Mama, who was not one for public displays of emotion, would often say to me, 'Even if your heart breaks, even if it splinters into a thousand tiny pieces, give them none of it. Hold up your head, lift your chin, square your shoulders – for shoulders are never to be drooped – and reserve your tears for privacy.'

I hear her then, as clear as day. As if she stands at my shoulder, which I square instantly upon thinking of her. I hold up my head and lift my chin – just as she always did – and swallow down my tears. It never does one any good to offer public displays of hysterics. In fact, even a private display of hysterics is not going to help matters. But how on Earth do I marry all these terrible happenings with the fact I have fallen in love with the Beast?

The truth is, I cannot.

Something prickles along the back of my neck. A shiver of unease like the delicate touch of moth wings. None of this makes any sense. It is true that as a boy, Daniel was peculiar and strange and scary and that day in the parlour room will forever be etched onto my memories, but surely neither Mama nor Papa would have allowed him to continue his Uncle's work and venture into the homes of the townsfolk if he truly were in league with the Devil?

'Papa?' I say. Papa lifts his weary head once more. 'If you knew him to be all these things you say, why did you ever allow him to stay here? Why didn't you all banish him from these parts once and for all or indeed, hand him over to the Church for them to deal with sooner?'

'Oh, Lillian dearest, how I wish we had done that,' Papa replies, kneading between his tired eyes with his thumb. 'So many things may not have come to pass if I had. Your Mama...' Papa's voice breaks, until mayhap he too remembers Mama's dislike of public emotion, and he clears his throat, straightening his spine almost as if it pains him to do so.

'Your dear Mama knew nothing. In fact, she often talked of him in such congenial terms and for that I cannot blame her, for he certainly seemed to be functioning just like the rest of us. Even I was fooled by him. Mayhap I was the greatest fool of us all.'

I stare at him, believing that he has finally gone quite mad. 'Congenial terms? Papa, you mistake yourself, I think. Mama despised Daniel Carver.'

Papa looks over at me, confusion crinkling his pale brow. 'Daniel Carver?' His eyes widen a little. 'Oh, Lillian, it is not Mr. Carver of whom I speak. Why ever would you think such a thing? No, no, I am talking about Hawkstone. Captain Andrew Hawkstone.'

It is I who then rocks back on my heels, and I clutch at the bureau, to stop myself from reeling backwards completely.

'Captain Hawkstone?' William exclaims, before glancing around and lowering his voice as if he expects the very man to materialise through the walls as if a ghost. 'But how can that be? The Captain is... well, he is a gentleman, Papa. And a Captain to boot. One of your Captains. He has the most incredible stories, he... he told me that I would do well to follow in your footsteps. He is a man of great honour and... and...' William's words trail into nothing, but he looks at our father with desperation. He so dearly wants Papa to tell him everything he has said is not true, but Papa only shakes his head with a grim sadness set in the firm line of his mouth.

'William, my boy, I wish I could tell you different. I so dearly do. But I fear he fooled us as he has fooled you.'

'Papa, how can this be true?' I ask. 'William is right. Andrew Hawkstone is a gentleman and a gentleman's son. Surely if such a man lived among us, we would have known of it by now?'

'But darling Lily, do you not see?' Papa says, pushing himself up out of the armchair. 'We believed that he no longer lived among us and when I say he, I mean the troubled creature he was as a boy. My dear departed friend Hawkstone convinced us that his son was changed for the better. I think he truly believed it too. We all did.'

Papa moves to the fireplace, staring deeply into the barren hearth. 'Hawkstone came to us all, when Andrew was a child. It was one night, at one of his gentlemen's evenings at Lutwyche. We were all there – the Rector, Major Smallman, Darborough, Baker Senior, Dr Benedict. I could sense something was amiss with Hawkstone, he seemed preoccupied, and I was concerned he was sickening. I even made a jest that the good Doctor should perform an examination or prescribe more liquor and it was then that Hawkstone told us the terrible truth of his son. I will never forget that night. How we all listened to his tales of the dreadful things he had witnessed. Of course, we all knew that Andrew was a strange child, but little did we know just how strange he really was. By this point, Hawkstone suspected that Andrew had graduated from harming animals – for they would often find dead rodents and birds about the place – to attempting to cause harm to the service staff. Their maids were terrified of the boy. One claimed that he had tried to push her down a flight of steps when playing. But it was when things began to move of their own accord and the scratching began, that Hawkstone knew he had to finally do something.'

I glance at William, who has paled even more noticeably than he had before.

'Scratching? Things moving of their own accord? Papa, would do you mean?'

Papa too looks around as if he fears someone listens in. His expression is haunted, and it gives me chills to see it.

'Hawkstone said that strange things had started to occur. It was one thing to hear of rumours of the boy attempting to harm the maids, but who among us would care to admit if we knew our own child was troubled in such a way? Of course, he could no longer deny it when the scratching began. They would hear it in the walls, a terrible scratching noise as if animals lived there and were scratching to get out. They investigated naturally but could find nothing to prove that rodents or indeed anything else had got into the walls, but still the noises persisted. Then, one night as they dined, doing their best to pretend they could not hear it, Andrew asked for the salt and before the footman could reach for it, the cellar flew across the length of the table into Andrew's waiting hand.'

I stare at Papa, my morbid curiosity piqued as my heart hammers fearfully in my chest.

'And what happened next, Papa? And what of Mrs. Hawkstone? They must have all been petrified?'

Papa nods grimly, his face pained. 'Apparently, Mrs. Hawkstone removed herself from the dining room without a word. She could not even look at the boy. She is a God-fearing woman, after all. How could she accept what her child had become? The footman left not long after. He claimed the boy was possessed and that the house was haunted. Hawkstone had to pay him for his silence and grant him an exceptional reference. And the boy himself? Well, he seemed to dither between feeling pride for the mayhem he caused and deeply tortured by these terrible things. I saw it for myself, after Hawkstone revealed to us the extent of what had been occurring at Lutwyche. I tried to speak with Andrew, for it seemed he was always so awfully keen to hear of my naval stories, and I thought mayhap I could reason with him and make him see he needed our help.'

Papa exhales, a sigh that seems to seep out of every pour of his body. 'He was tortured by it. Of that I have no doubt. It was almost as if he was two people in one body. He was afeared of whatever assailed him, that I could see clearly. When he told me of his night-time terrors, he clutched at me and sobbed, and it was real. His pain was evident. It was a terrible thing to behold for a child should never experience such fear. But then, there were other times, when I could see how he revelled in his dark endeavours. He claimed he had been told that he was special. That he had been chosen.'

'By whom, Papa?' William asks.

'Why, by the Devil himself, I suspect.' Papa shrugs. 'The boy truly believed he was marked and was both terrified and excited by this. Of course, we dithered and argued over the best course of action when Hawkstone revealed the truth of his situation, and it was our inaction that led to the death of their stable hand. By then, Andrew was thirteen and we had almost exhausted all avenues. He had spent extensive time with the Rector and his Bible studies in the hope that the word of the Good Lord would rid him of his peculiarities. He even spent time with me, learning what it was to serve Queen and country. The situation had calmed somewhat, and we honestly believed with our combined intervention, we could put the boy on the right path.'

Papa stops then, pressing the back of his fist to his mouth to supress what horror I cannot fathom. 'Tully, the stable hand, was just ten years old and a good worker. He was slight for his age but could work just as hard as any boy five years older. What happened to him was a travesty. No, it was... evil. The boy was found hanging upside down from the stable rafters, his throat sliced.'

I gasp and clutch at my own throat. 'The poor child...'

'Yes, yes....' Papa's face twists with pain. 'I am ashamed for my part in what we did next. Truly, I am. We knew, of course. We knew that Andrew had something to do with it as he had taken a keen interest in the boy during those times. He was forever lurking around the stables. He said he just wanted someone to play with, but Hawkstone of course had told him that it was not for the son of a gentleman to befriend the stable hand of all people. How could we have known that his intentions for the boy were anything but friendship?'

'Well, I do not know, Papa,' William says, his face marred by a deep scowl. 'Possibly because the boy seemed to enjoy killing animals and had already attempted to kill the blasted maid?'

My mouth drops open. 'William!'

'What?' My brother shrugs. 'It's true though, Lily. They all knew Andrew to be a danger, whether the boy liked what he was or not. Surely they should have realised that anyone who came under his gaze might be in peril?'

I must admit, William speaks some truth now. I would not go as far as to put the blame on their shoulders, for the blame lies with he who committed the crime, but they could surely have done more to protect poor Tully. But there is something more that bothers me.

'I do not understand, Papa. If the boy was murdered, why was Andrew not incarcerated?'

Papa shoots me a sidelong glance, one steeped in guilt and shame. Mt stomach plummets.

'What did you do, Papa?'

'My children... you have to understand,' Papa implores, turning to face us both. 'Hawkstone was a well-respected member of the community. He had wealth and influence and absolutely could not withstand such a scandal. How could we let it be known that his own child had inflicted such evil on Tully? Hawkstone had done well to prevent any such rumours before from making their way into the world, but this one? Murder? It would have been the end to everything for him and we all agreed that we could not allow that to happen. We covered it up and buried the boy's body without anyone knowing. Darborough let it be known that the boy had committed a theft from his employer and had run away. What else could we do?'

I stare at Papa aghast. My chest hurts, a creeping, bone-splitting ache that grips me until I think I might burst with anger and pain.

'What could you have done?' I seethe. 'Mayhap you could have told the truth, Papa! Mayhap you could have handed Andrew over to the constables and had them try him in court, instead of slandering an innocent boy's name and allowing his family to think he had taken off into the night with his spoils? Mayhap you could have stopped all this when you had the chance instead of letting Andrew grow into a man capable of anything? How could you let this happen? I was going to ask how you could possibly stand back and let them take Daniel, knowing full well he is innocent and will hang for it, but it seems you have form in this type of thing, Papa!'

Papa staggers towards the bureau, reaching out for me but I pull back.

'Lillian... my flower... believe me, I am truly sorry for what happened to Mr. Carver. When the Rector came here with his constables, I knew nothing of his plan, I swear on your Mama's soul, I did not. I did not even know her death was a suspected murder.'

'You had a known murderer in your midst and yet you did not suspect murder? Papa, I have never once known you to be a foolish man, but honestly!'

Papa wrings his hands. 'I am a fool, I know this now... but it has been many years, Lillian. Andrew seemed like a changed man. What happened with Tully... Andrew seemed utterly horrified by his actions. He begged us to help him. He said he genuinely liked Tully and had wanted to be his friend, but this thing... whatever it was that assailed him... he said he could do nothing to resist. We felt we had exhausted all possibilities until we remembered the Sin-Eater and sought out his assistance. We knew the dark priest held knowledge of things terrible and unfathomable and felt if anyone could help us, then he might know a way.'

'So, you went to Rectory Wood...' I say. 'That is why you were all there. I saw the image in Mr. Hawkstone's study.'

Papa blinks with confusion, then nods, his recollection of the photograph becoming clear. 'Yes, yes, that was the second time. When we took the boy to him.' He grimaces. 'The first time, Mr. Hemsby refused us and why would he not? I cannot blame your Mama, of course I cannot. She knew nothing of our troubles. She only sought to protect you, Lillian. Her campaign against the Sin-Eater was... unfortunate.'

'Unfortunate? Papa, you allowed Mama to believe Daniel was a threat to me. He was not. He is not.'

I ache for him then and my heart splinters. How could Papa have let this happen? How could he have let my love languish in the town gaol and face the gallows, all to save the reputation of the supposed good folk of this town? I curse myself too then, knowing that I was also almost willing to believe ill of Daniel, all because of rumour and superstition and social standing. How blind I have been! How quick to judge. Truthfully, I am no better than the rest of them.

'I will fix this, Lillian, I swear it.'

I scowl at him. 'Oh, of course, because so far, Papa, you have done an exceptionally grand job, have you not?'

My rebuke stings him. I see it reach out like a slap to the skin. He recoils, hurt bleeding from his eyes and I feel a touch of guilt. Never once have I spoken to Papa in this way, but also never have I felt so betrayed by the man who centred my whole world for so long.

'What happened at Rectory Wood?'

Papa attempts to gather himself together, but I admit to hating how broken he looks. 'When Mr. Hemsby finally agreed to help us, we took the boy to the wood. There was to be a ritual... a blood-letting ritual.'

The vial burns cold in my hand. 'And this is what this is? A product of that ritual?'

'That?' Papa gestures to the small bottle. 'That was meant to be our fail-safe. Our security should we discover the ritual had failed. We took the boy to the wood in the dead of night. He was terrified, naturally, and yet still the beast within him fought against us. Oh, how horrifying it was! Dark forces desperately tried to assail us. Storm clouds of crows beat at our efforts. We each of us heard the most terrible whispering in our ears, evil voices cajoling, pleading, bribing... anything to stop us in our tracks. Yet still, we refused to give up. We could not! Dr Benedict performed the bloodletting, capturing two precious vials of blood before he himself was attacked and injured. One vial was given up to Mr. Hemsby to perform the ritual and the other... the other I kept. Mr. Hembsy and I concealed it inside the box, and he took the key and hid it. I never knew where.'

Papa leans against the bureau, looking at both of us beseechingly. 'I swear to you that we all believed the ritual had been a success. All attacks ceased instantly. The wood was calm. It was as if nothing evil had ever lurked there. And the boy... well, by then he was unconscious and all we could do was wait for him to wake. A week passed before he did and goodness... what a change in him there was. All colour had returned to his cheeks. He was the very picture of health. It was as if the light of God had truly restored him and rid him of whatever beastly entity had sought to possess and use him in such a wicked way. After that, he was changed... or at least we believed him to be. He joined the navy and became a Captain, truly amongst the most well-liked and well-respected Captains I have ever known.'

'And when did you come to suspect him again, Papa? After Mama had died... or before we went to Lutwyche?'

He knows what I ask of him. He knows I want to know if he put Mama in danger's path.

'Lillian, the guilt I feel for your Mama will haunt me forever more. Not a second will go by when I will not wish I had acted differently, but I truly did not ever suspect this would happen. You must understand, I have spent a long time with Andrew over the years, overseeing his career, his successes. There was seemingly no trace of the troubled boy I once knew. He was married and had children, he really seemed content.'

He rakes his fingers desperately through his hair, grabbing a handful as if he might rip it from his own scalp. 'When I learned that he had returned from sea, I must admit to being surprised. I had not known his mission had ended but assumed he had returned early because of his father's passing. Of course, I did not know he had returned much earlier than even I had thought for we all believed that he did not return until after his father's ceremony. He certainly was not present at the internment, but I witnessed a maid taking a tray upstairs and I could not help but ask her who she was serving. After all, everyone of importance was already at the service. The maid seemed most anxious and mumbled something about a sick distant relative. That evening, I wrote a letter to my dear friend Admiral Sir Robert Collier to ask him if he knew anything of Captain Andrew Hawkstone. This very morning, I received his reply.'

From within his frock coat, Papa retrieves a letter and hands it to William, who unfolds it, scanning the contents.

William's brow wrinkles with bewilderment. 'But this cannot be right, Papa. It says here that Andrew was released from service to return home due to severe malady before Mr. Hawkstone died.'

'Which means that not only was he here at the time of his father's service...' I begin.

'...he was also here at the time of his father's death,' Papa finishes.

I can stand it no more and reach for Papa's desk chair, collapsing into it, still holding onto the vial of blood.

'Goodness, Papa, what can this mean? Do you think he played some part in his own father's death?'

Papa fixes us both with a solemn expression. 'Of that, I cannot be certain, but I would suggest that the concealment of his presence at Lutwyche is most definitely suspicious. First, Mr. Hawkstone dies in a terrible fall in his own home, then we have the case of dear Edith Smallman risen from the grave. Now Mama.'

'And what of the Rector, Papa?' William asks. 'If he were part of your plot to cure Andrew when he was a child, why would the Rector arrest Daniel and point the finger of blame at him for Mama's death? Why would he not look to the Captain, knowing full well what he is capable of?'

Papa looks troubled at this. 'I have asked myself the same question, and I can only assume that he is somehow embroiled in this dark scheme. Or he has simply been manipulated into believing the Sin-Eater really must be the culprit. How many of us were so keen to believe such a thing?'

I glance away, not wishing to see my own guilt mirrored in Papa's face.

'So, what do we do now?' I ask.

'We must uncover the truth,' Papa replies. 'And if it transpires we are correct in our assumptions, we must seek only one end and that is the destruction of whatever dark force possesses Andrew Hawkstone.'

'And just how are we meant to do that with Daniel languishing in gaol?' I ask. 'If it was a Sin-Eater who performed the previous ritual, then surely we need another to help finish whatever Joseph Hemsby started all those years ago?'

Just then, a commotion arises in the hallway and Marie bursts into the room, quickly followed by Silas and Aggie as they fight to push their way through the door in a bustle of bodies and uttered curses. I quickly conceal the vial in the folds of my skirts.

'Marie? What is the meaning of this?' Papa demands.

Marie, who is flushed of face, waves a letter in front of Papa's nose. 'Begging your pardon, Admiral, but this letter just came from the Salop and Montgomery Asylum.'

'The Shelton Hospital?' I enquire. 'Papa, why would you be receiving a letter from the Asylum?'

'Oh, Miss,' Marie says, breaking into a sob she cannot hold back. 'I am very much afraid the letter is not for the Admiral. It is for you.'

'Me? I do not understand,' I say, quickly taking the letter from her and studying the script on the envelope. 'No...' I whisper hoarsely. 'No.... it cannot be.'

'It is, Miss,' Marie says, clutching my hand desperately, tears now streaming her ruddy cheeks. 'The letter is from Miss Elizabeth. They say she has gone quite mad. They took her last night kicking and screaming to the Asylum. Oh, Miss... Admiral... Edmund Turner says she confessed.'

'Confessed to what exactly, Marie?' says Papa, but I already know the answer.

It stares at me in the face, from desperate words scrawled on hospital parchment. My blood thickens with ice that crowds my veins and chills my bones.

'Lizzie says that Daniel is innocent,' I say. 'Lizzie says that it was she who murdered Mama.'