What have you done, Lily?

William's words are haunting me, clinging to my back like a shadow, a heavy weight dragging on my frame. It is hard to shake the ghost of them, but it is his face that I cannot banish from my thoughts.

Irritating as he might be, my darling younger brother is a part of my world I cannot be without and to have witnessed that look upon his face – shock, anger, and worst of all, betrayal – I am not sure how I can ever forgive myself for inflicting this wound upon him.

It was difficult enough to see all the faces of those mourners in the parlour room. For them to know that not only was I, an unmarried woman, harbouring a secret illicit acquaintance with the Sin-Eater of all people, but that the man himself was now accused of having something to do with my own mother's death. For them to believe that it was my actions – my secretive, terrible actions – that caused this tragedy to befall my family.

But for William to believe it too? For him to hiss those words to me in front of everyone as Daniel was led away.

To see Papa's face? So stricken and distraught?

What have I done?

I stand in the hallway, lost in my own home. The front door is now closed, the mourners gone, and yet the black veils remain, as does Mama's body, which resides still in the coffin in the parlour room. William has fled to his bedroom. Papa is locked in his study.

And I remain alone.

Not knowing what else to do, I cross the threshold into the parlour once more, hesitating in the doorway. The pungent stench of cloves hangs in the air. My gaze travels slowly over the portraits, the furnishings, the rugs, the bone china. All these meaningless things.

Approaching the coffin, I trail my fingertips over the plush satin edge as I walk around it, staring at Mama's face. They have done well, I note, although there is a touch too much rouge on her pale cheeks. Mama was not overfond of too much colour and yet she had it in abundance – in her eyes, in her smile, her laughter. How I had missed her laughter of late and how shamed I am to realise that mayhap I was the reason for that.

'Would you believe me if I told you I am sorry?' I whisper, touching my fingertips to the lace edge of her cuffs. The fabric feels soft and feathery, and I remember how I used to do this as a child, curled up next to her as she read to me, rubbing the lace of her cuffs between my thumb and forefinger.

'I am sorry for it all. I am sorry if I disappointed you. I am sorry if I worried you. And most of all, I am sorry if I hurt you.'

I sniff, smiling when I remember Mama admonishing me for such a thing, for she deemed it unladylike to sniff.

'Lizzie always said that you and I were so alike. I think I hated that at times, because the older I got, the more you and I seemed to disagree on so many things. I did not understand how I could be so alike someone with whom I appeared to share so little in common. Mama, why did it take me so long to understand that you were only trying to teach me how to live in a world you felt was as unfair as I did? How is it that we existed on the same page, and I never knew it?'

I look to the fireplace, where my parents' wedding portraits sit in a small silver embossed frame, Mama on one side, Papa on the other. How young they look there. How much like me, Mama looks.

'I know you only ever wanted the best for me, Mama. I know it. I may have kicked and struggled like a captured fawn, but I always knew it.' My face warms and my eyes moisten, a tear falling down my cheek. 'Did I bring this to your door, Mama? Did I? I think mayhap I did, but I cannot believe Daniel had a hand in this. I know not why Lizzie would lie and yet I am positive she is. None of this makes any sense and I do not know what to do.'

I smile down at her, the tears falling freely now. Goodness, if she were here, she would tell me to stop making such a fuss and to go and splash some water on my face. Tears were not for public consumption and certainly not for the parlour room.

'You would know what to do,' I whisper. 'You always knew. Papa is wonderful, of course, but his decision making was always best on the deck of his ship. At home, he does dither so, doesn't he? Yet you, Mama, you always knew how to decide. If you were here now, you would man the ship better than Papa, I am sure of it.'

Through the open window, a crow squawks, lamenting the cold breeze which ruffles its feathers, or lamenting me, I know not.

I touch Mama's hand, flinching at first because of how cold she feels. How unlike her. Mama is warm and soft and gentle. Not cold and stone-like. Not stiff and still and unyielding.

'Oh, Mama,' I sob, closing my eyes and curling my fingers into her palm. 'Mama, please forgive me, please...'

Something tickles against my hand.

I inhale sharply and open my eyes.

A moth crawls over Mama's palm. It disappears under the edge of her cuff and then back out again, weaving over my fingers, as if I too am as still as the dead. It rests on the curve of my knuckles and unfurls, opening and closing its delicate red and black wings.

I stare at it as I carefully raise my hand and still it remains, even as I lift my hand in front of my face, studying the winged insect more closely. I am not sure I have ever seen a moth such as this, not in these parts anyway. It has some similarities to the cinnabar moth, but there is something about its markings that tell me it is not that. It is something else. Something different.

'What are you?' I whisper.

No sooner have I said the words, than the moth takes flight, the motion odd and juddery as it flutters through the air above my head. I follow its course as it quivers, spinning a downward spiral until it reaches my feet, dancing about the tips of my boots.

Outside, the crow screams. I gasp and whirl around. It sits now on the sill, tapping its long vicious beak against the wooden frame, its beady black eyes fixed upon me.

My heart quakes in my chest. Something strange scents the air. A touch of sulphur. Bitter and acrid on the tongue.

The moth has risen again, batting its body against my hand and I watch as it glides across the parlour towards Grand-Mama's chair. Its red and black wings tremble, the air around it blurring strangely, before it drops farther to the floor, fluttering about the chintz draping. The moth remains there, its little agitated movements strangely hypnotic as it tizzies and flaps about something that juts out from under the armchair.

Bending down, I look closer, reaching out to tug on whatever lies there.

'Oh, my goodness,' I murmur, my fingertips tracing over the faded bronze text on the cover of the book I have retrieved.

Daniel's Bible.

He must have dropped it in the skirmish when the constables grabbed him and dragged him out of the house. I hold it to my face and inhale, wishing I could catch a scent of him, but all I detect is the musty, but pleasant odour of old parchment and leather.

'I am sorry,' I whisper. 'I am sorry if I did this to you too. If I had not pursued this, if I had let you go, you would be halfway to a new life by now.'

My tears fall on the binding, and I brush them away, opening the Bible and instantly seeing his neat, tiny script covering the first page. His writing fills every space. Crams every margin. Spills out from between each printed word.

I turn the next page and the next.

Every single page is filled with his notes.

I keep turning, furiously skimming page by page.

This is not just Daniel's Bible. It is his journal.

I confess, I do not understand much of it, but I see references to houses he has visited, people for whom he has consumed sins. I spy his uncle's name scrawled here and there. Questions about his death. Edna's name is underlined. Why? Why would he underline her name as if it meant something?

I turn the next page, enthralled, my gaze darting to every word, desperate to make some sense of what Daniel was doing here.

The next page, the next, the next...

Daniel, what does this all mean?

A noise disturbs me, and I glance up, my skin prickling as I listen hard. Was that a footstep? Crossing the room, I peer out into the hallway, seeing nothing and no one. I wait, but hearing nothing more, I turn back into the room, and it is then I see the moth again.

It sits, very still on the edge of the Bible, its wings opening and closing.

'What do you want?' I whisper my question.

The moth hovers over the page, before fluttering upwards. I glance down at the page that lays open, a shiver passing through me at the strange symbols that cover the yellowing paper.

I know this symbol. I have seen it before, but where?

That's it! Daniel's cottage! This symbol was on the side of a book, stacked within a pile of others. I remember seeing them as Daniel bathed and feeling disturbed and frightened by the strange symbols and words.

But why was this important?

Whatever it meant, I knew I needed to go back. I needed to find that book.

'Your man will not need that Bible now. Not where he's going.'

I turn, closing the book and clutching it to my chest, much in the way that Daniel did.

William stands in the open doorway, his face twisted with anger. I do not ever think I have ever seen him look so furious. Being angry is not William's way of things. He is always so casual. So relaxed. Jovial and mischievous.

'He is not my man, as you say.'

'Like Hell, he isn't!'

I gasp. 'William, how dare you speak to me in such a way!'

William steps into the room, closing the door behind him. He looks so unlike the brother I know, so full of tension, so much older than he seemed this morning.

'How dare you, Lillian,' he seethes. 'How dare you stand here, in this room, where Mama still lays, and you hold that book of his to your chest like it means more to you than she does. How dare you stand there with that look on your face, knowing what you did. Knowing what he did!'

'He did nothing!' I say, careful not to raise my voice too much and rouse Papa from his study. 'You are fortunate you are my brother, for if you were not, I would slap you now.'

William stares at me, aghast. 'Fortunate? You think me fortunate to be your brother? Was Mama fortunate? You have cursed this family. Look at her, Lillian. Look at what you did!'

'Do you think I do not see?' I cry. 'Do you not think I know? I know my part in all of this, William. I know it like a scar upon my heart that will burn forever, but I tell you now, that Daniel did not do this.'

'Oh, so Elizabeth is lying, is she? Your friend? You are honestly telling me that she would do this to you?' he scoffs.

I take a step closer, as close as I dare, for his fury scares me a little. 'Yes,' I say, firmly. 'Yes, she is lying, and I know not why, but the truth is, Lizzie has not been herself lately.'

'I think it is you who has not been herself. The Sin-Eater?' William eyes me with disgust. 'How could you?'

I am angry now too. 'Oh, so all that socially-conscious talk was meaningless, was it, dear brother? You only care about those less fortunate as long as they stay a respectful distance from us, is that it?'

William falters, his expression not as self-assured as before. 'I do not think that. You are twisting my words and that's not fair.'

'Fair?' I hiss at him. 'If life was fair, William, Mama would not be in this box. If life was fair, then Daniel would not have had to deal with the reanimated corpses of both Mrs Smallman and Mr. Hawkstone, brought back to life by the sinister evil that has been allowed to stalk this town. If life was fair, then the good Christian people of the Mynd would be looking for that beast, instead of vilifying and persecuting the one man who has done them a service these past years, for very little recompense, I might add!'

I stop myself from speaking further when I see William's mouth drop open in shock, his pallor fading fast.

'Corpses? Lily, what do you mean, corpses?'

'Nothing, forget it. I should not have spoken of it.' I back away towards the fireplace, seeking refuge from his startled expression and enquiring eyes.

'No, no,' he says, shaking his head. 'I will not forget it. You must tell me this instant what you mean.'

'You are not Papa. You cannot demand anything of me.'

William wrinkles his nose. 'Oh, stuff and nonsense, Lily, don't be preposterous. You cannot say something like that and then not tell me. I am your brother. You should be able to tell me anything.'

'Oh, so now you accept me as your sister, do you?' I retort, haughtily. 'Just a moment ago, you were the most unfortunate creature to walk this Earth to have a sister such as I.'

He softens, frowning. Tears crowd his eyes, but he swallows down his grief. 'If I am angry, it is because I wish... I wish I had done more to stop Mama from going to Lutwyche. If I had, well mayhap she would not be gone from us. I should have done more, Lily. One day, I will be the man of this house and I should have done more.' He reaches for Mama's wedding portrait, and I can see he is losing his battle to defy his despair.

'William, whatever can you mean?'

'I knew,' he says, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 'I knew something had occurred with Mr. Carver.' He shrugs, somewhat sheepish. 'I was eavesdropping, as usual. When I confronted Mama that morning, she said she was going to put a stop to it all. She told me that she was going to Lutwyche, and I wasn't to breathe a word of it to you or Papa or anyone. I told Mama to let it run its course, one way or the other, but she insisted. She said that she had no choice and that she had to save you.'

'Save me? From what?'

'She never said. Whatever it was, it sounded deadly serious, but I assumed it was just Mama being Mama. You know how dramatic she could be.' He glances apologetically at the coffin, as if he expects Mama to respond. 'I should have gone with her.'

I grasp his arm. 'And mayhap we would have lost you too, so I shall not hear another word of that kind of talk.'

'You don't understand,' he says, his face full of a pain I know too well. 'That last conversation we had, Lily. It was so full of cross words, and now she is gone. I flounced off to my room in a childish sulk and never even wished Mama goodbye.' His voice breaks. 'I never said goodbye.'

'Oh, William!' I throw my arms around him and embrace him tight, feeling his chest heaving. His pain weighs heavy on my soul. 'None of us said goodbye. None of us had the chance. And why should we expect to? How could we predict such a thing? She loved you dearly. She loved us all fiercely. Do not be so hard on yourself. Please. This is not your fault, but you are right in that it is mine.'

After a while, William pulls back, his face reddening, hastily wiping the tears from his eyes. 'I am sorry, Lily. I did not mean to say those things to you. I am just... lost. I cannot make sense of any of this. The Rector is talking of murder. You are talking of corpses walking around as if they were alive. This feels like the most terrible of nightmares from which I cannot wake.'

I nod, looking again to the Bible in my hands. 'Yes, I must admit it has felt much like that for me too. And something akin to madness, I think.'

As quickly and as best I can – for how can one tell such a tale of evil and sorcery and expect to be believed – I recount the story to William, watching as his eyes grow as big as saucers with each new, terrible revelation. When I am done, I see that his hand grips the edge of the mantelpiece as if he is desperately clinging to a dangerous precipice, and not just our parlour room fireplace.

'Good heavens, Lillian,' he gasps. 'This is... terrifying. And you are certain that Lizzie is fabricating her story about Mr. Carver being at Lutwyche that day? Mayhap she is just mistaken and saw somebody who resembles him?'

'Do you think she looked as if she might be mistaken?' I raise one eyebrow and he shakes his head in agreement. 'No,' I continue. 'Something is greatly amiss with Lizzie, and I intend to find out what that is, but not until I have returned to Daniel's cottage to search for this.' I open the Bible again, flicking through the pages until I see those awful symbols scrawled over and over. 'There is a book inside his house with this very symbol on the cover. I hope that it will contain some clue as to what is happening. There are still so many questions for which I require answers and his cottage must be the first place to look.'

William's face turns a rather sickly shade of pale as he stares at the page.

'What is it?' I ask. 'Whatever is the matter?'

'Lily, do you not know what that is?' he whispers.

I stare at him, bewildered. 'No, I only know I do not like to look upon it. I don't really know why. It unsettles me so.'

'And so it should,' he says, taking the Bible from my hands and pointing at one of the drawn symbols. 'Lillian, this is an inverted pentagram. See the two points of the star that would usually sit at the base, now pointing upwards? They are meant to signify the horns of the goat, attacking Heaven. This is the sign of evil. The Devil's symbol, Lily. The Devil.'

I inhale sharply. 'William Elmes, how on Earth did you come to learn such a dreadful thing?'

'I did learn something at Sunday School, despite whatever the Rector would tell Mama and Papa and who could not manage to learn when the man bleated on so profoundly about how we should beware the Devil's warning and would beat it into anyone who dared not listen.' He glances at me, his brow furrowing in deep concern. 'Lily, why would Daniel have inscribed such a terrible symbol in his Bible, of all books?'

I swallow, but my heart beats hard in my chest. In my mind, the crow screams again, its beady black eyes fixed on mine, its terrible beak pecking away, but at what? At what?

'Daniel knows of black magic, as did his uncle before him, I think mayhap so they would know how to protect themselves and others. I do not know why he would draw the pentagrams in his Bible, but it seems he used this Bible to write down things of importance. His thoughts and theories. His worries and fears.' I close the Bible and lay my palm on the cover. 'What I do know is that I was meant to find this book and furthermore, I was meant to see those symbols. Of that I am certain.'

William does not look wholly convinced and I cannot say I can entirely blame him.

'Alright,' he finally says. 'If that is true, then what do we do now?'

I smile, my heart bursting with love for him then. 'We? Are you saying that you are going to help me?'

'Silly Lily,' he scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes. 'As if I am going to let you have all the adventures on your own!'

Laughing, I embrace him again and press a kiss to his forehead, which he rubs off quickly as if we are children once more and he cannot bear any affection from his silly older sister.

'As for what we do now,' I say. 'We are going to Daniel's cottage. If we are to start anywhere, then we must first find out just what it is the Sin-Eaters know about the Devil before the Devil knows about us.'