Chapter 1- Chill

Alan McMichael arrives in the village in a snowstorm carrying only a small bag and his father's pistol. He enters the post seeking a horse, his jacket inadequate against the harsh wind and pelting snow.

"Allerdale Hall? Mister, you'd be better to stay here and ride out the storm. Nobody's going to take you up there in this weather."

"Then I'll walk, but the new Lady Sharpe is in grave danger and I cannot stand idly by. I think they mean to kill her"

The postmaster, also the liveryman stares at him, "They were here not long ago. She seemed happy. And he seemed enamoured by her- had the look of new lovers, still."

"That may be, but there's something foul afoot and you can be damned if I will sit here and allow them to harm that girl. If no one will help, I'll walk."

"Wait a moment. I'll call the boys." A young woman, long hair in a braid, her dress neat but worn, comes from behind the counter; Alan had not seen her there. She does not speak, but hands the postmaster a note. He nods, "Get Crawford and Doyle, Thane, Rook, and Sampson. Tell them to arm up to ride out- Sharpe's have gone nutters, just like we thought. And have your father ready some cells."

She nods and puts on her coat and heavy boots before heading out into the storm.

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as the men with the guns get here. What's your name, son?"

"Dr Alan McMichael."

The postmaster extends his hand, "Gerald Kittering. How do you figure the Sharpe's are going to harm the girl?"

"They've already made his first wife disappear. A Miss Pamela Upton. He hands an envelope to Gerald.

He leafs through, "This is mighty suspicious."

Two burly young men enter with rifles, "Doyle, Sampson, and Rook are on their way. Lizzie said we've probably got a rescue on our hands."

Gerald passes them the envelope, "Looks like."

A tall, slender man with pistols strapped under his coat enters and tips his hat, "Heyo, Gerry. Ezra, Nate. Ready to rescue in a word. And who is this?"

"Dr Alan McMichael."

"Aye, Dr McMichael. Thaddeus Doyle, at your service." He gives a stage bow, "Good to meet you, would be better under different circumstances. But seeing as it's not, let's get to work, eh boys?"

"We're waiting on Malachi and Roger."

"Ah, yes. Likely at the pub at this time of night. I hope Lizzie finds them in a helpful state."

"She did, as she normally would," a voice booms from the door, "Evening, all."

"Evening, Mal," Thaddeus replies.

"Everyone present?" asks the other man, small compared to his companion, but wound like a spring.

"Aye, Rog, it is. Let's ride out then, shall we?"

Alan is given a horse and they ride out into the storm.

The moment Edith catches them in bed, Thomas knows everything is about to go terribly wrong. Lucille is livid, violent, and utterly terrifying when she dashes after Edith. He does not want another death on his hands, but it is clear there will be if he cannot stop her. Just as Lucille catches Edith, the door slams open.

"Sorry to drop in without notice-" he stops, his well planned excuse useless on his lips as he watches Lucille, obviously trying to throw Edith over the ledge. He draws his pistol and aims, "Am I interrupting something?"

"Please, don't shoot!" Thomas calls, emerging from the shadows.

"Alan!" Edith cries, breaking free from Lucille. She stumbles down the stairs. Thomas runs to his sister, though Alan sees that he hesitates a moment, eyes following Edith. Lucille turns to run for the bedroom and nearly bowls over her brother.

Thomas grabs Lucille's arm, "No. Enough. This ends now."

She slaps him, "It would have ended sooner if you hadn't told her not to drink the tea!"

Edith clings to Alan as he places himself between her and the Sharpe siblings. Lucille flees to her room. Thomas follows her.

"Edith, did they kill their mother?"

"She did."

"And what of Thomas' other wife? Do you know of her?"

"Pamela Upton, London. Margaret McDermott, Edinburgh, Enola Sciotti, Milan. Lucille poisoned them with the tea. She wouldn't leave here and he needed money for the machine so they wouldn't starve."

"How do you know all this?"

"Enola told me." She erupts in a fit of coughing, doubled over, blood speckling the snow, as the door swings back open and his five companions step in.

Alan turns to them, "Upstairs, across the balcony." They hear shouting, "Best hurry."

Thomas staggers from the room, stunned, Lucille shrieking behind him. There is a knife in his shoulder. While the village men mount the stairs, guns drawn, Alan draws bits and pieces of the story out of Edith. Then he goes to the kitchen and grabs the tea tins before returning to the entry hall to see what is happening upstairs.

Malachi has Thomas by the arm, "Come now, no use resisting. We've got the guns, you see, and you don't have 'em."

"Lucille has knives. And I've been stabbed. Please, don't touch it."

"Well a shot to the head will stop her right quick, and with four of our lads in there, she's not going to stab 'em all."

Thomas shudders at the thought and turns to glance over his shoulder, "Have mercy. She is broken."

"That's up to the boys. And to her. No turning back. Come on, wagon's waiting and you'd best not keep Mr York waiting."

"Mr York?"

"Our friendly village jailer."

"Oh."

"You seem a bit dispassionate for a man headed to prison. And one who's just been stabbed."

Thomas shrugs, "I've been living in a rather grand one for most of my life."

"That doesn't explain the stabbed."

"I'm trying not to think about Lucille turning on me. Please give me a few more moments of denial."

At the base of the stairs, he diverts towards Edith, but Malachi stops him, "I don't think so. This way, son."

"Please, just one moment? I owe her an explanation."

"No, you can do that if she comes to you after you're tucked behind bars."

"But one word...she is my wife."

"And by all estimating, she was going to be your next dead one. So no."

But Edith has heard and she strides towards them, Alan at her heels, "Edith, is this wise?"

"The wisest thing I've done all year." Despite the knife in his shoulder, she slaps Thomas' face hard enough that he staggers.

Malachi catches him, "I don't think she wants your words."

"Please, Edith, I beg of you..."

"You lied to me!"

"I did."

"You poisoned me!"

"I did."

"You said you loved me!"

"I do."

Stunned, she steps back, a look of disgust on her face, "But..."

"If you wish, I will explain once there is iron safely between us."

She notices the knife, "She stabbed you."

"Yes."

"You're bleeding an awful lot."

"I'm trying not to think too much about it."

"Here, let me take a look," Alan offers.

There is a shout from the second floor and a gunshot. Thomas' face crumples. Then Thaddeus leads a parade back across the balcony, holding his arm, grimacing.

"Woman's a goddamned menace!"

Ezra follows him, walking backwards, rifle raised. Lucille has three guns on her, his from in front, Roger and Nathaniel's from behind.

"One wrong move," Roger warns, "And all three of us fire. We won't all miss."

Below, Thomas sighs, relieved that she is still alive, while Alan inspects his wound, "I'm not going to draw it out here. You'll bleed too much. When we get back to town we'll operate." He tucks Thomas' arm close to his chest, "Here, try not to move it too much. It'll keep it from tearing the muscle further. Is there something we can make a sling from?"

"My scarf. It's over there." He nods towards the hat hooks. Malachi backs towards it, unwilling to take his gun off Thomas. When he returns, Alan fashions a sling, careful not to jostle the knife.

"We need to hurry. You won't bleed out from this, but the longer we wait, the longer we risk infection."

There is a thud and the jailer's wagon is at the door, its steps dropped over the threshold. Mr York, a tall thin man dressed in black with a wide brimmed hat, opens the wagon and waits with his arms crossed, silent, for his guests.

Thomas enters without resistance. Malachi stands guard while Mr York chains him. Lucille must be prodded into the carriage. There are guns levelled at her from inside the carriage and from its barred windows as she is chained. Mr York locks the door and folds up his steps. It is not long before the carriage lurches forward, taking Thomas and Lucille away from Allerdale Hall forever. But all Thomas can think of is how horribly cold he is and how horribly cold it will likely be in jail. Even the pain shooting through his body does not bother him as much as the cold. He glances over to Lucille. It does not look like she is thinking about anything at all.

Malachi, Roger, Nathaniel, and Ezra ride alongside the wagon, but Thaddeus stays behind with Alan and Edith.

"Alright, Miss. We brought a little cart off the back of my horse. Figured you might want to bring a few things. I can't take much, but if you have a trunk or so to get you through until the storm lifts, we'll bring it."

Edith nods, "Take me up the stairs, Alan. I'll pack. I don't have much."

Her few trunks full, her writing desk emptied, she goes to the attic and shows Alan Thomas' workshop. She takes only the music box. She retrieves the wax cylinders and then takes the men to the mines to bring up Enola's trunk. While there, something disturbs the surface of one of the vats. She sends Thaddeus up with the trunk and approaches it with Alan.

"Edith? What are you doing?"

"There's something here. It moved."

"If you're talking about ghosts..."

"I've seen enough of them, Alan. Here, especially. Enola- is that you?"

A hand slowly reaches up the edge of the vat, "Edith? What do you see?"

"You don't have to come up. They're gone. I'll send someone for you. And for Pamela. And for Margaret. And for the baby. All of you." The hand slips back below the surface of the clay.

"Are you saying there are bodies down here?"

"Enola always appeared to me as the clay. And yes, she's down here. Come. She's satisfied with the arrangement. Let's find the dog and leave."

"The dog?"

"It was hers."

Up in the hall, the trunks loaded, they find Thaddeus scratching it's ears, "Cute little mongrel. He coming with us?"

"Of course."

"Good. Already told him he could. You'd best find a coat, Miss, it's might wicked out there."

"I don't want to take anything else from here."

"You don't have to. I brought a blanket," Alan offers. He helps her onto his horse and hands her the blanket. Mounting behind her, he arranges it so she will be most sheltered.

Thaddeus rides alongside them, "Ready, then?"

"Yes. I never want to see this place again."

"So how much are you going to tell us when we've warmed you and fed you?"

"Everything. At least everything I know well enough to tell."

Alan spurs the horse onward, "I'd best make my surgery quick, then."

"No. Do right by him. I'll tell you later when we are alone."

"Some things you want just for yourself and your family, eh, Miss?"

She smiles, nestling against Alan as the horses trot faster along the path carved by the jailer's wagon, "Yes. But Alan's not quite family."

"He's close enough, Miss. Nobody who isn't some sort of family would come out for you in this mess. Only sort of man who does that is the one who's her brother or her lover, whether she calls him either or not." The wind picks up and it is hard to hear anything above it, so they stop talking to concentrate on the ride.

Alan knows this will be a late night. There will be blood, yes, and likely tears, and a story he imagines will chill him even more than the winter wind.