Chapter One

On a late summer afternoon, long fingers of sunlight reached deep inside Ludlow House as though it might at last dispel the darkness that seemed to linger in every corner. But this place, the ancestral home of the Swift family, had been touched by shadow, and no matter how much laughter and light might be spread about its rooms, it would never completely escape that taint until every stone had been pulled down and exposed to the sun.

Even so, in spite of all the darkness that encroached upon their lives, the young Swifts - siblings Tamara and William - had attained a modicum of happiness. It was a constant struggle, and yet they continued to engage in that effort because the only alternative was surrender, and brother and sister were both too stubborn and too courageous to even consider such a thing.

The estate in Highgate, North London, had been built early in the Eighteenth century at the order of Sir Edward Ludlow. His only child, his daughter Helen, married Cheswick Swift, the son of the city's most prominent moneylender. The combination of the two families created the most respectable bank in London, with investments all over the burgeoning Empire. Helen and Cheswick had three sons.

The oldest, Ludlow, was the reluctant inheritor of the family business, and was much relieved when his own son, Henry Swift, took to it with a passion.

And now Ludlow Swift was dead. Henry's wife had passed away at a young age and Henry himself was incapacitated, leaving the control of the estate, the family fortune, and the bank itself, in the hands of his children. Both Tamara and William appreciated the legacy they had inherited, and yet they felt burdened by the responsibility. So much had changed in their lives since their grandfather's passing. Life... the world itself... had turned out to be not at all what they had imagined.

No one could ever have predicted the way things had worked out. The truths the siblings had discovered. The dangers that lurked in the shadows and so often landed upon the very doorstep of Ludlow House.

Yet on that late summer day, the sun did seem just a little brighter, the shadows not quite so deep. It had rained softly that morning and a mist had covered the city, but it had burned off not long after breakfast. It was a rare gem of a day, the sort that seems to stretch on forever and requires leisurely walks upon the grounds and a lingering afternoon tea.

Tamara Swift had not indulged in any of those things.

William had taken over their father's study to conduct the business of the bank. A new chairman of the Board had been chosen to replace their father for the duration of what the siblings had reported as his "illness," but William had taken his seat at that table. Despite his youth he was still deferred to in nearly everything. After all, he held the purse strings that were the very foundation of the bank. But somehow he still hoped to balance out his obligations to the bank and his aspirations towards architecture. Even with all of the obstacles that had recently presented themselves, William was determined to find the time.

His sister would have mocked him, but she was equally resolute about her own ambitions. William had taken over Henry's study, so Tamara had ensconced herself within their grandfather's chambers. So much had happened in those rooms since the start of the year, things both tragic and remarkable. Yet she felt safe here, close to him, surrounded by the trappings of his forays into stage magic and his travels to exotic locales. It was as if Ludlow could watch over her here, though she knew that his spirit had moved on.

So, perhaps, wherever his spirit had gone to rest, it wasn't so very far away after all.

Tamara's pen paused upon the paper before her and a dollop of dark ink beaded upon its tip, then dropped upon the page. She chided herself and set the pen into the inkwell while she picked up the blotter and absorbed much of the ink. A spot like a black tear remained in the midst of the sentence she had been writing, but it was hardly the first, nor would it be the last. The first drafts of her novels were always a mess. She sat back in the chair and took a moment to enjoy the warm summer air that breezed through the open window above the desk. The sun was warm upon her hands, but its light did not stretch far enough into the room to reach her face. Still, she enjoyed the view out that window, with the grounds and the trees of the estate visible, the peak of the carriage house just at the edge of her vision, and then London unfolding in the distance.

For a long moment, Tamara allowed herself to drift. Then, with much reluctance, she turned her attention back to the fresh manuscript pages she had produced that day. The tale was called Stained Scarlet, and it concerned a bride who discovered on her wedding night that her new husband was not completely human.

She was quite fond of the title, thinking it clever enough. And it had better be, she knew, for it had been many months since she had written anything new for Lane and Jones, the publishers of her previous novels. Tamara had written the gruesome occult tales before she had discovered that the horrors in them were not as fictional as she might have wished. It had taken her some time to find the will to write again afterwards.

Once she had begun, however, she found herself relishing the escape Stained Scarlet gave her. And if such works were more and more being dismissed by those who called them "penny dreadfuls," why, Tamara did not mind the mockery so much. The sales spoke for themselves. The people wanted these stories, and the publisher wanted to fulfill that desire. Tamara was happy to oblige.

With a small sigh of satisfaction she tucked a stray lock of her reddish-blond hair behind her ear - she wore it up but strands were always getting loose - and reached for her pen once more. Even as she did so there came a knock at the door. Tamara frowned. It was too early for William to have returned. It could not be good news.

"Yes?" she called.

The door opened to reveal Martha Ivers, a thin, grey-haired woman who had been the first servant to accept an offer of employment from the Swifts after their previous staff had all either run off in terror or been horribly killed. Tamara did not blame them for their trepidation and she admired Martha's willingness to ignore previous circumstance. If not for her preparedness to set aside the whispers about the Swift family, Tamara had no doubt she and William would have had to fend for themselves with no domestic help at all. As it was they were still under-staffed for an estate of this size, but everyone was doing their best. "Pardon me, Miss," Martha said with a curt inclination of her head. "I'm afraid I have a bit of bad news."

Tamara's eyelids fluttered with pique. "Yes. I'd thought you might. Well, spare me the suspense, Martha."

The aging maid was often brusque, and she seemed to appreciate Tamara's willingness to dispense with the niceties and forge ahead to the business at hand. A flicker of amusement went across her features.

"It's Sally. The new girl. I'm afraid she's run off."

"Run off?" Tamara asked, taken aback. But then logic reinterpreted the words and she shook her head. "Let me guess. She went into the library?"

Martha nodded. "I instructed her, as I do all the new staff members, that only I am to clean the library. Still, it does seem that her curiosity got the better of her."

"And she saw Byron?"

Martha raised her chin and stood a bit straighter, as though unwilling to concede there was anything odd about the conversation. "Indeed," she replied. "The girl muttered something about a ghost and poetry, and added that no living man ever spoke to her in a manner so boldly lascivious."

Tamara rose from her chair and went to the window, letting the sun warm her, seep down into her bones. There was a chill in her always, of late. She turned and smiled wanly at Martha.

"If that shocked her, I'd hate to think what might have happened if she'd heard the sorts of things Byron says to the new stable boy."

The grey-haired maid blinked but made an obvious effort not to react to this latest bit of knowledge about the goings on at Ludlow House. After a moment, when Tamara did not go on, she let her shoulders sag.

"You'll want me to find a replacement, Miss?"

"Of course," Tamara replied. "And another girl besides. Not to mention a groundskeeper. Thank goodness the cook doesn't seem bothered by the presence of the... less tangible residents of the house. Let alone my father's lunatic ravings."

The household staff might be willing to put up with a haunting now and again, particularly if the ghosts were not especially aggressive. But Tamara and William were not fools. They were the only living residents of Ludlow House who knew that their father's affliction - the madness that caused them to keep him shackled inside a locked room - had nothing to do with true lunacy, and everything to do with the demon possessing his soul.

Martha cleared her throat. "Is there anything else you've need of at the moment, Miss?"

Tamara assured her there was not and the maid took her leave, closing the door once more behind her. When she returned her attention once more to the page upon the desk it took several moments for her to find her place in the narrative again, for her to imagine herself in the dire circumstances of her protagonist. Then she nodded once and reached for her pen.

Once again, she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Yes?" she called, allowing her annoyance to sneak into her tone.

She fully expected to see Martha again, returning with some additional bit of bad news that had slipped her mind the first time. Instead, the door swung open and Bertram Farris entered. Farris was broad-shouldered and stocky, far less elegant than the slender and particular men Tamara had always encountered in his position. But he was an excellent butler, a gentleman's gentleman who came from a family with a proud history as household domestics.

"Good afternoon, Miss Tamara," the butler said, executing a small bow.

"And to you, Farris. You'll pardon my brusqueness, but I hope you're not here with further tales of woe."

The butler stood as though at attention, more grimly proper than any military man. "Not at all, Miss. It's only that Master William had not yet returned and there is a visitor at the door. I made it clear to him that Ludlow House is not in the habit of receiving strange visitors unannounced-"

"Would that we weren't," Tamara muttered.

"I also informed him that Master William was not at home, but he then insisted upon seeing you. Shall I send him away, Miss?"

Tamara ruminated on the question. She glanced longingly at her manuscript and then out the window at the golden afternoon sunlight, which would soon grow dim. Once William had returned home, dinner would be imminent. If she left the room now she knew that she would be abandoning her writing for the day.

At length she sighed and rose from her chair again. "No, Farris. I'll speak with him. Where have you left him?"

"In the drawing room, Miss."

Farris stepped aside so that Tamara could exit her grandfather's chambers. Sir Ludlow was dead, but no matter how much time passed she would always think of the rooms as his. The shadows were deeper in the corridor but Tamara paid them no attention at all. Shadows and light were constant companions. Without the darkness one would be unable to recognize, to appreciate, the purity of the light.

She made her way through the house and down the grand staircase at its heart, into the foyer. Farris kept pace with her as though he were her personal guardian, and she knew that in a way he was. Without William in the house it would have been entirely inappropriate for her to meet behind closed doors with a male visitor, stranger or not.

The doors to the drawing room had been left open and as her skirts whispered across the floor her mysterious visitor glanced up from his perch upon the settee and caught sight of her. He was an old man with only wisps of white hair and skin rough and weathered, and his eyes narrowed with determination when she strode into the room. Tea had been brought to him, but now he set the cup back upon the tray and stood quickly.

"Miss Swift, thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me," he said.

Farris took up a place just inside the drawing room and she could not shake the sudden image that came into her mind, that she was a Sister of Charity come to visit a prisoner on the day of his execution. Certainly the desperation and sorrow in her visitor's expression did nothing to dissuade her of the illusion.

"You have the advantage of me, sir," Tamara said. "I am, indeed, Tamara Swift. Perhaps you'll be so kind as to introduce yourself."

The old man paled and cast a glance downward. "My apologies, Miss. I'm not usually so rude. It's only that I came a long way to see you - you and your brother - and when I was told he was not at home I feared you were also not in residence. It is a great relief to see you.

"My name is Nichols, Miss. Dr. John Nichols, of Blackbriar, Herefordshire."

Tamara extended her hand and allowed him to take it. Dr. Nichols respectfully inclined his head.

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor. Though I gather by your manner and the abruptness of your appearance here that the circumstances of your visit are hardly pleasant."

The elderly man gazed at her a moment, as though he wanted desperately to reveal to her the pain in his heart but was ashamed to do so. Then he clasped his hands in front of him.

"No, miss. Not at all pleasant. Would you mind terribly if I sat?"

Tamara gestured towards the settee. "Of course, Doctor. I'm sorry, please do."

Dr. Nichols returned to the settee, still perched upon its edge as though afraid he might have to lurch from it at any moment. Tamara sat in a delicate chair just across from him and though she was tempted to snatch up one of the biscuits that had been set out for him with the tea tray, she refrained. Her gaze shifted towards Farris, still and silent as a statue by the door, then back to the despondent wretch who had appeared upon her doorstep.

"Well, Doctor, you certainly have my attention."

The old man nodded. He glanced anxiously about the room several times and when he spoke he could not meet her gaze. "Here in the city it might be different, Miss. Where I come from, we still hold onto more than a little superstition. Legend. Tales we tell the children."

He stole a glance at her and she saw that he was trying to gauge her response. His despair had been replaced now with a gravity of purpose.

"Of course there's some truth to all of those tales, isn't there, Miss Swift?"

Tamara nodded slowly. "Yes, Dr. Nichols. Yes, there is."

In that moment it was as though the afternoon shadows quickened their rush towards evening. The room darkened. Tamara narrowed her eyes and studied Dr. Nichols more closely. The man hung his head for several seconds and when he looked up it was with such relief in his features that Tamara wanted to weep for him.

"For those of us who still believe in such things, whispers go around. New stories arise. When something as terrible as what happened earlier this year in London takes place there are still so many who will deny it, who will try to invent other explanations for the death, for the horror, for what people have seen with their own eyes. Most will accept these inventions because they do not want to believe the truth.

"But I have heard a great many stories about what happened in the city, and I believe them. Some of the stories, Miss Swift, speak of you and your brother."

Tamara felt a chill go through her, but she kept her gaze firm. "Go on, Doctor."

Once more the old man glanced about the room as if mustering the fortitude to continue. At last he turned to meet her gaze and beneath his pain Tamara saw a strength in his eyes she had not noticed there before.

"Blackbriar is a small village, Miss Swift. I am its only doctor and chief benefactor, if you'll pardon me for saying so. Several years ago I lost my son when a horse threw him. He broke his neck but did not die instantly. I reached him before he passed and could do nothing but wait for the moment. A cruel irony that a doctor should have to watch helplessly as the light goes out of his son's eyes."

Tamara's throat felt dry and she gazed at Dr. Nichols with new sympathy, but the old man did not notice. His eyes were far away, reliving events now distant both in place and time.

"His wife Julia and their daughter Sarah came to live with me and I have cared for them as best I could. My own sweet Elizabeth passed many, many years ago. We have made a life together, my daughter-in-law, my granddaughter and I. We all have suffered losses. The sun goes down at the end of every day. Darkness enters all our lives."

This statement was similar enough to her own earlier ruminations as to cause Tamara to shiver again, but she did not interrupt.

A fierce pride burned in the old man's eyes as he continued. "Earlier this year, my granddaughter became pregnant, as foolish young village girls sometimes do. Still, Julia and I did not send her away, but cared for her throughout her time. It was a difficult birth. I delivered the baby myself. When it was over, Sarah... something was wrong with her. Most of the time she is in a strange fascination, rigid as though paralyzed, eyes wide open but unseeing. In infrequent bursts, she seems to become aware of her surroundings, but then she only..."

Dr. Nichols closed his eyes and put one hand over his chest, his lips pressed together as though he were holding back a scream. "Then she only laughs. This wild, maniacal giggling. And then she slips back into her paralytic state again. I am a doctor, Miss Swift. A good one, I like to think. I've seen nothing like this before, nor even heard of anything like it."

For several moments she waited for him to continue, but Dr. Nichols only stared at her expectantly. Tamara grimaced, her heart aching for the man.

"That's terrible, Doctor. Truly. I am sorry for your hardship, for what's happened to Sarah. But I'm afraid I'm not sure why you've come to me. To us. There's obviously some medical phenomenon at work here. What is it you think my brother and I can do to help?" An idea suddenly occurred to her, against all of her expectations. "Is it a bank issue? Do you need funds for research?"

But the doctor was shaking his head.

No, Miss Swift. I'm sorry, I haven't been clear. Haven't told you the entire story. You see, my granddaughter is not the only one this has happened to. There are six other girls, all within Blackbriar village. I... I delivered most of their babies."

Tamara tilted her head. "I'm sorry, Doctor, I still don't see-"

"The babies, Miss Swift. The child in my house... the other babies born in the village recently... they are not the children I delivered. Someone has replaced them, you see. Taken the babies and in their place, left others."

She could not mask her disbelief and knew he would be insulted, but she could not help it.

"Why?" Tamara asked. "Why would anyone do that? And how could you tell, if someone is swapping newborn babies for other infants?"

The smile on Dr. Nichols' face turned her stomach, for there was hysteria in it, not humor. "It isn't difficult to tell the difference," the doctor said. "Sarah's baby, all of the others. Well, they're not human, Miss. Not human at all."

All the breath went out of her and Tamara stared at him, eyes wide.

"What do you mean, not human? How can you tell?"

"If you saw them, you would know. Something like this cannot possibly be-"

There came the sound of the front door closing loudly and then footsteps in the foyer. Belatedly, as though it had taken too long for the sounds to reach her, she glanced over to see William coming into the drawing room. Though Farris had heard everything Dr. Nichols had said, the butler remained remarkably poised.

Curiosity and confusion played across her brother's features as he entered the room. Tamara and Dr. Nichols rose from their places.

"Hello, Tamara," William said. "I see we have a guest."

These words were said pleasantly and laden with the expectation of imminent introductions. Tamara was constantly amazed that William seemed to have none of the instincts that she felt developing within herself. He clearly had not an inkling that their visitor was not paying a social call, or here on any sort of legitimate business linked to the family. With a roll of her eyes she strode across the room.

"Pack a bag, William. We're going on a trip," she said, as she went past him and out into the foyer.

"A trip?" he asked, with a mix of amusement and annoyance in his tone. "I cannot simply depart on a whim, Tam. We've agreed-"

"There's nothing to be done about it. We must go."

William sighed. "Go where?"

Tamara paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Herefordshire. A village called Blackbriar."

William glanced back into the drawing room at Dr. Nichols, whose acquaintance he still had not made, and then looked at his sister again. "Herefordshire? What's in Herefordshire?"

Tamara narrowed her eyes. "Something terrible," she said, and then she started up the steps to begin preparing for their trip. Even as she ascended she could hear her brother's voice drifting up after her.

"Right. Wonderful," William muttered. "That's just wonderful."