The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

A yawn shakes me, my energy already evaporating. Doctor Dickie must have given me another sedative. I feel as though I’m being squeezed out of this body through the feet.

‘And who decides the order?’ I say. ‘Why did I wake up as Bell first and Derby today? Is there any way for me to predict who I’ll be next?’

Leaning back, he steeples his fingers and cocks his head. It’s a lengthy silence, revaluating and readjusting. Whether he’s pleased by what he finds, or annoyed, I can’t tell.

‘Why are you asking these questions?’ he says eventually.

‘Curiosity,’ I say, and when he doesn’t respond to that, ‘and I’m hoping there’s some advantage to be found in the answers,’ I add.

He makes a small grunt of approval.

‘Good to see you’re finally taking this seriously,’ he says. ‘Very well. Under normal circumstances, you’d arrive in your hosts in the order they woke throughout the day. Fortunately for you, I’ve been tampering.’

‘Tampering?’

‘We’ve done this dance many times before, you and I, more than even I can recall. Loop after loop, I’ve set you the task of solving Evelyn Hardcastle’s murder, and it’s always ended in failure. At first, I thought the blame for this rested solely on your shoulders, but I’ve come to realise that the sequence of hosts plays a part. For example, Donald Davies wakes up at 3:19 a.m., which should make him your first host. That doesn’t work because his life is so appealing. He has good friends in the house, family. Things you spend the loop trying to return to, rather than seeking to escape. It’s for that reason I changed your first host to the more rootless Sebastian Bell,’ he says, hoisting his trouser leg to scratch his ankle. ‘In contrast, Lord Ravencourt doesn’t stir until 10:30 a.m., which meant you shouldn’t have visited him until much deeper in the loop, a period when haste, rather than intellect, is of the essence.’

I can hear the pride in his voice, the sense of a watchmaker standing back and admiring the mechanism he’s built. ‘Each new loop I experimented, making these sorts of decisions for each of your hosts, arriving at the order you’re experiencing now,’ he says, spreading his hands magnanimously. ‘In my opinion, this is the sequence that gives you the best chance of solving the mystery.’

‘So why haven’t I returned to Donald Davies, the way I keep returning to the butler?’

‘Because you walked him down that endless road to the village for almost eight hours and he’s exhausted,’ says the Plague Doctor, a hint of rebuke in his tone. ‘He’s currently sleeping deeply and will be until’ – he checks his watch – ‘9:38 p.m. Until then, you’ll continue to be tugged between the butler and your other hosts.’

Wood creaks in the corridor. I consider calling for Anna, a thought which must show on my face, because the Plague Doctor tuts at me.

‘Come now, how clumsy do you think I am?’ he says. ‘Anna left a little while ago to meet with Lord Ravencourt. Believe me, I know the routines of this house as a director knows those of the actors in his play. If I had any doubt that we might be interrupted, I wouldn’t be here.’

I have the sense of being a nuisance to him, an errant child in the headmaster’s office again. Barely worth a scolding.

A yawn rattles me, long and loud. My brain is clouding over.

‘We have a few more minutes to talk before you fall asleep again,’ says the Plague Doctor, clasping his gloved hands together, the leather squeaking. ‘If you’ve any more questions for me, now would be the time.’

‘Why is Anna in Blackheath?’ I say quickly. ‘You said I chose to come here, and my rivals didn’t. That means she was brought here against her will. Why are you doing this to her?’

‘Any questions aside from that one,’ he says. ‘Walking into Blackheath voluntarily brings certain advantages. There are also disadvantages, things your rivals instinctively understand, which you do not. I’m here to fill in those blanks, nothing more. Now, how goes the investigation into Evelyn Hardcastle’s murder?’

‘She’s one girl,’ I say wearily, struggling to keep my eyes open. The drugs are tugging at me with their warm hands. ‘What makes her death worth all of this?’

‘I could ask you the same question,’ he says. ‘You’re going out of your way to save Miss Hardcastle, despite all the evidence suggesting it’s impossible. Why is that?’

‘I can’t watch her die and do nothing to prevent it,’ I say.

‘That’s very noble of you,’ he says, cocking his head. ‘Then let me respond in kind. Miss Hardcastle’s murder was never solved, and I don’t believe such a thing should be allowed to stand. Does that satisfy you?’

‘People are murdered every day,’ I say. ‘Righting one wrong can’t be the only reason for all of this.’

‘An excellent point,’ he says, clapping his hands together in appreciation. ‘But who’s to say there aren’t hundreds of others like yourself seeking justice for those souls?’

‘Are there?’

‘Doubtful, but it’s a lovely thought, isn’t it?’

I’m conscious of the effort of listening, the weight of my eyelids, the way the room is melting around me.