“Just so,” Lady Stanton fanned her pale neck. “Miss Pemberton must do as she’s told. As do you.”
“Only because it’s the lesser evil, I might remind you.” Susan turned to Evangeline, her tone apologetic. “It was this or stay confined to the town house until summer. I’d rather wait until the end of the party to trap him, but Mother wishes to get the compromise over with first thing. Either way, we do need your assistance.”
“To win the hand of a murderer?” Evangeline rubbed the gooseflesh prickling her arms. “Why wasn’t he sent to the gallows?”
“Nothing was ever proven,” Lady Stanton said with a snap of her fan. “Lioncroft’s quite clever.”
“And both reclusive and exclusive.” Susan leaned forward, eyes shining. “We wouldn’t even be invited if Mother wasn’t a close personal acquaintance of his sister, Lady Hetherington. Just think—Lioncroft’s first social engagement since he killed their parents. Scandal sheets would pay dearly for first-hand accounts of this party!”
“I do apologize,” Evangeline said, although she felt like she should be listening to an apology rather than making one of her own. “But this is a bit too much intrigue for me. I would’ve preferred to work in your scullery than come along on this trip, had I known what you planned.”
“Of course you would’ve.” Lady Stanton arched pale eyebrows at Evangeline. “That’s why we didn’t tell you.”
“I must insist I be left out of any schemes to—”
“Too late,” Susan interrupted, tapping the window. “We’re here.”
Evangeline craned her neck for a better view and nearly broke her nose on the glass when the carriage jolted across yet another deep rut.
A castle rose in silhouette against the stark light of the moon. The house, if one could call it that, was a massive, sprawling mansion with three stories and a circular tower, all made of wide gray stones. Two wings jutted forward from either side, forming three sides of a square, with a large gate in the center. Darkness enshrouded the whole, for few candles burned at the windows. Heavy clouds gathered over jagged eaves. Two hulking guardsmen heaved open thick wrought-iron gates. Thunder growled across the sky.
“Blackberry Manor,” Susan breathed, and straightened her spectacles. “Black, like Lionkiller’s soul, and berry because he’s going to bury us back in the garden with the rest of the bodies.”
“Not until after your wedding,” Lady Stanton snapped. “Coffers first, coffins second.” She pointed her fan toward Evangeline. “And you’ll do exactly as I say, Miss Pemberton, or you won’t have a bed to sleep in.”
“Then I’ll just wait in the carriage,” Evangeline muttered, her breath steaming against the window. She cleared the glass with one sleeve. Fat droplets splattered against the rain-streaked pane as she stared at the looming mansion. Stone beasts glared at her from their crouched positions upon the roof.
As they neared, more and more orange light flickered in the windows. A flock of ravens settled atop each tower. She could never live in such a dark, lonely place.
She wasn’t even certain she could survive a fortnight.
As the heavy iron doors closed behind her with ominous finality, Evangeline came to a dead stop inside the entryway to Blackberry Manor.
Despite the tall arched ceiling with its bowed wooden beams curving at the creases like so many rib bones, the air was thick, heavy, oppressive, as if she had not stepped into the foyer of an aristocrat’s mansion, but a long forgotten sepulcher untouched by anything but death.
At Lady Stanton’s unveiled glare, Evangeline forced her feet further into the echoing anteroom. The cold marble floor spreading from her battered boots to the edges of every wall might have been ivory or alabaster or cream in color, had there been more light than the occasional flickering sconce. Instead, the murky pattern was a foggy, swirling gray, as though a thundercloud had hardened beneath her feet.
Were there no windows? Evangeline craned her neck to peer upward, just beneath the rafters. Ah, yes. Several. But not the kind to let in light.
The narrow slashes high above her head were the sort suited for medieval castles, for skilled archers to aim their deadly arrows at those who would trespass below, not for illuminating entryways for members of Polite Society. This evening, no archers crouched at the ready, just as no sun hung in the sky. Only the slipperiest, blackest of shadows filtered through the thin cracks to fall upon her upturned face like the cool caress of ghostly hands. The wisps of damp hair on Evangeline’s neck