The morning has been a bustle of activity at home, with Silas taking Mama into town early so she could take morning tea with Mrs. Chatham and Marie taking up the rugs for a beating while the waning season is still generous. Papa has spent most of his day shut up in the library, his back bent over the writing desk, nose-deep in parchment. As for William, not a hide nor hair of my brother is to be seen, but I had heard him share sharp words with Mama after breakfast, so no doubt he has gone to lick his wounds somewhere in a typically-William sulk.

I, on the other hand, have spent my morning waiting on the opportunity to sneak off unnoticed and with Papa wholly preoccupied, I am soon on my way to do the very thing I promised Daniel just the day before. As I make my way to Lutwyche yet again, my head swims with thoughts of how I am going to sneak into Mr. Hawkstone's study avoiding detection, but do it I must, if I am to retrieve our first clue.

Admittedly, I have not yet told Daniel about the strange photograph of Papa and his friends taken in Rectory Wood. He had asked, naturally, but when he pressed me for my assurances that I would not put myself in danger, I had silenced him with another kiss – I think perhaps to calm my own concerns, as much as his. I cannot bear the notion that Papa might be connected to all of this in some way, but once I have the photograph in my possession – and whatever lurks behind it – I will confront him and ask him for an explanation. There is little Papa can refuse me, I know this from experience, and I am certain we shall soon get to the crux of the mystery of the necromancer.

The day has started to warm again, but not uncomfortably so, yet in the distance, the skies mute into a smudged grey that looks as if it might bring with it rain, so for once I am glad I opted for my coat and wide-brimmed bonnet. The smaller trap fares less well than Papa's larger, sturdier trap does on the bumpy road and I have to take it slower than usual, unwilling to put the wheels and axles under unnecessary strain.

With such a delayed morning, by the time I reach Lutwyche, it is afternoon already and I know I must make haste, if I am to return home before anyone notices I am gone. I had told Marie that I would likely visit Lizzie, but I am all too aware that I have spent an uncommonly amount of time at the Hawkstone residence of late and I doubt very much that I can continue with this alibi without arousing suspicion.

'Lizzie, darling,' I say in hushed tone, as my friend greets me in the hallway upon my entrance. It is not usual for ladies to greet within the hallway, but of course, Lizzie is not the lady of this house, merely the governess and I grasp her hands when I see her and squeeze them warmly. 'We have so much to talk about, but first, I wonder, would it be possible for me to visit Mr. Hawkstone's study? I borrowed a book on my last visit, and I wish to return it.'

I pat my purse which contains a small tome that most definitely did not come from Mr. Hawkstone's library, but our own. I should feel shame for the falsehood, but I cannot let anything deter me now, and I am quite sure Lizzie will understand when I eventually explain everything to her.

'Actually,' she says. 'I believe Captain Hawkstone was heading there not so long ago. Let me accompany you to the parlour and I will go and check while you wait. I'll have a maid bring you some tea.'

'Are you well, my dear?' I ask, noting how her pallor seems not to have improved since our last meeting. In fact, I would dare say that she looks even more exhausted. The skin under her eyes has taken on a hue to rival that of the distant dull clouds and the usually rosy glow from her cheeks is non-existent. 'You still look quite fatigued. Have you thought to contact Doctor Benedict?'

Lizzie waves off my concern. 'Oh goodness, no. Being poked and prodded by that festering old busy-body is the last thing I need.' She smiles then, I think mayhap to reassure me, but it is shaky and tinged with nerves. 'Come, I'll take you to the parlour.'

When we reach the closed door of the parlour room, Lizzie pauses. I think mayhap she might faint, such is the look on her face, so pale and full of anxious hesitation, but when she turns to me, I see something else in her expression.

Something I do not like to see.

Regret. Shame.

'I am so sorry, Lillian. Really I am.' She touches a hand to my hair, a delicate, odd touch, her fingertips barely grazing one curl. 'She arrived this morning. I wish dearly I could have warned you, but... I so need this job. I cannot give reason for the Hawkstone's to terminate my position here.'

Coldness seeps into my skin, insidious and snake-like.

'Who arrived?' I ask, but I know.

I know.

The door opens and I see her, standing in front of the large window that overlooks the cherry orchard, the same orchard where I sealed my own fate.

Mama stands, her hands clasped together in front of her as she often does, her back straight and stiff, chin raised. Her steely gaze does not waver as I step into the room, noting that tea has already been served. The pale brown liquid in the teacup looks as if it has not been touched and no steam rises from its surface. How long has Mama been here, waiting?

In a tall-backed armchair, Mrs. Hawkstone sits, her grey hair noticeably lighter than the last time I saw her, her skin sallower as if she has aged terribly since her husband's passing. Her expression is startingly similar to Mama's, a rebuking disapproval that the older generations seem to wear so effortlessly well. Her son, Captain Andrew Hawkstone stands with one hand resting against the marbled mantlepiece, and I am grateful, at least, that he too doesn't study me as if I am a thing to be reviled. He is, as last time, impeccably dressed and impossibly handsome, his blonde waves looking remarkably healthy, his face, younger than his years. I can see quite clearly why his wife might be concerned about his proximity to their equally attractive governess.

The Hawkstone parlour room is crowded with carriage clocks – a particular obsession of the late Mr. Hawkstone himself, who looks down on the whole proceedings from a huge ornately-framed portrait above the fireplace. I think even he stares at me with distaste. The ticking is incessant, like the chaotic chirping of the crickets that infest the fields behind our house.

'Goodness,' I say, willing myself to keep my voice steady. 'I did not realise there was a gathering. I would have worn a nicer dress.'

I think mayhap I see the captain's mouth curl into a small smile, but it is Mama to whom I direct my attention now, for thunder threatens to erupt and drench the whole room in a downpour.

'I think we will take our leave, Mrs. Elmes,' remarks Mrs. Hawkstone, using her stick to help support her as she rises from the armchair. 'You are welcome to remain as long as you wish, but please do have the butler inform us of your departure.'

Mama nods curtly, but I have seen that face before and know she does not trust herself to speak in fear of what she might say.

Mrs. Hawkstone crosses the room slowly, the sound of her stick hitting the floor enough to set my already frayed nerves on edge. As she passes, she affords me one disapproving shake of her head, but I lift my chin defiantly, even if my heart hammers anxiously in my chest. The Captain follows her, stopping to bow respectfully to Mama. When he turns to walk by my side, I am certain the look he gives me is gravely apologetic, as if he wishes he could absolve himself from any part of this debacle.

'Good day, Miss Elmes,' he says, barely audible to anyone but me. 'Have heart.'

I am strangely lifted by his words, but as the door closes behind them all and I am left with Mama, my confidence struggles to harness any strength.

'Sit, Lillian.'

'Mama, this is really not necessary...'

'I said, sit. This instant.'

I flinch at the brittleness in her tone, and I think, for one moment, that mayhap I will not do as she says, but Mama looks so furious that I find myself walking towards the same chair where Mrs. Hawkstone had sat and doing the very thing I do not want to do. Lowering myself onto the chair, I feel tiny and shrunken already, as if I am admitting defeat without any argument. I do not wish to fight with Mama, of course I do not, but I also do not wish to feel small and wrong.

Mama steps away from the window, but her hands remain clasped, skin stretching across her whitened knuckles. It is not just her tone which is brittle, but her whole body. If she moves too suddenly, I think she will shatter into pieces, like a fallen chandelier.

We say nothing. Our silence says everything.

And the clocks just keep ticking.

'What did we do, Lillian?' Mama finally says, her expression wretched. 'What did your father and I do? Did we not give you everything? A loving home? A family that adores you? And, yet still you despise us?'

I stare at her, wide-eyed. 'Mama! Of course, I do not despise you or Papa! I love you both desperately. How can you think such a thing?'

'Then explain to me how you could do such a thing?' she snaps, daring to raise her voice before attempting to regain her composure once more. 'How could you, Lillian? After everything your father and I said! After all the warnings we gave! We tried to tell you. We tried to warn you of the gravity of the situation and still you persisted in this wicked pursuit of shame.'

'How can love be shameful, Mama?' I say, jumping up from the seat. 'You yourself taught me that love was the biggest gift in life. You and Papa taught me since I was old enough to understand that love is paramount.'

Mama's expression falters, shock dragging on her features. 'Love? Oh, Lillian, what do you know of love?'

'Everything!' I say. 'I know everything because I learnt from what I saw around me every day. I learned from the way you look at Papa and he, you. I have witnessed your love for each other my whole life. How could I not know it when it happened to me?'

'You cannot love him, do you understand? You simply cannot!'

'Why not?' I retort, angrily. 'Is that not what you always wanted for me? Is that not what you hoped for me? That I would find the same love that you and Papa have? Yet instead, you wish for me to marry Percival Baker! Do you have any idea of the type of man he is, Mama? Because I do! Believe me when I say he is not the man he pretends to be. Not only does he try to blackmail you and Papa into forcing our engagement, but he behaved despicably towards me at Apley Hall. Do not speak to me of love when you would condemn me to a lifetime of such torture!'

Mama rocks back on her heels as if my tirade has whipped up a storm about her like the wind that blows through the Long Mynd on a winter's day. She opens her mouth to speak but emits no sound. Instead, she clutches a hand over her chest as if her heart pains her.

'Do you really think me such a monster?' she whispers. A tear falls down her ashen cheek. Stumbling, she reaches for the nearest armchair and falls into it, her body collapsing, as if bereft with a deep grief that softens her waxen bones.

'Mama!' Kneeling at her feet, I grasp her hand in mine and reach to touch her face. I do not like to feel her tears beneath my fingertips, nor see the sadness in her eyes. 'Mama, please, I do not think you a monster. Of course, I do not. But I must make you see I cannot marry that man. I will not marry him.'

Mama squeezes my hand. 'Do you honestly think I want that for you? Lillian, I have always wanted nothing more for you than what I have with your father. Do you not think I understand how very fortunate we were to find each other? How very rare it was that I had a match well-suited not only in terms of wealth and standing, but in love too?'

'Then, why, Mama? Why allow this?'

'I would not have allowed it! I would have waited for as long as we could to find the right suitor. You are still so young, Lillian.' She touches a hand to my chin, cupping it between her thumb and forefinger. 'So young and unworldly. We could have found you love, my darling.'

'But do you not see? I have it, Mama! I have it. And it is the most truly beautiful, wonderful thing.'

Mama looks aghast. 'With the Sin-Eater? Child, that is not love! How can it be? A man such as that is not capable of love. He is only capable of darkness and death. His whole life is steeped in it. He walks crushed under the weight of it. Do you not see that?'

'And do you not see that your suspicions blind you?' I exclaim. 'You are so blinded by your beliefs that you refuse to see that he is human. He is flesh and blood and heart, oh Mama, so much heart! With him, I would have the same love, Mama. I would have it.'

'And have it you might, but how long would it last, Lillian? Think about the practicalities of your life together. Where would you live? He has no wealth. No status. No way to provide for you. Will you live on love alone? Can you eat love, my girl? Can it provide sustenance? Education for your children? How long would it be before you longed for the privilege you have been afforded your whole life? How long before you grow resentful of him and the life he has given you?'

I stare at her, a great chasm in opening in my chest. My heart plummets before I can catch it.

'Now do you see?' she says.

'It... it will be fine,' I stammer, my voice cracking. 'For what is life without love, Mama?'

'Oh, my darling, you can still find love.' She smiles but the tears still fall. 'You can and you will, but this world in which we live does not make love easy for us. We are governed by rules that fashion our whole future. Rules that are rigid and unbending and yes, often cruel, yet what can women do except ensure we do not make life any crueller?'

'But Mama, there must be more? There has to be.'

'Do you not think I wish it were so?' she says. 'Do you think me so unfeeling that I do not understand? Do you think I know not how it hurts? But we must do what we must, Lillian and that is all. I do not wish for life to deal you a cruel hand. I could not bear it, but if you continue down this path then that is exactly what you will have. A cruel, difficult life that you do not deserve.'

Patting my hand, Mama corrects her posture and nods. 

'But fear not, dearheart, your Papa and I are going to fix everything.'

I gasp. 'Papa...?'

'Knows nothing of this,' she says, firmly. 'And will not. I promise you that. But he will deal with Mr. Baker and once that is all done with, we will concentrate on finding someone who is as worthy of you as you are of them. Rest assured though, my darling, that is what we must do.'

She strokes my face then, brushing away the tears that now fall freely from my eyes too.

'Because, if we do not, well... then these things have a horrible way of destroying everything.'

By the time we depart from Lutwyche Hall, the skies have darkened considerably, pulling the distant rainclouds over our heads. Silas has taken the smaller trap and gone on ahead, and once Mama has expressed her gratitude and said her goodbyes to Mrs. Hawkstone, the thunder calls ominously from across the valley like the howl of a great wolf.

Mama snaps the reins and prompts the horses to break into a faster trot and I grasp the side of the trap, as the wheels roll over the bumps and potholes in the road.

I feel numb. Laden so heavy with hurt and heartache that I barely known how to function. I stare ahead at the road, seeing not the path ahead, but him and him alone.

I do not think you are ready for what it would mean. For you. For us. I will not damage you beyond repair, Lily.

Was Daniel right? Was my mother? Could I say farewell to everything for him? My whole life? My home? My family? The very thought of it scares me so. To relinquish everything I have ever known leaves me feeling colder than the darkening skies and mayhap that makes me shallow and pathetic but this is the only life I have ever known.

But could I say farewell to him?

I would never feel his touch again. Never taste his mouth upon mine. Never relish the scent of his skin and the firmness of his body pressed against my own. Never bask in the heat of his eyes when he looks upon me. Never know what it is to hear him tell me he loves me as I love him.

The thought of that does not just scare me, it terrifies me to the very core.

Overhead, the thunder grumbles and Mama glances up at the skies, just as the clouds break and a few raindrops begin to fall.

'If we are fortunate, we shall make it home before the storm hits,' Mama says, but just at that moment, the horses bolt forward, snorting in fright, plumes of breath streaming from their nostrils. The sudden jolt sends me flying backwards and I cry out as my head hits the seat behind, pain erupting at the back of my skull.

'Mama!' I cry out, as the horses continue to surge forwards, their panic increasing their pace as the trap careens wildly along the road. In pain and feeling disorientated, I try to grasp onto something.

'Lily, hold on!' Mama shrieks, desperately pulling on the reins and trying to get the horses to stop, but to no avail. The harder she tries, the faster they go, their high-pitched neighs sounding like screams carried on the wind.

The road narrows up ahead, the avenue of trees on either side crowding in, transforming the lane into a blackened tunnel, the mouth of which seems to open, seeking to swallow us whole.

Still the horses do not stop, and I lift my head just enough to spy the sharp bend in the road just as we turn into it, full canter. The wheels judder and the trap veers violently to the right, knocking Mama from her seat. Screeching, she slides to the edge, frantically trying to reach for the reins which fly free, but just before she can, the trap hits a particularly large bump in the road and I watch, unable to do anything as she is thrown from the trap completely.

'Mama!' I scream, grabbing hold of the seat and pulling myself to look back into the darkness. 'Mama!' I scream again, but I see nothing.

Nothing but a blur of road and an endless night which swoops in quick and cruel, consuming everything.

Including me.