The journey back to the Darborough house feels like the longest I have ever known.

The horses are almost spent, and I cannot blame them for I have pushed them to their limits today, just as I have pushed my very heart to its limits. The shocks have been many, and I am not sure how much more my broken heart can take before the day is done.

'It has to be the Rector,' I say, I think, for the fifth time now.

Daniel has commandeered the reigns on my behalf, knowing that our visit to the Shelton Hospital has rocked me to my very core. He snaps on the reigns as much as he dares, for if he pushes the horses too much, we may not make it back at all.

'Think on it,' I say, as if I have not asked him to think on it already. 'He was the one who took great delight in arresting you and yet where was he when I came to fetch you from gaol? Detained, Percival said. Detained? And yet he sends a man with no authority by law or from the Church to escort you to Shrewsbury Prison?' I frown, my head crowded with thoughts and imaginings of which I cannot make any sense. 'But what of Mr. Baker, Percival's father? Another one who has mysteriously disappeared. Percival said he had left on business, but has he? Both men were part of the original plot to exorcise Andrew Hawkstone of his demons, and yet now, neither can be found.'

Daniel snags his bottom lip with his teeth, his eyes immeasurably troubled. I see something in his face I do not like. Doubt at my words? Or something more?

'You do not think it can be true?' I say, wishing I could breathe a sigh of relief when I spy the Darborough house in the distance, when I feel only a heightened level of anxiety.

'I know not what to think,' he replies. The weather has cooled remarkably since we left Shelton, and his cheeks are ruddy, making his skin look paler than usual. 'Why them? Of all the men involved in the ritual, why would either the Rector or Mr. Baker become turncoats?'

I shake my head. 'I do not know either. Although it was not long ago that I feared my own father was a part of this dark design.' I pat the reticule, which contains not only Lizzie's letter, but the vial of blood found in Papa's secret box and Daniel's Bible. 'The truth is, any one of these gentlemen could be involved.' A terrible thought strikes me. 'Oh, my goodness! What if it is Darborough? What if the tale of his supposed madness was a trick to lure Papa to his fate?'

I stare wildly at the house as we approach, watching it become larger and larger the closer we get, a monster awaiting its prey. There is another trap tethered outside, Jenny's I believe, for I would recognise her pretty, dappled grey mare anywhere. The horse is calm, but I see no one attending it, nor attending us for that matter and the lack of activity outside the usually busy Darborough house is unsettling to say the least. Daniel has barely fastened the reigns of our own trap, before I am jumping down and running for the door, calling out for Papa and William even though Papa's horses are nowhere to be seen.

Inside, the house is ominously quiet. I hear no sounds of male voices and my heart tells me what my head has already calculated for itself. Papa and William are not here. In fact, I almost believe the house to be completely deserted until I hear the tiniest of sounds. Somewhere, a girl cries.

'Quick,' Daniel says, grabbing my hand and I follow him into the Darborough's parlour room, where it seems Hell has unleashed an almighty storm into this once beautiful space. Furniture is in disarray. The poker lies discarded on the rug in front of the hearth, amongst a myriad of shattered glass and destroyed picture frames. A whirlwind has raged here. On one of the armchairs, a Lancaster pistol case lays open and empty, where Mr. Darborough must have retrieved it from his gun cabinet. My heart judders to see it.

As we digest the state of the parlour, the crying ceases and a face appears from behind the high-backed damask settee on which I was always so fond of sitting as a child. Two delicately fingered hands clutch the back, and the face, tear streaked and pale, can belong to only one person.

'Oh, Lillian!' Jenny gushes as she runs free from her hiding place and throws herself at me. She sobs desperately and with relief. 'I thought you might never come! I was so scared I did not know what else to do or who to turn to!'

I grab her by the arms as firmly as I can without hurting or alarming her further. 'Jenny, what has happened? Where is everyone? Where are my father and William?'

'We were too late!' she cries. 'Grandfather had already left for Lutwyche by the time I returned here with your Papa and William. The Doctor was in a terrible state. Oh, Lilian, Grandfather had struck him. I have never known him to do such a thing. The poor Doctor had had to send the staff away, in fear for their lives. Grandfather had been in such a terrifying rage, he said.'

I look to Daniel, my skin prickling in warning. 'The Doctor sent them away, you say? But surely, he would have needed some assistance to tackle your grandfather in his rage? They could have helped to stop him?'

Jenny shakes her head vehemently. 'But you did not see him, Lillian! Look at what he did here!' She gestures to the destruction that surrounds us. 'And the poor Doctor, his friend for all these years and still he struck him. No, the Doctor would not risk anyone coming to harm.'

The cogs spin inside my head. Could the Doctor be the one Lizzie spoke of? Andrew gave Lizzie a concoction to help rid her of the baby he put in her belly, mayhap he got that from the Doctor himself. And if that be so, then the Doctor could have sent Jenny to our home to purposefully lure Papa here.

'Jenny, where is my father? Where is William?' I say with urgency, and a panic which grips my bones in an icy hold.

The girl begins to sob again. 'They went after him. They gave chase to Grandfather to stop him from reaching Lutwyche, but they should have returned by now if they had managed to catch him before he reached there. Lillian, I am so worried he has done something terrible! I could not bear it if he has pulled the trigger on some innocent soul in his madness.'

I hug her to my chest. 'It will not have come to that, I am certain of it,' I say, although my eyes tell a different story as I look to Daniel with fear, for I am no longer certain of anything. 'Mr. Carver and I will go to Lutwyche ourselves and see if we can find them all.'

Jenny pulls out of my grasp, her hands flailing for her eyes. 'Oh, the Sin-Eater, in my distress, I forgot.... Forgive me, sir.' She covers her eyes with her palms, and I lightly bat her hands away, grabbing her wrists.

'Oh, stop this nonsense, Jennifer Darborough. Mr. Carver is no more a threat to you than I am. The curse is nothing but superstitious nonsense peddled by our parents and grandparents before them and I shall not hear another word of it in this town.'

Jenny prises open one eyelid warily. 'Can it be true?' she whispers, and I notice how she cannot stop herself from peeking a look at Daniel, opening her eyes wide when she finally takes in full view of him. Her cheeks flush instantly. I cannot say I blame the girl. I should imagine the same would happen to any woman who dares to look upon him and sees what I do.

'So... I am not to be cursed?' she says to him.

'Nay. No more than we all appear to be in these dark days, Miss,' he says, with a shrug. 'But if Lillian and I do not get to Lutwyche soon, I fear things might change by the end of today.'

'Jenny,' I say, remembering her trap tethered outside. 'Would it be alright if we took your carriage? I am afraid my horses are not fit for another journey. They would not make it to Lutwyche.'

'Of course.' Jenny nods. 'Please do.'

After instructing Jenny to go to my house, where Marie, Aggie and Silas can watch over her until our return, Daniel and I set off in Jenny's trap. Above the sky is darkening, a patchwork of bruised cloud that does nothing to dispel the growing anxiety that churns in my stomach. Afternoon is drawing late and the idea of travelling on the road to Lutwyche as dusk begins to creep in, only heightens my fears, for it just reminds me of being on this very road with Mama.

'You do not have to come.' Daniel's soft voice interrupts my jumbled thoughts, cajoling me from my silent agony. 'You do not have to do this. You have had your fill of too much already.'

I look at him then, this man that has captured my soul as well as my heart, this man about whom so many lies have been weaved, this man who owes us all nothing and yet continues to give everything.

'And let you steal the adventure for yourself, Mr. Carver?' I say. 'Do you think me so faint of heart that I would rather return to my embroidery and music lessons than stand and face the Devil himself?'

Daniel smiles then, a chink of sunlight through the weighty clouds and I am instantly warmed by it. 'Nay, Miss Elmes, I have seen your heart and felt the full power of it. If I were the Devil, I would quake in my boots to face such a foe.'

'Then stop suggesting such preposterous things,' I say, with a smile of my own. 'Besides, I am terrible at embroidery.'

'A woman of your standing, terrible at needlework? Such a scandal.' He winks. 'You'll never find a husband.'

'Goodness me, how like Mama you sound.' But the smile on my face fades as quick as the growing dusk does rise. I look down at the reticule in my lap, embroidered with Mama's needlework. How delicate were her hands. How exquisitely fine was her workmanship. A knot forms in my throat.

'I cannot lose them, Daniel. I cannot.'

Daniel glances to me and back to the road ahead, a hardness in his expression.

'And you won't,' he says. 'I'll see to it that you won't.'

I inch closer and wrap my hand over his knee. He does not take his eyes from the path, but his grip on the reins tightens, as does my grip when I see Lutwyche Hall loom in the distance.

It seems strange to suddenly look upon a house so differently, as if I do not know it at all. Many times, I have spent here throughout my life. Many times, I have travelled this road. And yet, as we approach, I cannot think of Lutwyche as I once did. I see not any beauty in it. The elegance and grandeur are here, that I cannot deny, but its splendour is tainted now, its beauty marred by what I know of this place. To Lizzie, it must have seemed as awful as Shelton does now. A prison, mayhap. A place where secrets lurked. A place to house darkness and lies.

As we reach the house, all is quiet.

'Papa's trap,' I say. 'Where is it?' There is no sign of our horses, nor any sign of the Lutwyche stableman, Mr. Leeke.

All is quiet.

I scan the periphery of the house, my gaze finally coming to rest on a dark shape that lays at the edge of the cherry orchard – the very same cherry orchard under which boughs I first pressed my lips to Daniel Carvers.

'Oh, my goodness,' I gasp, jumping down from the trap as Daniel tethers it the best he can.

'Lily... wait!' he calls out, but I am in flight already, my heart juddering at the thought of what I will find. It is a man, I can see that as I draw closer, but the closer I get I am relieved – and somewhat ashamed of that relief – to see it is not Papa. The man is too small, too slight.

The man lays on his side, with his back to us, his knees drawn up to his stomach. His frockcoat is dusty and torn. His shoes, I would recognise anywhere, for as a child I spent far too many times staring at them and refusing to look at him, as he attempted to administer whatever ghastly tincture he swore would rid me of fever or cold.

'Doctor?' I say. 'Dr. Benedict?'

Daniel reaches my side, grabbing for my arm before I can reach for the man who has still not moved. With caution, and not before glancing around the orchard, Daniel touches the Doctor's shoulder, pulling him gently onto his back.

My legs weaken, the horror seeping fast into my bones and liquifying them. Daniel catches me before I can fall and I grasp onto him, wishing I could bury my face into his neck and yet unable to tear my stricken gaze from the man who lays dead before us.

It is as if he has been attacked by the vicious beaks of a hundred birds. Where his eyes once were are now two bloodied hollows, the empty sockets dark and red and oozing. His face, hands and neck are covered in lacerations, a patchwork of ragged cuts, leaving no inch of flesh undamaged. From his open mouth, his tongue has been ripped free.

I think back to when William and I were attacked at Daniel's cottage. To the unholy beats that scratched at the roof. To the legion of storm crows that assailed the house, desperate to get inside. Is this the fate for which we had been destined? Nothing but carrion for the crows?

'We must find Papa and William,' I say. 'We must find them now.'

Daniel nods, grasping my hand in his.

'I suppose there is no point in telling you not to come with me?' he says.

'I would not rest until I knew they were safe.' I shake my head. 'And if all of you would be lost, then I would be lost too and I would rather perish at your side than suffer a life without those that I love.'

He looks at me then, brushing a finger over my cheek. 'Another day, another revelation, Miss Elmes. You are going to have to stop surprising me like this. I don't think my heart can take it.'

I pull back, offering him a shaky smile. 'A Sin-Eater with a heart? Now that is a revelation.' Glancing over his shoulder, I gasp. 'Daniel, look! The service door is open.'

The service door that leads to the kitchen is wide open, usually a place of activity where the cook's assistant dumps vegetable peelings into the compost, delivery drivers come and go, and thick plumes of steam rise out of the doorway. Today, however, the open door waits, unwelcoming and yet inviting us inside.

Daniel peers around the doorway, before entering and I follow, still grasping his hand.

Everything is still and empty.

The oven is cold. The kitchen table, which I have never seen without every inch crammed full of food and pots and pans and generously dusted with flour, is bare. It is all neat and in order, but it is uncommonly devoid of life and bustle. My skin prickles.

Daniel leads us through the kitchen to the hallway, our footsteps the only sound.

I urge him to stop by Mr. Hawkstone's study and push gently on the door, which creaks in irritation at our trespass. I inhale sharply.

The room is empty, but instantly I see signs of a disturbance. The desktop has been left in disarray. The drawers are upturned, the contents strewn all over the rug. I move quickly to the half-drawn drapes, pulling them open to allow what little light remains into the dusky room. My foot crunches on broken glass as turn around.

Under my foot is the photograph frame which Mr. Hawkstone had sitting on his desk, now broken and in pieces.

Crouching down, I retrieve the photo and rifle through the remnants.

'It is gone,' I say.

'What has gone?' Daniel says as I stand, showing him the photograph of Papa, Mr. Hawkstone and the others, standing at the edge of Rectory Wood.

'Whatever Mr. Hawkstone had concealed behind this photograph has gone. I saw it when I was here. I have no idea what it was, but he had hidden it behind this very image and now it is taken.'

Daniel glances around at the mess. 'Well, then I'm guessing whoever did all this was trying to find it.'

'And they succeeded.'

A noise echoes through the house, winding its way through the emptiness and reaching the open doorway of the study.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A slow, rapping against something hard, a floor mayhap or wall.

Tap... tap... tap.

We glance at each other and rush from the room, following the sound until we reach the parlour room. I hesitate at the door, hearing the ghost of Lizzie's words in my ear, from a time I care not to remember but must.

I am so sorry, Lillian. Really, I am.

Steel encases my heart. So many people have suffered. So many have paid the price for whatever evil has been allowed to grow within these walls. I cannot let the Papa and William meet the same fate.

Squeezing Daniel's hand, we step into the parlour room. It is deathly dark; the drapes are all fully closed and what little light there is comes from a single gas lamp on the mantlepiece. Shadows converge in the gloomy corners of the room.

A figure stands in front of the cold hearth, her hand clutching the top of her stick.

'Mrs. Hawkstone?' I say, stepping closer. Daniel pulls on my hand, urging me to remain at his side. I look at him, confused. 'Mrs. Hawkstone? Where is everyone? Are you alright?'

The old lady says nothing for a time, then turns to face me, moving away from the hearth, her stick rapping against the oakwood floor.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

'Why, yes dear,' she says, with a smile that does not encourage one of my own. I see coldness there and something else. Something which freezes my soul. Something that ignites 'I am quite alright. In fact, I have never felt better in all my many years.' She steps closer. Tap... tap... tap. 'And as for everyone? Well, everyone I need is right here.'

Raising her hand, she snaps her fingers and I watch, horrified, as the shadows begin to move, slithering and crawling from the corners, up the walls, across the ceiling towards us. It is Lizzie's nightmare and I feel her fear now, as well as my own.

'Run, Lily,' hisses Daniel and we turn to flee, running out into the hallway.

'Heavens,' I cry when I see what awaits us.

The hallway is crammed full of shadows. Black, oil-slick feathers writhe and flutter at the edges. A thousand venomous eyes blink and glare. Talons scratch at the staircase, the walls, the floor.

We are trapped, rooted to the spot where the rising moon casts its weak light through the window, surrounded by the encroaching darkness which hungers for us both.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Daniel moves in front of me as Mrs. Hawkstone slips through the shadows. I see crows clutching at her bony shoulders, her black dress of mourning, comprised now of blackened wings that shimmer in the moonlight. I see shadows in her face and wonder how I never saw it before, for she is shadow. She is darkness. If evil has been allowed to grow and flourish at Lutwyche Hall, it is because she birthed it, she raised and she glorifies it.

'No Heaven here, Miss Elmes,' she says, resting both hands on the top of her carved ebony stick. 'And no Heaven for you when I am done with you.'

'You won't harm her,' Daniel glowers.

Mrs. Hawkstone turns her piercing gaze upon him, her distaste clear. 'Ah, yes, the Abomination. Think that you can save her, Sin-Eater? Once my work is finished, there will not even be a soul left for you to consume, let alone anything else.'

She smiles a Devil's smile and with one flick of her hand, the shadows fly at us, a storm of demons' wings and outstretched talons, consuming us as we fall. I scream, but it is drowned out by a thousand bird screams and when I reach for Daniel in the darkness, all my hands clutch are feathers and emptiness.

The old woman is right.

There is no Heaven here.

There is darkness. There is shadow.

Only Hell remains.