I had watched as their carriage left the inn from the shadows and left for London no more than an hour later. The race to London played out in my mind and in the final stand off I always won. The three youngsters believed themselves to be brave, smart heroes and I revelled in the fact that soon they would understand that nobody crosses Dr James King without paying the price. I would finish what I started and three insolent young adults were not going to stop me - of that I was certain. As my carriage passed into London I found a shaded alley in which I could hide until the time was right. Opposite me stood the Gregory house in its haunted glory - never had I seen the house itself for all of my work had been done in the pub around the corner and I had never wanted to come to close in case of me blowing my own plans. Here, in three hours, would be the end of my work where the three would be destroyed - nobody broke my son's engagement and got away with it. Her mother may have been the one to do it but she must now pay the price too. It was his daughter who stood here now without a care in the world - her memories fake, her family fake, her life a fake. Harry Gregory was never her father. My son was. James Hammond was.