The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

She falls silent, her mouth hanging open as though the next words simply evaporated on her lips.

‘I have to go,’ she says suddenly, squeezing my hand. ‘I’ve had a very strange thought. I’ll see you at dinner, darling.’

Without another word Millicent turns back the way we came, disappearing around the corner of the house. Perplexed, I look back into the ballroom, trying to see what she saw, but everybody’s moved around except for the band. That’s when I notice the chess piece on the window ledge. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the same hand-carved piece I found in Bell’s trunk, speckled with white paint and looking at me through clumsily whittled eyes. There’s a message etched into the dirt on the glass above it.

Behind you.

Sure enough Anna’s waving at me from the edge of the forest, her tiny body shrouded by a grey coat. Pocketing the chess piece, I glance left and right to make sure we’re alone, and then follow her deeper into the trees, beyond Blackheath’s sight. She looks to have been waiting for some time and is dancing from foot to foot to keep warm. Judging by her blue cheeks, it’s not doing the blindest bit of good. Little wonder given her attire. She’s draped in shades of grey, her coat threadbare, her knitted hat thin as gossamer. These are clothes passed down and down and down, patched so many times the original material is long gone.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve got an apple or something,’ she says without preamble. ‘I’m bloody starving.’

‘I’ve got a hip flask,’ I say, holding it out to her.

‘Have to do I suppose,’ she says, taking it from me and unscrewing the cap.

‘I thought it was too dangerous for us to meet outside of the gatehouse.’

‘Who told you that?’ she asks, wincing as she tastes the flask’s contents.

‘You did,’ I say.

‘Will.’

‘What?’

‘I will tell you it isn’t safe for us to meet, but I haven’t yet,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t have, I’ve only been awake a few hours, and I’ve spent most of that time keeping the footman from making pincushions out of your future hosts. Missed breakfast doing it, too.’

I blink at her, struggling to stitch together a day being delivered in the wrong order. Not for the first time, I find myself wishing for the speed of Ravencourt’s mind. Working within the confines of Jonathan Derby’s intellect is like stirring croutons into a thick soup.

Seeing my confusion, she frowns.

‘Do you know about the footman yet? I never know where we’re up to.’

I very quickly tell her about Bell’s dead rabbit and the ghostly steps that dogged Ravencourt in the dining hall, her expression darkening with each fresh detail.

‘That bastard,’ she splutters, when I’m finished. She’s prowling back and forth, her hands clenched and shoulders rolled forwards. ‘Wait until I get my hands on him,’ she says, shooting the house a murderous glance.

‘You won’t have to wait long,’ I say. ‘Daniel thinks he’s hiding in some tunnels. There’s a few entrances, but we’re going to guard the library. He wants us in there before one.’

‘Or we could slit our own throats and save the footman the bother of killing us,’ she says, her tone frank and unimpressed. She’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘The footman’s not an idiot,’ she says. ‘If we know where he is, it’s because we’re supposed to know. He’s been one step ahead of us since this started. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he’s lying in wait, hoping to trip us up on our own cleverness.’

‘We have to do something!’ I protest.

‘We will, but what’s the point of doing something stupid when we can do something smart,’ she says patiently. ‘Listen to me, Aiden, I know you’re desperate, but we’ve got a deal, you and me. I keep you alive so you can find Evelyn’s killer, and then we both get out of here. This is me, doing my job. Now promise me, you won’t go after the footman.’

Her argument makes sense, but it’s weightless against my fear. If there’s a chance to put an end to this madman before he finds me, I’m going to take it, no matter the risk. I’d rather die on my feet than cowering in a corner.

‘I promise,’ I say, adding another lie to the pile.

Thankfully, Anna’s too cold to notice the catch in my voice. Despite having drunk from the hip flask, she’s shivering so hard all the colour has abandoned her face. In an attempt to shelter from the wind, she presses against me. I can smell the soap on her skin, forcing me to avert my gaze. I don’t want her to see Derby’s lust squirming within me.

Sensing my discomfort, she tilts her head to meet my downcast face.

‘Your other hosts are better, I promise,’ she says. ‘You have to keep hold of yourself. Don’t give in to him.’

‘How do I do that when I don’t know where they start and I begin?’

‘If you weren’t here, Derby would have his hands all over me,’ she says. ‘That’s how you know who you are. You don’t just remember it, you do it, and you keep doing it.’

Even so, she takes a step back into the wind, freeing me from my discomfort.