CHAPTER1
May 1893. London, England.
It would rain any moment. That was the thought occupying Mina’s mind as her father’s casket descended into the ground at Highgate Cemetery.
A restless wind shivered through the trees, carrying the scent of a gathering storm as the clergyman intoned, “In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succor, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?”
Hidden behind her mourning veil, Mina’s gaze fell to the small group of black-clad figures gathered around the grave. Each pair of eyes was dutifully fixed to the coffin, yet none wept—not even her.
She had hoped tears might arrive in the church, for what a pity it would be for a man’s death not to be visibly mourned by either a wife or daughter. When they had not, she had hoped they might emerge at the cemetery, as though grief might be summoned by mere proximity to the grave. But the earth yawned open before her, silent and indifferent, her father’s coffin now nestled between walls of packed dirt, and still her eyes remained dry.
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t cared for her father, but theirs had been a complex relationship. He’d always had his share of vices—drinking his mind blurry, gambling away money their family couldn’t afford to lose. And still, she had performed her duties as any good daughter should—giving him bread to soak up the alcohol when he stumbled home drunk, tucking him into bed, cleaning up the vomit spilled across the wooden floor of their small townhouse.
Perhaps Mina had witnessed too much of her mother’s pain to ever draw close to her father, had seen the anguish on her mother’s face as she stayed awake by candlelight, fearful that her husband had met his end in the alleyway behind a squalid pub, undone by drink. Although Mina would never utter such sentiments aloud, it was these memories that made her mother’s death almost feel like a mercy, divine intervention freeing her from such earthly torment.
Thunder rumbled overhead as heavy grey clouds lingered in the sky, forceful and impatient. A warm wind lifted the edge of Mina’s veil, brushing loose strands of dark hair across her face. She imagined her father’s soul up there at the gates of heaven, pleading his case for entry.
“. . . we therefore commit his body to the ground,” the clergyman went on, “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
There was sudden movement amongst the crowd, each mourner stepping forward to grasp a handful of dirt and toss it onto the coffin below. Mina’s heart quickened as she leaneddown and grasped the rich, dark soil, the scent pungent—a reminder of where they all would end up one day, deep within the earth. She tossed the dirt over her father’s coffin, imagining him within the casket, his eyes closed in eternal slumber, having finally found peace.
“Lord have mercy upon us.”
With the clergyman’s final words, all in attendance bowed their heads in a moment of silence. When it ended, the mourners loosened into small groups, their voices low as they drifted along the path to the cemetery gate.
Her oldest friend, Lucy, walked over to her, blue eyes sparkling with sympathy. “Are you feeling alright, dearest?” she asked, grasping Mina’s hand.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Mina answered. She glanced over her shoulder to where her aunt stood a few paces away, staring into the distant treeline. “Why don’t you go on to the house? We’ll be along shortly.” Lucy gave a nod and a sad smile before rejoining her mother on the path toward the cemetery exit.
As Mina walked toward her aunt, it struck her that this woman was now the closest to a parent she had left. They’d never been particularly close, yet each summer after her mother passed, Aunt Emily had spent three months in London with them, filling in the gaps left wide after her sister’s passing. It was only during those summer months that Mina had ever felt she could truly relax, the weight of responsibility temporarily lifting from her young shoulders.
She knew those visits would likely come to an end now. The visits had already shortened in recent years, dwindling from months to weeks, and now—without the lingering fear that her father might draw them into trouble—there was little reason to continue.
Mina approached gently, her aunt seeming lost in thought. “Shall we go back to the house now?”
“Not yet,” Aunt Emily said, her voice quiet but firm. With a glance over her shoulder, she led Mina by the wrist away from the others, the hem of her mourning dress brushing along the blades of grass beneath their feet as they navigated through the gravestones.
A heavy droplet of water landed on Mina’s shoulder as they walked, and she looked toward the sky once more, the clouds ever darkening overhead, the wind growing stronger. “It’s going to rain,” Mina warned. But her aunt didn’t respond, sending a pang of alarm through Mina.
When they stopped near a large elm tree, Aunt Emily looked around as if to be sure they were all alone before continuing. She reached into the folds of her petticoat and pulled out an envelope. Something about the discretion of the gesture, the mere sight of the letter, made Mina’s heart quicken.
“What is it?” she asked. She couldn’t say why, but there was a tension within, a deep desire not to read whatever lay inside the folds of the parchment.
“It’s from your father,” her aunt murmured. She extended her hand toward Mina, and just as the envelope came into Mina’s grasp, a raindrop splattered onto the paper. Mina glanced up into her aunt’s green eyes, but the woman’s gaze was fixed off in the distance.
“Did he owe someone money?” Mina asked, her voice low. Her father’s gambling had affected them on more than one occasion, and the thought of an outstanding debt made dread pool in her stomach. All he’d left to her was the house, and with her meager salary as a schoolteacher, there wasn’t much she could offer in the way of financials.
“Not money, no,” Aunt Emily said, tension clear on her face. “Something greater.”
Mina blinked, trying to make sense of the words. What debt was greater than money?
Her aunt went on, “I told him to tell you.” She sighed, the guilt in her eyes mixing with a look of disgust. “He had time to tell you, but I suppose he never did want to disappoint you.”
Mina’s brows furrowed. Her father had disappointed her as many times as there were days in the year, but what failing had he known of before his death that he’d been avoiding? What secret had they both been keeping from her that was so terrible?
Heart pounding, Mina opened the envelope. Another raindrop landed on the back of her hand, and she swiped it against her black dress before pulling the letter from the envelope. Shegrasped it between shaking fingertips, her eyes skimming the familiar script of her father’s hand.
It was addressed to her, and when the meaning of the words sank in, she felt suddenly lightheaded.
