Even if Miss MacLeod had interfered with my art that day, I would have carried out what I had set my mind on regardless; I had simply managed to execute a more unplanned yet flawless murder in an appropriate manner. Thus, Godfrey would be occupied with a murder on Hogmanay and unable to attend my invitation and who knows, perhaps that night Jane would stay at the MacLeod house.
I was serious about what I told Miss Jane. I wasn't going to kill Godfrey. Even if it seemed as though I had gone back on my word, that held no importance for me whatsoever; deciding was within my own free will. Of course I wanted his corpse, but the desperation on his face as I whispered into his ear that day, the fear in his eyes, had been a sight worth seeing.
It was because of such delays that I only managed to reach the manor on the 28th. The moment I stepped through the door, the feeling that the house belonged to me once more settled onto my shoulders. Even the cold radiating from the stone walls was orderly; neither excessive nor lacking. The renovation was exactly as I wanted it. The corridors were neat, the floors silent. Every footstep that failed to echo through the house whispered that control was still mine.
The rooms had been prepared flawlessly. The curtains hung at the correct height, the fireplaces were cleaned, the beds arranged so they were neither too firm nor too soft. Nothing caught my eye; this was a clear indication of how well Sebastian had done his work.
I went up the stairs to my own room. When I opened the door, the first thing to fill the space was my memories. This room was where Lady Vivienne had once breathed, where she had taken her final breath. The tragedy of her death had seeped into the walls. It wasn't disturbing to me in the slightest; on the contrary, it could be nothing more than a familiar past. Places where death had passed always felt more honest to me.
I walked to the window. Outside, there was little snow yet, but the air carried a sharp cold. The wind lightly stirred the branches; the sky seemed to press down over the manor. Far from the city, my mind, for the first time in hours, fixed itself on a single point.
There was a soft knock at the door.
When Sebastian entered, the fatigue on his face was something he tried to hide, but I knew him well enough to notice.
"I've settled your siblings into their rooms. Do you have any other plans for today?"
I looked out the window one last time. The darkness outside was a silent promise of the coming year.
"No. You're very tired as well, Thornwick. You should rest; a new year awaits us."
Sebastian inclined his head slightly; the door closed quietly.
I took hold of the curtain and pulled the heavy fabric shut with both hands, covering the window. I left the cold, the snow, and the movement of the outside world beyond it. The room grew still once more.
That night I didn't want to think any further. I slipped into my bed and shifted restlessly in the depths of sleep. With a familiar weight on my chest, I heard a sharp, dry tapping sound.
I woke with a start. The darkness of the room was still in its proper place, but the silence had been broken. Something was striking the window. The wind? I got out of bed; my bare feet immediately felt the cold of the floor.
I pulled the curtain aside. Beyond the glass, the thing hitting the window was a thin tree branch an arm hurled mercilessly by the wind, testing the pane again and again. My gaze followed the branch downward.
And I saw her.
A woman stood in the middle of the snowstorm. A woman like a dark stain within all that white. Snow whirled madly around her; the wind tore at her hair and skirts. In that instant, a single name fell into my mind, and no other possibility could find space there.
I panicked. My heart sped up; my reason retreated. I hadn't even properly considered why Miss MacLeod would be here outside, of all places. Without putting anything on, I rushed from the room, took the stairs two at a time. By the time I reached the door, my breath was gone.
"Jane! Jane!"
I flung the door open. A wall of cold struck my face; snow, wind, and night poured inside together. The woman was only a few steps away. I walked toward her and grabbed her arm.
"What are you doing out there? You'll get sick, come inside."
My voice was harsh, but beneath it lay an uncontrolled anxiety.
"I don't want you to fall ill, Jane. I need you healthy."
The sky split open. A flash of lightning poured a sharp light over the manor and the garden; thunder followed. The sound echoed in my bones.
The woman slowly turned her head. Her face moved from darkness into light. She was smiling but that smile didn't belong to Jane.
"Is it to kill me?"
My mind froze. The face I saw wasn't the one I wanted to see. It was the woman who had died in my room, whose memory had seeped into the walls of the manor. The woman kept smiling. Lady Vivienne.
"But how is that possible? I killed you."
Lady Vivienne didn't respond to my confusion or my shock; she only smiled.
The dream, the snow, and the night had all knotted together in one place.
I jolted upright in bed, sweating, trying to wipe the dampness from the back of my neck. If I had thought about it even briefly, I would have understood that it was a dream but when I saw Miss MacLeod out there in the snow and cold, my entire mind had surrendered to the arms of worry. The desire I felt for the sake of a corpse had never before been this intense.
"My God…" I said, rubbing my hair. "Should I kill her now? Is this a sign?"
There were two days left until Hogmanay, and the manor was slowly shedding the silence of the past. Members of high society arriving from distant lands were appearing one by one in heavy coats, fur collars, and cautious gazes; the halls filled with foreign perfumes and restrained curiosity. The fireplaces burned brightly, the light of silver candelabra refracted through crystal glasses, and a fragile balance was established between warmth and darkness.
As the festive atmosphere rose gradually, a few guests from the center of Edinburgh brought whispers with them. Conversations slipped between bursts of laughter, words chosen carefully before being spoken. A new Crow Father murder…
While the music rising from Laurence's piano filled the salon like a soft mist, I moved among the guests with a champagne glass in my hand. I wore my usual, measured smile; I listened and weighed every word.
"I didn't know this while I was here. Who died? Someone we know?"
Lady Harrington, standing opposite, gently swirled her glass; there was an expression on her lips that mixed surprise with intrigue.
"Yes… Percival Dunmore. I must say, I'm quite shocked by his death."
The moment his name was spoken, several more heads turned toward the conversation. Dunmore was a man known in society nothing too conspicuous, but well connected. Perhaps one would expect him to die quietly, but thanks to me, that hadn't been the case. I had wanted to present Godfrey with a wealthy victim, to muddle his mind; a commoner could kill someone from high society, but why would one member of society kill another?
This time Sir Malcolm Reed joined the conversation.
"They say the newly appointed one is working very hard on it. Was he English?"
"English?" I murmured. Without my realizing it, the subject had shifted to Mr. Godfrey.
"Or do you know him?"
Before bringing the glass to my lips, I surveyed the room; the music, the laughter, the whispers were all in their proper places. Then I spoke calmly.
"Yes, I know him. In fact, I was going to introduce him to society myself, I suppose I wanted it to be on Hogmanay night. Has his reputation spread before I even presented him?"
I took a sip of my champagne.
"Ah, of course," Lady Harrington said with a faint smile. "That tall, blond, handsome man… of course he draws attention, Mr. Ravencroft."
I raised my eyebrows slightly; there was a confidence in my voice, tinged with mockery.
"Oh? Are you saying he's as striking as I am or more so?"
The guests chuckled. It was exactly the sort of reply expected of him: neither overly serious nor entirely frivolous. Sir Malcolm shook his head from side to side, choosing his words carefully.
"More handsome than you… hmm… that would be difficult to find. But your character is intriguing as well. You are unknowable mysterious, yet compelling. One can't help but wonder what you hide beneath the surface."
"I'm merely a man with an unoccupiedheart."
The music continued. Champagne flowed. As Hogmanay drew closer, rumors of murder were buried beneath the snow and transformed into mere table talk.
That evening, the manor had taken on a peculiar stillness peculiar to the days before Hogmanay. After long journeys, heavy conversations, and suppressed tensions, most of the guests had withdrawn to their rooms. Footsteps echoing through the corridors faded one by one; even the crackling of the fireplaces seemed to burn more cautiously.
What was strange for me was that the fatigue I felt was far more than ordinary weariness. The weakness settling into me was different from the mental burden I had carried all day; my body felt alien. A faint tingling crawled beneath my skin, my muscles loosening and tightening beyond my will… something I had never experienced before.
My siblings had also retired early. Doors closed, and the manor surrendered itself to silence sooner than usual.
With heavy steps, I entered my room. When I shut the door, the dimness of the space pressed down on me. I sat on the edge of the bed; the moment I placed my palms on my knees, I felt my head spin. My vision wavered, the boundaries of the room blurring. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
"There's something wrong." I tried to breathe, but my chest wouldn't expand enough. My mind was still standing; my body, however, refused to obey. "Something's wrong... did something we ate or drank affect all of us? No, that's not it. This doesn't feel right."
My thoughts sped up, failing to connect to one another. Champagne? Dinner? Or some detail I hadn't noticed before? My eyelids grew heavy, darkness creeping inward from the edges of my vision.
Just as my eyes closed, just as my body surrendered to the bed, I heard the door open. Deliberate. Confident. The sound of high heels echoed across the floor, advancing step by step into the room.
With one last reflex, I managed to speak.
"Fuck."
When I opened my eyes again, without knowing what time it was, all I could see was the dark ceiling. I could blink, but the rest of my body refused to respond. I tried to move my fingers; there was a faint twitch and then nothing. My toes, my knees, my shoulders…
A cold wave of panic washed over me, and I forced it down. Stay calm. Panic would quicken my breathing; if my breathing quickened, control would be completely lost. I hoped this was temporary. My mind, with its familiar cool logic, searched for an explanation. Maybe a nightmare… maybe the continuation of a dream…
The one missing thing, this felt far too real.
I could feel the weight of the bedcovers. The slight pressure of the fabric against my chest. The distant, steady ticking of a clock cut through the silence of the room. A draft slipping through the crack of the window gently stirred the curtains, carrying the sound of the snowstorm outside into the room.
"So, you've woken up," a woman's voice said beside me, far too close to my ear.
My heart accelerated instinctively. The voice was unmistakable. That tone, the faint mockery woven between the words… It was Miss Jane.
"I thought you might never wake up. I poked you a few times, such a deep sleeper, Mr. Ravencroft. I could have killed you and you wouldn't have noticed." She hovered on that disturbing line between joke and threat.
I wanted to answer; even moving my tongue required effort. My jaw muscles were uncooperative.
"What did you…" I finally managed. "What did you do to me?"
"One should never underestimate a woman who values her botany lessons. Right…" Her voice slowed with pleasure. "You can't turn your head because you're paralyzed."
When she sat on top of me, I felt the mattress sink slightly beneath her weight. Her presence made my lack of control even more pronounced. There was a dangerous, childlike mischief in her expression and, disturbingly, I had enjoyed seeing that side of her. She raised her hand and waved.
"Hi!"
There was nothing I could do but follow her with my eyes.
"A temporary… paralysis?"
"Of course. I only wanted to scare you."
She leaned closer to my face. When the warmth of her skin brushed against mine, I wanted to tear her apart. She whispered into my ear.
"Did I succeed? I can enter your estate whenever I wish, lace your food every drink in the entire household with something. I can watch you while you sleep, and perhaps in a moment I'll hurt you. Does the uncertainty frighten you, Mr. Ravencroft?"
When she pulled back and looked at my face, she saw it for the first time my real expression, made of unfiltered emotion. Not blank. Not cold. Real. One corner of my lips curled, barely, involuntarily, as if to smile. But I didn't say a single word. She was playing games with me, threatening me. And I was so affected by the manner of her threat that I couldn't even bring myself to be angry with her, not even inwardly. Every move she made stirred something in me.
I suppose my reaction… wasn't what Jane had expected. Surprise flickered across her face, her mask slipping for a brief moment. She got off me at once, reclaiming the distance. The game had shifted direction.
"Why don't you kill Godfrey?"
"Why don't you kill him?"
"I told you, I can't," Miss Jane said, her voice suddenly calm. Not being able to lift my head and see her expression at that moment made me begin to truly hate the paralysis.
"I only kill the people I love, Mr. Ravencroft."
So that was the reason. The reason she made me listen to her favorite poem was that she was actually killing the people she loved. Now everything was clearer. Forced to stare at the ceiling, the corner of my mouth lifted again, unbidden.
"Hm…" I said, managing a thoroughly wicked grin. "That's why you can't kill Godfrey. But I still haven't received the answer I want. Why do you want him dead?"
"Why should I be honest with you?"
"Because you want me to kill Godfrey," I said calmly. "Go on, didn't you already sneak into the medical school just to find me?"
There was no reply. The silence stretched on; only the ticking of the clock and the howl of the wind outside could be heard. Oh God, if my guess was right and she truly was surprised, I would have paid a great deal of money to see the shock on her face.
"You want him dead but beautifully dead. Should I be jealous of Godfrey?"
Miss Jane suddenly lunged back onto me. She leaned close; at last I could see her face again, our noses nearly touching. She grabbed my cheeks from both sides, her fingers digging into my flesh, her nails scraping my skin. Her eyes were terrifyingly wide, barely blinking.
"Godfrey is a good detective. That's reason enough to get rid of him." Her voice rose, the words tumbling over one another.
"I'm starting to get bored. He's been alive for quite some time now, and every moment he stays in Edinburgh…" Her teeth clenched. "He investigates murders other than yours. It's a game to him. Like solving puzzles. He enjoys his work."
Her nails were drawing blood as they scraped my cheeks, yet from the look in her eyes I could tell she wasn't even aware of it. With my numb skin, the pain barely registered but if it left a mark, I might have torn off a few of her limbs for it. Then again, I had already remained sufficiently calm about my torn nipple… or perhaps I was silent because she had given me the bloodiest sex I could ever have in my life. I don't know.
"I can't stand him," she whispered. "He speaks as if he knows everything I've done. I'm constantly on edge. As if I'm guilty…" Her breathing quickened, her voice cracked. "I hate him. I hate him. I want to kill him, but I can't—" the words knotted in her throat. "But I want him dead. I admire his intelligence, that's why I don't want him to fall victim to some random murder."
For some reason, hearing Miss Jane say she hated Mr. Godfrey had calmed me down, even soothed me. The knot in my stomach had eased; interesting and strange feelings. Her eyes roamed over my breathless body.
"I want him to be defeated by the serial killer he's hunting. I want him swallowed whole," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I hate him."
"I hate him," she kept muttering.
I felt my lip twitch in disgust. My head was beginning to ache. I could see she was having some sort of episode, but I couldn't endure it any longer; at last, I managed to tilt my head slightly forward. Jane's face was still very close.
I kissed her.
"Calm down, Jane," I said, unexpectedly gentle. Not because I wanted to hold a paralyzed, woman whose weight pressed down on me while her words pounded at my skull. "I understand that you hate him. That he's an obstacle to your plans. But tell me…" a faint smile touched my lips. "What will it matter once you're dead?"
Jane's shoulders sagged slightly. The frenzy from moments before dissolved into a strange emptiness.
"Will it still matter whether you're a murderer after you're dead?"
She truly had calmed down now. Her breathing slowed, her gaze dropped to the floor. With a childlike innocence, she murmured:
"I don't want my father to learn that I was the one who killed my mother."
I was surprised to hear it because when she had spoken of her mother while browsing fabrics at the counter, I had sensed affection. Then again, considering she killed those she loved, it now felt almost ordinary.
"Oh. So that's the reason."
I could feel my fingers were still numb, but control was gradually returning.
"Very well. I understand. I wish you'd been honest with me from the start, but…" a subtle smile curved my lips. "Truth be told, if you had been honest, you wouldn't have interested me nearly as much and I wouldn't have been this tolerant of you."
Jane lifted her head; there was both hope and fear in her eyes.
"Will you kill him?"
I didn't answer. Since the moment I had passed out, there had been only one question lodged in my mind. I moved my arm at the edge of the bed; I could open and close my numb fingers. I tried a few more times. Then, suddenly, I sat upright.
Before Jane could understand what was happening, I wrapped my hand around her throat.
I squeezed.
Jane's breath caught, her eyes widened. I, on the other hand, was calm.
"But…" I said, lowering my voice, letting my breath brush against her face. "Will you tell me, Jane?" I tightened my fingers just a little more.
"Who is the mole among my servants?"