There were less than a week left until Hogmanay, and I was on my way to the lodge overlooking the Pentland Hills the place where my father Alistair and Lady Vivienne had once lived while we stayed there. When I became Baron, I moved out and had the Ravencroft Manor near Edinburgh Castle restored to suit my siblings' tastes. Years later, I was setting foot for the first time in the place where I had left my entire past behind; memories were already beginning to pile up in my mind.
I could, in fact, have invited people to where I currently lived for Hogmanay, but instead of somewhere close to the city, I thought a quiet, rural place among the trees would be better. This place was an hour, perhaps an hour and a half away. At least it didn't take days to reach, which could be considered wonderful for guests.
After passing the long driveway as always the frozen pond and the bare trees, I arrived at my past. The noise of Edinburgh didn't reach these lands; even the wind blew more cautiously here, as if the house had deliberately placed a distance between itself and the outside world.
When I stepped down from the carriage, the first thing that caught my attention was the faded coat of arms above the door. Time had dulled the sharpness of its relief, yet it still carried a claim to nobility at first glance. As I straightened my coat, I surveyed the building from top to bottom before entering; moss had taken hold in parts of the roof, and the leaded window frames had grown dull. Despite this, the structure didn't seem on the verge of collapse it seemed patient, as though waiting.
By the time Sebastian greeted me at the door, I had already begun my inspection.
"Sebastian, are you taking notes? Look there's moss, and the window frames have dulled."
"I am, sir. I was waiting for you to come in case there was anything you wished to add."
As always, he was already prepared. I stepped inside, my movements slow and deliberate, measuring every corner with my eyes. The crystals of the large chandeliers hanging in the entrance hall were coated with dust; instead of scattering light, they trapped it.
"It needs a thorough cleaning… I hate dust. If there's any grime that won't come off, have them discard the item outright."
I didn't want this hall to remain dark on Hogmanay night. The cleaning wouldn't be superficial; the glass, the metal, the stone all had to shine. Old, but flawless.
I moved into the long dining room to the left of the hall, Sebastian following me cautiously. The cloth had been removed from the table, leaving the wooden surface exposed. I ran my fingers along the edge; the varnish was cracked in places. This table was strong enough to bear a crowded feast, but its imperfections needed to be concealed.
"Have the servants polish this again, and the chair cushions need to be replaced."
As I walked along the corridor, I examined the paintings lining the walls portraits of Lady Vivienne, hunting scenes, horses with cold, unblinking eyes.
"I don't want dead gazes roaming over the guests on Hogmanay night. I want a less threatening arrangement, something more… 'celebration-appropriate.' Remove the portraits."
As we climbed the stairs, they would have to make sure they didn't creak especially later in the night.
"Noise ruins everything at the wrong moment, Sebastian. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I do, sir. I'll have the stairs looked into as well."
I went through the upstairs bedrooms one by one. The thickness of the curtains wasn't sufficient to block the cold seeping in through the windows. Fires would be lit and fireplaces full on Hogmanay night, but the rooms still had to feel warm and inviting. Guests feeling cold could be perceived as a weakness on the part of the host.
"Is there not a single solid thing left in this wretched lodge?" I rubbed my temples. "Change the curtains. I want them thick so thick that not a single breath from outside can get through."
At last, I entered the study. Here, I stopped.
It was my father's study. The arrangement of the books on the shelves, the position of the desk, its distance from the window all of it needed to lay the groundwork for the conversations that would take place on Hogmanay. And more than that… I had yet to introduce Godfrey to society; this was an appropriate place to discuss it. It was also comfortable enough to talk business with Mr. Martin in the coming days. I stepped closer to the window and looked outside; bare tree branches swayed in the wind. The new year would be welcomed here.
"Every corner of the house will be cleaned; it will look warm, lively, and flawless. The fireplaces will be checked days in advance, the firewood will be dry, the kitchen will be prepared specifically for Hogmanay. The silver will be polished, the goblets counted one by one, and I want the entrance hall to overwhelm the guests the moment they step inside."
"Of course, sir. Society already finds you impeccable, so I will double my efforts."
I took a deep breath. "Sebastian… I'm grateful for your presence. You're a good man at your work, and I want you to know that; I appreciate you."
"I know, sir. I'm watching over your father's legacy it's like growing a tree to me."
I chuckled. "Are you likening us to a tree?" Then I grew serious. "There's a woodworm in the tree and it's family, Thornwick."
"You are only a woodworm to yourself, sir. You strengthen the tree; you always think of your siblings, protecting the family name matters to you. But what about you, sir? What do you want?"
"I… suppose I haven't decided that yet."
As I surveyed the lodge one last time, I felt my fatigue but I didn't stop. Hogmanay wasn't merely a celebration; it was a trial. Who would be invited, who would be excluded, who would be deemed worthy of entering the new year in this house all of it had already been decided. And… ah… even Godfrey was invited, for the sake of Lady MacLeod's comfort. Ominous. Undeniably ominous.
I suppose being forced to relinquish my own comfort for certain things is another source of my irritation. I know I sound as though I complain about everything. But all I want is for things to be in their proper place, at the proper time, exactly as I desire. Is that really so difficult?
I wonder Lady MacLeod is already a cold-skinned, porcelain-toned woman. What if she dies? What would become of that skin? Would another color suit her? She would unquestionably be the most beautiful corpse I had ever seen. And relinquishing my own comfort for that would one day bear fruit, I knew it would. It would be worth it.
Suddenly every hair on my body stood on end; I felt fluctuations in my blood pressure. The symptoms resembled a kind of heart attack, yet I knew it wasn't one.
"Am I in love? With the fact that she will die? My God… is this truly what love is like?"
The moment I left the lodge and returned to the manor, I went straight to the meeting room. When the door closed, the air inside was cold. I sat at the head of the long table; I didn't lean back. I placed my elbows on the table and let my gaze move over my siblings one by one. First Jasper. Then Elora. Finally Laurence. That gaze was less that of an older brother and more that of a judge measuring, weighing, searching for flaws.
"For some time now, interesting things have been happening in my life. One of them is Mr. Godfrey." As I spoke his name, the muscle in my jaw tightened involuntarily.
"I want your opinions about him, with complete honesty."
My gaze locked onto Jasper.
"James, begin."
Jasper shifted slightly in his seat. The wood of the chair creaked.
"I'd say I was uncomfortable with his manner," he said at last. "Very… scattered?"
His brows furrowed as he chose the word, as though scattered were merely the surface of what he truly meant.
Elora cut in without waiting.
"I think it's unnecessary to judge someone without knowing them. Forming a negative opinion about a man we saw for only a single day doesn't seem reasonable."
Her hands were clasped in her lap, yet her fingers had gone white. I didn't avert my gaze from her. This was a defense but for whom, it was unclear. There was neither approval nor objection on my face. I simply looked. And in that look, there was more suspicion than compassion. For a brief moment, Elora's defense weighed heavily in my mind, like a stone that refused to settle into place. Then I slowly turned my head and looked at Laurence.
"What do you think he's like?"
Laurence wasn't leaning back in his chair. He had placed his fingertips against the edge of the table, listening in a contemplative posture. His eyes had already been silently weighing everyone who spoke. When our gazes met, he didn't answer immediately.
"I think," he said at last, "the problem isn't Godfrey."
My eyebrows lifted slightly. The reaction was instant, and I couldn't hide it. I never underestimated Laurence's powers of observation; on the contrary, I trusted him the most and was accustomed to hearing the most unsettling truths from him. He appeared emotional, but that was precisely because he knew better than any of us how and when to act.
"Am I the problem?"
"Brother, to speak plainly, just like the rest of us you are a problem too."
That sentence made Elora's shoulders tense subtly. Jasper frowned but didn't intervene. Not the slightest expression crossed my face; I had already considered this possibility, even accepted it.
Laurence continued. "Still, you aren't his biggest problem. Godfrey is a problem because he's a detective investigating and viewing everyone with suspicion is normal for him. Yes, he's a bit strange, but that only shows he's different, like any other person. Even so, he isn't the biggest issue."
At that, Elora flinched involuntarily.
"What about Lady Margaret?"
As Laurence spoke, he slipped his hands into his pockets. It was something he did when he was uncomfortable.
"Of course that woman is a bigger problem than Godfrey. But I can't say much about her; I don't know the details of her relationship with my brother. All I know is that when she came to our manor, the reason she treated us poorly was jealousy."
At last, I lifted my head. My eyes were harder now.
"Then what is the real problem, Laurence?"
Laurence hesitated briefly. Then he tilted his head to the side and pressed his lips together.
"I'd like to talk about that one-on-one."
Jasper and Elora looked at one another. They didn't ask anything. Their chairs were pushed back quietly, footsteps echoing through the room. Without a word, both of them headed for the door. When it closed, only the two brothers remained inside.
The dull thud of the heavy wooden door echoed in my ears longer than it should have. Instead of remaining standing across the table, Laurence pulled out a chair closer to me; the reduced distance was deliberate. As he crossed one leg over the other, he looked relaxed but the tension in his shoulders spoke before his voice did.
"The problem is Lady MacLeod."
"You said she was a wonderful woman in the carriage."
Laurence tilted his head slightly, an indistinct expression on his lips.
"Yes," he said. "That was to hear what our other siblings thought of her. So I could be careful about how I spoke in front of them. You asked how I met that woman, didn't you?"
I knew that whatever information I could get from Laurence would give me an advantage, so I was as honest as possible.
"At medical school," I said. "She attended classes dressed as a man."
Laurence's eyebrows lifted very slightly for a brief moment less surprise than confirmation.
"What kind of classes? Botany?"
"How did you know?"
Laurence leaned back. The wood of the chair creaked softly.
"The plant journal she gave Elora was new; I didn't see much wear, and the handwriting was neat. She must have developed an interest recently. But…" He paused briefly. "I don't actually think she's that interested. It feels more like a whim. Was she attending all the classes?"
"No, only some of them. Three or four ones far from medicine. Like literature."
Laurence nodded slowly; the pieces were falling into place.
"I see," he said. "I can say quite clearly that this woman is searching for something. If she was willing to risk herself by attending medical school without a true purpose… she must be looking for something important."
My jaw tightened; matters I hadn't given much thought to were now lining up before me one by one. Had I underestimated Lady MacLeod? I suppose I had ignored her actions because I already saw her as someone destined to die.
"She can't attend classes anymore," I said. "Told me the reason was Godfrey."
"Or," Laurence said, his voice low but clear, "perhaps she has already found what she was looking for?"
I didn't answer. The answer I withheld was louder than anything I could have said. Inside me, something fox-like paced back and forth, gnawing at my heart.
"Is there any other crucial element I should know about?" He said.
"She's afraid of Godfrey. That's why she said I could kill her in exchange for killing Godfrey."
"You don't need a bargain to kill Lady MacLeod."
"I know. I just wanted one."
Laurence tilted his head, studying the expression on my face carefully.
"I've never seen you make murder plans about Godfrey. Are you breaking the agreement?"
A faint, dangerous smile appeared on my lips.
"Yes. I am."
"Judging by that smile, you're inside a game you're enjoying, so I won't interfere further."
He stood up. The legs of the chair scraped lightly against the floor. Before heading to the door, he paused for a moment and turned his head toward me.
"But remember, brother; the problem is Lady MacLeod. She's either misrepresenting something about herself or presenting herself to you differently. There's a secrecy about that woman I can't quite define. For some reason, you've gone blind as well. It's surprising to see you act this impulsively and ignore details. Be careful."
When Laurence left the meeting room, I pulled a chair up to the window and stared out at the manor garden for minutes, for hours. My eyes weren't truly seeing what they looked at; my mind was racing. I kept tapping my foot against the floor until it went numb.
Lady Jane. Lady MacLeod. Florence. What have you done to me?
I ran Laurence's words through my mind hundreds of times, reconsidering every detail I had missed. Godfrey was a problem, but I had already had a problem even before him. Yes, I had noticed Lady MacLeod at medical school; we had met in the morgue, I had taken her home that day, and I had understood that she already knew I was a baron. How long had she known who I really was? No, this wasn't the real issue. The real question was whether her presence in the morgue that day had truly been a coincidence. For some reason, we had kept running into each other from the very first moment we met. Coincidence? Fate? No, something was wrong.
Her saying my stitches were flawless at the funeral.
Her being there when I left Margaret's house.
Our encounter at the fair.
Jasper cornering her.
Her not fainting.
The sex.
Her being barren.
And when we went to her house to apologize, her having a point of connection with all of my siblings.
Seeing her at the ball, she had said she wore black only at the funeral, so why was she dressed in black at the ball? Who had died that day? She said she wouldn't dance with an emotionless man, yet she danced with Godfrey. If Godfrey is a man with emotions, if he is intelligent… what if he doesn't actually love Lady MacLeod? What if this isn't obsession at all, but… hatred? Does Godfrey hate Lady MacLeod, and does Lady MacLeod fear Godfrey? Something is wrong again, it doesn't feel right. The detective circling around me has familial ties; he is a childhood friend of the woman I'm involved with; we attend certain classes together at the same medical school. Is Edinburgh really that small? Then why hadn't I noticed her last year? Oh… because Jane wanted me to notice her this year. But why? I had already understood that she had a plan involving me, she even knew I was a killer. Could she have sought me out because I am the Crow Father?
A sudden light flared in my mind.
"She was looking for me, she was looking for the Crow Father." I stood up abruptly.
She had seen a murder I committed before a cut, a stitch. Who could have made such a stitch with a surgeon's meticulousness? She searched for the owner of that stitch at the medical school but by not attending surgical classes? That made no sense. She was looking for me; I was sure of it. But why, and how? Then she knew I wasn't exactly a surgeon. That's why she thought I might still be in training someone inconspicuous, likely wealthy. If I had been a professor, I could have cut corpses whenever I wanted; then when would I have killed? That's why she was in the morgue that day, she knew I would be there. Because she knew that my only chance to cut a body before committing a murder would be then.
"You looked for me and you found me, Jane. But why? If someone isn't going to turn a killer over to the police, why would they want to find him? What do you want from me?"
I searched for the reason behind the pounding of my heart at that moment. Since I had never experienced love before, this couldn't be love. It was excitement, desire, the pleasure of the unknown it was a game. I was a hunter by nature; that was written into my creation. And she was a cunning prey, nothing more. I was playing with my prey, because if she was going to die by my hands eventually, a little amusement would harm no one.
I would make her my most magnificent signature the cherry placed atop the cream. The final touch, the final word. And her body would forever bear my brushstrokes. My beautiful work of art, Lady MacLeod.