We come upon the house rather unexpectedly, the trees giving way to the muddy lawn, its windows burning bright with candlelight. I must admit I’m glad to see it. Despite the shotgun, I’ve spent the entire journey glancing over my shoulder for the footman. If the codebook is as valuable as Daniel believes, I must assume our enemy is also in pursuit of it.
He’ll be coming for us soon.
Silhouettes are passing back and forth in the upper windows, hunters trudging up the steps into the golden glow of the entrance hall where caps and jackets are wrenched loose and discarded, filthy water pooling on the marble. A maid moves among us with a tray of sherry, from which Daniel plucks two glasses, handing me one.
Clinking my glass, he throws his drink down his throat as Michael arrives at our side. As with the rest of us, he looks to have crawled off the ark, his dark hair plastered to his pale face by the rain. Glancing at his watch, I discover it’s 6:07 p.m.
‘I’ve sent a couple of trustworthy servants to collect Stanwin,’ he whispers, taking a sherry from the tray. ‘I told them I stumbled on his body coming back from the hunt, and instructed them to inter him in one of the old potting sheds. Nobody will find him, and I won’t summon the police until early tomorrow morning. I’m sorry, but I won’t leave him to rot in the forest any longer than I have to.’
He clutches a half-empty glass of sherry, and though the drink has put a little colour in his cheeks, it’s not nearly enough.
The crowd in the hall is thinning out now. A couple of maids have already appeared with buckets of sudsy water and are waiting in the wings with their mops and their frowns, trying to shame us into leaving so they can get to work.
Rubbing his eyes, Michael looks at us directly for the first time.
‘I’m going to honour my father’s promise,’ he says. ‘But I don’t like it.’
‘Michael—’ says Daniel, reaching out a hand, but Michael steps away.
‘No, please,’ he says, his sense of betrayal palpable. ‘We’ll speak another day, but not now, not tonight.’
He turns his back on us, heading up the stairs towards his bedroom.
‘Never mind him,’ says Daniel. ‘He thinks I acted from greed. He doesn’t understand how important this is. The answers are in the ledger, I know it!’
He’s excited, like a boy with a new catapult.
‘We’re almost there, Dance,’ he says. ‘We’re almost free.’
‘And then what happens,’ I say. ‘Do you walk out of here? Do I? We can’t both escape, we’re the same man.’
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Presumably Aiden Bishop wakes up again, his memories intact. Hopefully he won’t remember either of us. We’re bad dreams, best forgotten.’ He checks his watch. ‘Let’s not think about that now. Anna has arranged to meet Bell in the graveyard this evening. If she’s right, the footman’s heard about it and is sure to show. She’ll need us to help capture him. That gives us about four hours to dig what we need out of this book. Why don’t you get changed, and come up to my room? We’ll do it together.’
‘I’ll be right along,’ I say.
His giddiness is a rare fillip. Tonight we’ll deal with the footman and deliver the Plague Doctor’s answer. Somewhere in the house, my other hosts are surely refining their plans to save Evelyn’s life, which means I simply need to work out how to save Anna as well. I cannot believe she’s been lying to me this whole time, and I cannot imagine leaving this place without her by my side, not after everything she’s done to help me.
Floorboards echo as I return to my room, the house grumbling under the weight of the returned. Everybody will be getting ready for dinner.
I envy them their evening, for a darker purpose lies ahead of me.
Much darker, the footman will not go quietly.
‘There you are,’ I say, glancing around to make sure nobody’s listening. ‘Is it true you’re what’s left of the original Aiden Bishop?’
Silence greets my question, and somewhere within I can feel Dance sneering at me. I can only imagine what the stiff old solicitor would say about a man talking to himself in this fashion.
Aside from the dim light of the fire, my bedroom is shrouded, the servants having forgotten to light the candles ahead of my arrival. Suspicion pricks me. I raise the shotgun to my shoulder. A gamekeeper tried to collect it when we came inside, but I brushed him off, insisting it was part of my personal collection.
Sparking the lantern beside the door, I see Anna standing in the corner of the room, arms by her sides, expression blank.
‘Anna,’ I say, surprised, lowering the shotgun. ‘What’s the—’
Wood creaks behind me, pain flares in my side. A rough hand yanks me backwards, covering my mouth. I’m spun around, bringing me face to face with the footman. There’s a smirk on his lips, his eyes scratching at my face, as though digging for something buried beneath.
Those eyes.
I try to scream, but he clamps my jaw shut.
He holds his knife up. Very slowly he runs the point down my chest, before ramming it into my stomach, the pain of each blow eclipsing the one before until pain is all there is.
I’ve never been so cold, never felt so quiet.
My legs buckle, his arms taking my weight, lowering me carefully to the floor. He keeps his eyes on mine, soaking up the life slipping out of them.
I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.
‘Run, rabbit,’ he says, his face close to mine. ‘Run.’