The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

That’s when he begins to undress me.

I have no doubt this is all part of the routine, but the shame’s too much to bear. Though this isn’t my body, I’m humiliated by it, appalled by the waves of flesh lapping against my hips, the way my legs rub together as I walk.

I shoo my companion away, but it’s pointless.

‘My lord, you can’t...’ He pauses, collecting his words together carefully, ‘you’re not going to be able to get in and out of the bath alone.’

I want to tell him to go hang, to leave me in peace, but he is, of course, correct.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I nod my submission.

In practised motions he unbuttons my pyjama top and pulls down the bottoms, lifting my feet one at a time so I don’t become tangled in them. In a few seconds I’m naked, my companion standing at a respectful distance.

Opening my eyes, I find myself reflected in a full-length mirror on the wall. I resemble some grotesque caricature of the human body, my skin jaundiced and swollen, a flaccid penis peeking out of an unkempt crop of pubic hair.

Overcome by disgust and humiliation, I let out a sob.

Surprise lights up the valet’s face and then, just for a moment, delight. It’s a patch of raw emotion, gone as quickly as it appeared.

Hurrying over, he helps me into the bathtub.

I remember the euphoria I felt climbing into the hot water as Bell, but there’s none of that now. My immense weight means the joy of getting into a warm bath is eclipsed by the certain humiliation of getting out of it again.

‘Will you require the reports this morning, Lord Ravencourt?’ asks my companion.

Sitting stiff in the bath, I shake my head, hoping he’ll leave the room.

‘The house has prepared a few activities for the day: hunting, a forest walk, they asked –’

I shake my head again, staring at the water. How much more must I endure?

‘Very well, then it’s just the appointments.’

‘Cancel them,’ I say quietly. ‘Cancel them all.’

‘Even with Lady Hardcastle, my lord?’

I find his green eyes for the first time. The Plague Doctor claimed I must solve a murder to depart this house, and who better than the lady of the house to help me sift through its secrets.

‘No, not that one,’ I say. ‘Remind me where we’re meeting again?’

‘In your parlour, my lord. Unless you wanted me to change it?’

‘No, that will suffice.’

‘Very well, my lord.’

The last of our business concluded, he departs with a nod, leaving me to wallow in peace, alone with my misery.

Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the edge of the bath, trying to make sense of my situation. Finding their soul cut loose from their body would suggest death to some, but deep down I know this isn’t the afterlife. Hell would have fewer servants and better furnishings, and stripping a man of his sins seems a poor way to sit in judgement on him.

No, I’m alive, though not in any state I recognise. This is something next to death, something more devious, and I’m not alone. The Plague Doctor claimed there are three of us competing to escape Blackheath. Could the footman who left me the dead rabbit be trapped as I am? That would explain why he’s trying to scare me. After all, a race is hard to win if you’re afraid of reaching the finishing line. Perhaps this is what the Plague Doctor considers entertainment, setting us against each other, like half-starved dogs in a pit.

Maybe you should trust him.

‘So much for trauma,’ I mutter at the voice. ‘I thought I’d left you in Bell.’

I know it’s a lie even as I say it. I’m connected to this voice in the same way I’m connected to the Plague Doctor and the footman. I can feel the weight of our history, even if I can’t remember it. They’re part of everything that’s happening to me, pieces of this puzzle I’m scrambling to solve. Whether they’re friends or enemies I can’t be certain, but whatever the voice’s true nature, it hasn’t led me astray so far.

Even so, trusting my captor strikes me as naivety at best. The idea that all of this will end should I solve a murder seems preposterous. Whatever the Plague Doctor’s intent, he came concealed by mask and midnight. He’s wary of being seen, which means there’s leverage to be found in ripping that mask free.

I glance at the clock, weighing my options.

I know he’ll be in the study talking with Sebastian Bell – a previous me, I still can’t quite wrap my head around it! – after the hunt departs, which would seem an ideal time to intercept him. If he wishes me to solve a murder, I’ll do so but it won’t be my only task today. If I’m to ensure my freedom, I must know the identity of the man who has taken it from me, and for that I’m going to need some help.

By the Plague Doctor’s count, I’ve already wasted three of my eight days in this house, those belonging to Sebastian Bell, the butler and Donald Davies. Including myself, that means I have five remaining hosts, and if Bell’s encounter with the butler is any guide, they’re walking around Blackheath, as I am.

That’s an army in waiting.

I just need to work out who they’re wearing.

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