When Adam entered the church with Miss Campbell at his side, his heart was pounding so fast, he felt as though it might echo throughout the church.

It occurred to him that, one way or another, he was very likely in the presence of a child-killer. Either Miss Campbell was lying, in which case she was more than likely responsible for the deaths of Mary and Freddie, or else she was telling the truth, and his old tutor was a monster, in a way that Adam would never have even thought possible before.

“I wish to speak to you about some allegations which have been raised against you,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm.

The Reverend Miller’s face did not change, except that he looked at Adam slightly quizzically, as if he was not expecting words of this kind to be leveled at him in a place like this.

“Do not worry,” Adam added. “I will behave in a way that is fitting for a house of God. But confront you I must, sir, for the sake of myself and, more importantly, of my father.”

At this, he turned to Miss Campbell, and said to her in his calmest voice, “Miss Campbell, might I ask you to repeat the story that you told me earlier today?”

She did so. Her voice was amplified by the acoustics of the church, to the extent that it took on a sonorous quality, one of an upright witness in a court of law.

The way she recounted the tale, with the exact same details that she had referred to earlier, gave Adam no hint of whether he ought to believe it or not. Had she adhered so closely to the story because it was the perfect truth, or because she was cautious not to be caught giving two versions of events?

He knew not what he believed anymore. He kept thinking of Charity and what she might make of all of this. He wished that she was with him to offer him some advice on what he might best do.

When Miss Campbell had finally finished speaking, concluding with the words, “I saw Reverend Miller standing there, and I believe that he killed Mary and Freddie,” the church fell once again into a thick and interminable silence.

It was the Reverend Miller who finally spoke.

“What is it about Miss Campbell’s version of events that compels you?” the Reverend Miller said quietly. “Do you believe her merely because she has chosen to point the finger at me? I would remind you, Mr. Harding, that this is a case of one person’s word against another.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Adam knew that the Reverend Miller was right.

As much as he would have liked to believe what Miss Campbell was saying, the fact of the matter was that all it did was exchange one unverified version of events for another. He had promised to himself and on the graves of Mary and Freddie that he would uncover the truth, and yet all that he had found so far was still greater doubt.

It was with great pain and discomfort that he turned to Miss Campbell, and spoke words that sounded cruel even to his own ears.

“I do not know if I can believe you, Miss Campbell,” he said. “All I have at present is your word, and yet there is one irrefutable piece of evidence that seems to weigh the matter against you. I told you earlier that I believed that a woman was responsible for the deaths.”

“This piece of material,” he took the little scrap from his pocket and held it out before him for all of them to see, “seems to tell a different story.”

Miss Campbell frowned.

“I have never seen it in my life, nor do I know where it is from,” she said.

“So you do not own a black gown with such a piece missing?” Adam challenged.

“I do not,” Miss Campbell insisted. “I swear it to you, upon my honor.”

Adam looked at her, not knowing how he ought to reply. Someone was lying, and perhaps he needed to discard the idea of honor in order to find the truth.

An idea still lingered in his mind that the honor of a man was higher than that of a woman, that the word of a clergyman should be held in higher esteem than that of a layperson. All these prejudices filled his head, clouding it and causing him to wonder where he might best look for truth.

“As you say, sir,” the Reverend Miller said, his voice strange, almost flat and emotionless, “this piece of material is tantamount to proof that the culprit was a woman. As such, I believe that we have every reason to suspect Miss Campbell.”

“Why should Miss Campbell have done it?” Adam asked.

Possibilities were darting through his mind, each more preposterous than the last. Had his father turned his eyes from Mary Warwick to an even younger woman? Could Miss Campbell perhaps have seen his father as a rival in love, and taken ruthless measures to prevent her rival from claiming the victory.

“I do not know,” the Reverend replied to the question that he had just voiced. “But if you believe that the piece of fabric leads you to the true culprit, then I think that we must agree that it would point you in the direction of Miss Campbell.”

“That is a lie!”

A voice rang out through the acoustic stillness of the church. It was the voice that Adam had least expected to hear, but loved best in the world.

He turned to see Charity walking toward the three of them from the vestry, with something black crumpled within her hands.

“This is yours, I believe, Father,” she said, holding the thing out.

For a moment, in the gloom of the church, Adam could not see what the item was. But as Charity held up the garment and it spread out like a bat spreading its wings, it all became clear.

It was a loose clerical gown in black, of the kind that they had often seen the Reverend wear.

It was made from black cambric, a very similar material to the dress that Miss Campbell was presently wearing.

And there was a piece missing from the hem.

A piece which, judging by the size and shape of it, might very well have been torn by the hand of a small child.

Adam did not have any conscious thoughts at that moment. There was only one action to be taken, and he took it.

He walked slowly down the aisle of the church toward where Charity stood and drew the fragment of black material from his pocket.

It fit into the gap precisely.

As one, the three young people turned to look at the Reverend Miller. He had not moved, his face had gone quite grey, and he was standing so still that he almost seemed to blend into the carved stonework of the church’s interior.

For a few moments, none of them spoke. When Adam allowed the words to come out, they had a thunderous resonance that betrayed his anger.

“You have been caught in a lie. A lie that is no doubt layered upon many other lies.”

Adam did not shove the vicar, for Charity’s sake, but he would dearly have liked to seize the man by the throat. He could scarcely stomach the idea that he was in the presence of a child killer. For the first time, he understood why his father had been unable to look at him for the past year.

He looked the Reverend Miller in the eye, and for the first time, as they stood together in the candlelight of the church, it was not Adam but Charity who spoke the word aloud.

“You are not only a liar, but you are also a murderer.”