'Don't look, Lillian. Never look into the eyes of a Sin-Eater, you will be as cursed as he is and will forever languish in darkness.'
Lillian Elmes remembers the warning her mother gave her about the town's Sin-Eater only too well.
How could she n...
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The Salop and Montgomery Asylum, otherwise known as Shelton Hospital, is an imposing, albeit splendid, looking building that covers a substantial plot of land in the village of Bicton, just outside of Shrewsbury. The red brick structure is inoffensive to the eye, in fact on a warm summer's day, there is no doubt it might even be charming to behold, if it were not for the knowledge of the residents held inside.
I knew very little of the hospital itself, other than it had been built in 1845 and the plans to establish the asylum in Bicton had been met with some argument by the locals, who of course, were concerned that they would be overrun with the insane. They had some right to be concerned, it was said, for the asylum was always oversubscribed with patients and despite measures to prevent otherwise, there had been several escapees over the years, one of whom went missing for eight whole days. When they finally found him, he had throttled the life out of the woman whose house in which he had sought refuge and he inevitably then met his fate at the gallows at Shrewsbury Prison, where the noose throttled the life out of him.
The journey to Bicton has been arduous for many reasons, mostly because I have lost any fondness for lengthy journeys in the trap, since Mama's death, but I am grateful the weather has held dry and for Daniel's company by my side.
We passed the time with conversation, with Daniel asking me questions of Papa's story, intermittently breaking off into bouts of melancholic silence as he looked far into the distance, although whether he saw the road ahead or something else in his mind, I know not. The closer we got to our destination, the more I languished in my own melancholy, thinking to what I must now face, or, more specifically, who.
How did we reach this point, Lizzie? What has become of you?
It seems utterly staggering to me that this is where we are now. A false accusation that could have led to a man's execution. A confession to a murder most foul. Lies. Falsehood. Betrayal. It was not so long ago that Lizzie and I giggled in the secret passageway of Lutwyche as we spied on the mysterious and handsome Sin-Eater who now sits at my side. It was not so long ago that we were friends – the best of friends, and, it must be said, I had harboured more than a passing admiration for her strength and confidence. As children, Lizzie had encouraged me to be daring and full of life. As women, she had urged me to be brave, to fight, to desire more than what society deemed appropriate for a woman such as myself.
