The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

Fear doesn’t come easily to Rashton, but he’s afraid now, and so am I. I have two hosts left after today, but Gregory Gold is going to spend most of his day strung up in the gatehouse and Donald Davies is stranded on a dirt road, miles from here. If I die now, there’s no telling how many more chances I’ll get to escape Blackheath.

‘Don’t worry about the gun,’ says the footman. ‘You won’t need it.’

Mistaking his meaning, hope flares in my chest, fizzling again when I see his smirk.

‘Oh, no, my handsome lad, I’m going to kill you,’ he says, wagging the knife at me. ‘I just mean you ain’t going to fight me,’ he adds, coming closer. ‘See, I’ve got Anna, and if you don’t want her to die messy, you’re going to give yourself to me, and then you’re going to bring whoever’s left to the graveyard tonight.’

Opening his palm, he reveals Anna’s chess piece, spotted with blood. With a flick of his wrist, he tosses it into the fire, the flames consuming it immediately.

Another step closer.

‘What’s it to be?’ he asks.

My hands are clenched by my sides, my mouth dry. For as long as he can remember, Rashton expected to die young. In a dark alley, or on a battlefield, a place beyond light and comfort, beyond friendship, his situation hopeless. He knew how sharp the edges of his life had become, and he’d made peace with it, because he knew he’d die fighting. Futile as it may have been, weak as it may have been, he expected to wade into the darkness with his fists in the air.

And now the footman has taken even that away. I’m to die without a struggle, and I feel ashamed.

‘What’s the answer?’ says the footman, his impatience growing.

I can’t bring myself to say the words, to admit how thoroughly defeated I am. Another hour in this body and I’d have solved it, and that knowledge makes me want to scream.

‘Your answer!’ he demands.

I manage to nod as he looms over me, his stench wrapping itself around me when he sinks the blade into the familiar spot beneath my ribs, blood filling my throat and mouth.

Gripping my chin, he lifts my face, looking me in the eyes.

‘Two to go,’ he says, and with that he twists the blade.

52

Day Three (continued)

Rain thumps the roof, horses clip-clopping along the cobbles. I am in a carriage, two women in evening wear wedged onto the seat opposite me. They’re talking under their breath, their shoulders bumping together as the carriage sways from side to side.

Don’t get out of the carriage.

Fear prickles my spine. This is the moment Gold warned me about. The moment which drove him mad. Out there in the dark, the footman’s waiting with his knife.

‘He’s awake, Audrey,’ says one of them, noticing me stirring.

Perhaps believing my hearing to be defective, the second lady leans close.

‘We found you asleep near the road,’ she says loudly, laying one hand on my knee. ‘Your automobile was a few miles further up, the driver tried to get it running but it was beyond him.’

‘I’m Donald Davies,’ I say, feeling a surge of relief.

The last time I was this man I drove a car through the night until morning dawned, abandoning it when the fuel ran out. I walked for hours along that never-ending road towards the village, collapsing in exhaustion no nearer my destination. He must have slept the entire day away, saving him from the footman’s wrath.

The Plague Doctor told me I’d be returned to Davies when he woke up again. I never could have imagined he’d have been rescued and returned to Blackheath when it happened.

Finally, some good luck.

‘You sweet beautiful woman,’ I say, cupping my saviour’s cheeks and kissing her soundly on the lips. ‘You don’t know what you’ve done.’

Before she can respond, I poke my head out of the window. It’s evening, the carriage’s swaying lanterns gently illuminating the darkness rather than banishing it. We’re in one of three carriages rolling towards the house from the village, twelve or so others parked either side of the road, their drivers snoring or chatting in small groups, passing a solitary cigarette amongst themselves. I can hear music from the direction of the house, shrill laughter climbing high enough to puncture the distance between us. The party is in full swing.

Hope surges through me.

Evelyn hasn’t made her way to the reflecting pool, which means there may still be time for me to question Michael, and discover if he was working with anybody. Even if I’m too late for that, I can still ambush the footman when he comes for Rashton and find out where he’s keeping Anna.

Don’t get out of the carriage.

‘Blackheath in a few minutes, m’lady,’ the driver shouts down from somewhere above us.

I glance out of the window again. The house is directly in front of us, and the stables down the road on our right. That’s where they keep the shotguns, and I’d have to be a fool to tackle the footman without one.