Shadows loomed large from vacant corners, suggesting ghosts—my ghosts. How long it seemed since I last thought about Everstow. Perhaps I did not wish to remember the laughter, the tears, and the day Joel's return from Oxford stained our family's honor.

Grayson and I came home for the first time in thirty years. Everstow Manor's old bones stood at the end of the evergreen-lined boulevard—a broken reminder of its former grandeur. The vast iron-studded oaken door squealed open at my brother's slightest touch, and we entered the once magnificent great hall, now a shadow of its former self.

"It's still here," I breathed, pointing to the stone fireplace. Above it hung our family tree, a testament to our long-dead ancestors. "Our names, Gray. Can you see them near the top? They are the last of an honored family."

Grayson craned his neck and peered through his half-glasses. His whitening hair receded from his high forehead and whispered against his white collar. Thin crow's feet spread from his dull blue eyes, and the deep wrinkles on his cheeks etched hollows in his once fair skin.

Gray was always tall and thin, his legs spindly and his chest flat. He wore a dove gray suit with a black shirt and a white vicar's collar. I recalled his youth and the close brother-and-sister ties that once bonded us. How our lives had changed since Everstow's last fatal days.

Henry VIII bestowed the Everstow charter upon the first Sir Joel shortly following the dissolution. Sections of the old monastery were incorporated into the grand house, including the great hall, which was once the monk's refectory. The Manor grew throughout the years to include Elizabethan additions along with Georgian, creating a mishmash of different eras. Gray and I often wandered around with Miss Young and Mr. Blanchard, who instructed us on Everstow's history.

Papa held Joel to a higher standard than his two younger children. As a result, our elder brother lorded his position over us. We were mere specks in the perimeter of his greatness. Mr. Blanchard—the tutor—paid special attention to Joel's education. He was trained specifically to follow in Papa's footsteps. Grayson and I walked forgotten in his shadow until Joel's departure. Traditionally, the eldest son studied jurisprudence at Oxford. When he left, the pressures of the schoolroom changed in our favor.

"We were happy here, weren't we, Prissy?" Gray asked, turning his sorrowful eyes in my direction.

"Yes, Gray, we were happy," I answered dolefully. "We were happy...until Joel returned."

"Joel. God rest his soul." Grayson turned. His cane tapping against the flagstones echoed eerily in the silent hall.

I continued to study the painted tree above the fireplace. The name Joel traveled through the centuries. Names often change in a titled family. In ours, one dominated throughout the generations: Joel. Papa frequently stressed the importance of continuing it throughout the Everstow heritage.

The last Joel Everstow lay in the churchyard crypt. His legacy ended with one final heartbeat. My oldest brother—a broken man.

Duty brought me back to Everstow. I would not have returned otherwise. My life lay far away in the Australian Outback. If Grayson had not telegraphed urgently, I would have remained there and never set foot in Everstow again.

The overseas journey was long and tedious, but not as long as the one that took me to the other side of the earth. I went reluctantly and with no choice. The judge decided my fate: transportation and seven years of servitude for a crime I did not commit.

Grayson stood up for me in court—the only member of my family to take my side. Joel—heavily influenced by Charlotte Plumb—turned his back upon the blood ties that bound us. He, and he alone, could have exonerated me. Instead, my oldest brother bore witness against me.

Anger made my heart bitter. Reduced to service on an Outback property, I burned with indignity. My master was kind and understanding. Clancy McPherson also received a transportation sentence and completed seven years of servitude. He continued to work for wages and eventually purchased his own Outback station. I became his wife's companion and Emma's closest friend. With her help, I began to grow away from the constant bitterness that nagged my heart and mind. It was a journey of emotional healing, a path I never thought I would tread.

"The years were kind to you, Priscilla," Grayson interrupted my thoughts. "How did you retain your youthful charms?"

"My youthful charms?" I laughed, turning from the family tree. "You flatter me, Gray. I'm neither youthful nor charming."

"I have always meant to visit you in Australia." Gray's eyes bore the distant look I recalled from our childhood days. "Time slips past quickly. I'm kept busy in the precinct, and Thad suffers from dropsy. I cannot leave him."

"Please give my best regards to Thaddeus when you return to London," I offered, smiling at the thought of my brother's lover.

"He will send his regards in return, my dear Priscilla." Grayson smiled tenderly. "We appreciated your support during those trying times. Without you, we wouldn't have stayed together."

Sadness filled my heart when I thought of the tragic past. The day Charlotte Plumb exposed Grayson and Thad to Papa tolled the eventual demise of Everstow. The last thread of childhood innocence slipped through our fingers. All our lives were altered, and our vital family moved closer to its demise.

"Are you happy in Whitechapel?" I asked, approaching my brother. I took his arm and squeezed tenderly. "It's rough there, I understand."

"Yes," Gray answered, but I noticed the reluctance in his voice. "People are so poverty-stricken they hardly notice us. They don't fuss if they do realize their Vicar is a homosexual. I get by. Thad keeps my spirits up."

"You were so conflicted about the church, Gray," I stated tentatively. "It surprised me that you turned in that direction after all."

"I came to terms with myself and God after..." Grayson paused and reflected. "It was all so tragic, Priss. Mama and Papa dead, Joel turning against you. Family should stay together. I was quite distressed until I turned to prayer."

My brother turned toward God, and I turned away. My heart turned bitter against a world that sent me to the other side of the world and flung me into servitude. In those days, Joel's stolid face often appeared behind my mind's eye. He looked so revengeful when he regarded me standing at the bar. Charlotte filled him with hatred. She cajoled him to turn his back upon his family ties and believe the lies she bore against us.

I hung my head and pressed it against my benevolent sibling's shoulder. His arms surrounded me. I felt lucky to have one good brother. He made up for the evil Joel bestowed upon me.

"The hurt never really goes away," Grayson whispered into my graying hair.

"Not that kind of hurt," I answered, pressing closer to his embrace.

Stepping away, I approached the grand staircase. I ascended slowly, my hand trailing along the oaken banister. Gray remained in the hall, looking up at me. He seemed indecisive. I continued to the top and entered the west corridor. The portrait eyes of our ancestors followed my determined stride. I entered the ballroom and knelt in the window seat overlooking the evergreen-lined drive.

"We should pay our respects," Grayson suggested, joining me. "We are expected."

"You are expected; I am not," I firmly remarked. "I shall not attend upon Miss Plumb. She can go to hell, as far as I'm concerned. I'll return to London and take the first passage back to Australia."

An awkward silence descended upon us. I could sense Gray's erect posture, his sense of duty and correctness overshadowing his love for me. Time should have healed the old wounds. Joel's death should have invited an opportunity to make amends. Charlotte's dark, foreboding eyes penetrating me when I appeared at the church told me otherwise. She would not forgive, nor would she forget. And neither would I.

"Out of respect..." Gray began. I turned upon him.

"Out of respect for who? My brother's paramour?" Harshness filled my voice. "Who showed me respect? I entered hell the day Charlotte Plumb arrived. What did she have against me? Why, Gray? Why?"

I turned my head to face my brother and turned away. Pressing my forehead against the window, I pressed my eyes closed. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I felt my control slipping away. When I opened them, the westering sun's beams fell upon me. I saw, once again, the station trap turning onto the tree-lined drive and my fate rushing toward me. It was the Spring Equinox again, and I was a girl of fifteen.