As Thomas had promised, Cumberland was lovely at the height of spring. The eastern winds breathed life across the moors, leaving behind vibrant greens and wistful yellows. The lands were meditative and free, stretching from one horizon to the next—a prison for the socialite, and a haven for the recluse.
And so, Edith took her adventures outside, leaving the house for long walks of solitude. Thomas knew it was to give him privacy with his sister, and for that, he was silently grateful. Handling Lucille was a delicate task. It required time. It required patience. But it wasn't impossible.
If Lucille ever acted cruelly, it only spoke of the cruelty of her world and of his own shortcomings. No matter how awful his sister looked from the outside, Thomas never forgot her capacity for reason and kindness. How she hugged him under the blankets during thunderstorms, or brought insects indoors to save them from the cold.
It wasn't impossible, he convinced himself. He simply needed to bring out the good within her. And to do so, he first had to restore her to civility. He cleaned and clothed her. He brushed her hair from the ends, loosening all the knots and tangles that had accumulated from her lengthy illness.
Since childhood, he had always brushed her hair. It soothed them both.
"...and Paris," he was saying, his voice as soft as a lullaby.
Lucille had her head rested on her hands, which were cupping her knee. It was the position she often adopted in her youth, whenever Thomas read her a book or pampered her in the lazy haze of noon.
"It's just some city," she said.
"...that is different," he appended. He leaned over her neck, and she caught his twinkle of excitement. "New."
Her expression softened. "When we are financially situated… I suppose the two of us may pay a visit."
The two of us.
Thomas bit his inner cheek, the gears in his mind spinning for the right angle, the right approach to the conversation he wanted. Some way to get his sister to open her mind, just a little.
After all, he was on borrowed time. Edith had been more than generous. She had given her trust and her faith. She had saved his sister and nursed her back to health. All the things he dared not ask, she had done for him.
And now, it was his turn to give something back. Thomas had noticed her increasing restlessness and knew it would be inappropriate to make her wait any longer.
He had to try. No matter how uncomfortable it was, he needed to face this.
"The machine will solve the finances," he said gently, pretending to be concentrated solely on her hair. "Remember? We did it. We got it to work."
The memory of its success seemed to lighten his sister's mood more, and he supposed this was as good an opportunity as he would get. Inhaling deeply, he took the plunge.
"Edith has told me she will give us the initial capital to reopen the factories once it starts running full time." He felt Lucille stiffen but pushed on. "I know it hadn't been the plan to let her stay with us. I acknowledge my errors, and I apologize for being dishonest in my intentions from the start. I apologize for the grief my decisions have caused. I never wanted to hurt you, Lucille. Will you believe me?"
Lucille's fingers continued to crumple the sheets beneath her. Whatever spell she had been under was gone, the lone word sending her wide awake.
Edith.
Lucille did not respond well to the name. By then, it had become forbidden for him to ever speak it in her presence. If it were possible, he would take his silence, or at least wait until she was further into her recovery, when happier memories could put more distance behind the painful ones.
But he had tied his own hands when he made his promise to Edith. All he could do now was wait and accept the repercussions.
Lucille still said nothing, her grip tight.
After some time, the rest of his words sank in. Her shoulders lowered slightly.
It had Thomas strung on hope.
False hope.
"I will when you kill her."
Slowly, Lucille turned. With lowered eyelids, she watched the devastation on his face and his quick attempt to hide it. She had not said what he had been hoping to hear.
Lucille was insulted that he thought she would. She was his sister, not one of his smitten wives. The sweet words, the earnest confessions… she knew exactly when he was trying to lull someone, when he was trying to manipulate a person into conceding to his wishes, wishes that Lucille knew all too well.
She would not have it.
Swallowing, Thomas dropped his gaze. A part of him was shaking, telling him to say no more. He should heed the warnings in his sister's voice. It would do no good to incite her wrath by pressing the matter.
As for Edith... he would just have to find excuses to leave Lucille to see Edith. And excuses to leave Edith to see Lucille.
And how long will that last? How many excuses before violence erupted once more in this household of two women, his body carrying the scent of both.
Thomas had learned his lesson. He had three times to learn it.
He forced himself to try again.
"She knows. Don't you see, Lucille? She knows everything about us, but she hasn't done anything we feared she would."
Nothing they feared and everything they hoped. In this world was another person who understood them, who had the capacity to feel what they feel. A person who, despite everything they had done, was still willing to help them. Surely by now Lucille had realized that too.
He gave a weak smile. "She's on our side."
Lucille clenched her jaw. She was not in the mood for this. She did not have the health for this. This was her day of peace, her day of rest. Her brother should have known better than to ruin it. He should have immediately dropped the topic when she gave him the chance.
But he was insistent, not caring for her displeasure, not caring for anything except his precious Edith.
Fine. If he wished to settle this, they would settle this.
"Tell me, Thomas. Exactly what kind of arrangement do you have in mind?"
Thomas nearly flinched at the sharpness in her tone. But she had not dismissed him, and he scrambled to seize the opportunity.
"Edith is willing to invest in the machines and mines. She's willing to help us fix the house and hire servants to run it again. With her, we can survive. We can start anew. It's everything we sought, isn't it? So please Lucille, may we let her live with us?"
As my wife.
He didn't dare to say that last thought. He didn't need to; Lucille could hear his love pouring out with every word, his heart infested with nothing but Edith, Edith, Edith. The American had breathed her name into his lungs, pumped it into his blood, written it across his skin. In a single night, she had corrupted him, intoxicated him with a lust that came and usurped three decades of loyalty and faith.
For Edith, he had been willing to betray his own sister. For Edith, he had burned everything they had worked for, destroyed everything they had.
For Edith, he had left them to die.
Left Lucille to die…
Lucille had endured the belt and the cane. A thousand strikes on her body, and she could endure a thousand more. She could not endure this.
"And what will become of me?" she asked tightly.
She nearly laughed at his reaction. It was clear he had not given her any thought at all.
"You will live with us," he said.
"As her prisoner." Before he could argue otherwise, she continued, "Bound and locked, without title or money, dependent on her charity for survival, a charity that is only kept by my good behavior… and yours. No, I will not have it!"
"Lu—"
His head snapped to the side. Thomas did not dare move. He spoke no more.
Shaking, Lucille lowered her hand. "You've got your dance. Your wedding. You've even slept in her bed and let her fuck you." She spat the last words with vitriol. "You've had your fun, and now you have the audacity to pretend to come bearing fine propositions, painting your little infatuation as some grand savior of this family. That woman does not save us. Her wealth might have, but tell me, Thomas, how is that going? Has she signed it over to you? Or is she currently making you beg for every shilling? You want to acknowledge something, acknowledge the selfish, ingrate whore you are. You want to repent, then fix your mistakes and kill. HER!"
She punctuated with a slam of the brush into the opposite wall. Thomas flinched at the unforgiving noise, a crack that was as sharp as their father's whip, as harsh as their mother's cane. He had stirred up the rage.
He should not have pushed. He should not have spoken.
He should have known better.
"No."
His voice sounded strange to his own ears.
When he looked up, he saw Lucille's stunned expression.
"Edith has as much of a right to life as we do."
His words sounded strange too, as if they were not his own. They might have come from one of the many books he read. Or perhaps one of the great cities he visited. Wherever the source, it was not from this house.
Slowly, Thomas removed himself from the bed. Lucille watched him collect the pieces of the brush, his movements unnervingly calm.
"And Carter Cushing's wealth rightfully belongs to his daughter. Not us. Not me."
He gave the broken handle in his hands a sad smile. In truth, the idea of the wealth belonging to him had never crossed his mind. He had been honest that day in Cushing's office. He only wanted Edith. Just Edith.
As long as he was by her side, he did not think much of his status or position. Even if she saw him as little more than a charity case.
Lucille never quite recovered.
"You lovesick fool." It was a futile barb that dug into her heart more than his. His feelings had long stopped being a secret, if they ever were to begin with.
This decision was all Edith. And simultaneously, more than Edith. He would not harm her simply because...
"It's wrong, Lucille," he explained softly.
Lucille could not understand what had happened. It felt like she had been struck, but that could not have been possible. Thomas rarely raised his voice, much less a hand. He was still standing unsettlingly distant from her, his expression not marked by cruelty but kindness.
The lock unbolted. Lucille had not even noticed the third voice in the background until the American came in.
"I heard a noise. Is everything okay?"
Edith's eyes fell to the indent in the wall, then the brush in Thomas's hands. She looked past his reassuring smile to the new bruise forming on his cheek.
Chest rising, Edith shot the woman on the bed a frigid look. Her tone undercut her politeness, and she all but slammed the door shut behind her and Thomas.
Had Lucille been more gathered, she might have used the opportunity to attack. Instead, she was left staring numbly at the locked door.
In the hallway, Edith fought to keep calm. "I take it she did not agree."
"No," Thomas admitted. "But she knows."
And that was the most he could have expected to accomplish. He would accept the consequences with his sister later. What mattered now was keeping Edith pleased and not bringing her more trouble.
Edith had days' worth of unspoken words, essays upon essays that she had rehearsed throughout her walks. All of them wilted in her throat as she stared at him, who looked fragile enough to break under a single touch.
Shoulders lowering, Edith said, "I want to show you something."
Thomas stopped short of the last step down the staircase.
At least half a dozen men were gathered in the foyer, many of whom were familiar faces. They straightened at his appearance.
"William, Henry, Frederick!"
"I thought you might want these fine men back," Edith explained, as Thomas exchanged warm greetings with the crowd. "To help with your machine."
Thomas looked back at her with a mix of bewilderment and pure elation. Unable to restrain himself, he lifted her off her feet. Her dress swept the air. Edith giggled, far less embarrassed than she should have been, given their audience.
He set her down.
"So you'll get to working on it."
"Immediately."
"Better not catch you dallying," she teased, stealing a small kiss. If he thought he had been bold in flaunting their affection, he had forgotten about his American wife. To the crew, Edith smiled. "You gentlemen will keep him busy, yes?"
Thomas chuckled along with the rest of the men. The following conversations were equally light-hearted, but the message was clear. His attention was to be on the machine now, his visits to Lucille over.
As if sensing his doubt, Edith placed a hand on his chest. He saw the softness in her expression and convinced himself it was for the best.
She had trusted his judgment.
Now, he had to trust hers.
.
When the lock unbolted, Lucille straightened, expecting her brother.
It was not him.
The door swung open to reveal Edith. Lucille was prepared for that too.
Her plans were ruined as soon as she saw who stood behind her.
Outsiders.
Lucille instinctively retreated when they stepped in.
There were three townsmen in total: two men and one elderly woman. One man stood by the door while another stood guard against the wall. The woman carried a tray.
Lucille's gaze darted back and forth between them. She clutched the sheets, inhaling deeply, understanding that they had her trapped. They were all watching and waiting, waiting for some excuse to pin her down.
Edith was watching the most carefully. Lucille wanted to laugh. She almost did.
The next day, it was the same procedure. The old maid clothed and fed her. The men stood guard. Edith watched. Her brother was nowhere to be seen. Nor did he come to her at night. She was left to sleep alone. She did not sleep.
Just when Lucille feared the worst, she finally saw Thomas again. But he did not come to her. He spoke cordially and gave polite one-sided conversation. He asked if she was comfortable, or if there were something in particular she would like to eat. But never once did he leave Edith's side. And when Edith left, he left too.
Another night.
Lucille curled inwards, her spine bare and exposed. Thomas… she needed Thomas. She needed his touch. She needed his smell.
Why was he not coming to her?
Because men sleep with their wives, silly, not their sisters.
Because what he has with you… well, it's just wrong.
Without her brother, Lucille found herself in other company. This one was the most irritating of them, one Lucille thought she had rid of ages back.
But no, the wraith was back, the shadow of a little girl in her thin, mocking whistle.
It's wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
It was over. The blindfold on Thomas had fallen, and with it, Lucille's reign within Allerdale Hall. The blood on her hands was dripping. It didn't matter how hard Lucille had tried to smear Thomas's hands with hers, to convince him the crime was his, theirs. The truth remained that it was she who cut the strap to Papa's saddle, and she who stuck the cleaver in Mama.
No, no, I did it for him.
It was she who strangled the first bride, and she who bludgeoned the second, and she who cut the third.
I did it to protect him.
It was she who smashed Carter Cushing against the bathroom sink.
I did it out of love.
You did it out of pride.
I did it out of—
You did it out of vengeance.
I—
You did it because you are wicked, Lucille Sharpe. Because your soul is black, and your heart is black. Even your own brother, you were willing to pull down to your depravity.
The shadow had gone from far to close, off the wall and onto the bed. Lucille could feel herself touched by its presence. She tucked in her legs. Shivering, she violently crossed her arms and forced her eyes shut.
Like how her brother always shut his eyes.
Did she think she would not remember, the way her poor brother trembled under her touch.
The wraith was upon her body now, whispering her dark secrets back to her.
It was she who kissed Thomas, and he who let her. It was she who commanded him to kiss her back, and he who obeyed. Her brother always obeyed, and it was his obedience that she twisted into compliance, then again into want. The lies flowed much more easily once his body got used to it.
How cruel you are, to cast your own shame upon him and have him believe it his. How clever, to chain him to you with his own guilt. But that won't work anymore. Someone has freed him.
Edith Cushing.
That name had infected Lucille's own skin. Her fingers clawed into the bedsheets.
For all his talk of a future, Thomas did not seem to be able to picture it very well. Strange, because Lucille could see in it perfect clarity.
It was white and sunbright, a manor with trimmed hedges and flowing gardens, a field of grass filled with butterflies. There would be long woolen socks and floating lace, two children running into the embrace of their father. And descending from the other side of the carriage, the beautiful mother, the bonny American wife with the golden hair.
Lucille could see everything. The chef preparing the pastries. The coloring books on the rug. The yipping dog. The way she held his arm in their afternoon walks, the way he melted into her kiss.
Edith saw this future first. Lucille saw it second. Only Thomas had yet to see it, was unable to see it, because he was still trying to design everything around a gear that had no place and no purpose. He was still thinking in terms of three in a story designed for two.
But the day was bound to come. The day when Thomas stepped into the light, leaving Lucille alone with her sins. The day he knew just how wrong their childhood had been, how wrong she had been. The day he was saved and pulled into that future he had always so desperately craved.
Only after one has seen good can they recognize evil.
Her clawing had torn a hole in the sheet, tearing it...
Only after one has accepted kindness can they reject cruelty.
Seam by seam...
Only after one has fallen in love can they know…
Longer and longer until...
…the absence of it.
The last thread pulled.
It did not matter whether Edith lived or died; Lucille lost him either way. The sob that tore through her throat was so soft, not even her own shadow heard.