The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

‘Miss Hardcastle,’ I call out, crossing the room.

Dismissing the bandleader with a friendly smile and a squeeze of the arm, she turns towards me.

‘Evelyn, please,’ she says, holding out her hand. ‘And you are?’

‘Jim Rashton.’

‘Ah, yes, the policeman,’ she says, her smile vanishing. ‘Is everything well? You look a little flushed.’

‘I’m not used to the hustle and bustle of polite society,’ I say.

I shake her hand lightly, surprised by how cold it is.

‘How can I help you, Mr Rashton?’ she asks.

Her voice is distant, almost annoyed. I feel like a squashed insect she’s discovered on the bottom of her shoe.

As with Ravencourt, I’m struck by the disdain with which Evelyn armours herself. Of all Blackheath’s tricks, being exposed to every unpleasant side of a person you once considered a friend is surely the cruellest.

The thought brings me pause.

Evelyn was kind to Bell, and the memory of that kindness has driven me ever since, but the Plague Doctor said he’d experimented with different combinations of hosts over many different loops. If Ravencourt had been my first host, as he surely was at some point, I’d have known nothing of Evelyn beyond her contempt. Derby drew only anger, and I doubt she’d have spared any kindness for servants like the butler, or Gold. That means there were loops where I watched this woman die and felt almost nothing about it, my only concern being to solve her murder, rather than desperately trying to prevent it.

I almost envy them.

‘May I speak with you’ – I glance at Madeline – ‘privately?’

‘I really am awfully busy,’ she says. ‘What’s this about?’

‘I’d prefer to speak privately.’

‘And I’d prefer to finish getting this ballroom ready before fifty people arrive and find there’s nowhere for them to dance,’ she says, sharply. ‘You can imagine which preference I’m giving greater weight to.’

Madeline smirks, and pins another lock of Evelyn’s loose hair into place.

‘Very well,’ I say, producing the vial of blood I found in the cotton sack. ‘Let’s talk about this.’

I might as well have slapped her, but the shock slides off her face so quickly, I have trouble believing it was ever there.

‘We’ll finish this later, Maddie,’ says Evelyn, fixing me with a cool, level stare. ‘Go down to the kitchen and get yourself some food.’

Madeline’s gaze is equally mistrusting, but she drops the pins into her apron pocket before curtsying and leaving the room.

Taking me by the arm, Evelyn leads me towards the corner of the ballroom, far from the ears of the servants.

‘Is it your habit to root through people’s personal possessions, Mr Rashton?’ she asks, taking a cigarette from her case.

‘Lately, yes,’ I say.

‘Maybe you need a hobby.’

‘I have a hobby, I’m trying to save your life.’

‘My life doesn’t need saving,’ she says coolly. ‘Perhaps you should try gardening instead.’

‘Or perhaps I should fake a suicide so I don’t have to marry Lord Ravencourt?’ I say, pausing to enjoy the collapse of her supercilious expression. ‘That seems to be keeping you busy lately. It’s very clever; unfortunately, somebody’s going to use that fake suicide to murder you, which is a great deal cleverer.’

Her mouth hangs open, her blue eyes sick with surprise.

Averting her glance, she tries to light the cigarette held between her fingers, but her hand is trembling. I take the match from her and light it myself, the flame singeing my fingertips.

‘Who put you up to this?’ she hisses.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘My plan,’ she says, snatching the vial of blood from my hand. ‘Who told you about it?’

‘Why, who else is involved?’ I ask. ‘I know you invited somebody called Felicity to the house, but I don’t know who that is yet.’

‘She’s...’ She shakes her head. ‘Nothing, I shouldn’t even be talking to you.’

She turns for the door, but I catch her by the wrist, pulling her back rather more forcefully than I’d intended. Anger flashes on her face and I immediately release her, raising my hands.

‘Ted Stanwin told me everything,’ I say desperately, trying to keep her from storming out of the room.

I need a plausible explanation for the things I know, and Derby overheard Stanwin and Evelyn arguing this morning. If I’m very lucky, the blackmailer has a hand in all of this. It’s not much of a stretch. He has a hand in everything else that’s happening today.

Evelyn’s still, watchful, like a deer in the woods that’s just heard a branch snap.

‘He said you were planning to kill yourself by the reflecting pool this evening, but that made no sense,’ I press on, trusting to Stanwin’s formidable reputation to sell the story. ‘Forgive me for being blunt, Miss Hardcastle, but if you were serious about ending your life, you’d already be dead, not playing the dutiful hostess to people you despise. My second idea was that you wanted everybody to see it happen, but then why not do it in the ballroom, during the party? I couldn’t make sense of it until I stood on the edge of the reflecting pool and realised how dark it was, how easily it could conceal something dropped into it.’

Scorn glitters in her eyes.