The oak spiral staircase is narrow and somewhat precarious, each step immaculately polished by the Wilderhope maid, however I notice the closer we get to the top, the care of each step becomes less meticulous. I cannot say I am wholly surprised by this, for if the second floor is where Edith now resides, I shan't imagine anyone would care to spend too much time close to where death surely walks.

The stairwell is starved of light, and on a bleak day such as this, what little light trickles through the small windows is just about sufficient to help guide our way upwards without losing our footing and tumbling down the many steps to the lobby. The dead silence here is a sharp contrast to the thunderous storm of the parlour room, and I can hear nothing but my shallow breaths and the sound of our footsteps. My skin prickles with the anticipation of what is to come, but I am strangely steadied by Daniel's presence and by the scent of him which fills my senses in the most welcoming way.

As we near the top, Daniel reaches for a paraffin lamp which stands on the ledge of the last window. Next to it, lies a single Lucifer box and Daniel extracts one of the matches and strikes it, lighting the wick of the lamp and replacing the chimney funnel intact. At first the illumination is dazzling, until Daniel adjusts the pin at the base of the lamp and the glow is muted just enough to stop from hurting my eyes.

Stepping out onto the second floor, we wait, with Daniel holding up the lamp to alight the long corridor. Dust particles hang in the air, undisturbed. No sound alerts us to any possible presence of Mrs. Smallman. In fact, it is so quiet that I cannot imagine anyone is here except for ourselves. Mr. Hawkstone made quite a monstrous cacophony of sound as he crashed through Rectory Wood and showed no mercy to any tree or bush that attempted to bar his way. Of course, in life, Edith was but a mouse of a woman, but in this stagnant silence, I would have thought to have heard something at least. A footstep perhaps. An agonised groan.

Instead, Wilderhope refuses to yield.

Daniel moves to the door of the first room and presses his ear to it. Shaking his head to confirm he hears nothing, he turns the knob and gently pushes the door, which opens, thankfully with no protest.

Craning my neck to look past him, I can see it was most likely a guest bedchamber once, slightly small and cramped and barely enough space to fit a bed, a nightstand, and a narrow glass-fronted armoire. Through the small window, I can see the gardens to the rear of Wilderhope, framed by the darkening clouds that look as if they threaten to lash the landscape with heavy rainfall at any moment.

Daniel motions for us to continue and I take the room on the opposite side of the hallway, noting the rather beautiful but sad-looking Grandmother clock that stands close to the doorway. The face is smudged with dirt and the mechanism has stopped completely and I am at once struck by the notion that grief seems to have permeated everything at Wilderhope. Everything here seems to have stopped when Edith died. Everything seems a little darker, as if sadness has consumed not only the Major himself, but the very structure of the house and everything within its walls.

I think I would very much prefer to get this done with and get out before I too am overwhelmed by it. I think Daniel must sense it too, for his expression is grim, his dark brows knitted together over dull eyes.

The room itself reveals nothing of any interest and in fact, looks as if no one has disturbed it in some time. Just as we depart, closing the door behind us, a strange sound comes from the end of the hallway and Daniel raises the lamp again, conjuring nothing but shadows that creep across the walls as he moves his arm to illuminate the farthest corner.

Sweeping back again, he stops, and I see that there is a door slightly ajar. I gasp as I spy movement within, the light catching some shadow moving past the gap in the door. Whomever or whatever it may be, it moves slowly. As I strain to listen, I fancy I can hear a shuffling noise which reminds me a little of when Grand-Mama Rampton was so very old and would walk agonisingly slowly across the rugs in her velvet slippers.

On cautious foot, Daniel heads towards the door, sliding the pin on the lamp down until it emits nothing but a dull glow to help us find out way down the dim corridor without stumbling. My heart beats so hard the closer we get that I wonder that it does not wake every person laid to rest in their graves from here to Church Stretton. I find myself reaching for the hem of Daniel's coat as he walks ahead of me, clutching onto the rough fabric as if to feel something that's real under my fingertips, when this whole thing is starting to feel very much like a ghastly dream.

At the end of the corridor, Daniel bids me to stop, and he turns, taking a few slow steps backwards, so he can manoeuvre himself to spy through the gap in the door. Carefully, he extends his arm and pushes gently on the door, just enough for it to open an inch or so more.

From where he has asked me to wait, I can see nothing of the room beyond aside from the coat stand just inside which appears to have gathered nothing but dust, instead of coats. I can, however, see the expression on Daniel's face. The slight dropping of his jaw. The way his eyes widen, so full of dismay, and I think, mayhap, a touch of fear. Disquiet creeps like a wraith inside my body.

To my surprise, he crosses back to where I stand, pulling me away until we are partway down the corridor. As he places the lamp onto a small circular-topped table, I open my mouth to question him, but he quickly covers it with the palm of his hand and presses me against the wall. Again, I am well reminded of the warmth of his body close to mine. The scent of his skin. The fact that his proximity is becoming a familiar thing when it should not feel familiar at all.

Carefully, he removes his hand from my face and motions for me to be silent, but he does not step back. Inclining his head, he brings his mouth close to my ear.

'Mrs. Smallman walks in that room,' he whispers. 'Are you quite sure you wish to enter?'

I nod, hoping dearly that it appears a confident gesture, and that he cannot feel my heart pumping wildly inside my chest.

He draws back a little to look in my eyes, and I wonder if he searches for any small seed of doubt that may reside there.

'Lillian, you need to know that I meant what I said downstairs. What I must do will be bloody work, but I only do what I must to end her torment. Do you understand?'

I nod again. 'Yes,' I whisper my reply. 'Wait, what will you do? No, in fact, do not tell me.'

'You do not have to do this.'

I narrow my eyes. 'Need I remind you about the poker, Mr. Carver?'

He sighs. 'Very well. But if at any point, you cannot continue, you should leave and not think once more of me, do you understand?'

I straighten my back, suddenly aware just how much he softens my bones when he is so close. 'Well then I shall say the same to you.'

He looks at me then with a fleeting touch of amusement that is gone within a second. 'Fine. Do not say I did not warn you. If you insist, then I need you to do something for me which you might find particularly difficult.'

'Of course,' I say.

'You must do what I say when I instruct it. No questions. No argument. Just follow my orders.'

I bristle at his words.

'Miss Elmes...' He scowls, his hand tightening its hold on my upper arm.

'I swear it,' I quickly respond, with a little huff. 'I will do as you say.'

A strange look crosses his face, disbelief I think, not that I could blame him. I have clearly shown myself to be someone unable or unwilling to heed his warnings.

A faint, agonised groan and the sound of some object falling and hitting the floor drifts through the half-open door. Daniel appears torn, but finally nods his head.

'Come then.'

Without another word, he heads back to the end of the corridor, and I follow, lifting my skirts slightly so I do not trip nor make too much noise with the swish of fabrics. It is times like this when I wish I could wear breeches instead of flouncy skirts. I am certain Lizzie would dare to if she were in my place.

Daniel pushes again on the door, widening the gap enough for us to slip through easily, which he does, and I follow just behind, stopping abruptly as soon as I am beyond the threshold.

Goodness, I wish so very dearly that this was just a ghastly dream after all.

Edith Smallman stands with her back to us on the far side of the attic room, which is bigger than the other two we investigated. It appears to be a nursery room, which baffles me greatly as the Major and his wife were never blessed with children, and I am certain I recall Mama talking once of the great sadness that it was not to be. And yet, this room certainly seems to be for a baby or small child.

A book closet stands close to the window. There is a bed for the nursemaid directly opposite to where I now wait, frozen. An intricately carved rocking horse is undulating gently back and forth, as if someone has disturbed its sleep. On a small armchair, a doll in a delicate and dusty dress stares at me in the most unsettling manner. In the far corner, stands a walnut bassinet crib, with yellowing lace drapes.

And, in front of the crib, one strikingly alabaster hand touching the side, stands Edith Smallman.

The very-dead Edith Smallman.

Edith stands with her back to us, clothed in grey, seemingly unaware of our presence, but I know it is her from the way her hair is fashioned into the very simple, smooth updo she was always fond of sporting in life. Edith had never cared for fancy curls or indeed, fancy clothes. Her vibrancy came from her kind nature and her pleasing laugh, which I recall being the only thing I myself cared for whenever I had the misfortune to visit Wilderhope with my parents.

I am both terrified and saddened to see her here, like this. I had always liked the Major's wife immensely, as did William. She had always been a woman so terribly inoffensive, so beautifully gentle and it feels something of an affront that her deathly slumber be so disturbed. I know not why she walks, but it dismays and angers me so that she does. Her death was indeed untimely, but die she did, and at least deserved to rest forevermore. Not this. It's abominable. Truly, utterly, abominable.

I am pulled from my despair by Daniel touching his hand gently to mine.

I turn to look at him, barely able to tear my gaze from Edith. He gestures for me to remain where I am, as he steps cautiously to his left, moving along the edge of the chamber. If Edith senses our presence, she does not move, not until Daniel is next to the rocking horse, upon which he lays one hand to steady it. It creaks under the weight of his touch, and Edith's head jerks in his direction.

I see the profile of her face. The slight bump of her nose. The sallowness of her cheeks. The dark skin that sags beneath her eyes, bruised and wrinkled. She looks different than Mr. Hawkstone, as if death has leeched her marrow, rather than fed it.

'Good day, Mrs. Smallman,' Daniel says, gently.

Edith turns to face him, her feet shuffling, and it is then that I see she holds something to her breast with her other hand. My heart judders to see it and I clap a hand to my mouth to stifle my gasp.

A tiny body clothed in ivory lace. A tiny face, skin almost as porcelain as hers.

As dead as hers.

Looking closely, I see it is not a baby at all, but a doll, its waxy features so lifelike and tufts of blonde hair sticking out from under its bonnet. Edith clutches the doll to her chest as if it is indeed her own child and I am puzzled and intrigued that even in death, she yearns for the child she never had.

Daniel takes one small step towards her and still she does not move and instead tilts her head to one side, almost questioningly. I wonder if she understands the difference between her and the man that stands before her. Does she even know that she is deceased, and he is alive? Do any thoughts at all exist inside her mind? Any emotions?

'Close the door, please, Lillian.'

I am so fixated on Edith that at first, I barely register that Daniel is speaking.

'The door, Lily.'

The sharpness in his tone awakens me and I nod, fumbling with the doorknob and doing as he says, a little dismayed that a closed door now stands between me and my potential escape from this nightmare.

When I turn back, I flinch, startled to see that Edith now looks in my direction, the sound of the door clicking shut clearly diverting her attention towards me. Instead of losing interest, as she had with Daniel, she shuffles fully to face me, both hands now clutching the doll as if she thinks I might intend to take it from her. How bone-chillingly awful it is to look into her dead eyes! Dread creeps over my skin, raising goosebumps.

'Lily, say something,' Daniel urges. 'I think she might recognise you.'

'I think not,' I manage to squeak. 'For if she did, I doubt she would be looking at me in such a way.'

I am certain that Daniel is wrong. This is not the look of affection I once saw in Edith's eyes. This is something else. Something that spreads fear into my bones. Something that makes me think of Mr. Hawkstone's hungry stare as he bore down upon me in Rectory Wood.

'Try,' insists Daniel. 'Please, Lily.'

There is something in the way he says my name. Soft, pleading. Something that I cannot resist.

'Very well.' I clear my throat. 'Mrs. Smallman? Edith?' I take a step closer. 'Do you remember me? It's Lillian Elmes. You were... are well acquainted with my parents. Admiral Elmes and his wife, Rachel. Edith, do you recall?'

Edith stares at me and blinks slowly. For a second, I think I see something there. Some small speck of recognition in her eyes.

And then she opens her mouth and screams.

The scream is ear-splitting and horrifying and I am about to clap my hands over my ears, when without warning she moves and it is not with a shuffle this time, but with a speed I do not expect. Dropping the doll at her feet, the very-dead Edith Smallman charges at me, her arms outstretched, fingers clawing at the air in front of her.

Hastily I retreat, backing up until my legs hit the nursemaid's bed upon which I fall when Edith throws herself at me, knocking me backwards. I shriek as she attempts to claw at me, and with all my strength I try to hold her at bay, as her mouth drops open, her swollen tongue as black as oil. For a dead person, and one who was so small and mouse-like in life, the power in her body is quite terrifying and I am not sure how much longer I can hold her.

My arms start to weaken, and I feel Edith's weight bearing down upon me. That awful mouth getting closer and closer.

Just when I think all is lost, Daniel suddenly appears at her back, hooking his arm around her neck, preventing her from falling onto me completely.

'Help!' I splutter. 'Get her off me!'

Daniel grunts, I think, also surprised at Edith's strength.

'When I do, I will need you to help me hold her down,' he says, as the dead woman jerks in his grasp, her hand now curling into my hair and scratching at my scalp as if she seeks to wrench my locks from their roots. I squeal, the pain tearing at my skull.

'Do you understand, Lily?' Daniel says his voice commanding. 'You will need to assist me in holding her down. She will struggle fiercely, but you do not relinquish your hold for a second. No matter what you see me do. Say it, Lily, say you understand!'

'Are you quite mad? Yes, yes I understand!' I shriek again. 'Now will you get her off me before I lose all my hair as well as my sanity!'

Daniel pulls her then, wrenching her backwards with much effort and thankfully, Edith releases me, instead clutching at him but to no avail. He drags her down to the floor, manoeuvring himself so that he can pin down her body with his own.

'Now, Lily, grab her arms! Make haste!'

Scrambling down off the bed, I grasp Edith's wrists and hold her as firmly as I can, a move that requires much effort as she bucks and thrashes underneath him, her screams sounding so inhuman that it is everything I can do not to vomit with terror. Quickly, Daniel lifts the strap of his satchel over his head and places it on the floor beside him. Unbuckling it, he roots inside and retrieves something that almost has me reeling backwards.

The dagger blade glints, catching what little light that seeps in through the attic room window. The hilt looks like carved ivory or bone, and I glimpse tiny, wicked faces peeking out from under Daniel's hand. I have never seen any knife quite like this and I am glad for it because whatever this is, I feel its darkness as if a great storm cloud has suddenly enshrouded my heart.

'Daniel!' I gasp.

He looks at me then and I see him – the Sin-Eater – staring right back at me, his eyes dark and hooded, his expression grim. I do not wish him to speak for I fear that when he does, when he opens his mouth, those blackened tentacles will come creeping out, seeking to consume my soul.

When he does speak, it is his voice. Firm and resolute, as always.

'I warned you,' he says, raising his voice to be heard over Edith's screams. 'This work I do now is not for the faint-hearted, but I do not believe you have a faint heart, Lily. Close your eyes if you wish, but I must do this, otherwise Mrs. Smallman here will continue to suffer greatly.'

'What do you mean to do?'

He locks his gaze with my own.

'I mean to save her. Let me save her, Lillian. Do you trust me?'

I stare at him, this man who confounds me at every turn. This man who makes me feel things that no man has ever made me feel.

Excitement. Thrill. Fear. Desire.

How so much has changed since I dared lay eyes upon the Sin-Eater. Since I dared to defy my own parents and look upon the one man I was always forbidden to look at. How did I come to be here, holding down a woman I knew to be dead? This is dark work. The darkest, I think. Could Mama have been right after all? Have I cursed myself by ignoring her warning?

Am I under Daniel Carver's spell?

Can I really trust the man they say is the Devil himself?