Darkness presses up against my bedroom window, its cold breath leaving frost on the glass. The fire hisses in response, the swaying flames my only light. Steps hurry down the corridor beyond my closed door, a jumble of voices on their way to the ball. Somewhere in the distance I hear the tremble of a violin coming awake.
Stretching my feet towards the fire, I wait for silence. Evelyn asked me to attend both dinner and the party, but I can’t mingle with these people, knowing who I am and what it is they really want from me. I’m tired of this house, their games. I’m going to meet Anna at 10:20 p.m. in the graveyard, and then I’ll have a stable hand take us to the village, away from this madness.
My gaze returns to the chess piece I found in the trunk. I’m holding it up to the light in the hopes of worrying loose some further memories. Thus far it’s kept quiet and there’s little about the piece itself to illuminate my memory. It’s a bishop, hand-carved and freckled with white paint; a far cry from the expensive ivory sets I’ve seen around the house, and yet... it means something to me. Regardless of any memory there’s a feeling associated with it, a sense of comfort almost. Holding it brings me courage.
There’s a knock on the door, my hand tightening around the chess piece as I start from the chair. The closer I come to the meeting in the graveyard the more highly strung I’ve become, practically leaping out of the window every time the fire pops in the grate.
‘Belly, you in there?’ asks Michael Hardcastle.
He knocks again. It’s insistent. A polite battering ram.
Placing the chess piece on the mantel above the fireplace, I open the door. The hall’s awash with people in costume, Michael wearing a bright orange suit and fiddling with the straps of a giant sun mask.
‘There you are,’ he says, frowning at me. ‘Why aren’t you dressed yet?’
‘I’m not coming,’ I say. ‘It’s been...’
A wave towards my head, but my sign language is too vague for him.
‘Are you feeling faint?’ he asks. ‘Should I call Dickie? I just saw him—’
I have to catch Michael’s arm to prevent him from flying off down the corridor in search of the doctor.
‘I simply don’t feel up to it,’ I say.
‘Are you sure? There are going to be fireworks and I’m certain my parents have been cooking up a surprise all day. Seems a shame to—’
‘Honestly, I’d rather not.’
‘If you’re certain,’ he says reluctantly, his voice as crestfallen as his face. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had such a wretched day, Belly. Here’s hoping tomorrow will be better, with fewer misunderstandings, at least.’
‘Misunderstandings?’ I say.
‘The murdered girl?’ He smiles in confusion. ‘Daniel told me it was all a big mistake. I felt a right bloody fool calling off the search halfway through. No harm done, though.’
Daniel? How could he possibly have known Anna was alive?
‘It was a mistake, wasn’t it?’ he asks, noting my bafflement.
‘Of course,’ I say brightly. ‘Yes... terrible mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you with it.’
‘Not to worry,’ he says slightly dubiously. ‘Think no more about it.’
His words are stretched thin, like overburdened elastic. I can hear his doubt, not only in the story, but in the man standing before him. After all, I’m not the person he knew and I think he’s coming to realise that I no longer wish to be. This morning I’d have done almost anything to repair the fracture between us, but Sebastian Bell was a drug peddler and a coward, the consort of vipers. Michael was a friend of that man, so how could he ever be a friend of mine?
‘Well, I’d best be off,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘Feel better, old man.’
Rapping the doorframe with his knuckle, he turns away, following the rest of the guests on their way to the party.
I watch him go, digesting the news. I’d quite forgotten about Anna’s flight through the woods this morning, our imminent meeting in the graveyard sapping much of the horror from my first memory. And yet, something momentous clearly happened, even if Daniel has been telling people it didn’t. I’m certain of what I witnessed, the gunshot and the fear. Anna was chased by a figure in black, whom I must now assume to have been the footman. Somehow she survived, as did I after my assault last night. Is that what she wants to talk about? Our mutual enemy, and why he wants us dead? Perhaps he’s after the drugs? They’re clearly valuable. Maybe Anna’s my partner and she removed them from the trunk to keep them out of his hands? That would, at least, explain the presence of the chess piece. Maybe it’s some sort of calling card?
After taking my coat from the wardrobe, I wrap myself in a long scarf and slip my hands into a thick pair of gloves, pocketing the paperknife and chess piece on the way out. I’m rewarded by a crisp, cold night. As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I breathe in the fresh air, still damp with the storm, and follow the gravel path around the house towards the graveyard.
My shoulders are tense, my stomach unsettled.
I’m frightened of this forest, but I’m more frightened by this meeting.
When I first awoke I wanted nothing more than to rediscover myself, but last night’s misadventure now seems a blessing. Injury has given me the chance to start again, but what if meeting Anna brings all my old memories flooding back? Can this higgledy-piggledy personality I’ve cobbled together over the course of the day survive such a deluge, or will it be washed away entirely?
Will I be washed away?
The thought is almost enough to turn me around by the shoulders, but I cannot confront the person I was by running from the life he built. Better to make a stand here, confident of whom I wish to become.
Gritting my teeth, I follow the path through the trees, coming upon a small gardener’s cottage, the windows dark. Evelyn’s leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, a lantern burning by her feet. She’s wearing a long beige coat and wellington boots, an outfit somewhat at odds with the blue evening dress beneath it and the diamond tiara sparkling in her hair. She’s really quite beautiful, though she carries it awkwardly.
She notices me noticing.
‘I didn’t have time to change after dinner,’ she says defensively, tossing her cigarette away.
‘What are you doing here, Evie?’ I ask. ‘You’re supposed to be at the ball.’
‘I slipped away. You didn’t think I’d miss all the fun?’ she says, grinding the cigarette beneath her heel.
‘It’s dangerous.’
‘Then it would be foolish for you to go alone, besides I brought some help.’
From her handbag, she pulls out a black revolver.
‘Where on earth did you find that?’ I ask, feeling shocked and slightly guilty. The idea that my problem has put a weapon in Evelyn’s hand seems like a betrayal somehow. She should be warm and safe in Blackheath, not out here in harm’s way.
‘It’s my mother’s, so the better question might be where she found it.’
‘Evie, you can’t—’
‘Sebastian, you’re my only friend in this dreadful place and I’m not going to let you stroll into a graveyard alone, without knowing what’s waiting for you. Somebody’s already tried to kill you once. I have no intention of letting them try again.’
A lump of gratitude lodges itself in my throat.
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s either this or I stay in that house with everybody’s eyes upon me,’ she says, lifting the lantern into the air. ‘I should be thanking you. Now, shall we go? There’ll be hell to pay if I’m not back for the speeches.’
Darkness weighs heavy on the graveyard, the iron fence buckled, trees bent low over crooked gravestones. Thick piles of rotting leaves smother the plots, the tombs cracked and crumbling, taking the names of the dead with them. ‘I spoke with Madeline about the note you received last night,’ says Evelyn, pushing open the squeaking gate and leading us inside. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Of course, I don’t,’ I say, looking around nervously. ‘It slipped my mind, truth be told. What did she say?’
‘Only that the note was given to her by Mrs Drudge, the cook. I spoke to her separately, and she told me it had been left in the kitchen, though she couldn’t say by whom. There was too much coming and going.’
‘And did Madeline read it?’ I ask.
‘Of course,’ says Evelyn, wryly. ‘She didn’t even blush when she admitted to it. The message was very brief, it asked you to come immediately to the usual spot.’
‘That was all? No signature?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’m sorry Sebastian, I’d hoped to have better news.’
We’ve reached the mausoleum at the far end of the graveyard, a large marble box watched over by two broken angels. A lantern hangs from one of their beckoning hands and though it flickers in the gloom, there’s nothing of note to illuminate. The graveyard’s empty.
‘Perhaps Anna’s running a little late,’ says Evelyn.
‘Then who left the lantern burning?’ I ask.
My heart is racing, damp seeping up my trousers as I wade through ankle-deep leaves. Evelyn’s watch assures us of the time, but Anna’s nowhere to be seen. There’s just that damnable lantern, squeaking as it sways in the breeze, and for fifteen minutes or more, we stand stiff beneath it, the light draping our shoulders, our eyes searching for Anna and finding her everywhere: in the shifting shadows and stirring leaves, the low-hanging branches disturbed by the breeze. Time and again one of us taps the other on the shoulder, drawing their attention to a sudden sound or startled animal darting through the underbrush.
As the hour grows later, it’s difficult to keep one’s thoughts from venturing to more frightening places. Doctor Dickie believed the wounds on my arms were defensive in nature, as though I’d been fending off an assault with a knife. What if Anna isn’t an ally, but an enemy? Perhaps that’s why her name was fixed in my mind? For all I know, she penned the note I received at the dinner table, and has now lured me out here to finish the job started yesterday evening.
These thoughts spread like cracks through my already brittle courage, fear pouring into the hollowness behind. Only Evelyn’s presence keeps me upright, her own courage pinning me in place.
‘I don’t think she’s coming,’ says Evelyn.
‘No, I rather think not,’ I say, speaking quietly to mask my relief. ‘Perhaps we should head back.’
‘I think so,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry, dear heart.’
With an unsteady hand, I take the lantern down from the angel’s arm, and follow Evelyn towards the gate. We’ve only taken a couple of steps when Evelyn clutches my arm, lowering her flame towards the ground. Light splashes the leaves, revealing blood splattered across their surface. Kneeling down, I rub the sticky substance between my thumb and forefinger.
‘Here,’ says Evelyn quietly.
She’s followed the drips to a nearby tombstone, where something glitters beneath the leaves. Sweeping them aside, I find the compass that led me out of the forest this morning. It’s bloodstained and shattered, yet still unwavering in its devotion to north.
‘Is that the compass the killer gave you?’ says Evelyn, her voice hushed.
‘It is,’ I say, weighing it in my palm. ‘Daniel Coleridge took it from me this morning.’
‘And then it appears somebody took it from him.’
Whatever danger Anna intended to warn me about, it seems to have found her first and Daniel Coleridge was involved somehow.
Evelyn lays a hand on my shoulder as she squints warily into the darkness beyond the glow of the lantern.
‘I think it’s best we get you out of Blackheath,’ she says. ‘Go to your room and I’ll send a carriage to fetch you.’
‘I have to find Daniel,’ I protest weakly. ‘And Anna.’
‘Something awful is happening here,’ she hisses. ‘The slashes on your arm, the drugs, Anna and now this compass. These are pieces in a game neither of us knows how to play. You must leave, for me, Sebastian. Let the police deal with all of this.’
I nod. I’ve not the will to fight. Anna was the only reason I stayed in the first place, the shreds of my courage convincing me there was some honour to be found in obeying a request delivered so cryptically. Without that obligation, the ties binding me to this place have been severed.
We return to Blackheath in silence, Evelyn leading the way, her revolver poking at the darkness. I trail behind quietly, little more than a dog at her heel, and before I know it I’m saying goodbye to my friend and opening the door into my bedroom.
All is not how I left it.
There’s a box sitting on my bed, wrapped in a red ribbon that comes loose with a single tug. Sliding away the lid, my stomach flips, bile rushing into my throat. Stuffed inside is a dead rabbit with a carving knife stabbed through its body. Blood has congealed at the bottom, staining its fur and almost obscuring the note pinned to its ear.
From your friend,
The footman.
Black swims up into my eyes.
A second later I faint.