The bedroom door’s locked, no noise coming from inside. I’d hoped to catch Helena Hardcastle before she set about her day, but it appears the lady of the house is not one to idle. I rattle the handle again, pressing my ear to the wood. Aside from a few curious glances from passing guests, my efforts are in vain. She’s not here.
I’m walking away, when the thought hits me: the room hasn’t been broken into yet. Ravencourt will find the door shattered early this afternoon, so it’s going to happen in the next few hours.
I’m curious to see who’s responsible, and why they’re so desperate to get inside. I’d originally suspected Evelyn because she had one of the two revolvers stolen from Helena’s bureau, but she nearly killed me with it in the forest this morning. If it’s already in her possession, she has no need to break in.
Unless there’s something else she wants.
The only other thing that was obviously missing was the appointments page in Helena’s day-planner. Millicent believed Helena tore it out herself to conceal some suspicious deed, but Cunningham’s fingerprints were all over the remaining pages. He refused to explain himself, and denied being responsible for the break-in, but if I could catch him with his shoulder to the door, he’d have no choice but to come clean.
My mind made up, I stride into the shadows at the far end of the corridor and begin my vigil.
Five minutes later, Derby is already impossibly bored.
I’m fidgeting, stalking back and forth. I can’t calm him.
At a loss, I follow the smell of breakfast towards the drawing room, planning to carry a plate of food and a chair back to the corridor. Hopefully, they’ll placate my host for half an hour, after which time I’ll have to come up with some new amusement.
I find the room smothered in sleepy conversation. Most of the guests are only halfway out of their beds and they reek of the prior evening, sweat and cigar smoke baked into their skin, spirits curled around every breath. They’re talking quietly and moving slowly, porcelain people riddled with cracks.
Taking a plate from the sideboard, I scoop piles of eggs and kidneys onto a large plate, pausing to eat a sausage from the platter and wipe the grease from my lips with my sleeve. I’m so preoccupied, it takes a little while to realise everybody’s gone silent.
A burly fellow is standing at the door, his gaze passing from face to face, relief coursing through those he slips over. This nervousness is not unwarranted. He’s a brutish-looking chap with a ginger beard and sagging cheeks, his nose so mangled it resembles an egg cracked in a frying pan. An old frayed suit strains to contain his width, raindrops sparkling on shoulders you could serve a buffet on.
His gaze lands on me like a boulder in the lap.
‘Mr Stanwin wants to see you,’ he says.
His voice is coarse, filled with jagged consonants.
‘What for?’ I ask.
‘I expect he’ll tell you.’
‘Well, offer my regrets to Mr Stanwin, but I’m afraid I’m very busy at present.’
‘Either you walk or I carry you,’ he says in a low rumble.
Derby’s temper is bubbling nicely, but there’s no use making a scene. I can’t beat this man; the best I can hope for is to quickly meet Stanwin and return to my task. Besides, I’m curious why he’d want to see me.
Placing my plate of food on the sideboard, I rise to follow Stanwin’s thug from the room. Inviting me to walk ahead of him, the burly fellow guides me up the staircase, telling me to turn right at the top, into the closed-off east wing. Brushing aside the curtain, a damp breeze touches my face, a long corridor stretching out before me. Doors are hanging off their hinges, revealing state rooms covered in dust and four-poster beds collapsed in on themselves. The air scratches my throat as I breathe it.
‘Why don’t you wait in that room over there like a good gentleman and I’ll tell Mr Stanwin you’ve arrived,’ says my escort, jerking his chin towards a room on my left.
Doing as he bids, I enter a nursery, the cheerful yellow wallpaper now hanging limp from the walls. Games and wooden toys litter the floor, a weathered rocking horse put out to pasture by the door. There’s a game in progress on a child’s chessboard, the white pieces decimated by the black.
No sooner have I set foot inside than I hear Evelyn shrieking in the room beside me. For the first time Derby and I move in concert, sprinting around the corner to find the door blocked by the red-headed thug.
‘Mr Stanwin’s still busy, chum,’ he says, rocking back and forth to keep warm.
‘I’m looking for Evelyn Hardcastle, I heard her scream,’ I say breathlessly.
‘Mayhap you did, but doesn’t seem like there’s much you can do about it, does there?’
I peer over his shoulder into the room behind, hoping to catch sight of Evelyn. It looks to be some sort of reception area, but it’s empty. The furniture lies under yellowed sheets, black mould growing up from the hems. The windows are covered in old newspaper, the walls little more than rotting boards. There’s another door on the far wall, but it’s closed. They must be in there.
I return my gaze to the man, who smiles at me, exposing a row of crooked yellow teeth.
‘Anything else?’ he says.
‘I need to make sure she’s all right.’
I try to barge past him, but it’s a foolish notion. He’s three times my weight and half again my height. More to the point, he knows how to use his strength. Planting a flat hand on my stomach, he shoves me backwards, barely a flicker of emotion on his face.
‘Don’t bother,’ he says. ‘I’m paid to stand here and make sure nice gentlemen like you don’t do themselves a misfortune by wandering places they ain’t supposed to go.’
They’re just words, coals in the furnace. My blood’s boiling. I try to dart around him and like a fool I think I’ve succeeded until I’m hoisted backwards, and tossed bodily back down the corridor.
I scramble to my feet, snarling.
He hasn’t moved. He isn’t out of breath. He doesn’t care.
‘Your parents gave you everything but sense, didn’t they?’ he says, the blandness of the sentiment hitting me like a bucketful of cold water. ‘Mr Stanwin’s not hurting her if that’s your concern. Wait a few minutes and you can ask her all about it when she comes out.’
We eye each other for a moment, before I retreat along the corridor into the nursery. He’s right, I’m not getting by him, but I can’t wait for Evelyn to come out. She won’t tell Jonathan Derby anything after this morning, and whatever is happening behind that door could be the reason she takes her life tonight.
Hurrying over to the wall, I press my ear to the boards. If I haven’t missed my mark, Evelyn’s talking to Stanwin in the room next door, only a few pieces of rotten wood between us. I soon catch the hum of their voices, much too faint to make anything out. Using my pocket knife, I tear the wallpaper from the wall, digging the blade between the loose wooden slats to pry them free. They’re so damp they come away without objection, the wood disintegrating in my hands.
‘... tell her she best not play any games with me, or it’ll be the end of both of you,’ says Stanwin, his voice poking through the insulating wall.
‘Tell her yourself, I’m not your errand girl,’ says Evelyn coldly.
‘You’ll be anything I damn well please, so long as I’m footing the bill.’
‘I don’t like your tone, Mr Stanwin,’ says Evelyn.
‘And I don’t like being made a fool of, Miss Hardcastle,’ he says, practically spitting her name. ‘You forget I worked here for nearly fifteen years. I know every corner of this place, and everybody in it. Don’t mistake me for one of these blinkered bastards you’ve surrounded yourself with.’
His hatred is viscous, it has texture. I could wring it out of the air and bottle it.
‘What about the letter?’ says Evelyn quietly, her outrage overwhelmed.
‘I’ll keep hold of that, so you understand our arrangement.’
‘You’re a vile creature, are you aware of that?’
Stanwin swats the insult from the air with a belly laugh.
‘At least I’m an honest one,’ he says. ‘How many other people in this house can claim the same thing? You can go now. Don’t forget to pass along my message.’
I hear the door to Stanwin’s room open, Evelyn storming past the nursery a few moments later. I’m tempted to follow her, but there’d be little value in another confrontation. Besides, Evelyn mentioned something about a letter that’s now in Stanwin’s possession. She seemed keen to retrieve it, which means I need to see it. Who knows, perhaps Stanwin and Derby are friends.
‘Jonathan Derby’s waiting for you in the nursery,’ I hear the burly fellow tell Stanwin.
‘Good,’ says Stanwin, drawers scraping open. ‘Let me get changed for this hunt and we’ll go and have a word with the greasy little bugger.’
Or perhaps not.