'Again, Daniel. We cannot hear you.

'T . . . twenty. Danny coughed up something black and looked up at me. 'For pitys sake, Kit, make it stop.

I whipped around to face them all. 'Ill pay it. Twenty stinking pounds is nothing to you. Paradise can shoulder that. This is ridiculous. My voice came out shrill and the stones bounced back a thin echo of that last word.

Ridiculous ridiculous ridiculous.

It sounded weak.

Lord Kite grinned wider. 'You are right. To execute a man for twenty pounds would be . . . extreme. Twenty thousand pounds, however, is a different matter. Ive no doubt that you could bear even that, but where would it end? What would it profit us? This is about making an example. That sum is correct, is it not, Daniel?

Danny bowed his head. 'I . . . I can pay it b . . . back all of it. Tell them, Kit youll make it right. Youll help me, wont you?

I clasped my hands in front of me. I felt my bag bump against my thigh through the satin. Such a clumsy, pointless, female thing.

Danny croaked again, 'I . . . I just need t . . . time and a run of luck.

Lord Kite steepled his fingers. 'I am afraid your time and your luck have just run out.

'Kit, please. Make them listen. Danny shuffled towards me. He reached out and clutched the hem of my dress. 'I was tricked. They said my credit was good. They encouraged me to play and to borrow and then to play and to borrow again and again until I didnt know where I was. And every time the debt got trebled. Please, Kit make it stop. I will pay somehow. I give you my word.

I couldnt see straight for the tears glassing up my eyes.

'Now, Matthias. Lord Kites voice cracked like a whip.

'No! I tried to snatch the mans cloak, but I was a fly on the rump of a dray horse. Matthias flicked me aside as he aimed a kick at Dannys midriff. There was a scuffle as Danny tried to fend off the blow. He caught hold of the swinging leg, but Matthias reached down and yanked up a handful of the thick dark hair Danny had always been so particular about. He dragged him by it to the brink of the pit, forcing him to look down.

'Oh Jesus no, please. Danny began to whimper. I knew then that he understood completely what was about to happen.

'You cant do this! I tried to run across to him, but arms folded around me from behind, pinning me like a moth to the stones.

Matthias rocked Danny back and then with one vicious lunge, he sent him toppling forward into the darkness. After a long moment there was a sickening thud. Then from somewhere far below, I heard Danny wail. The hollow sound echoed from black depths, climbing to a howl of agony and terror that sang out from the arches around us.

The man holding me loosened his grip. Lord Kite wiped his mouth with the tips of his fingers a dainty, prissy gesture like a duchess whod swallowed a fly.

'Let us depart in peace.

Peace? I stared at him, couldnt he hear Danny down there? This wasnt the back end of a Sunday service.

'Our business is concluded. He reached for Matthiass hand and paused.

'Except for one last thing. As we have a new brother among us, the right of sealing must go to him. Come forward.

At first I didnt realise who he meant. I waited for someone else to step out of line, all the while hearing Danny screaming from under the stones. He was calling my name now, over and over.

Lord Kite held his head to one side. 'Ah, you do not have a title, but we have already agreed on one, have we not, brothers?

There was a general mutter of assent.

'Step forward, Lady Linnet, and seal your bondsman into his tomb.

I dragged my eyes from the open vault. I couldnt do that, not to Danny, not to Peggy. She was carrying their child. They were going to be a family. I shook my head and the tears brimmed over to streak down my face.

'Lady Ginger made a strong case for you, but perhaps, after all, you are not worthy? Lord Kite gestured to the Barons gathered at my back. 'Perhaps we should look elsewhere for a successor? Perhaps Lady Linnet does not have the . . . heart for this work?

My grandmothers voice rang through my head.

'You will have to be dead here . . . if you truly want to protect Paradise.

Cold and hard as a diamond.

'What must I do? The words came out as a whisper.

Lord Kite nodded.

'It is a simple mechanism. The stone is levered and weighted. All you need do is touch it and it will fall into place.

I swallowed and walked forward, trying to block my ears to the desperate sounds coming from below. Perhaps there was a way to save him? I could come back with some of the lads and some tools from the workshop. Hed be down there in the black five, maybe six, hours at most, but hed still be alive, wouldnt he?

It would be days before a man died down there.

Cold and hard as a diamond.

I stood behind the ledgerstone and brushed my hand against it, trying not to use any force or pressure. Instantly there was a grating, grinding sound and it began to move, slowly, gracefully, folding itself back into place like Swami Jonahs magic box.

Lord Kite clapped once and then again. As the sound echoed off the walls of the chapel, they all joined in. Gradually the applause built to a thunder of approval like the times when I swung high in the cage. I stared at the leering faces circled around me.

I wanted to spit at them.

'Bravo! Lord Kite performed a mockery of a bow. He raised his hands and the clapping stopped.

'We have used Bartholomews vault for hundreds of years, Lady Linnet. In the last century, one of our more practically minded brothers made some refinements. You will recall I said that it was mechanical?

I looked at the moving ledgerstone behind him. Any moment now it would complete its journey.

'By closing it you have reset the device. It cannot be opened again for one hundred days.

There was a soft thud as the slab settled into place and dust flew up around us in the candlelight.

Epilogue.

'Lady?

I shook my head and walked to the stairs. Tan Seng closed the doors behind me. He didnt say another word. I wondered if it had always been like this when she came back. I wondered if my grandmothers soul had been eaten away by the things shed seen and the things shed done.

A door opened somewhere above.

'Fannella!

Lucca clattered down the stairs until we were level. He caught my hand, but I shrugged him away and carried on up. Id let down the veil of my hat to cover my face. I didnt want anyone to look at me. Beneath the lace, my eyes burned in my head like coals in a fire.

In the carriage Id waited for the tears to come, only they didnt. I wasnt surprised. I could weep every hour of every day for the rest of my life but nothing would wash it away. Nothing would clean my head of the sound of Danny sobbing in the dark.

Alone in the dark.

At the second landing I paused and looked over the rail. Lucca was staring up, folding his hands over and over. Lok patted his shoulder and tried to usher him gently back into the parlour.

'Kitty? Lucca wound his fingers together like he was praying. 'Why wont you speak? Tell us, tell me what happened tonight.

I turned away, crossed the landing and went into the little room Id set up as an office. The remains of a fire were burning in the grate. It was the only light.

I locked the door behind me, threw my bag onto the couch and pulled off my hat, letting it fall to the rug. I went to the hearth and stared at my face in the mirror over the mantle. In the semi-dark my eyes glittered in the glass like beads of hard black jet. They were usually blue if I was given to vanity, I might even have said that in the right light they had a violet tinge to them. But not tonight.

I unbuttoned my gloves at the wrists. It seemed such an ordinary, commonplace thing to do. As I eased my right hand from the leather I glanced down at the fingers that had brushed, so lightly, so gently, against the slab.

I let the glove fall onto the coals. In a moment the sickly smell of burning skin came up. I watched as the glove clenched up on itself before shrivelling to a blackened fist.

Over my shoulder in the glass I saw my desk, the wooden surface covered with a jumble of papers names, addresses, numbers, accounts. On the top there was a bill listing the craftsmen about to fix up The Comet. They were lucky, there was enough work for them now to keep them occupied until 1884.

I turned. All of Paradise was laid out there before me.

Peggy was there somewhere. My kind, sweet Peggy who had Dannys child growing inside her. How could I face her knowing what Id done? How could I ever look that poor kid in the eye when, every time, Id see Danny reflected back? I could never tell her some things are best not known. No, Id have to keep it locked away, festering inside me like Lady Gingers canker.

I closed my eyes and lashed out, sweeping everything from the desk. Papers scattered across the room. The brass inkstand clanked to the boards and came to rest on its side, leaking a pool of black that seeped into the fringes of the rug. I heard, rather than saw, the oil lamp with the dainty patterned glass smash to pieces against the fire guard.

I sank into the chair and slumped forward, resting my forehead in my hands.

There are seven deadly sins, thats what Nanny Peck taught me and Joey. I ran through them anger, lust, gluttony, avarice, envy, sloth and pride. That last was reckoned to be the worst. But the Bible was wrong. I knew now that there are eight deadly sins and the eighth is the worst of them.

Betrayal.

I looked down at the drawer to my left. After a moment I reached out and ran my fingers over the looped handle. I drew my hand away like it had been burned, but then I grabbed the metal and pulled the drawer open. There was only one thing there, a small cloth-covered bundle. I took it and went to the fire.

I weighed the bundle, passing the little package wrapped in bright Oriental silk from hand to hand and then I knelt and pulled the black string ties. A sweet familiar smell rose from the fabric as twenty thin black sticks rolled onto the rug. I took one, held it to the embers until the tip glowed red.

Then I brought it to my lips.

Acknowledgements.

Weather is always said to be a peculiarly British preoccupation. I was never much of a linguist when I was at secondary school in the late 1970s, but even to this day I can comment, quite accurately, on the colour of the sky, the likelihood of precipitation and the quality of fog in both French and German. Back then, the ability to discuss meteorology in extreme detail was clearly thought to be a cultural passport for a girl about to be set loose on the world beyond Watford.

I was reminded of this when I read through the first draft of the book youve just finished.

Kitty Pecks first adventure was written during a winter of heavy snowfall and biting cold. I work in the basement of our house in St Albans and back in December 2012 and January 2013, every time I looked up from the table and squinted out through the half-window to the street, all I could see was a mound of snow or, occasionally, the slush-covered boots of people skidding by. There is a lot of snow in Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders.

Much of The Child of Ill-fortune was written in the winter of early 2014, but this time the world outside my window was wet and grey. I think the damp and the rain permeated my writing. Kitty Pecks 1881 London is a sodden and ultimately bleak place.

And more clouds are gathering . . .

Im indebted to Hannah Griffiths, my brilliant editor at Faber & Faber for believing in Kitty and allowing me to take her to a dark place, to Katherine Armstrong (Faber & Faber Crime) for her warm pragmatic encouragement, to Sophie Portas (Faber & Faber publicity) who has held my hand at various events . . . and, in fact, to everyone at Bloomsbury House for their enthusiasm and support.

Beyond Bloomsbury I am so grateful to Tamsin Shelton for her sensitive, eagle-eyed handling of the text and for the fact that her language skills far outstrip my own! Im pretty sure she can talk about the weather (and much more) in at least four languages.

Thanks also to Eugenie Furniss, my fantastic and energetic agent. Now theres a woman who loves a gothic tale almost as much as I do!

I must also mention my friends and family who 'lived this book every step of the way, especially Lisa Aston my 'tester whose desire to know more after I emailed her every chapter as I wrote gave me a huge boost of energy each time I turned on the computer. And also to lovely Daisy Coulam she knows why!

Finally, last but not least, I must thank my completely excellent husband Stephen who could not be more supportive and loyal (except about the heating in the basement).

He misses me when Im writing but Ive promised to make it up to him.

The first in the Kitty Peck series.

Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders.

Shortlisted for the CWA Endeavour Historical Dagger.

LONDON 1880.

In the opium-laced streets of Limehouse the ferocious Lady Ginger rules with ruthless efficiency. But The Lady is not happy. Somebody is stealing her most valuable assets her dancing girls and that someone has to be found and made to pay.

Bold impetuous and with more brains than she cares to admit seventeen-year-old seamstress Kitty Peck reluctantly performs the role of bait for the kidnappers. But as Kittys scandalous and terrifying act becomes the talk of the city she finds herself facing danger even more deadly and horrifying than The Lady.

This thrilling historical mystery takes us deep into the underworld of Victorian London. Take nothing at face value for Kitty is about to go down a path of discovery that will have consequences not only for herself but for those she holds most dear . . .

About the Author.