Life pounds on my eyelids.
I blink, once, twice, but it hurts to keep them open. My head’s a shattered egg. A noise escapes my throat. It’s somewhere between a groan and a whimper, the low animal gurgle of a creature caught in a trap. I try to heave myself up, but the pain’s an ocean, lapping around my skull. I don’t have the strength to lift it.
Time passes; I can’t say how much. It isn’t that sort of time. I watch my stomach rise and fall, and when I’m confident it can do so without my help, I drag myself into a sitting position, resting against the crumbling wall. Much to my dismay I’m back in Jonathan Derby, lying on the floor in the nursery. Pieces of a broken vase are everywhere, including my scalp. Somebody must have hit me from behind when I left Stanwin’s bedroom, and then dragged me here out of sight.
The letter, you fool.
My hand leaps to my pocket, searching for Felicity’s letter and the ledger I stole from Stanwin, but they’re gone, along with the key to Bell’s trunk. All that remains are the two headache pills given to me by Anna, which are still wrapped in the blue handkerchief.
She’s going to betray you.
Could this be her doing? The Plague Doctor’s warning couldn’t have been any clearer, and yet surely an enemy wouldn’t provoke such feelings of warmth, or kinship? Perhaps Anna does remember more from our last loop than she admits, but if that information was destined to make us enemies, why would I drag her name from one life into the next, knowing I would chase it like a dog after a burning stick? No, if there’s betrayal afoot, it’s a result of the empty promises I’ve made, and that’s rectifiable. I need to find the right way of telling Anna the truth.
Swallowing the tablets dry, I claw my way up the wall, staggering back into Stanwin’s room.
The bodyguard’s still unconscious on the bed, the light fading beyond the window. I check my watch to find it’s 6p.m., which means the hunters, including Stanwin, are probably already on their way home. For all I know, they’re crossing the lawn or ascending the stairs even now.
I need to leave before the blackmailer comes back.
Even with the tablets, I’m woozy, the world slipping beneath me as I crash through the east wing before pushing aside the curtain to arrive on the landing above the entrance hall. Each step is a battle until I fall through Doctor Dickie’s door, nearly vomiting on his floor. His bedroom’s identical to all the others on this corridor, with a four-poster bed against one wall and a bath and sink behind a screen opposite. Unlike Bell, Dickie’s made himself at home. Pictures of his grandchildren are dotted about the place, a crucifix hanging from one of the walls. He’s even laid a small rug down, presumably to keep his feet off the cold wood in the mornings.
This familiarity with oneself is a miracle to me, and I find myself gaping at Dickie’s possessions, my wounds momentarily forgotten. Picking up the picture of his grandchildren, I wonder for the first time if I too have a family waiting beyond Blackheath: parents or children, friends who miss me?
Startled by footsteps passing in the corridor, I drop the family picture on the bedside table, accidentally cracking the glass. The steps pass without incident, but awakened to the peril I move more quickly.
Dickie’s medical bag is nestled beneath his bed and I upend it over his mattress, spilling bottles, scissors, syringes and bandages onto the covers. The last thing out is a King James Bible, which bounces onto the floor, the pages falling open. Just like the one in Sebastian Bell’s bedroom, certain words and paragraphs are underlined in red ink.
It’s a code.
A wolf’s smile spreads across Derby’s face, recognition of another crook. If I had to guess, I’d say Dickie’s a silent partner in Bell’s drug-peddling business. No wonder he was so concerned for the good doctor’s welfare. He was worried about what he’d say.
I snort. It’s another secret in a house full of them, and it’s not the one I’m after today.
Gathering the bandages and iodine from the pile on the bed, I take them over to the sink and begin my surgery.
It’s not a delicate operation.
Every time I pluck one piece loose, blood wells up between my fingers, running down my face and dripping off my chin into the sink. Tears of pain cloud my vision, the world a stinging blur for nearly thirty minutes while I pick apart my porcelain crown. My only consolation is that this must be hurting Jonathan Derby almost as much as it’s hurting me.
When I’m certain every shard has been removed, I set to work wrapping my head in bandages, securing them with a safety pin and inspecting my work in the mirror.
The bandages look fine. I look terrible.
My face is pale, my eyes hollow. Blood has stained my shirt, forcing me to strip down to my vest. I’m a man undone, coming apart at the seams. I can feel myself unravelling.
‘What the devil!’ cries Doctor Dickie from the door.
He’s fresh from the hunt, dripping wet and shivering, grey as the ashes in the grate. Even his moustache is sagging.
I follow his disbelieving gaze around the room, seeing the devastation through his eyes. The picture of his grandchildren is cracked and smeared with blood, his Bible discarded, his medical bag tossed on the floor, its contents scattered across the bed. Bloody water fills the sink, my shirt in his bathtub. His surgery can’t look much worse after an amputation.
Catching sight of me in my vest, the bandage trailing loose from my forehead, the shock on his face turns to anger.
‘What have you done, Jonathan?’ he demands, his voice swelling with rage.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go,’ I say, panicked. ‘After you left, I searched Stanwin’s room for something to help Mother and I found a ledger.’
‘A ledger?’ he says in a strangled voice. ‘You took something from him? You must put it back. Now, Jonathan!’ he yells, sensing my hesitation.
‘I can’t, I was attacked. Somebody smashed a vase across my head and stole it. I was bleeding and the bodyguard was going to wake up, so I came here.’
A dreadful silence swallows the end of the story as Doctor Dickie stands the picture of his grandchildren upright and slowly gathers everything back into his medical bag, sliding it back under the bed.
He moves as though manacled, dragging my secrets behind him.
‘It’s my fault,’ he mutters. ‘I knew you weren’t to be trusted, but my affection for your mother...’
He shakes his head, pushing by me to collect my shirt from the bathtub. There’s a resignation to his actions that frightens me.
‘I didn’t mean to—’ I begin.
‘You used me to steal from Ted Stanwin,’ he says quietly, gripping the edges of the counter. ‘A man who can ruin me with a snap of his fingers.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
He turns suddenly, his anger thick.
‘You’ve made that word cheap, Jonathan! You said it after we covered up that business in Enderleigh House, and again at Little Hampton. Remember? Now you’d have me swallow this hollow apology as well.’
He presses my shirt against my chest, his cheeks flushed red. Tears stand in his eyes. ‘How many women have you forced yourself upon? Do you even remember? How many times have you wept at your mother’s breast, begging her to fix it, promising never to do it again and knowing full well that you would? And now here you are again, doing the same to me, bloody, stupid Doctor Dickie. Well, I’m done, I can’t stomach it any more. You’ve been a blight on this world ever since I brought you into it.’
I take an imploring step towards him, but he pulls a silver pistol from his pocket, letting it dangle by his side. He’s not even looking at me.
‘Get out, Jonathan, or by God, I’ll shoot you myself.’
Keeping one eye on the pistol, I back out of the room, closing the door as I step into the corridor.
My heart’s thumping.
Doctor Dickie’s gun is the very same one Evelyn will use to take her life tonight. He’s holding the murder weapon.