Quite how long I stare at Jonathan Derby in my bedroom mirror, it’s impossible to say. I’m looking for the man within, some hint of my real face.
I want Derby to see his executioner.
Whisky warms my throat, the bottle plundered from the drawing room and already half empty. I need it to stop my hands from shaking as I try to knot my bow tie. Doctor Dickie’s testimony confirmed what I already knew. Derby’s a monster, his crimes washed away by his mother’s money. There’s no justice waiting for this man, no trial or punishment. If he’s to pay for what he’s done, I’ll have to march him to the gallows myself, and that’s what I intend to do.
First though, we’re going to save Evelyn Hardcastle’s life.
My gaze is drawn towards Doctor Dickie’s silver pistol, lying harmless on an armchair like a fly swatted out of the air. Stealing it was a simple matter, as easy as sending a servant with an invented emergency to lure the doctor out of his room while I slipped in afterwards and took it from his nightstand. For too long I’ve allowed this day to dictate terms to me, but no longer. If somebody wishes to murder Evelyn with this pistol, they’ll have to come through me first. The Plague Doctor’s riddle be damned! I don’t trust him and I won’t stand idly by while horrors play out in front of me. It’s time Jonathan Derby finally did some good on this earth.
Slipping the pistol into my jacket pocket, I take one last mouthful of whisky and step out into the corridor, following the other guests down the staircase to dinner. Unlike their manners, their taste is impeccable. Evening gowns expose naked backs and pale skin adorned with glittering jewellery. The listlessness of earlier is gone, their charm extravagant. At last, as evening calls, they’ve come alive.
As always, I keep an eye out for some hint of the footman among these passing faces. He’s long overdue a visit, and the longer the day goes on, the more certain I become that something dreadful is coming. At least it’ll be a fair fight. Derby has very few laudable qualities, but his anger makes him a handful. I’ve barely been able to keep hold of him, so I can’t imagine what it would be like to see him flying at you, dripping hate.
Michael Hardcastle’s standing in the entrance hall with a painted-on smile, greeting those coming down the stairs, as though genuinely glad to see every last wretched one of them. I had intended on questioning him about the mysterious Felicity Maddox, and the note at the well, but it will have to wait until later. There’s an impregnable wall of taffeta and bow ties between us.
Piano music drags me through the crowds into the long gallery, where guests are mingling with drinks as servants prepare the dining hall on the other side of the doors. Taking a whisky from one of the passing trays, I keep an eye out for Millicent. I’d hoped to give Derby his goodbyes, but she’s nowhere to be seen. In fact, the only person I recognise is Sebastian Bell, who’s drifting through the entrance hall on his way to his room.
Stopping a maid, I ask after Helena Hardcastle, hoping the lady of the house might be near at hand, but she hasn’t arrived. That means she’s been missing all day. Absence has officially become disappearance. It can’t be coincidence that Lady Hardcastle is nowhere to be found on the day of her daughter’s death, though whether she’s a suspect or a victim I can’t be sure. One way or another, I’m going to find out.
My glass is empty, my head becoming foggy. I’m surrounded by laughter and conversation, friends and lovers. The good cheer is stirring Derby’s bitterness. I can feel his disgust, his loathing. He hates these people, this world. He hates himself.
Servants slip past me with silver platters, Evelyn’s last meal arriving in a procession.
Why isn’t she afraid?
I can hear her laughter from here. She’s mingling with the guests as though all her days lie ahead, yet when Ravencourt brought up the danger this morning, it was clear she knew something was amiss.
Discarding my glass, I make my way through the entrance hall and into the corridor towards Evelyn’s bedroom. If there are answers, perhaps that’s where I’ll find them.
The lamps have been lowered to dim flames. It’s quiet and oppressive, a forgotten edge of the world. I’m halfway up the passage when I notice a splash of red emerging from the shadows.
A footman’s livery.
He’s blocking the passage.
I freeze. Glancing behind me, I try to work out whether I can reach the entrance hall before he’s on me. The odds are slim. I’m not even sure my legs will listen when I tell them to move.
‘Sorry, sir,’ says a chirpy voice, the footman taking a step closer and revealing himself to be a short, wiry boy, no more than thirteen, with pimples and a nervous smile. ‘Excuse me,’ he adds after a moment, and I realise I’m in his way. Mumbling an apology, I let him pass and blow out an explosive breath.
The footman’s made me so afraid, the mere suggestion of his presence is enough to cripple even Derby, a man who’d throw a punch at the sun because it burnt him. Was that his intention? The reason he taunted Bell and Ravencourt, rather than killing them? If this continues, he’ll be able to pick off my hosts without a shred of resistance.
I’m earning the ‘rabbit’ nickname he’s given me.
Proceeding cautiously, I continue to Evelyn’s bedroom, finding it locked. Knocking brings no answer and, unwilling to leave without something to show for my efforts, I take a step backwards, intending to put my shoulder through it. That’s when I notice the door to Helena’s bedroom is in exactly the same place as the door into Ravencourt’s parlour. Poking my head into both rooms, I find the dimensions are identical. That suggests Evelyn’s bedroom was once a parlour. If that’s the case, there will be a connecting door from Helena’s room, which is useful, because the lock is still broken from this morning.
My guess is proven correct: the connecting door is hidden behind an ornate tapestry hanging on the wall. Thankfully, it’s unlocked and I’m able to slip through into Evelyn’s room.
Given her fractured relationship with her parents, I’d half expected to find her sleeping in a broom closet, but the bedroom is comfortable enough, if modest. There’s a four-poster bed at the centre, a bathtub and bowl behind a curtain on a rail. Evidently the maid hasn’t been allowed in for some time because the bath is full of cold, dirty water, towels discarded in soggy heaps on the floor, a necklace tossed carelessly on the dressing table beside a pile of scrunched-up tissues, all stained with make-up. The curtains are drawn, Evelyn’s fire piled high with logs. Four oil lamps stand in the corners of the room, pinching the gloom between their flickering light and that of the fireplace.
I’m shaking with pleasure, Derby’s excitement at this intrusion a warm blush rising through my body. I can feel my spirit trying to recoil from my host, and it’s all I can do to hold onto myself as I sift through Evelyn’s possessions, searching for anything that might drive her towards the reflecting pool later tonight. She’s a messy sort, discarded clothes stuffed wherever they happen to fit, costume jewellery heaped in the drawers, tangled up with old scarves and shawls. There’s no system, no order, no hint that she allows a maid anywhere near her things. Whatever her secrets, she’s hiding them from more than me.
I catch myself stroking a silk blouse, frowning at my own hand before realising it’s not me that wants this, it’s him.
It’s Derby.
With a cry I pull my hand back, slamming the wardrobe shut.
I can feel his yearning. He’d have me on my knees, pawing through her belongings, inhaling her scent. He’s a beast and for a second he had control.
Wiping the beads of desire from my forehead, I take a deep breath to collect myself before pushing on with the search.
I narrow my concentration to a point, keeping hold of my thoughts, allowing no gap for him to creep through. Even so, the investigation is fruitless. About the only item of interest is an old scrapbook containing curios from Evelyn’s life: old correspondence between herself and Michael, pictures from her childhood, scraps of poetry and musings from her adolescence, all combining to present a portrait of a very lonely woman who loved her brother desperately and now misses him terribly.
Closing the book, I push it back under the bed where I found it, departing the room as quietly as I came, dragging a thrashing Derby within me.