The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

Evelyn’s running her hand along the edge of the dressing table, opening Millicent’s jewellery box, touching the pearl-handled brush. I’d describe her actions as covetous, if there didn’t appear to be an equal amount of reverence.

‘Who wants you dead, Evelyn?’ I ask, unnerved by this curious display.

‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘There was a letter pushed under my door when I woke up. The instructions were quite specific.’

‘But you don’t know who sent it?’

‘Constable Rashton has a theory, but he’s kept it rather close to his chest.’

‘Rashton?’

‘Your friend? He told me you were helping him investigate.’ Doubt and distaste seep out of every word, but I’m too intrigued to take it personally. Could this Rashton be another host? Maybe even the same man who asked Cunningham to deliver that ‘all of them’ message, and gather some people together. Either way, he seems to have swept me up into his plan. Whether I can trust it is another matter.

‘Where did Rashton approach you?’ I ask.

‘Mr Derby,’ she says firmly. ‘I’d love nothing more than to sit down and answer all your questions, but we don’t really have time. I’m expected at the reflecting pool in ten minutes and I can’t be late. In fact, that’s why I’m here, I need the silver pistol you took from the doctor.’

‘You can’t mean to go through with this,’ I say, jumping up from my seat in alarm.

‘As I understand it, your friends are close to unmasking my would-be killer. They simply need a little more time. If I don’t go, the killer will know something is wrong, and I can’t risk that.’

I’m beside her in two steps, my pulse racing.

‘Are you saying they know who’s behind all of this?’ I say excitedly. ‘Did they give you any indication who it might be?’

Evelyn’s holding one of Millicent Derby’s cameos up to the light, an ivory face on blue lace. Her hand is shaking. It’s the first sign of fear I’ve seen from her.

‘They didn’t, but I hope they find out soon. I’m trusting your friends to save me before I’m forced to do something... final.’

‘Final?’ I say.

‘The note was specific, either I take my life out by the reflecting pool at 11 p.m. or somebody I care about very deeply dies in my stead.’

‘Felicity?’ I ask. ‘I know you collected a note from her at the well, and that you asked her for her assistance with your mother. Michael said she was an old friend. Is she in danger? Is somebody holding her against her will?’

That would explain why I haven’t been able to find her.

The jewellery box clatters shut. Evelyn turns to face me, hands now pressed flat against the dressing table.

‘I don’t mean to sound impatient, but don’t you have somewhere to be?’ she says. ‘I was asked to remind you about a rock that needs watching. Does that make any sense to you?’

I nod, remembering the favour Anna asked of me earlier this afternoon. I’m to be standing by it when Evelyn kills herself. I wasn’t to move. Not an inch, she’d said.

‘In that case my work here is done and I should go,’ says Evelyn. ‘Where’s the silver pistol?’

Even in her small fingers, it seems an inconsequential thing, more decoration than weapon, an embarrassing way to end a life. I wonder if that’s the point, if there’s not some quiet rebuke in the instrument of death, as there is in the method. Evelyn isn’t merely being murdered, she’s being embarrassed, dominated.

Every choice has been taken from her.

‘What a pretty way to die,’ says Evelyn, staring at the pistol. ‘Please don’t be late, Mr Derby, I suspect my life depends upon it.’

After a final glance towards the jewellery box, she’s gone.

31

Hugging myself against the cold, I stand over Anna’s carefully placed rock, terrified of taking even a small step to my left, where at least I’d be warmed by one of the braziers. I don’t know why I’m here, but if it’s part of a plan to save Evelyn, I’ll stand in this spot until my blood turns to ice.

Glancing towards the trees I catch sight of the Plague Doctor in his usual location, half hidden by gloom. He’s not looking at the reflecting pool as I thought when I witnessed this moment through Ravencourt’s eyes, but away to his right. The angle of his head suggests he’s talking to somebody, though I’m too far away to see who. Either way, it’s an encouraging sign. Evelyn suggested she’d found allies among my hosts, and surely, in those bushes, somebody is waiting to come to her aid?

Evelyn arrives at eleven exactly, the silver pistol hanging limp in her hand. Drifting from shadow to flame, she follows the braziers, her blue ball gown trailing in the grass. I long to tear the pistol from her grasp, but somewhere beyond my sight an invisible hand is working, pulling levers I can’t possibly understand. Any minute now somebody will call out, I’m certain of it. One of my future hosts will come sprinting into the darkness, telling Evelyn it’s over and the murderer is captured. She’ll drop the gun and sob her thanks, while Daniel presents his plan for both Anna and me to escape.

For the first time since all this began, I feel myself part of something bigger.