Newport, Rhode Island, 1895

She snatched the starched white cap from her head, letting her hair tumble down her back, and laughed to the night sky. She had done it! All the hours of planning, all the calculated risk, had finally paid off. There'd be some scandal, and likely they'd have to live abroad, but that only added to the deliciousness of it. She had won. She would have, at last, freedom to be herself, and, of course, enough money to ensure that freedom. Soon she would be Mrs. -- well, she'd best keep that a secret for a while, even from the crickets chirping in the rambling roses growing wild to her left, or the booming surf to her right. Who knew who else might be about on Newport's famed Cliff Walk on such a glorious summer night? Doubtless there were maids and menservants, returning, like her, from their secret trysts. After all, that was what the Cliff Walk was for, wasn't it? For servants, and sometimes their employers, to go from one cottage to another. It could be a tricky stretch of walking, with several dark, delightfully frightening tunnels, and, far below, the sea pounding on jagged rocks left by some long-ago glacier. But she wasn't afraid. She'd traveled this way many times before, on her way to meet him.

He'd always fascinated her, though she'd known he shouldn't. But then, the forbidden had always thrilled her, so circumscribed was her life. Somewhere along the way, what had started as a thrill had turned into something more. She supposed some people would call it love, doubtful though she was that such an emotion even existed. Whatever it was, it had made her toss caution to the winds. Now she would finally have the life she'd always wanted.

A tiny sound behind her made her turn, and for the first time unease crept into her triumph. No one was there. Oh, perhaps a gull, landing with its meal of crab or something else, but no person. Only shadows. Nothing was going to happen to her, not on this night of nights, and again she threw back her head and laughed. Anyone seeing her would, at first glance, take her for a maid in her black dress and crisp white apron, but he knew better. He knew she could ruin him if she wanted to. But she didn't want to, and tonight he had agreed, surprisingly easily, to all her demands. Her parents would be horrified, but what choice would they have? She had, at long last, won.

Clouds ghosted across the moon, momentarily dimming her view, and behind her there was another sound, as of a rock falling, falling to the restless waves below. Again she whirled, shock surging through her. "Who's there?" Again, there was no one. Was there? Didn't that shadow look like someone -- oh, nonsense! But her skin tingled and her back tightened as she hurried on, no longer exulting, wishing she had brought a lantern to light her way. It was late, high time for her to be home. There she could rejoice, there she could celebrate.

It was unmistakable this time, a footfall, measured and deliberate. Following her. She made a noise, a small cry, and broke into a run, hampered by her petticoats and the heavy serge skirt, no longer trying to avoid any stray rocks in her path. She was careful only to stay far from the cliff edge and the sheer drop to the sea. Home, and safety, and -- yes, more footsteps, running, pursuing her. Too late she remembered the events of the past month, too late she recalled the gruesome fate met by other young maids walking alone on the Cliff Walk, late at night. But I'm not a maid, she thought, and whirled to face her pursuer.

The breath went out of her in a great woosh! of relief. "Oh!" She put her hand to her heart. "You gave me such a start! Do you know, for a moment there I thought you were -- what are you doing? No, don't--"

One black-gloved hand shoved at her mouth, suffocating her, pushing her back against the cliff wall. Stones scattered everywhere as she struggled, her feet shuffling and kicking, and nearby some nocturnal creature, disturbed by the noise, rustled in the bushes. Another gloved hand caught her throat, and there was an odd sound, a gurgle that might only have been the tide rushing out of some hidden cave far below. A whisper of sound, starched cotton crinkling, a thump of something falling, and then silence.

And, far below, the surf crashed on the rocks.