The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

‘Leave him alone!’ Anna screams from the corner, the wood creaking as she strains to break free.

‘Better yet,’ he says, waving his knife at her. ‘I could take my blade to the girl here. I need her alive. Doesn’t mean she can’t scream a bit first.’

He takes a step towards her.

‘Stables,’ I say quietly.

He stops dead, looking at me over his shoulder.

‘What did you say?’

He walks back over to me.

Close your eyes, don’t let him see your fear. That’s what he craves. He won’t kill you until you open your eyes.

Squeezing them shut, I feel the bed sag as he sits down. A few seconds later, the edge of his blade caresses my face.

Fear tells me to open my eyes, to see the harm coming.

Just breathe, wait for your moment.

‘Donald Davies will be at the stables?’ he hisses. ‘Is that what you said?’

I nod, trying to ward off panic.

‘Leave him alone!’ Anna screams again from the corner, pounding the floorboards with her heels, and pulling violently against the ropes restraining her.

‘Shut up!’ the footman screams at her, before returning his attention to me. ‘When?’

My mouth is so dry I’m not even sure I can still speak.

‘When?’ he insists, the blade biting my cheek, drawing blood.

‘Twenty to ten,’ I say, remembering the time Daniel gave me.

‘Go! That’s ten minutes from now,’ he tells the man at the door, fading steps charting the thug’s departure down the corridor.

The blade wanders along the edge of my lips, tracing the contours of my nose until I feel the slightest pressure on my closed eyelid.

‘Open your eyes,’ he hisses.

I wonder if he can hear my heart beating. How could he not? It’s pounding like mortar fire, wearing down what little bravery remains to me.

I begin to tremble, ever so slightly.

‘Open your eyes,’ he repeats, spittle hitting my cheeks. ‘Open your eyes, little rabbit, let me see inside.’

Wood snaps and Anna screams.

I can’t help but look.

She’s managed to rip the radiator from one of its brackets, freeing her hands in the process, though not her legs. The knife withdraws as the footman leaps to his feet, the bed-springs squeaking as they’re relieved of his weight.

Now. Move now!

I throw myself at him. There’s no skill in it, no strength, just desperation and momentum. A hundred other times I fail and my body hits him like a blown rag, but there’s something about the angle he’s standing at and the way he’s holding the knife. I catch the handle perfectly, turning it and pushing the blade into his stomach, blood welling up between my fingers as we hit the floor in a tangled pile.

He’s gasping, stunned, hurt even, but not fatally so. Already he’s gathering himself.

I look down at the knife, only the hilt now visible, and I know it’s not going to be enough. He’s too strong and I’m too weak.

‘Anna!’ I yell, ripping the knife free and skimming it across the floor towards her, watching in despair as it comes to a halt a few inches from her straining fingertips.

The footman claws at me, nails raking across my cheeks as he scrabbles desperately for my throat. The weight of my body pins his right hand, my shoulder crushing his face, blinding him. He’s writhing, grunting, trying to shake me off.

‘I can’t hold him!’ I scream at Anna.

His hand finds my ear, and he wrenches at it, my eyes filled with blinding white pain. I jerk away, banging into the sideboard, knocking the shotgun to the floor.

The footman’s hand breaks free from underneath me. He pushes me off him, and as I hit the floorboards, I see Anna reaching for the shotgun, the freshly severed rope still trailing from her wrist. Our eyes meet, fury gathered on her face.

The footman’s hands wrap themselves around my neck and tighten. I strike at his broken nose, causing him to howl in pain, but he doesn’t let go. He squeezes harder, choking.

The shotgun explodes, and so does the footman, his headless body collapsing beside me, blood pouring from his neck and spreading across the floor.

I stare at the shotgun trembling in Anna’s hands. If it hadn’t fallen when it did... if the knife hadn’t reached her, or she’d been a few seconds later freeing herself...

I shiver, horrified at the margins between life and death.

Anna’s talking to me, worrying about me, but I’m so exhausted I only hear half of what’s she saying, and the last thing I feel before the darkness takes me is her hand in mine, and the soft touch of her lips as they kiss my forehead.

58

Day Eight (continued)

Fighting through the thick fog of sleep, I announce myself with a cough, startling Anna who’s standing on her tiptoes, her body pressed against mine as she tries to cut me loose with a kitchen knife. I’m back in Gold, strung up from the ceiling by my wrists.

‘I’ll have you down in a tick,’ says Anna.