The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

Mud sucks at my boots as I hurry into the gloom of the trees, desperation tugging me along by a leash. After my failure to glean any information in the kitchen, I’m striking out into the forest in hopes of stumbling upon Evelyn along one of the marked trails. I’m counting on endeavour succeeding where calculation has failed. Even if it doesn’t, I need to put some distance between Derby and the temptations of Blackheath.

I’ve not gone far when the red flags bring me to a stream, water surging around a large rock. A smashed wine bottle is half-encased in sludge, beside a thick black overcoat, Bell’s silver compass having fallen out of the pocket. Plucking it from the mud, I turn it over in my palm just as I did that first morning, my fingers tracing the initials SB engraved on the underside of the lid. Sebastian Bell’s initials. What a fool I felt when Daniel pointed that out to me. Half a dozen cigarette butts lie discarded on the ground, suggesting Bell stood here for a little while, probably waiting for somebody. This must have been where he came after receiving the note at the dinner table, though what could have driven him into the rain and cold at such an hour I cannot fathom. Searching his discarded coat offers no clues, his pockets turning up nothing but a lonely silver key, probably to his trunk.

Wary of losing more time to my former host, I drop the key and compass into my pocket and set out in search of the next red flag, keeping my eyes open for any hint of the footman at my heels. This would be the perfect place for him to strike.

God only knows how long I walk before I finally stumble upon the ruins of what must be Charlie Carver’s old cottage. Fire has hollowed it out, consuming most of the roof, leaving only the four blackened walls. Debris crunches underfoot as I step inside, startling some rabbits who flee into the woods, their fur stained with wet ash. The skeletal remnants of an old bed are slumped in the corner, a solitary table leg on the floor, the detritus of a life interrupted. Evelyn told me the cottage burst into flames the day the police hanged Carver.

More likely Lord and Lady Hardcastle threw their memories onto the pyre and lit it themselves.

Who could blame them? Carver stole their son’s life by a lake. It seems only fitting they should rid themselves of him with fire.

A rotten fence marks out the garden around the back of the cottage, most of the slats having collapsed after years of neglect. Great piles of purple and yellow flowers run wild in every direction, red berries dangling from stems winding up the fence posts.

A maid emerges from the trees as I kneel to tie my shoelace.

Such terror I hope never to see again.

Colour drains from her face, her basket dropping on the floor, spilling mushrooms in every direction.

‘Are you Madeline?’ I begin, but she’s already backing away, looking around for help. ‘I’m not here to hurt you, I’m trying to—’

She’s gone before I can utter another word, bolting into the forest. Snared by weeds I stagger after her, half falling over the fence.

Picking myself up, I catch sight of her through the trees, glimpses of a black dress moving far more quickly than I would have reckoned. I call out, but if anything my voice is the whip at her back, driving her forward. Even so, I’m faster and stronger and though I don’t wish to frighten the girl, I cannot lose sight of her for fear of what will happen to Evelyn.

‘Anna!’ Bell calls out from somewhere nearby.

‘Help me!’ Madeline screams back, panicked and sobbing.

She’s so close now. I reach out, hoping to tug her back, but my fingers can only brush the material of her dress, and off-balance I lose ground.

She ducks to avoid a branch, stumbling ever so slightly. I catch hold of her dress, causing her to scream again, before a shot whistles by my face, cracking into a tree behind me.

Surprise loosens my grip on Madeline, who stumbles towards Evelyn as she emerges from the forest. The black revolver she will take to the graveyard is in her hands, but it’s not nearly as terrifying as the fury on her face. One wrong step and she’ll shoot me dead, I’m certain of it.

‘It’s not what... I can explain,’ I pant, hands on my knees.

‘Men like you always can,’ says Evelyn, sweeping the terrified girl behind her with one arm.

Madeline’s sobbing, her entire body shaking violently. God help me, but Derby enjoys this. He’s aroused by the fear. He’s done this before.

‘All this... please... it’s a misunderstanding,’ I gasp, taking an imploring step forwards.

‘Stay back, Jonathan,’ says Evelyn fiercely, gripping the revolver with both hands. ‘Stay away from this girl, stay away from all of them.’

‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘Your mother’s a friend of the family, that’s the only reason I’m letting you walk away,’ interrupts Evelyn. ‘But if I see you near another woman, if I even hear about it, I swear I’ll put a bullet in you.’

Taking care to keep the gun trained on me, she removes her coat and wraps it around Madeline’s heaving shoulders.