10. Revelations

The parsonage was shrouded in the semi-darkness of twilight when Hannibal strode up to the front door. Hand raised to ring the bell, he hesitated, but the faint glow of firelight through the fogged up morning room window reassured him that Will had not retired early.

He did not need direction from the maid who took his greatcoat and hat – had he not seen the fire, Will’s scent would have drawn him. Yet there was a sharpness undercutting its usual sweetness which concerned him. Mrs Franklyn had spoken of Will’s feeling unwell. Perhaps, after all, he had caught a chill after their morning’s recklessness.

The Omega, whose eyes widened at the sight of him as he walked into the room, was certainly flushed, and Hannibal wasted no time in dropping to his knees before Will’s chair and laying a gentle hand against his forehead. But there was no worrying clamminess or excessive burning heat.

‘You do not have a fever,’ he murmured with relief, taking Will’s face between both hands, eyes dropping hungrily to the rosebud lips he had spent all day thinking about.

‘Will,’ he groaned, rubbing his nose alongside the Omega’s. ‘You confound me. I thought to see you tonight. I thought of little else all day. But you did not come. You did not come.’

Urgently then he took possession of Will’s mouth, and as his tongue parted those plump lips to taste the sweetness within, he felt a violent shudder course through the boy, whose arms came up to grasp Hannibal’s shoulders, fingers gripping tightly for a moment before pulling him close.

The fervour of the kiss drew moans from them both, but when Hannibal felt wetness on his cheek and realised that Will was crying, his eyes flew open in shock and he drew back. He studied Will’s anguished face with deep concern, wiping away a fresh tear with his thumb. One hand slid around to cradle the back of the boy’s head, threading into dark curls.

‘Will, what is it?’

Pain-filled blue eyes met his. ‘How can you ask me that? How can you pretend so?’

‘Pretend? Pretend what?’

Will’s hands slipped from his shoulders, body stiffening. ‘Let me go.’

Immediately Hannibal released him, standing and straightening his jacket. He hesitated before taking a seat in the chair opposite, and waited expectantly for Will to meet his gaze, but the boy only firmed his lips and averted his face.

A chill settled over Hannibal’s heart. Was this regret? Had he presumed too much? Taken too much? An unpleasant thought occurred.

‘On your walk together,’ and he swallowed an irrational surge of jealousy, ‘Anthony did not attempt to seduce you?’

That drew Will’s attention and his indignant gaze snapped back to Hannibal’s.

‘Certainly not! How could you think so of your cousin?’

Irritated by his own clumsiness, Hannibal frowned. ‘I did not mean to imply that he would force himself upon you - but what else?’ He leaned forward, expression earnest. ‘What has caused this change in you?’

‘I am as I have always been.’ Will met his gaze unblinkingly. ‘My eyes have been opened, that is all.’

On a low sound of frustration, Hannibal rose abruptly and proceeded to pace about the room, his agitation increasing with every deafening tick of the clock on the mantle. He stared at the slowly moving hand.

‘You regret what has happened between us.’

‘Yes.’

Hannibal flinched at the unequivocal answer, delivered in as cold a tone as he had ever heard.

‘My fault,’ he muttered. ‘I thought to treat you as any other, knowing full well that it was a lie.’

His gaze slid back to Will, but the boy’s expression of condemnation did not alter.

‘Oh, that was the lie? Are you certain?’

Hannibal’s brows drew together. ‘I brought you something,’ he said finally, voice rough with suppressed emotion. ‘I had intended to give it to you tonight after dinner.’

And drawing from his waistcoat pocket a folded sheet of paper, he stepped forward and proffered it to Will.

At first it seemed that Will would simply ignore the gesture, but with a sigh he took the paper from Hannibal’s suddenly nerveless fingers. Unfolding it, the boy stared down at the pencil drawing for several moments before lifting questioning eyes to Hannibal.

‘Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus.’

‘Whenever he is mentioned in The Iliad, Patroclus seems to be defined by his Omegan status,’ murmured Will, returning his attention to the sketch. ‘He lived only for his Alpha, becoming Achilles on the field of war – he even died for him there, wearing his armour.’

‘He did.’

Hannibal found himself pinned again by that sharp blue gaze.

‘Is this how you see me, Hannibal? As a biddable Omega, ready to become only what you wish me to be?’

‘Of course not.’ Disquieted, Hannibal ran a hand through his hair. ‘Achilles wished that all Greeks would die, so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. He wanted no other.’

‘You see Achilles and Patroclus as equals?’

‘I do.’

‘And what of us, Hannibal?’ Eyes hardening, Will refolded the paper and held it out to him. ‘Do you see us as equals? Do you see me, truly, as I am?’

Ignoring Will’s outstretched hand, Hannibal knelt once more before him. Their eyes were level as he replied, with all the sincerity in his heart, ‘I admit that I have not always seen how exceptional and rare a person you are. I admit to utter idiocy in ever thinking that I could walk away from you.’ Tentatively, he reached for Will’s hand. ‘I admit that I had little notion, until I looked for you tonight only to be denied your company, of what it is precisely that has me in its grip.’

‘And what might that be?’ Will’s voice was almost a whisper.

‘Something that I have struggled against in vain, that will not be repressed.’

Hannibal smiled tenderly at the solemn boy – a boy of unparalleled beauty with raven curls, with an intellect of exquisite sharpness, and with eyes that pierced his very soul. And the words tumbled from him, newly born yet fully formed.

‘Love. An ardent love that I can no longer deny. So yes, I see you, Will Graham. I love you. And I wish more than anything in this world to marry you.’

Will’s astonishment was beyond expression. For a moment – one glorious moment – he was filled with a joy so intense, he could barely breathe. Hannibal loved him. Hannibal wished to marry him. Hannibal Lecter, who could have anyone he desired, desired him above all others.

And yet...

‘Something that I have struggled against... that will not be repressed...that I can no longer deny.’

‘You do not want to love me,’ he stated flatly, withdrawing his hand. ‘You do not want any of this, do you, Hannibal?’

A faint frown puckered Hannibal’s brow. ‘I want you. Admittedly, I have had misgivings about pursuing you, but that is only because there has been more to consider than my personal happiness. Besides which, guardianship of the Lecter legacy is no small responsibility.’

‘And marrying me would endanger that legacy?’

‘I do not know that it would.’ Hannibal sighed. ‘I do not know that it would not.’

Will flinched. ‘Because of the circumstances of my birth and my less than desirable family connections.’

‘Will –‘

‘Tell me that I am wrong.’

Slowly, Hannibal rose to his feet, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. The silence between them was deafening.

‘This is not sustainable.’

Will spoke with care, observing almost detachedly the flash of pain in Hannibal’s eyes.

‘Because for a time I allowed judgement to overrule inclination? The obstacles which face us are real, Will.’

‘They are real in your estimation,’ retorted Will bitterly. ‘And it seems that their reach is long.’

‘Meaning?’

His jaw clenched. ‘Meaning that, your scruples aside, no amount of inclination on my part could induce me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister.’

Hannibal seemed to catch his words with surprise and no little amount of discomfiture. ‘I assure you that was never my intention.’

‘Yet you sought actively to divide them,’ scoffed Will. ‘Did you believe that, once parted, they would simply forget about each other?’

‘I assume that you have been speaking with my cousin.’

Displeasure was writ large in Hannibal’s face, and Will leapt at once to the colonel’s defence.

‘He did not know that he was talking of my sister, as you must be aware. You did, after all, keep the particulars of the case from him.’

‘I wished only to inform him of Margot’s situation, not to gossip.’ Lips thinning, Hannibal muttered, ‘It seems that he had no such qualms.’

‘You speak of qualms when you separated two people in such a callous and calculating way?’ Infuriated, Will stared at him.

‘They had been acquainted for a mere handful of weeks.’ There was an edge now to Hannibal’s voice and he turned away, prowling to the fireplace, hands clasped tightly behind his back. ‘I had no reason to believe that their attachment was deeply felt.’

‘You did not wish to believe it.’ Voice cracking with emotion, Will rubbed shaking hands over his face. ‘You do not deny then that you did this?’

On a harsh exhale, Hannibal faced him once again. ‘What would you have me say, Will? That I regret my choices? I cannot. I acted in the best interests of my friend.’

‘And Matthew Brown? Was it in his best interests that you acted when you broke your word and reneged on your late father’s promise?’

Fury and disappointment had loosened his tongue and Will could hold back no longer. He rose from his chair, trembling with outrage as he stared accusingly at Hannibal.

‘When so doing reduced Mr Brown to a state of comparative poverty?’

‘You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns.’

Tone icy, eyes storm-darkened, Hannibal was once again the haughty stranger who had berated Will for trespassing on Verger land. A vast gulf seemed to have opened between them, and tears stung Will’s eyes at the emembrance of whispered endearments and tender touches.

‘We fit perfectly.’

‘It is glorious.’

The memories of what they had shared mere hours before mocked him, and he closed his mind against them. Ashes now, scattered to the winds.

‘His misfortunes have been such that I could not help but take an interest.’ Matching Hannibal’s coldness, Will sought refuge in disdain. ‘Any feeling person would.’

‘No doubt.’ Hannibal’s lip curled in derision. ‘His misfortunes, after all, have been great indeed.’

‘And of your infliction!’

‘Apparently.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

Outraged blue eyes clashed with molten amber. The air hummed with tension, and for a moment they faced one another in silence.

Grim-faced, Hannibal stepped back, steely gaze holding Will captive. ‘So you would condemn me as a monster when only this morning you were content to overlook these alleged offences. Tell me, Will, what is your design in refusing me? Has my honest confession of the dilemma I have struggled with injured your pride so much? Is it really so fragile? Or are you playing the coquette, hoping with these games to increase your desirability?’

‘How dare you?’ Tears rose to his eyes and Will blinked them away angrily, jaw working, fists clenched. ‘How dare you ask me that? I did not know this morning of your hand in my sister’s misery. I trusted you. I needed to trust you.’

‘Will –‘

Hannibal paled but Will pressed on mercilessly.

‘I suppose you considered it a sin of omission. But betrayal is betrayal, Hannibal. Besides, if my pride was so easily bruised, do you think I would ever have come near you again after your behaviour at the Red Dragon assembly? By-blow, was not it?' In his fury and anguish, he almost spat the word. ‘And as for games, they are your province, not mine. I have seen the games you play - the lives you rearrange for your own amusement.’ Boldly he took a step forward, chin thrust mutinously high. ‘Tell me, Hannibal. Was I part of that? Did it amuse you to take a tumble with the illegitimate Omega?’

Hannibal drew his breath in a hiss, expression thunderous. ‘I asked you to marry me.’

‘Against your will. Against your judgement.’ Will laughed hollowly. ‘You say that you see me. But you do not want all that I am.’

‘Really?’ Hannibal’s eyes glittered dangerously and he too stepped closer. ‘Do not I?’

Will hardly heard him, lost in a fog of misery. ‘Did you think you could change me? Perhaps invent for me a past that would make me more socially acceptable? Or would you have simply hidden me away from your friends?’

‘Of course not.’

It was a soft snarl but Will felt the reverberations down to his bones. Their closeness was such that he could feel the heat emanating from the Alpha’s skin, a heat that he had pressed close to and rubbed against in a haze of pleasure. This morning. Only this morning. Gritting his teeth, he stalked towards the door before facing Hannibal again.

‘Ah, no, because I am, after all, aesthetically pleasing. And are not aesthetics of greater importance than any ethical considerations?’ Scornful, he raked condemning eyes over the proud Alpha who stood now as stiff and unyielding as marble. ‘That, Hannibal, is your design.’

‘And this is your opinion of me.’ Never had Will heard him speak with such glacial hauteur and it sent a shiver through him. ‘This is the estimation in which you hold me.’ Hannibal paused, head tilted as if in thought. ‘Perhaps mundane flattery would have suited you better. You could have stayed blind – persuaded yourself that I could rejoice in the inferiority of your connections.’

The words cut through him with such mercilessness that Will felt them as a physical pain, and he let out an involuntary whimper. At the same instant, regret darkened Hannibal’s eyes and he started forward as if to reach out, but Will immediately stumbled backwards, hands closing on the door edge behind him.

‘Do not,’ he choked out. ‘Do not ever touch me again.’

‘I am sorry.’ Hannibal regarded him bleakly from across the room. ‘That was unworthy of me. I was angry, Will. I should have spoken only from my heart.’

Unworthy. Something that I have felt all my life. I thought you were different. I thought that I...

Will could barely breathe. He felt eviscerated, sundered by a hurt so deep it had left him raw. Lifting anguished eyes to Hannibal’s, he summoned his final reserves of strength.

‘You are mistaken, Mr Lecter.’ He spoke slowly, every word an effort. ‘The mode of your declaration merely spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.’

He ignored Hannibal’s swift intake of breath and ploughed on.

‘From the very beginning, I saw only too clearly your arrogance and conceit – your selfish Alpha disdain – and your words this evening have served to confirm what first I felt to be true all those months ago.’ Vicious in his pain, Will hissed out, ‘You are the last Alpha in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.’

He grasped the door handle, holding onto it as if it were a lifeline, and when next he spoke his voice was devoid of emotion.

‘I want you to leave now. And from this day, I do not want to know where you are or what you do. I do not want to think about you anymore.’

As Hannibal stood looking back at him, all remaining traces of colour drained from his face.

With a sigh, Will averted his eyes. ‘Goodbye.’

At that, finally, Hannibal moved. In the doorway, however, he stopped and cleared his throat, facing Will with strained composure.

‘My apologies. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.’

With an abrupt nod he hastily left the room, and Will swung the door shut behind him, closing it with a gentle click. He pressed his forehead against the wood, listening as a few muttered words and the opening of the front door signalled Hannibal’s departure from the house.

‘Goodbye,’ he whispered into the grain, as a solitary tear tracked down his face. ‘Goodbye, Hannibal.’

***

The vestibule, cast in shadows, was mercifully empty when Hannibal returned to Fell Park, the muffled strains of a pianoforte from behind the drawing room door indicating that the evening’s entertainment was still underway.

Entertainment. The idea mocked him. And the thought of joining them... He pressed the heels of his hands against his temples before raking his fingers none too gently through his hair. Tonight he would see no one. And tomorrow – tomorrow...

The library door opened, candlelight casting a dim glow behind the silhouette of the man who peered out, cradling a half-filled goblet.

‘Ah, good, you are back. Care to join me for a glass of port?’

Hardly trusting himself to reply, Hannibal strode towards the staircase, boots echoing harshly on the marble floor.

‘Hannibal?’

‘I am leaving. At first light.’

‘What the devil –‘

Hannibal stopped and spun around to fix his cousin with a baleful glare.

‘I said that I am leaving, Anthony. Have the goodness to ring for my valet.’

‘Hannibal, wait.’

Face etched with concern, Anthony held out his glass. ‘Here. At least take this. You look as if you need it far more than I.’

Wavering momentarily between the desire to completely ignore his loose-tongued cousin and the urge to throw the proffered drink back in his face, Hannibal settled for stalking past him into the library, plucking the glass from his fingers as he passed.

Once inside the dimly-lit room, warm from the crackle of wood still ablaze in the hearth, Hannibal dropped into one of the high-backed armchairs that flanked the hearth. He lifted the glass to his lips with an unsteady hand, drained the contents in one swallow and set the goblet down none too gently at his feet. Closing his eyes, he passed his hand over them and waited for the inevitable inquisition. But it never came.

When finally he looked up again, it was to find Anthony observing him from the other chair.

‘Better?’

‘Better is a relative term,’ he muttered, directing his morose gaze to the greedy flames.

‘Hm. I take it he said no.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ he snapped, sitting upright with a jerk and knocking over the empty glass.

Anthony snorted. ‘I am not a fool, cousin. One would have to be blind not to realise how you feel about our young Mr Graham. When he is in the same room, you scarce take your eyes from him. Or indeed,’ he added mischievously, ‘your hands.’

‘Do not be crass, Anthony.’ But there was no bite to Hannibal’s words.

‘Do not ever touch me again.’

The look of utter devastation on Will’s face – the vulnerability and pain in his eyes – haunted him.

‘I do not want to think about you anymore.’

‘Hannibal?’ Gently. ‘What happened?’

A sigh shuddered through him. ‘I happened. I hurt him, Anthony, with words I shall not now repeat.’

Anthony shook his head. ‘Then I am sorry. Contrary to what you may have thought, cousin, I had hoped that you had found your match in Will Graham, but I feared it was not to be.’

Hannibal laughed shortly. ‘Because we belong in different spheres? See the world in different ways?’

‘Because you spend far too much time building walls, Hannibal.’ Leaning forward, hands clasped, Anthony addressed him earnestly. ‘It is natural to want to see if anyone is clever enough to climb over them. But it is no easy thing to know you.’

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought that he did know me. I thought that we knew each other. I wanted, more than anything in this world, to be with him. But fate and circumstance – and my own folly – have decreed otherwise.’

‘And you are content with that?’ Anthony huffed an incredulous laugh. ‘When did you ever allow anything to stand in the way of what you wanted?’

‘When what – who – I want does not want me. Not anymore.’ His jaw tightened, the recollection of Will’s smooth, delicately-fragranced skin beneath his fingertips a tormenting reminder of what he had lost. ‘He thinks me a monster, Anthony.’

‘Then change that. Do what you must. But do not run away from this, Hannibal.’

‘We leave in two days’ time in any case.’ His heart clenched at the thought.

‘Then make them count,’ Anthony advised sombrely. ‘Make them count, Hannibal.’

***

Morning brought for Will no relief from the tumult of his feelings, and after an early solitary breakfast he set out on a long ramble. He had managed to avoid Beverly by retiring early the previous evening, but he knew that he would have to face her sooner or later; and when he did, he wished it to be with a face unravaged by tear-stains and sleeplessness. The freshness of the air soon revived him, though as he walked he continued to dwell in minute detail on the confrontation of the previous evening.

That Hannibal should be in love with him – so much in love as to wish to marry him in spite of all the objections which had made him prevent Miss Verger’s marrying Alana – was almost beyond comprehension. A traitorous part of him thrilled at the knowledge, yearning even after all that had passed between them to go to Hannibal and accept him on any terms he chose to lay down.

Weak little Omega! Where is your pride? And what of his shameless interference in Alana’s life? His unforgivable cruelty towards Matthew Brown, which he has not once sought to deny?

These agitated reflections continued until he realised with dismay that his feet had directed him to the one spot he wished to avoid. The grotto and its hilltop shelter rose before him, and below them paced the figure of a man. Will stopped dead, unable to prevent a pained gasp from escaping his lips. At once, the man looked up.

‘Will!’

Heart sinking, he fixed his eyes on the ground as a familiar pair of boots stopped in front of him.

‘Will.’

When the soft entreaty did not work, Will found his chin being tilted gently by a finger that was at once withdrawn.

‘You look terrible,’ was Hannibal’s brusque assessment.

‘You look worse.’

Their eyes met and held, a ghost of a smile passing between them.

‘I have no doubt.’

But even deep smudges of fatigue beneath his eyes and lines of strain around his mouth could not disguise the stark beauty of the man, and Will ached for him even as he berated himself for it.

‘I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you.’

With a grave air which set Will’s heart to beating rapidly again, Hannibal withdrew from the pocket of his greatcoat a sealed document, which he held out.

‘Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?’

Their fingers brushed as Will took the envelope, and he froze. But Hannibal, expression tightening minutely, merely bowed and walked briskly away. Will waited until he was out of sight, then with trembling fingers opened the letter. It was dated from Fell Park, at five o’clock in the morning, and was as follows:

Dear Will,

Be not alarmed that this letter contains any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you. I have every intention of honouring your wishes, and after this day I shall trouble you no longer, but before I depart Kent I wish to answer the charges laid against me.

The first was that, regardless of their feelings, I sought to separate Miss Verger from your sister, and it is this offence that I shall first address.

I had not been long in Hertfordshire before I saw, as doubtless did many others, that Margot preferred your eldest sister to any other person in the county. But it was not until the dance at Muskrat Hall that I realised the seriousness of her attachment. It was there, if you recall, when I had the honour of dancing with you, that Sir James Price intimated that there had arisen a general expectation of their marriage. Margot is gregarious but modest, and I felt no little concern for her, lest what could merely have been overtures of friendship had been misinterpreted. In short, I wished to save her from embarrassment.

I undertook to observe my friend’s behaviour more closely, and I quickly perceived that her partiality for Miss Graham was beyond what I had ever witnessed in her. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open and cheerful, but I could detect no particular symptoms of regard, and as the evening wore on I became convinced that any tenderness of feeling was entirely on Margot’s side. Perhaps, as you intimated last night, I saw only what I wished to see. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make it probable.

As to my objections to the idea of a union between them, they were not merely on the grounds of want of connection or disparity in status. I am not as shallow as you might suppose, Will, although I admit that for a time I did allow such slight concerns to influence my thinking.

But of far more import was the question of propriety. And here I must beg your pardon, for it pains me to offend you. Still, I promised myself that I would be utterly honest, and so I shall be. It was my belief that your father’s long ago indiscretion, while hardly uncommon, had made your family vulnerable to possible scandal. The behaviour of your mother when (forgive me) intoxicated was hardly reassuring of her discretion. And while I was prepared to risk gossip and innuendo on my own behalf, I could not endure the thought of those closest to me suffering the same if it could be avoided. I have experienced first-hand the pain of witnessing a loved one’s social humiliation. It is a brutal thing, and I told myself that I would be a poor friend indeed if I did not do all in my power to prevent it from happening to Margot.

And so yes, I parted them. And once we were in London, it was not difficult to persuade Margot that she was needed far more there than in Hertfordshire. My sister, indeed, had been left alone for far too long, and Margot’s cheerful company was just the tonic she required.

One thing more I must confess, and I do so with a heavy heart, for doubtless it will cause you to think even less of me. Two weeks before my arrival in Kent, I learned of your sister’s being in town. This information I concealed from Margot, and she is ignorant of it still. Perhaps this was beneath me, but it is done. It may be for the best to allow each to go on with their own lives and leave the rest to fate. I write this not to absolve myself of responsibility; rather, I recognise that I have been guilty of high-handed interference, and I would wish to avoid compounding my error in judgement.

With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr Brown, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family.

Matthew Brown is the son of a very respectable man who undertook the management of the Ravenstag estate when my father inherited it twenty years ago. Mr Brown’s wife had recently died, and he had been left alone to care for his five-year-old son. My father’s kind heart was touched by the plight of this motherless boy, and he sought to help raise him up in the world by supporting his education. More than that, my father became his godfather, and for some years Matthew and I were good friends.

Over time, however, I became aware that he was not all that he seemed. The mask that he wore in public and in the presence of his godfather began to slip more and more when we were in only each other's company, until eventually I came to the realisation that within Matthew there lurked something vicious and savage – and that his propensities were such that they would have horrified both his father and mine.

Five years ago, my beloved father died. Matthew’s father had already succumbed to illness, and my father’s concern for the orphan was such that he asked me on his deathbed to aid Matthew in his purported ambition to take orders. This I immediately set about doing, despite my misgivings, and Matthew was granted a legacy of one thousand pounds and promised the position of clergyman in our family’s parish as soon as the living fell vacant.

Shortly afterwards, however, Matthew wrote to me and stated his intention to study the law. He requested monetary compensation in lieu of the church living, and while I wished rather than believed him to be sincere, I agreed to his proposal. Accepting a gift of three thousand pounds, Matthew resigned his claim to the living, and for three years all communication between us ceased. He settled in London, and it was not long before rumours of his gambling and dissipated lifestyle reached me from concerned friends. When our family living fell vacant upon the death of the incumbent, I was not wholly surprised to receive a letter from Matthew requesting said living. He informed me that he had no longer a desire to study the law, and was resolved, after all, on being ordained.

I hope that you will not blame me for refusing his request, and for resisting his subsequent entreaties, which grew more vociferous and resentful by the week. Eventually, his letters stopped and I heard no more of him. Until, that is, last summer. And I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which I have not related to any other person besides Anthony Dimmond.

My sister, who is now sixteen, was much affected by being rendered an orphan at a young age. She was not my child, but she was my charge, and for a long time I kept her close to me, wishing only to protect her in her fragile state.

I share her guardianship with Colonel Dimmond, who is my mother’s nephew, and last year we acceded to Mischa’s long-felt wish for a measure of independence by installing her in our family’s London residence with a companion, a Mrs Hobbs. It was at this lady’s suggestion that the pair took a trip to Ramsgate, and thither also went Matthew Brown, undoubtedly by design. It transpired afterwards that a prior acquaintance existed between him and Mrs Hobbs, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived.

Mr Brown undertook to court my sister, who was then but fifteen, and persuaded her to consent to an elopement. I arrived at their boarding house unexpectedly, mere hours before the intended elopement was to take place, and when my knocking proved fruitless, I entered Mischa’s room to find my sister cowering beside the bed, dress torn and face white, Matthew Brown standing over her.

You too are a brother to sisters, Will. You therefore can imagine what I felt and how I acted.

Mr Brown’s chief object was unquestionably my sister’s fortune of thirty thousand pounds, although I suspect that the prospect of avenging himself on me was also a strong inducement. Mischa is Omegan, as was our mother, and had Mr Brown succeeded in his plan of bonding with her, his revenge would have been complete indeed.

I hope, Will, that you will acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr Brown. I have no doubt that he presented himself to you very differently, and I do not wonder at his ability to deceive you and so many others. I have, after all, witnessed at first-hand his talent for mimicry.

Perhaps I should have related all of this to you last night, but I was not then master of my emotions. I know that in my arrogance I hurt you deeply. I withheld certain truths from you – I took from you without giving wholly of myself – and I regret that more than I can express.

No matter how much I wish it, however, I cannot reverse time. All that I can do is hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me. As a beginning, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. Tomorrow I leave for our London residence. I tell you this because I want you to know where you can find me, should ever you be in need. One thing more I shall add, without agenda or hope of return.

I love you.

Hannibal Lecter.