As Edith ascended Allerdale Hall’s grand staircase she glanced over her shoulder. Bile rose in her throat as Lucille’s eyes glittered triumphantly. If only she had listened to Father and Alan about the Sharpes this never would have happened. Oh she was a fool such a damn fool. There was nothing she could do now, except hold on to her dignity. What little of it was left. She had thought Thomas the anti-thesis to her beliefs about the aristocracy and all that he had done was prove them right. Had she not been taken in by Thomas’s worn clothing, blinded by his feigned admiration of her writing and angered on his behalf by Father’s dismissal than Father and Alan would still live.

Down on the snow-swept white-tile Thomas picked up Alan’s body, slung it over his shoulder and started toward the kitchen. It was Thomas’ feigned innocence which hurt her the most. Five weeks ago, she’d had a loving father, a warm home, a best friend who worried of her and...her virginity. Of course, the stint on the train with the separate compartments and his respect of her grieving it had all been a ruse to gain her trust and then humiliate her. That was why he had laughed after she gave herself to him - he thought her easy after his dalliances with Lucille. Had Thomas pulled the same disgusting trick with Enola ? Surely, he must have.

It lead to other even more unpleasant thoughts. Was it Thomas that had killed his and Enola’s child or had Lucille killed the baby and Enola out of jealousy ? Was it Thomas or Lucille who had killed her father ? She wasn't sure of either. With how viciously Thomas had stabbed Alan she was almost sure it was him. Yet, one thing stopped her from committing to that theory - he had never displayed the sadism necessary to cause such a grotesque wound to the brain.

However, her sister-in-law was most definitely capable of sadism. An image of when she’d first arrived in Allerdale Hall came back to her: the flies dead or dying on the side table. Only Lucille could have done that as Thomas hadn’t gone near the table. There was, too, the butterfly that Lucille had lain down in the park and the rapture she had displayed when the ants started eating the poor creature. It was Lucille always who had made her the poisoned tea. The only problem with the theory of Lucille murdering Father was how someone could not have noticed a woman in the gentlemen’s club, unless Thomas had accompanied her.

Lucille jabbed her lightly in the shoulder-blade with the knife. “We may have all day, Edith, but I don’t feel like waiting that long.”

Lucille said that now yet she’d not minded taking her sweet, disgusting time shoving her tongue down Thomas’s throat only minutes ago. As she turned back to hobble up the stairs the only thing that kept her from retching was her pride. Truly, she could not understand how Lucille could be so disturbing in her happiness.

Fifteen minutes earlier, she’d heard the black haired woman pull Thomas into her arms and exclaim, giddy as a schoolgirl, “Can you feel it, Thomas, can you ?! Isn’t the rush simply wondrous ?”

Thomas had replied, “I can.” It had nearly caused her to break into angry tears when she glanced from Alan’s body to see Thomas’s arms wrapped tightly around Lucille and Lucille’s hands tangled in his hair. She’d been certain that had it not been for the open entrance hall doors that Lucille would’ve demanded sex from Thomas to put her in her place as the other woman.

Presently, all she could think was that she had been as blind to them as to everything else. Their too long, cradling hug the first time she’d arrived which she had merely attributed to Lucille missing her brother. How they would strangely be moving away from each other sometimes when she entered a room and Thomas’s many absences from their bed, some, perhaps most of which were spent in Lucille’s. She had betrayed Father and Alan’s trust and now been betrayed in turn. Perhaps she did deserve to die.