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    Maplecroft: The Borden Dispatches
    Maplecroft: The Borden Dispatches
    Maplecroft: The Borden Dispatches
    Ebook441 pages6 hours

    Maplecroft: The Borden Dispatches

    By Cherie Priest

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks; and when she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one....
     
    The people of Fall River, Massachusetts, fear me. Perhaps rightfully so. I remain a suspect in the brutal deaths of my father and his second wife despite the verdict of innocence at my trial. With our inheritance, my sister, Emma, and I have taken up residence in Maplecroft, a mansion near the sea and far from gossip and scrutiny.
     
    But it is not far enough from the affliction that possessed my parents. Their characters, their very souls, were consumed from within by something that left malevolent entities in their place. It originates from the ocean’s depths, plaguing the populace with tides of nightmares and madness.
     
    This evil cannot hide from me. No matter what guise it assumes, I will be waiting for it. With an axe.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenguin Publishing Group
    Release dateSep 2, 2014
    ISBN9780698138384
    Author

    Cherie Priest

    Cherie Priest is a full-time novelist, perhaps most famous for the Clockwork Century series, starting with the highly-acclaimed and award-winning Boneshaker. She is also a member of the Wild Cards Consortium, George R. R. Martin’s superhero universe. She currently lives in Tennessee with her husband, and you can find out more at www.CheriePriest.com.

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    Reviews for Maplecroft

    3.5/5

    199 ratings25 reviews

    What did you think?

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    • 5/5
      how do I explain .... written in the style of journals from multiple parties, I was drawn into this novel. The name, Lizzie Borden, caught me as a "wow" factor and Priest took me on a ride that I was not expecting.
    • 3/5
      It is possible this book is most fun for people who are more knowledgeable about Lizzie Borden than I am-- I know only the bare bones of the history. Without more knowledge to support me, the characters felt thin. This may be partially due to the conceit that all the text in the novel is meant to be letters and diary entries written by the characters. The period-appropriate emotional reserve expressed in the writing meant the characters' interior lives were more told than shown.

      Which is really a pity, because science! horror! lesbians! is totally my jam.

      Also, and this really bugged me, there are several scenes of Lizbeth Borden outside, in her nightdress, killing things with an axe, and then having trouble breathing because of her corset. To which I say two things: 1) Why is she sleeping in her corset? and 2) Given how unconventional she is in so many other ways, and how isolated the sisters are, why does she wear a corset when she hunts at all??
    • 5/5
      Lizzie Borden battling Lovecraftian horrors. Do you need a better pitch than that?
    • 4/5
      Lizzie Borden meets H.P. Lovecraft.
    • 4/5
      The first third of the book deserves a 5-star rating, but the last third is only mediocre, so I suppose 4 stars overall. I wished that the end of the book would be as good as the beginning, but it felt lackluster to me. All that suspense built and then wasted when it wrapped up far too easily.
    • 2/5
      Very boring, couldn't really get into the book.
    • 4/5
      A great concept for a relatively new genre, steampunk. It is hard to really tag this book as any one genre: we start with the Borden sisters living in relative isolation in Falls River, Massachusetts. Emma, the older, writes scientific articles for the journals of the time and gains some measure of professional recognition thereby. One of the most fascinating things she has seen and sent is a living blob she discovers near the seashore.

      The famous Lizzie Borden features the most prominently, as she is driven to extraordinary defense measures due to nasty, smelly things that have "too many joints in their limbs" to be completely human but in many other respects they possess human features.

      Also featured is Owen Seabury, M.D., the doctor who testified in defense of Lizzie Borden at her trial. He brings medical knowledge and the connection of disease with innoculations to the case.

      Basically what we have is a mystery with historical characters and the increased, unexplainable murders within the small community. All of the murders are to family members, each has a member who is gradually becoming less and less human and falling into listening to the sea, yet no one can quite figure out the alignments to put the pieces together. The reader is left to wonder: was it the blob Emma sent her professor friend? What are the sea glass baubles? How did those creatures come to become their hideous, not-quite-human shapes? Even a police detective, at one of the earliest times for this profession, is not able to solve everything. It is this final point that brings the strength of this book at its conclusion: Priest does not try to wrap up all the loose ends in a neat little Victorian bow; instead, she lets the messiness, the incompetency of police higher-ups, and several unexplained questions remain.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this book. It was an interesting mashup of the urban legends surrounding Lizzie Borden and the stories of HP Lovecraft. The writing is good, and the characterizations of Lizzie and her sister, Emma, are fairly well done. Those who enjoy Lovecraftian stories and are able to tolerate a bit of play with the mythos will probably enjoy this book.
    • 4/5
      What if Lizzie Borden had a very good reason for taking that ax to her father and step-mother's heads?
      This book was way better then I expected it to be, I wasn't expecting it not to be good, it was just so much more of an engaging page turner then I had expected it to be.
      I was expecting more of a horror story considering the mix of a horrible murder and Lovecraftian themes but it ended up being more of an action adventure story with hints of horror never quite realized. In the end, I was okay with that, I think that added to the page-turning pace of the book and kept things from getting too bogged down.
      I even found myself enjoying the conceit of the journal entry style of writing used here, which is something often find a bit t0o twee and annoying.

      Not quite what I was expecting and not quite what I wanted but still a real fun read and I am looking forward to the next book in the series.
    • 4/5
      Up front: I'm adding a star for personal reasons. I was born in Fall River, and as an older child, moved to Providence, so a Lovecraftian Lizzie Borden tale feels like it was created just for me!

      'Maplecroft' begins after Lizzie has been legally exonerated for the axe murders of her parents, although suspicion in town still rides high against her. She lived a somewhat isolated life, caring for her frail and sickly sister, Emma. Their main "social" contact is with Emma's doctor. Aside from her quotidian tasks, Lizzie spends her time dispatching semi-aquatic inhuman monsters that keep nosing around the house - and spending time in her basement laboratory investigating what these malefic mysteries might be.
      Meanwhile, her sister Emma busies herself with correspondence and investigations under her secret alter-ego identity: the renowned but reclusive marine biologist E.A. Jackson.

      Now, Priest plays loose in this book not only with reality and history, but with geography. An awful lot is switched around to fit her tale, to the point where using the historical characters seems almost besides-the-point. I was OK with doing away with the servants who lived in the Borden mansion in order to accentuate the sisters' isolation, but I did wish that the time period and sense of place had been more carefully crafted.

      At the time that this novel is set, Fall River was a bustling mill town. It was in the middle of a major boom - within Lizzie's lifetime, the population had increased five-fold. It was the textile center of the USA, known as 'Spindle City.' The character of the community had quickly changed as well, with a major influx of French-speaking immigrants from Canada. Not one iota of any of that is referenced in the book. Instead, the town feels sleepy and quiet, with a relentlessly British feel (with the exception of Lizzie's Irish 'friend' who comes to visit from Boston.)

      In addition, a major theme of the book centers around the ocean. There are multiple descriptions of crashing waves, walking along the shore picking up 'sea glass' and other sea life, etc. Too bad Fall River is not actually on the ocean. It has waterfront, yes, but if you run down to the water from the Borden mansion at 306 French St, you're on the Taunton River, not even Mount Hope Bay. It's near Battleship Cove, a location chosen for its calm waters and lack of crashing waves.

      These things made me go "hmmph."
      Regardless, I still very much enjoyed the tale, and will be promptly moving on to the just-released sequel.
    • 4/5
      This book definitely wins on uniqueness points! Who would have ever thunk axe-wielding Lizzie Borden and Lovecraft-inspired horror stuff?!?! Well, Cherie Priest did, folks. And she carries it off with wonderful skill. I was kept spellbound by this story. I never knew where it was going to go nor what new horror would be introduced. The suspense was top notch, and the final showdown breath stealing.

      I actually really enjoyed how the author reinvented historical aspects to fit into this horror mold as well. From the big like the Borden axe murders themselves to the small details like the incorporation of gas light as an atmospheric tool, I was kept spellbound by the horror elements. Then there were the psychological horror elements. Cherie has found a way to get into her reader's heads and just play with our subconscious with this book. The reader doesn't just read the horror; they experience and breathe it. And then to round out the horror is the un-clearness of who really was behind all the horror. It's never really resolved who caused the mayhem to start. Yes, there are clues and supposition but no clear answers nor resolution. I loved that!

      Each of the characters were very unique unto themselves. Three-dimensional and full of vices and virtues, everyone contributed to the story and won this reader over in their own way. Lizzie, especially, was a favorite of mine. Maybe it was the ninja-style axe wielding (campy though that image may sound) or the obsessive nature of hers towards Nance and her research, but whatever it was, I perked up whenever her POV rolled around. I also really enjoyed how the horror elements touched each of our characters and left no one unchanged, in both personality and relationships. Going through horrors like that would change a person; Cherie Priest illustrates that realistically for all her characters.

      My one ding against this book that I wish had been handled a bit differently was the constant shift in POV. Every chapter is a shift in first person POV, and in my humble opinion, there are far too many of them. There are upwards of 7-8 different POVs, even if some were only one chapter long and really in the format of a report or something of that nature. More than once, when I had to leave the book for any length of time, I would come back and be momentarily confused about whose POV I was in. Very distracting...

      Overall, this was a wonderful beginning to my month of horror in celebration of my favorite holiday, Halloween. It's unique horror elements and story, fantastic characterization, and incredible atmosphere writing kept me spellbound. While some issues with POV switching were present, I'd still recommend this book very highly to anyone looking for a unique horror book to enjoy.
    • 4/5
      Maplecroft is a fantastical horror novel set in the 1890s. I am not familiar with Lovecraft’s work, but I have heard Maplecroft be called Lovecraftian. Told in an epistolary style, Maplecroft tells the tale of a supernatural danger coming out from the ocean and the few people who stand against it.

      Lizzie Borden’s father and stepfather were slowly… changed… until they lost their minds and became ghastly and murderous creatures. Now, a few years later, Lizzie and her invalid sister Emma live by themselves across town. Lizzie is desperately attempting to find out what force is at work on the town and to protect herself and her sister from the strange monsters that have been coming after them.

      Yet, it looks like Lizzie’s father and stepmother won’t be the only people changed. Others are coming down “sick” as well, and Lizzie and those with her might be the only ones that stand against whatever dangerous entity dwells out at sea.

      The story is told mostly through letters and diary entries of the various players involved. Lizzie, her sister Emma, the town doctor, Lizzie’s lover Nancy, and a scientist Emma writes to are the main POVs of the book. Each has a distinct perspective and personality, which were accentuated by Priest’s gorgeous gothic writing style.

      The writing was definitely a high point of Maplecroft. Priest emulates the prose of the time period without becoming overwhelmingly Victorian. The result is elegant and haunting.

      Why only three and a half stars? Horror simply isn’t my genre. I picked up the book because I liked some of Priest’s other writings without much knowledge of the genre or plot. I would recommend it to people who like horror novels, but it didn’t have enough of the fantastic for my tastes.

      Originally posted on The Illustrated Page.
    • 3/5
      Lizzie Borden meets H.P. Lovecraft in a whole new explanation for the Borden murders—after killing her father and stepmother during their transformation into eldritch horrors, Lizzie and her invalid sister try to fend off further invaders from the sea, with somewhat limited success. Lizzie’s lover Nance keeps asking difficult questions. Her sister, who publishes scientific articles under a male name, has sent off an unusual sample to a colleague, with disastrous results. A local doctor and a mysterious investigator round out the crew. I enjoyed the premise, but ended up feeling that the execution (no pun intended) dragged by the end—a risk with epistolary novels.
    • 5/5
      Someday I will realize that I love everything Cherie Priest does and stop putting off reading her books for months or years. This is a wonderful mash-up of Lizzie Borden and The Dunwich Horror, an epistolary novel featuring numerous points of view, including Lizzie herself, Lizzie's infirm sister Emma (who was by far my favorite character by the end), a local doctor caught up in the strange sickness infecting Fall River, and a professor at Miskatonic U, who really should not have taken that specimen out of its jar. It's terrifically creepy and incredibly engaging, and I loved every bit of it.
    • 4/5
      I have read a number of Cherie Priest’s books and I always think they are interesting...but they never really draw me in and make me want to read more. I was curious to check out this new series by her and see if I found it more engaging than her Clockwork Century series. This ended up being an odd book. I enjoyed the writing style and thought the story was intriguing...but by the end of it all I was ready to be done with the book and didn't really want to read more about this world or the characters.

      Lizzie (Lizbeth) Borden and her sister Emma live on the outskirts of Fall River and are outcasts of the community. You see something happened to Lizzie’s parents, something evil, and Lizzie took care of them; she’s been proven innocent but everyone knows that Lizzie did something awful. Now Lizzie and her sister struggle to fight against this evil anyway they can. However, the evil is slow and creeping and taking over more of the town everyday.

      The book takes place in the 1890’s, it’s more of a horror than anything and very much derived from Lovecraft's whole Cthulhu mythos. There is a lot about madness, murder, and people going insane because of a dark and invasive power. There are a number of very graphic and violent scenes and this lends the book a very "horror" feel...some of the scenes are downright chilling. There is also a supernatural element. The pace of the story is very deliberate and at times it lags a bit.

      The book is done as journal entries by a number of different characters. This is a good format for slowly unrolling the mystery of the madness that is affecting this small town. However, it is a format that makes it hard to engage with the characters. Priest does do a very good job of altering sound of the narration of different characters as they slowly descend into madness.

      I will say this is not a book for those with weak stomachs. The scenes are disgusting, graphic, and downright disturbing at times.

      The way everything ties up is very ambiguous and kind of left me cold. I understand it's supposed to be all mysterious, but I would have liked a little bit more wrap-up. This appears to be the first book in a series, so maybe we’ll get more wrap up in future books.

      Overall this was an odd book, that is well written but a bit slow moving. It is mostly a horror with some mystery and not a read for the faint of heart. While I found the concept and premise intriguing, the story did get a bit boring at points and I struggled to stay engaged in it at times. If you are a fan of Priest’s Clockwork Century series (and general writing style) and enjoy horror I would recommend checking this book out.
    • 4/5
      Get a Victorian story. Add some monsters (with tentacles). Stir and serve. This seems to be a very popular recipe these days - Lovecraft and the Victorians seem to be just going very well together. I rarely read the genre - as much as I can read Lovecraft in small dozes, tales about monsters bore me often. And still, sometimes I would read a book or two - you never know when something good will show up in a genre that is not exactly a favorite.

      This time the Victorian story is a real one - Lizzie Borden's parents murder. The story starts after the sisters had moved to the new house, renamed it Maplecroft and Lizzie had even built herself a laboratory. Because in this Fall River, Mass. something awful had come from the ocean (and is still coming) and Lizbeth (as she prefers to be called) is protecting the town. Despite the fact that she had been acquitted for the murders, in the novel it is clear that she had murdered them, she even admits it more than once. But the reasons are not what the court had thought - the Bordens had been afflicted by these same sea monsters and Lizzie had to kill them. And after the trial, she and her sister Emma live in their new house - and the younger sister makes everything she can to protect the very sick Emma.

      And while she is dealing with the monsters with her ax, the people of Fall River start getting sick in weird ways - all related to water, all ending in death and/or madness. At the same time a string of murders start happening outside of the town and it is soon clear that the reason is the same - or at least it is clear for the ones that are in the house anyway.

      Add to all this the local doctor (whose involvement changes and grows through the novel and who is not the most lucky guy), Nance (Lizbeth's lover who comes to stay with her and gets afflicted causing a lot of stress in the household - by simply being there, by being sick, by being alive) and the mysterious inspector Simon Wolf (who we meet a few times but it is the very last chapter that will give us a clue of what he is - even if no real answers are there either - but it is a good setup for a sequel) and the main cast is assembled.

      Priest is keeping her story very close to the historical record - where possible - which makes the story a bit anticlimactic in places - you know that the sisters will survive and that removes a part of the excitement. At the same time for most of the novel, the monsters are just at the corner of your eye (when not getting hacked with an ax that is) and Priest even manages to find a scientific reason for why iron works against these creatures (how correct is her science is a bit beyond me but it sounds convincing enough). But it being a book with sea monsters, it had to finish with a battle and the pages where that happens drag. Or maybe so it seems to be because this is exactly the part I don't like in that style.

      The whole novel is told from the viewpoint of all of our characters (plus a few others) - via pages of diaries, letters, reports, newspaper articles. In a sense it is an epistolary novel, written by more than one correspondent which are not writing to each other. We rarely see the same actions described from two different people but when it happens, it actually adds more to the story and clarifies it.

      At the end I was surprised that I liked the novel more than I expected. I am not going to go and read more stories in the genre but I will pick up any sequel that Priest publishes. Which is a lot more than I expected when I started reading it.
    • 4/5
      There was a lot of buzz around this book. The concept is quite bold: Lizzie Borden gone Lovecraft. I found it slow to start. The build up is gradual and creepy. This is real, old-fashioned horror. It doesn't dwell too much on the gore, but the atmosphere is what gets you. You know things in Fall River are going to hell. Perhaps literally.

      The story is told in letter form, mostly between Lizzie, her sister Emma, their Doctor, and then a scattering of other characters. The relationship of Lizzie and her lover is very well done, and raises the stakes--as though Lizzie's reputation isn't tenuous enough, after the local police failed to convict her for the murders of her father and stepmother. This is where the famed tale of Lizzie Borden and her axe come into play. Lizzie really did kill them... because they were becoming hideous monsters. And now, the rest of town is slowly succumbing to the same fate.

      This is the first in a series, though it resolves so neatly in one book, I wonder where things can go from here.
    • 4/5
      I'd like to give a stronger rating to this gothic/Lovecraftian tale of strange things from the sea afflicting Fall River, Massachusetts and the reinvention of Lizzie Borden as a fighter of monsters, but a number of things hold me back. For one, there is an unconventional romantic sub-plot that just doesn't feel all that convincing to me; as if Priest wanted to avoid something more conventional arising from her plot. Two, there are a sufficient number of anachronistic words and terms that these become a little annoying after awhile. Three, Priest seems to leave her story hanging a bit too much at the end; as if she had some sense that she'd want to do a follow-up, but didn't quite want to bet on it. We'll see; though I did enjoy this work enough to want to go another round if this turns into a series.
    • 5/5
      Lizzie Borden -Lizbeth- yes, ax wielding Lizzie Borden- and her invalid older sister Emma live quietly a Maplecroft, a large house in coastal Fall River, MA. At least that’s how it seems to outsiders. The house is far away enough from neighbors, to conceal a lot. Like a basement laboratory, a large gas fired ‘cooker’ beneath the basement floor, and the strange things that come creeping around the house at night, pounding on the walls, seeking entrance. Because there was a lot more to the story of her killing her father and stepmother with an ax. Her father and stepmother were long gone when she took an ax to the bodies that still shambled around.

      In the same vein as ‘Queen Victoria: Demon Hunter’, Priest has taken a historical personage and inserted a horror tale into their biography. In this case, it’s not run of the mill zombies or vampires. Priest has created her own monsters, albeit ones that seem like they would feel right at home in H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu mythos. Somehow, people in the town are being infected by… something. Something that changes them slowly to have razor sharp teeth and glassy, dull eyes. To lose their wits and become violent. What is infecting them? Is it supernatural?

      Lizbeth and Emma have been trying for two years to figure it out when they run out of time. Suddenly it’s not just an isolated person or two. They are forced to take the town doctor into their confidence, and soon there is an out of town inspector poking around. To complicate things further, Lizbeth’s actress girlfriend is staying with them, a woman who is intensely nosy.

      This was a really fun book to read- yes, I think reading creepy things at night is fun. The fact that the monsters are never totally explained adds to the creepy factor. People changing into beings that defy the laws of physics adds to it, too. There is a constant, palpable menace. I have to admit that I was dissatisfied with the fact that things weren’t well explained until I found out this is the start of a series. It makes sense to leave things to explain in later volumes. The story is told from different points of view: Lizbeth’s, Emmas, the doctor, a professor who Emma-posing as a male marine biologist- sent a sample of unknown sea life, and others. This creates a fuller picture of the action, and of the characters. A fast, absorbing read.
    • 2/5
      Sigh this book was soooo bad. I really can't tell you exactly what it was about this book I disliked because there were several things that just made this not work for me. It took me a little over two weeks of actual read time to finish this. I'd get maybe through a chapter and be so dang tired I'd have to put it down; no matter when I read it, or how much sleep I'd gotten the night before. I found it to be a real snooze fest.

      I have no clue what to call this book it's almost like a historical body snatchers, meets zombies, meets creature from the blue lagoon book. Other than that I just don't know how to describe it. The whole book takes place shortly before, during, and a little after Lizzie Borden killed her parents. Truthfully it only glosses over the actual Borden Murders never really going into depth on them. You also get introduced to several narrators so many I don't even remember them all. That too was really annoying as soon as I was getting into something that was going on I'd turn the page and someone else would be narrating something different.

      What happens in this book is that there is something causing the towns people to change. First they start to act different, and then there body starts to change in some really weird ways that include water. I won't explain it JIC someone actually wants to read it. So it starts with Lizzie's parents and moves out from there infecting different characters through out the book. There are also strange non-human people like creatures who attack the main characters causing some action until they are defeated which was pretty quick. Lizzie with the help of a town Doctor tries to find out what is causing the mystery changes in the towns folks. Lizzie being fanciful thinks its the fair folks and looks to researching old tales, and the good Doctor thinks is some kind of disease and starts looking for a cure. In the end there was no satisfactory answer give as to what was actually happening. ETA: I left this out but Lizzie has this awful inconsiderate sister who is really sick with consumption and is pretty much as snotty uptight grump through the whole book. She's jealous and so annoying I wishes she would just die through most of it. I kind of like her in the beginning but she turns really hateful about half way through and I just couldn't help but hate her. So if you hate bitchy whinny sisters you might want to pass on this one!

      Truthfully the ending on this leaves much to be desired and I just have no clue how she's going to come back to these characters 30 years later and continue the series. I'm undecided on if I actually want to read the sequel to this if it does gets published. I really want to say this one was so bad I won't go near it but I kind of do want to know if a good answer to what was happening is ever given.

      So be warned and read this at your own risk as it may cause extreme bouts of sleepiness.
    • 3/5
      I like the idea of re-writing the story of a woman famous for standing trial for murdering her father and stepmother. In Maplecroft, Lizzie has good reason to kill them: they were possessed (for want of a better term; they were changing into something else and stopped acting normally). She has seen more signs of this type of 'possession', and together with her invalid sister is looking for a way to stop it. She is shunned by the town, and in case, who would believe her? So they are on their own, until more and more 'possessions' lead to violent crimes and a doctor and investigator become involved.

      I very much enjoyed myself in the first half to three quarters of the book. Lizzie is quite a character. She is highly determined and not in the least sqeamish. The sister is posing as a man, and writing scientific articles under this guise. So she is no damsel either. They are both doing their best to fight the weird emanations. However, the whole book is rather dark. The women are quite isolated and the further the book progresses, the more tension forms between the sisters. The struggle is not progressing particularly well, and combined with the relationship between the sisters deteriorating, it is not a particularly cheerful book. It doesn't quite reach the level of being depressing, but it is not far off. The ending, although not a complete failure is not very cheerful either. And that is just not my thing, I would have preferred a better working relationship between the sisters, and between them and the doctor.
    • 4/5
      What if Lizzie Borden killed her parents with an axe because they had been infected by sea-monsters?? is a question that no one has ever asked, but Cherie Priest answers it anyway. Lizzie and her sister Emma work hard to keep the townspeople safe from sea-monsters while not knowing exactly what they're up against. Emma studies them and does extensive research, and Lizzie kills them with her axe. Soon the problem becomes too large for the two of them so they enlist the help of the town doctor, who is the only person in town who doesn't think Lizzie murdered her parents. The book is a pretty good read, though I didn't care for the epistolary style. If it develops into a series, I will probably continue.
    • 4/5
      Lizzie Borden took an axe, gave her mother forty whacks and when she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one. This children's rhyme is only one of the indignities Lizzie Borden must bear. The murder of her parents was a sensational story in the town of Fall River. Even though Lizzie was acquitted of the crime, she is still the subject of scorn and suspicion. The town ostracized her and her sister Emma because they believe she is a murderer and they are half right. Lizzie did kill her parents, but in self defense. They were slowly becoming horrific creatures so unlike humans and forgot their human lives. The epidemic is spreading in Fall River, so Lizzie and Emma will do whatever they can to save their neighbors and prevent it from extending out into the world.

      Cherie Priest takes two things I enjoy, Lizzie Borden and the Cthulhu mythos, and successfully mashes them together. Lizzie Borden is known now as the woman who killed her parents and got away with it. It wasn't too different during the time she was alive. Whether she committed the crime or not, she was ostracized for the remainder of her life along with her sister Emma after the trial. In the novel, she actually did commit the crime. but in self defense since her parents were transforming into fish-like, murderous monsters. Lizzie, while not the most educated person, does everything she can to protect her loved ones and even protect the town that so despises her. If even the weirdest and most obscure bit of superstition could work to keep the creatures away, she puts it into practice. She also built a way to get rid of the creatures' bodies and created an extensive lab with her sister (the more scientific of the two) in their house to further their studies on how to destroy the horrific creatures. Lizzie is deadly serious and only lets her guard down with Nance. I loved how Lizzie's history was incorporated into the story. Some may think it's in poor taste to make an infamous figure known for murder into a heroine, but I think it's interesting to imagine a different side to that unsolved mystery.

      Each main character had chapters from their own point of view, which gave special insight and made each character stand out in their own way. This was especially important with characters like Philip Zollicoffer and, to a lesser extent Dr. Seabury. Both characters become irrevocably changed during the course of the book. Zollicoffer is sent a corrupted sea life sample that eventually changes him into a homicidal and delusional maniac. His mental state starts normally enough and descends into paranoia and serving whatever spawns the eldritch creatures of the deep. He was the creepiest character by far and Seabury doesn't become like Zollicoffer, but his mind is definitely isn't the same after the ordeal. The novel is comprised of journal entries, newspaper articles, and letters that give a varied reading experience and different points of view.

      While I enjoyed the novel, parts of it marred the experience. The pacing was a bit odd and lots of pages were eaten up in various characters' introspection and similar ramblings. I simply did not like Emma Borden. I liked that she had a double life of sorts as a doctor that published articles in scholarly journals and corresponded with other doctors like Zollicoffer when she could. I didn't like the way she treated Lizzie, especially about her relationship with Nance, or how she treated Dr. Seabury. Emma was like a bit black blot on the page. She was angry and bitter, just bringing the book and the other characters down. Her animosity towards Lizzie over her relationship is based in reality: they eventually parted ways and never spoke to one another again over it. I just didn't like how her pain seemed so much more important than everyone else's. It's frustrating to be infirm, but her callousness and bad overall attitude went over the top. When Nance became afflicted, Emma was completely unsympathetic despite the pain Lizzie was in. I hope the next book follows the real story and Emma is absent.

      Overall, Maplecroft is an enjoyable throwback to the Gothic novel with vibrant characters. I will definitely be reading the next book in the series and I hope more will be uncovered about the evil, Dagon-like presence in the ocean.
    • 4/5
      I wasn't overly keen with Priest's zombie filled book Boneshaker but my interest in reading a book with some grounding in history caught my attention - that and a couple of reviews that I have read here on LT. Priest breaks interesting ground with this one. Firstly, this is an epistolary novel comprised entirely of journal entries, letters and newspaper clippings, giving the story a more personalized approach. I like epistolary novels. They can be challenging to write but I think that Priest pulled this off with some level of mastery. I also like the fact the Priest has taken the Lizzie Borden story and given it new good twist. There is a fantastic atmospheric gothic feel to this story - always a bonus for me! - and I did enjoy how the creepiness of the story and the hidden details are revealed, bit by bit. Downside for me was the somewhat redundant nature of some aspects of the story as well as a huge bone of contention I have with both Priest's books that I have now read. Why, of why does Priest insist on having her female leads engage in some form of reckless, mindless behaviour that does nothing but devalue the characters as heroes in my esteem? They don't come across as being more human with these flaws, just really annoying female characters I want to slap some sense into. It is the whole reason that I stopped reading The Clockwork Century books after reading Boneshaker - well that and the zombie. I am really not a fan of zombies. i>*sighs*

      Overall, I do prefer this first book in The Borden Dispatches series and, unlike Boneshaker and The Clockwork Century series, I am actually looking forward to the release of the second book, when that happens.
    • 4/5
      Moving beyond the jump rope rhume about Lizzie Borden and her ax, this novel gives her a very good reason to have killed her parents. There's something calling from the sea, obsessing and then changing the denizens of Fall River. Lizzie and her sister Emma are initially the only ones who realise what's going on, but they soon draw in the town doctor, as well as a mysterious investigator from Boston. Lizzie's girlfriend comes to visit from NYC and is lured by the call of the sea and the creatures that come from it. Emma is trying to keep her secret identity safe as a male marine biologist, and the doctor fears that he's going mad. A professor has been given a sample and is definitely going mad. It's an eerie book, a gothic horror, told in letters and diary entries and newspaper clippings. The creeping dread could have been ramped up a bit more, but it was at least mildly disturbing. :-)

    Book preview

    Maplecroft - Cherie Priest

    Cover for Maplecroft

    Praise for Maplecroft

    "Cherie Priest is supremely gifted and Maplecroft is a remarkable novel, simultaneously beautiful and grotesque. It is at once a dark historical fantasy with roots buried deep in real-life horror and a supernatural thriller mixing Victorian drama and Lovecraftian myth. You won’t be able to put it down."

    —Christopher Golden, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Snowblind

    "With Maplecroft, Cherie Priest delivers her most terrifying vision yet—a genuinely scary, deliciously claustrophobic, and dreadfully captivating historical thriller with both heart and cosmic horror. A mesmerizing, absolute must-read."

    —Brian Keene, Bram Stoker Award–winning author of The Rising and Ghoul

    Praise for Cherie Priest and Her Novels

    Priest can write scenes that are jump-out-of-your-skin scary.

    —Cory Doctorow, author of Homeland

    Fine writing, humor, thrills, real scares, the touch of the occult . . . had me from the first page.

    —Heather Graham, New York Times bestselling author of The Night Is Forever

    Cherie Priest has created a chilling page-turner. Her voice is rich, earthy, soulful, and deliciously Southern as she weaves a disturbing yarn like a master! Awesome—gives you goose bumps!

    —L. A. Banks, author of the Vampire Huntress Legend series

    Wonderful. Enchanting. Amazing and original fiction that will satisfy that buttery Southern taste, as well as that biting aftertaste of the dark side. I loved it.

    —Joe R. Lansdale, award-winning author of The Thicket

    Priest masterfully weaves a complex tapestry of interlocking plots, motivations, quests, character arcs, and background stories to produce an exquisitely written novel with a rich and lush atmosphere.

    —The Gazette (Montreal)

    Priest has a knack for instantly creating quirky, likable, memorable characters.

    —The Roanoke Times (VA)

    Cherie Priest has crafted an intriguing yarn that is excellently paced, keeping the reader turning pages to discover where the story will lead.

    —San Francisco Book Review

    Priest’s haunting lyricism and graceful narrative are complemented by the solemn, cynical thematic undercurrents with a tangible gravity and depth.

    —Publishers Weekly

    With each volume, Priest squeezes in several novels’ worth of flabbergasting ideas, making each story expansive as hell while still keeping a tight control over the three-act structure.

    —The Chicago Center for Literature and Photography

    Cherie Priest has mastered the art of braiding atmosphere, suspense, and metaphysics.

    —Katherine Ramsland, bestselling author of Ghost: Investigating the Other Side

    Priest does an excellent job of building tension throughout the novel, in fact, up to and including the satisfying ending. Writing that can simultaneously set a mood, flesh out characters, and advance plot is a force to be reckoned with. With writing this good . . . I have no doubts that we will be hearing from Cherie Priest again and again.

    —SF Signal

    [Priest] is already a strong voice in dark fantasy and could, with care, be a potent antidote for much of what is lacking elsewhere in the genre.

    —Rambles

    Priest is amazing at detail, brilliant at transforming an imagined, impossible history in such a way that flying airships and a decades-long Yankee invasion seem not only plausible but simply neglected in our history books.

    —LitStack

    An engrossing and exciting adventure from its first sentence to its last. . . . Priest once again delivers a rousing adventure that demonstrates both her love of history and her definitive knack for playing with and bending it to fit the purpose of her captivating universe.

    —Bitten by Books

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    Published by the Penguin Group

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    Copyright © Cherie Priest, 2014

    Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

    49573.jpg REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

    LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

    Priest, Cherie.

    Maplecroft: the Borden dispatches / Cherie Priest.

    pages cm

    ISBN 978-0-698-13838-4

    1. Borden, Lizzie, 1860–1927—Fiction. 2. Fall River (Mass.)—Fiction. 3. Women murderers—Fiction. 4. Murder—Fiction. I. Title.

    PS3616.R537M37 2014

    813'.6—dc23 2014011172

    PUBLISHER’S NOTE

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

    Version_1

    Contents

    Praise

    Title page

    Copyright page

    Acknowledgments

    THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS: Lizzie Andrew Borden

    A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF: Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University

    Lizzie Andrew Borden

    BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT: Owen Seabury, M.D.

    I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME: Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University

    Nance O’Neil

    THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE: Emma L. Borden

    AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .: Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University

    THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE: Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Lizzie Andrew Borden

    BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING: Nance O’Neil

    CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW: Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University

    HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON: Owen Seabury, M.D.

    A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER: Emma L. Borden

    Lizzie Andrew Borden

    Nance O’Neil

    Emma L. Borden

    Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Lizzie Andrew Borden

    RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?: Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.

    Emma L. Borden

    Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union

    Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now

    DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES: Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Emma L. Borden

    Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Lizzie Andrew Borden

    Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.

    Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston

    Emma L. Borden

    Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Emma L. Borden

    FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD

    Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Lizzie Andrew Borden

    Emma L. Borden

    Owen Seabury, M.D.

    Lizzie Andrew Borden

    Inspector Simon Wolf

    ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

    There are always too many people to thank—and I always live in fear of leaving someone out, but books don’t come together without a hell of a team and I’m very lucky to have such wonderful folks on my side. So I will take a crack at it, and hope for the best.

    First and foremost, thanks go to my editor, Anne Sowards, and all the fine folks at Ace/Roc, for taking a chance on this peculiar project of mine. I know it’s a little on the weird side, but I’m terribly proud of it—and I’m grateful beyond belief that Anne was willing to take a chance on it, and that all the great people at her office have done such a stellar job with the final product. Likewise (and along that same vein), thanks go to everyone at Donald Maass, particularly and especially my agent, Jennifer Jackson, for closing the deal and generally being a shoulder to cry on, a wall to bounce things off of, and a partner in storytelling crime.

    And then, of course, thanks to the usual suspects: my husband, Aric, whose patience with these things knows no bounds; Warren Ellis and everyone in the secret clubhouse that serves the world; GRRM and the Consortium; Greg Wild-Smith for the long-term and long-suffering Web support; Team Capybara and all its affiliate members; the Nashville crew in all its awesomeness (dear Lees, Harveys, et al); the kindly souls at Woodthrush and Robin’s Roost; Bill Schafer, Yanni Kuznia, and the other assorted Michigan Maniacs; Paul Goat Allen at B&N (and everywhere else); Derek Tatum and Carol Malcolm for all the gossip and encouragement; and Maplecroft’s Chief Cheerleader, Christopher Golden. He knows why.

    THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS

    Lizzie Andrew Borden

    MARCH 17, 1894

    No one else is allowed in the cellar.

    Emma has a second key, in case I am injured or trapped down there; but Emma also has instructions about how and when to use that key. When she knocks upon the cellar door, I must always reply, Emma dear, I’m nearly finished. Even if I’m not working on anything at all. Even if I’m simply down there, writing in my journals. If I say anything else when she knocks, or if I do not respond—my elder sister knows what to do: She must summon Doctor Seabury, and then prevent him from descending into the cellar unarmed.

    I wish there were someone closer she could send for, but no one else would come.

    The good doctor, though . . . he could be persuaded to attend us, I believe. And he’s a large man, sturdy, and in good health for a fellow of his age. Quite a commanding presence, very much the old soldier, which is no surprise. During the War Between the States, he served as a field surgeon—I know that much. He must’ve been quite young, but the military training has served him well through the years, even in such a provincial setting as Fall River.

    Yes, I think all things being equal, he’s the last and best chance either Emma or I would have, were either of us to meet with some accident. And between the two of us, I suppose it must be admitted—to myself, if no one else—that accidents are more likely to befall me than her.

    Ah, well. I’d take up safer hobbies if I could.

    I locked the cellar door behind myself, and proceeded down the narrow wood-slat stairs into the darkness of that half-finished pit, once intended for vegetables, roots, or wines. I’ve paid a pretty penny to refurbish the place so that the floor is stable and the walls are stacked with stone. During wet weather, those stones weep buckets and the floor creaks something awful, but by and large it’s secure enough.

    Secure and quiet. Dreadfully so, as I’ve learned on occasion. I could scream my head off down there and Emma could be reading peacefully by the fireplace. She’d never hear a thing.

    Obviously this concerns me, but what can I do? My precautions are for the safety and well-being of us both.

    Of us all.

    I lit the gas fixtures as I went. All three came on with a turn of their switches, and by the time I reached the final stair I cast a huge, long shadow—as if I were a giant in my own laboratory.

    My laboratory. That feels like the wrong word, but what else can I call it? This is the place where I’ve gathered my specimens, collected my tools, recorded my findings, and meticulously documented all experiments and tests. So the word must apply.

    I cannot claim to have made any real progress, except I now know a thousand ways in which I have failed to save anyone, anywhere. From anything.

    It would be easier, I think, if I knew there was some finite number of possibilities—an absolute threshold of events I could try in order to produce successful, repeatable results. If I knew there were only a million hypothetical trials, I would cheerfully, painstakingly navigate them all from first to last. Such a task might take the rest of my life, but it’d be a comfort to know I was forcing some definite evolution to a crisis.

    But I don’t know any such thing. And more likely, the possibilities measure in the billions—or are altogether endless. I shudder to consider it, but I’d be a fool if I didn’t.

    So I go on wishing. I wish for the prospect of a definite finale, and I wish I were not alone.

    That would make things easier, too—if there were someone else to share the burden, apart from poor Emma. And though she appeared invulnerably strong when I was a child (due in part to the ten-year difference in age between us), in our middling years her health has failed her in a treacherous fashion. Often she’s confined to a bed or a seat, and she coughs with such frequency that I only notice it anymore if she’s stopped. Consumption, everyone supposes. Consumption, and possibly the shock of what befell our father and Mrs. Borden.

    That’s the rest of what everyone supposes, and that’s probably true, in its way. It’s true that Emma has never been herself since those last weeks when she fled the house, insisting that something was wrong and that she felt a hideous suffocation, and she needed to find some other air to breathe.

    That’s how she put it. Finding other air to breathe.

    At the time we assumed she only wanted a change of scenery from the fighting, the bickering, and the sudden appearance of William—and all the difficulties he inspired.

    True, true. All of it true, but incomplete.

    We were both contaminated by something, by whatever took the other Bordens. It worked its way inside us, too—whether by breath, or through the skin, or through something we consumed, still I cannot say. All I can do is pray that we caught it in time, and that we have removed ourselves beyond its influence . . .

    Alas.

    I almost wrote, before any permanent damage was done. But then I thought of Emma and her fragile lungs, and her bloodied handkerchiefs. And I thought also of my poisoned dreams and the awful visions that sometimes distract me even while waking. I often believe in retrospect that they’re telling me something crucial . . . but doesn’t every dreamer insist that every dream is meaningful at the time? However, in the retelling, the dreams (and my visions) are trite at best, disturbing at worst.

    I will not burden Emma with them, for she is burdened enough with her own body’s complaints. And I don’t have anyone else to tell, not really. Not except for Nance, and I fear to the point of fretful, bowel-clenching sickness that I might chase her away even without the secrets that darken the space between us. Little though I see her lately, since her most recent job for that director, Peter Rasmussen . . . still I value beyond my life the time I spend with her beside me.

    Nance has accused me, once or twice in teasing, of being a sentimental old fool. She’s right, absolutely.

    She’s also young—very young. So young it’s all the more inappropriate, how we carry on between ourselves. Carelessly, it’s been said. Wantonly, it’s been accused. Nance wouldn’t argue with either one; she would laugh instead, and add her own descriptors with even less propriety. But women her age, barely out of their teens and with the whole world before them, they haven’t yet had time to lose the things they love. Every affair is a fairy tale or a tragedy, and either one is fine so long as the story is good. Every love is all or nothing, and even their nothings are poetry. They don’t yet know how the years fade and stretch the highs and the lows, wearing them thin, making them vulnerable. They haven’t yet known much of death.

    I don’t think I’m talking about Nance anymore.

    It doesn’t matter. She won’t come again for weeks, maybe months. And I won’t hold that against her.

    I can’t. I’m the one who asked her to stay away.

    •   •   •

    Upon reaching the cellar’s floor I turned on the two largest gaslights, and the bleak, cluttered space was flooded with a quivering white light that joined the illumination from the stairs. I blinked against it. I set one hand on the nearest table and leaned there while my eyes adjusted, and when they did, I took a very deep breath and considered the week’s samples.

    My laboratory is a large open room, undivided except by two rows of three tables each. Several of the tables are occupied by jars of assorted sizes, ranging from tubes as small as my thumb to bigger containers that could easily hold a loaf of bread. Floating within them in an alcohol solution are things I’ve collected over the last two years. Some are recognizable as varieties of ordinary ocean flora and fauna, and some are not. I’ve gathered plants, fish, sea jellies, crustaceans, and cephalopods by the score, and I’ve cataloged them all by their deformities. Some are laden with so many aberrations that it’s impossible to tell what the original species might have been; some have minor exterior problems, though these malformations often mask more obvious internal ones.

    For example, one of my larger jars holds a brown octopus (octopus vulgaris) with two distinct heads and three extra tentacles. Upon a cursory dissection of it, I discovered that it also had twice the usual complement of hearts—which is to say six of them. Two of these hearts were pitiably underdeveloped, but distinct and bafflingly present.

    I’ve also found fish with too many sets of gills, grotesquely oversized fins, or no eyes whatsoever. I’ve retrieved lobsters with three claws, with one claw, with no tail, or no legs. The story is much the same for simpler creatures, though the abnormalities are sometimes harder to spot.

    My conclusions, such as they are, sound like utter madness. But I believe they are borne out by the books that are stacked on the other desks, where I’ve had to establish the library. We couldn’t put shelves along the wall or else the damp would ruin them, so two of the farthest tables are stacked with shorter bookcases. Each of these cases is piled with volumes too arcane and peculiar to display upstairs, despite the fact that we virtually never see visitors.

    Upon reflection, I’m not entirely sure who I’m hiding them from. Not Emma. She’s the one who ordered most of them, and regardless, she’s read them already.

    Nance? No, I don’t think so. Nance is difficult to scandalize, and she’s aware of my interests—though not aware of their extent, or their origins. If pressed, I’d have to say that I’m hiding the books from Nance’s friends, who sometimes accompany her when she visits.

    Or maybe I only do it out of optimism, from the eternal hope that someday we’ll have friends of our own again.

    It’s ridiculous, I know. My infamy taints my sister, who declares her intent to stay by my side even as we both know she’s too fragile for any other recourse. And it’s furthermore ridiculous because our respective activities require a certain solitude. I must be left alone to pursue my experiments, and Emma could never continue her correspondences with eminent scientists and biologists if anyone knew that E. A. Jackson was a woman. Thank heavens none of her correspondents has ever dropped by for a spot of tea. I honestly don’t know what she’d tell them.

    It’s a blessing, really, that no one will have anything to do with us.

    •   •   •

    I picked up the nearest lantern and lit it. It’s a special one, affixed with mirrors and foils, to direct the light wherever I wish to project it—and I wanted to brighten the back right table, beside the two oversized sinks and an assortment of hoses, hooks, tongs, knives, and scalpels. There, in one of my larger jars, a peculiar mass had sunk to the bottom, where it sizzled enough to muster a light froth that foamed throughout the container. It’d been sizzling that way for two days, while an acid solution nibbled away at the calcite. Within that mass, I have always sensed there was something important.

    When I first discovered it, the object was approximately the size of a small melon, and it lacked any geometric shape to speak of. If I were to assign it any general description, I’d say that it looked like a very large hand grabbed a fistful of the ocean bottom and squeezed until the sediment became stone. It was roughly column-like, with bits of finny fluting. Primarily it was white, or the swirled browns and bleached hues of ocean detritus.

    I found it on one of my evening walks on the beach, after dark with a lantern. And at the risk of sounding hysterical, I believe that I felt it. I believe that it called me, and I heard it.

    So I retrieved it, setting my lantern on the sand and hefting the rock into my hands, holding it there. Though it was in no way shaped like a shell, I held it up to my ear and listened—for what, I cannot say.

    But this draw, this lure. I’ve felt it before and I don’t yet understand the full implications of what it means, but I know I should’ve taken more care with the sample. I should’ve wrapped it in my apron and carried it that way, without touching it bare-handed, but I didn’t. I cradled it in one naked arm and held my light aloft with the other, all the way back home.

    There, I returned to my senses and dumped it into the jar full of acid to let science sort it out.

    •   •   •

    I forcibly tugged my attention away from the bubbling, hypnotic jar and turned instead to a box I keep buried beneath the floor.

    With a quick pop of a pry bar at just the right spot, a row of boards slipped out of place. My floor is not as seamless and immutable as it appears; it is riddled with compartments such as this one.

    Some people keep cupboards in a wall. I keep them in the ground.

    Beneath this lid, which I’d disguised as flooring, a box squatted—smelling of wet soil and worms, and moss, and lichen, and whatever else blackens the earth below my home. I could have pried it out and brought it up to the floor, but I chose not to. For some reason, I felt that the box was safest right there, underneath everything. Underneath my house, my basement, my floor.

    I would bury it deeper if I could, but I need to keep it within reach, this little repository of evil. Soon, I might need to add to its contents—depending on what lies at the heart of that strange mass which dissolves by atoms on the back right table.

    I’m not sure what made me reach into the hole and touch the iron-bound top of that box.

    Yes, again, I’m mired in uncertainties and suspicions, but I have taken all the precautions I can. More than likely, at least half of them don’t work. But when I don’t know what works and what does not work, all I can do is throw it all in together, and trust that some measure of success will result, even if that success is diluted by imprecision.

    So there is a box that is lined with lead and sealed with iron bands, and inscribed with unsettling symbols, and buried in the earth, beneath the rowan-wood boards that make up the floor of my basement.

    I reached down into the hole and fumbled with the latches until it was unfastened all around, and then I lifted the lid for no good reason whatsoever. I’d like to say that the motion was dreamlike on my behalf, that I scarcely recall doing it; but this isn’t quite true, because I remember watching my arm extend, and my fingers manipulate the fasteners, and then lift the lid. I recall every bit of this, and in my recollection, I was fully in control of myself.

    Except that I can’t have been.

    Because now, with some distance from that box and that basement, I know full well that it was a dangerous, absurd thing to do—and that not all the gold in the world, nor all the threats or complaints, could ever persuade me to open it right now, with nothing to add to its treasure.

    And I jot this down, all of it, in case—upon eventual review—some pattern is revealed. These journal entries are already helping, for now I can see, going back over last month’s notes, that there’s a proximal effect to the lure of the box. The farther I remove myself from its contents, the less they affect me.

    If I had any sense, I’d relocate to the desert or the mountains, and be done with this whole business once and for all.

    •   •   •

    I gazed into the box, upon six bits of stone or glass, all varying in their respective radiance and greenness. They go from the sickly yellowish shade of a toad’s belly to a rich seaweed that could nearly be described as emerald. The smallest is the size of a child’s fingernail. The largest is as big as a plum. All of them are beautiful. Very beautiful. So beautiful it’s all but impossible to take one’s eyes away, even though they look like nothing more alarming than bits of sea glass, glittering weakly at the bottom of a reinforced box.

    Of course, they are more than that. I know it good and well, just like I know better than to kneel over the box and listen to the odd hum they make. But it’s a lovely hum, you see? It’s a calming, drawing thing. When I hear it, as I stare at those scattered pieces of precious jetsam, it’s as if I can hear my mother beside my cradle, and feel the rocking of her gentle hand as she sings me off to a nap.

    No, not the recently late Mrs. Borden—but my true mother, Sarah, who died when I was very small. I have no real remembrance of her, but sometimes I think I recall a perfume, or a very distant voice. The rustle of a skirt, perhaps. A step upon the stairs. Emma says she was a pretty woman, and that she often hummed to herself while she worked around the house.

    I envy my sister’s solid memories.

    My father married Abigail when I was two, and Abigail raised me, albeit reluctantly and without any warmth. She’d wanted to be a society wife, not the live-in caretaker for two girls who were not her own.

    She did not let us forget it often, or for long.

    (I was instructed to call her Mother when I was tiny. This was insisted upon to great penalty if I failed, though Emma was old enough that she was never commanded to do the same. I finally began to refer to her as Mrs. Borden when I realized that I was an adult, and that no one could make me do otherwise. I did not owe that cold, interloping daughter of a pushcart peddler the respect of the more personal term.)

    •   •   •

    I’d left the box open longer than I should have.

    I knew this even before Emma came knocking, but it’s strange—I couldn’t seem to care. I was fully aware that I was tempting fate or something worse, and I was all too certain that the buzzing, warm green noise could be heard by more ears than just my own. But the stones were beautiful, and they were near. They calmed me, nearly to the point of a stupor.

    Emma had called twice from upstairs, and she’d been pounding upon the cellar door for half a minute before I was able to rouse myself enough to say in a choked, weird voice, Emma dear, I’m nearly finished.

    I thought I heard her sob. She cried, "Lizzie, you must come, quickly. Something . . . something is trying to come inside. Lizzie, something is here."

    I slammed the box lid back down and dropped the board atop it, cursing myself for my inattention and reflexively seeking the weapon I keep leaned against the bottom of the staircase.

    There it was, yes.

    I grabbed my axe.

    A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF

    Owen Seabury, M.D.

    MARCH 15,1894

    The first thing I ever learned of my patients is that they lie, incessantly and to their own detriment. They mislead me regarding their injuries; they feign symptoms; they deny delicate but pressing problems out of modesty or embarrassment, or fear of repercussions.

    In short, they are utterly untrustable. But they are also readable, to an experienced man like myself—and I can learn much from the things they leave unsaid.

    But this was not always the case.

    So let me recount the Borden deaths. I may as well. I do not see the benefit of avoiding and ignoring the truth. To the contrary, I’d much rather address the case outright, and shine a light upon it—regardless of what sins of mine may be revealed.

    These are the facts.

    Sometime late in June of 1892 the Borden family began to experience a prolonged, peculiar set of ailments. I was a close witness to their distress, for I was not merely their doctor but also a nearby neighbor. They lived directly across the street from me and my now-late wife, so I had ample opportunity to observe them over the weeks leading up to the murders on August 4 of that same year.

    The first complaints came from Abigail Borden, second wife of Andrew Jackson Borden and stepmother to Andrew’s grown children, Emma and her younger sister, Lizzie, both of whom lived on the premises. Mrs. Borden came to sit in my parlor, having visited for an informal consultation.

    I didn’t know her well, but I liked what I knew of her. She was younger than her husband by enough years to remark it, and agreeable in that comfortable way women sometimes achieve when they marry into money and can expect to be cared for.

    But on that summer occasion she was out of sorts, restless and pale. As she spoke, she fidgeted constantly with a pendant that hung around her neck from a long silver chain. I remember it so vividly because of the way the light caught it, and though I did not see the item clearly, I could not help but notice how its glassy stone gleamed a rich, ocean green shade that cast bright reflections on the walls.

    Doctor Seabury, it’s a digestive problem. It’s a horrible feeling, at once cold and bubbling. I’m so nauseous, and so light-headed, at times, that I must sit and cover my eyes until the sensation passes.

    I see. And is anyone else in the family displaying symptoms like these?

    After a brief hesitation she said, Andrew is, a bit.

    What are his complaints? Are they precisely like yours, or is there some variation to his discomfort?

    I couldn’t say. She shook her head. He hasn’t spoken about it. I’ve only . . . noticed. As his wife, who shares the same household. You understand.

    Of course, I replied. And what of your stepdaughters?

    Her face darkened and for a moment she quit worrying the pendant. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to either of them lately.

    Ah. Has there been any significant change in the family diet?

    She shook her head again and said, No, I don’t believe so.

    I did not press her any further. I already knew what bothered her bowels, though I couldn’t bring it up without prompting denials and offense. So rather than invite confrontation, I said, Perhaps it’s something seasonal, then. Dyspepsia can arise from almost anything—and rather than leap to alarming conclusions, I honestly think this can be handled with simple, common treatments.

    I offered her some harmless prescriptions, chiefly carbonate of ammonia pills and white bismuth. It wouldn’t hurt, and it might even help.

    I did not doubt that she was suffering from indigestion. I only doubted my personal ability to address the root cause thereof.

    •   •   •

    It was no great secret that the Bordens had difficulties. Andrew’s spinster daughters never developed any affection for Abigail; and with the lot of them living under one roof, tensions could—and often did—overflow into arguments . . . the kind of arguments which nearby neighbors might hear, and pretend they hadn’t.

    Not long before Abigail Borden sought me out for this first of many complaints, things at home had escalated in an unexpected and unfortunate fashion.

    As I said, Andrew was older than his wife. He’d lived a full lifetime before ever meeting her. Whether or not she loved him I cannot speculate; but she was content with him, and by all appearances their union was a good match, as they say, even though he was widely regarded as a tight-fisted curmudgeon. Regardless, she was at ease with the decisions that had brought her to Andrew, an aged but still vital man—who had a fortune and a family, if few friends.

    That said, I do not think she knew about his son. I’m not sure anyone did, until he appeared.

    When William strolled into town claiming Andrew as his father, efforts were made to keep his existence quiet. I believe he stayed at the Borden home for a few days, though surely a hotel would have been a better choice. At any rate, I saw him coming and going repeatedly over a weekend once, and the timing was deeply suspicious: The elder patriarch was in the process of revising his will—a tense time in any moneyed family. But to a family so fractured already, and burdened with middle-aged daughters unlikely to marry? What added pressure would come with a shiftless bastard in search of an inheritance?

    Little wonder Mrs. Borden was experiencing gastrointestinal distress. She’d hardly be human if she didn’t.

    That’s why I gave her the harmless medicines to soothe her. And that’s why I looked no closer, not at that time. The situation was so clear to me! So obvious!

    Yet the matters were so personal, I doubted she would speak of them; and I didn’t think she’d tolerate my talking about them with any frankness. After all, this was a woman unwilling to converse aloud about her husband’s flatulence. Dragging his past indiscretions into the conversation could only make things worse.

    Or that’s what I told myself when I sent her away, bottles in hand, her pendant clinking against one

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