after his visit there tomorrow.'

Dread grips me harder still, its claws ravaging my heart. 'Tomorrow? He will go tomorrow?'

'Yes. There is no time to lose,' Papa says gravely. 'If Francis is not mistaken, then the Sin-Eater is the only one that can undo the dark curse that befalls Wilderhope Manor.'