The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

I’ve already been here longer than is safe, but Derby’s not easily deterred. My host knows deceit. He knows men like Stanwin and the secrets they keep. The blackmailer could have had the most luxurious room in the house if he’d wanted, but he chose to sequester himself in a ruin. He’s paranoid and clever. Whatever his secrets, he wouldn’t carry them with him, not when he’s surrounded by enemies.

They’re here. Hidden and under guard.

My gaze falls on the fireplace and its anaemic flames. Odd, considering how cold the bedroom is. Kneeling down, I stick my hand up the flume, feeling around and finding a small shelf, my groping fingers closing on a book. Withdrawing it, I see that it’s a small black journal, its cover bearing the scars of a lifetime’s abuse. Stanwin was keeping the fire low to avoid scorching his prize.

Flicking through the tattered pages, I discover it’s a ledger of sorts containing a list of dates going back nineteen years alongside entries written in strange symbols.

It must be some sort of code.

Evelyn’s letter is stuffed between the last two pages.

Dearest Evelyn,

Mr Stanwin has informed me of your plight, and I can quite understand your concern. Your mother’s behaviour is certainly alarming, and you’re quite right to be on guard against whatever scheme she’s cooking up. I stand ready to help, but I’m afraid Mr Stanwin’s word will not be enough. I require some proof of your agency in these matters. In the society pages, I’ve often seen you wearing a signet ring, a small castle engraved on its surface. Send me this, and I’ll know of your serious intent.

Warmest regards,

Felicity Maddox

Looks like clever old Evelyn didn’t accept her fate as easily as I first believed. She brought in somebody called Felicity Maddox to help, and the description of the small castle recalls the one drawn on the note at the well. It may be serving as a signature, which suggests the message to ‘stay away from Millicent Derby’ was from Felicity.

The bodyguard snores.

Unable to wring any further information from the letter, I replace it in the ledger and slip both in my pocket.

‘Thank heavens for devious minds,’ I mutter, stepping through the door.

‘You said it,’ says somebody behind me.

Pain explodes in my head as I slam into the floor.

27

Day Two (continued)

I’m coughing blood, red drops spattering my pillow. I’m back in the butler, my aching body screaming as my head jerks upwards. The Plague Doctor’s sitting in Anna’s chair, one leg thrown across the other, his top hat in his lap. He’s drumming it with his fingers, coming to a stop when he notices me stirring.

‘Welcome back, Mr Bishop,’ he says, his voice muffled by the mask.

I stare at him absently, my coughing subsiding as I begin to piece together the pattern of this day. The first time I found myself in this body, it was morning. I answered the door to Bell and was attacked by Gold after running up the stairs for answers. The second time wasn’t more than fifteen minutes later. I was transported to the gatehouse in the carriage with Anna. Must have been midday when I woke up and we were properly introduced, but, judging by the light outside the window, it’s now early afternoon. It makes sense. Anna told me we get a full day in each of our hosts, but it never occurred to me that I’d experience one in so many fragments.

It feels like a perverse joke.

I was promised eight hosts to solve this mystery, and I’ve been given them, except that Bell was a coward, the butler was beaten half to death, Donald Davies fled, Ravencourt could barely move, and Derby can’t hold a thought.

It’s like I’ve been asked to dig a hole with a shovel made of sparrows.

Shifting in his seat, the Plague Doctor leans closer to me. His clothes are musty, that old attic smell of something long forgotten and badly aired.

‘Our last conversation was rather abrupt,’ he says. ‘So I thought you might report on your progress. Have you discovered—’

‘Why did it have to be this body?’ I interrupt, wincing as a hot streak of pain shoots up through my side. ‘Why trap me in any of these bodies? Ravencourt couldn’t walk two steps without tiring, the butler’s incapacitated and Derby’s a monster. If you really want me to escape Blackheath, why stack the deck against me? There must be better alternatives.’

‘More able perhaps, but these men all have some connection to Evelyn’s murder,’ he says. ‘Making them best placed to help you solve it.’

‘They’re suspects?’

‘Witnesses would be a more apt description.’