The cold stone walls of Oxford seemed to press in on Evelyn, suffocating her with their unyielding weight. She stood at the edge of the Radcliffe Camera, the iconic dome looming above her as the rhythmic footfalls of students echoed in the corridors. The evening light was fading, casting long shadows over the quiet courtyard, and Evelyn found herself once again lost in the rhythm of her thoughts.
Today was the day. It had been two weeks since the trial, and the weight of everything that had transpired was beginning to sink in, settling like a heavy fog in the back of her mind. She had been found guilty. Of what, exactly, she still wasn't sure. The accusations had been vague, at best. But they were enough. Enough to convict her, enough to lock her away in a cell where the world outside felt distant and unreal. A world she could no longer touch.
Her fingers traced the edge of a letter she had written weeks ago, now long since forgotten. It was addressed to Margaret, her lover, the woman who had become the central figure in the tragedy that had unfolded. She was supposed to be in the clear. They had both agreed to stay silent. To say nothing and let the world move on. But silence, it seemed, was no longer an option.
A group of students passed by, their laughter breaking through her solitude, but Evelyn paid them no mind. Her gaze was fixed on the stone monument in front of her, a physical manifestation of the institution that had once been a sanctuary for her. The institution that was now an enemy.
She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
The trial had been a blur—a mess of confused faces, contradictory statements, and an overwhelming sense of dread. The prosecution had painted a portrait of her as a vengeful woman, driven by jealousy, consumed by an obsession that led to Margaret's death. But it was all lies. Every word.
Yet, the courtroom had believed it. The jury had believed it. And now Evelyn was here, her life unraveling before her eyes.
But there was something more. Something that gnawed at her every time she closed her eyes. The story that had been told—her guilt, her desire to silence Margaret, the supposed motive behind it all—it wasn't the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. There was a missing piece, something hidden, something the prosecution had deliberately avoided. And Evelyn knew it. She had seen it in their eyes during the trial. The glimmers of doubt, the whispered questions that no one dared to ask aloud.
Who had Margaret really been? Who had stood to gain from her death, other than Evelyn?
Evelyn's hand clenched into a fist, crumpling the letter in her palm. The world had been so much more complicated than anyone could understand. Margaret was not just the woman they had made her out to be. She was not just the naive scholar, the quiet companion who had walked beside Evelyn in the gardens and kissed her in hidden corners of Oxford's ancient libraries. Margaret had been a part of something larger. A part of something that Evelyn had tried desperately to forget.
But the clues had always been there.
It was at the Radcliffe Camera, the very place where they had met, where the first stirrings of love had bloomed between them, that Evelyn realized something. There was a connection between Margaret and the Bellamys, the same family that had hovered over Evelyn's life since childhood. She had never questioned it before, but now it seemed so obvious, so undeniable.
Margaret's connection to them was more than just academic. It was deeper. Hidden.
But no one had cared about the truth. No one had cared about Evelyn's claims that she had been framed. They had only cared about a story—one that had been constructed around her guilt, around her supposed obsession with Margaret. And as the trial unfolded, it became clear that there were others who had more to gain from Margaret's death than Evelyn ever had. The Bellamys, the people who had once been so kind to her, had all but abandoned her when the trial began.
Evelyn felt the anger rising within her. It was a cold, bitter fury—fueled by the realization that she had been nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game. The Bellamys had used her, manipulated her into this situation. They had allowed her to be framed for a crime she did not commit, all to keep their secrets safe.
Her heart pounded in her chest as the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place. The Bellamys weren't just wealthy. They weren't just powerful. They were dangerous. And if Evelyn was ever going to uncover the truth, she had to confront them head-on.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. She turned to see the familiar figure of Thomas Alden, the parish priest, walking toward her. His somber expression was framed by the dimming light of the late afternoon, his dark coat billowing slightly in the breeze. Evelyn had always been uneasy in his presence, even before everything had fallen apart. There was something cold, calculating about him—something that had never sat right with her.
"Evelyn," Thomas said, his voice low, almost tender. "I've been looking for you."
She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. "What do you want, Reverend?"
His eyes flickered to the crumpled letter in her hand, then back to her face. "I know this has been difficult for you," he said, his tone almost sympathetic. "The trial, the accusations… But you must understand, the truth is not always what it seems."
Evelyn felt a chill run down her spine. His words were too cryptic, too carefully measured. "What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice rising. "What truth? You're the one who's been lying to me, the one who has been hiding things from me all along!"
Thomas stepped closer, his face softening into something that almost resembled pity. "I never wanted you to be caught up in this, Evelyn. But you need to understand something. There are forces at play here that you don't fully grasp. There are people who will stop at nothing to ensure that certain things remain buried."
Evelyn took a step back, her heart racing. "You're talking about the Bellamys."
Thomas's expression tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he replied, "You don't know the full story. But you will. Soon enough."
Evelyn felt the blood drain from her face. "What do you mean, soon enough? What do you know, Reverend? What aren't you telling me?"
Thomas's gaze was unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line. He took a deep breath, as if preparing to say something momentous, then stopped. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. Without a word, he handed it to her.
Evelyn took the paper, her hands trembling. She unfolded it carefully, and as she read the hastily scrawled words, her heart skipped a beat:
"They're coming for you, Evelyn. Don't trust anyone. You're not the one they want. But you're the one they'll destroy to cover their tracks. Leave now, before it's too late."
The words were like a slap to the face. Her mind raced, her pulse quickening. Who had written this? And why had Thomas given it to her?
Before she could react, Thomas turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the Radcliffe Camera. Evelyn stood there, clutching the paper in her hand, the world spinning around her. The truth was slipping through her fingers, just out of reach.
And there was no one left she could trust.