The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

‘And what is it you want, Mr Rashton? Money?’

‘I’m trying to help you,’ I insist. ‘I know you intend to go to the reflecting pool at 11 p.m., press a black revolver to your stomach and collapse into the pool. I know you won’t actually pull the trigger of the black revolver and a starter’s pistol will make the sound of the gunshot everybody hears, just as I know you plan to drop the starter’s pistol into the water when you’re done. The vial of blood will be hung from a long cord around your neck and will crack open when you hit it with the revolver, providing the gore.

‘I’m guessing the syringe I found in the sack is filled with some combination of muscle relaxant and sedative to help you play dead, making it easy for Doctor Dickie – who I assume is being paid handsomely for his trouble – to make it official on the death certificate, forgoing the need for an unpleasant inquest. One would imagine that a week or so after your death, you’ll be back in France enjoying a nice glass of white wine.’

A couple of maids are carrying slopping buckets of dirty water towards the doors, their gossip coming to an abrupt halt as they notice us. They pass by with uncertain dips, Evelyn steering me further into the corner.

For the first time, I see fear on her face.

‘I admit I didn’t want to marry Ravencourt and I knew I couldn’t keep my family from forcing me into it unless I disappeared, but why would anybody want to kill me?’ she asks, the cigarette still trembling in her hand.

I study her face for a lie, but I might as well be turning a microscope on a patch of fog. This woman has been lying to everybody for days. I wouldn’t recognise the truth even if it did manage to escape her lips.

‘I have certain suspicions but I need proof,’ I say. ‘That’s why I need you to go through with your plan.’

‘Go through with it, are you mad?’ she exclaims, lowering her voice as all eyes turn towards us. ‘Why would I go through with it after what you’ve just told me?’

‘Because you won’t be safe until we draw the conspirators out and for that they need to believe their plan has succeeded.’

‘I’ll be safe when I’m a hundred miles from here.’

‘And how will you get there?’ I ask. ‘What happens if the carriage driver is part of the plot, or a servant? Whispers carry in this house and when the murderers get word you’re trying to leave, they’ll push forward with their plan and kill you. Believe me, running will only delay the inevitable. I can put a stop to it here and now, but only if you go along with it all. Point a gun at your stomach and play dead for half an hour. Who knows, you may even get to stay dead and escape Ravencourt as you planned.’

She has her hand pressed to her forehead, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. When she speaks again, it’s in a quieter voice, somehow emptier.

‘I’m caught between the devil and the deep-blue sea, aren’t I?’ she says. ‘Very well, I’ll go through with it, but there’s something I need to know first. Why are you helping me, Mr Rashton?’

‘I’m a policeman.’

‘Yes, but you’re not a saint and only a saint would put themselves in the middle of all this.’

‘Then consider it a favour to Sebastian Bell,’ I say.

Surprise softens her expression. ‘Bell? What on earth has the dear doctor got to do with this?’

‘I don’t know yet, but he was attacked last night and I doubt it’s a coincidence.’

‘Perhaps, but why is that your concern?’

‘He wants to be a better person,’ I say. ‘That’s a rare thing in this house. I admire it.’

‘As do I,’ she says, pausing to weigh up the man in front of her. ‘Very well, tell me your plan, but first I want your word that I’ll be safe. I’m putting my life in your hands, and that’s not something I submit to without guarantee.’

‘How do you know my word is worth anything?’

‘I’ve been around dishonourable men my entire life,’ she says simply. ‘You’re not one of them. Now, give me your word.’

‘You have it.’

‘And a drink,’ she continues. ‘I’m going to need a little courage to see this through.’

‘More than a little,’ I say. ‘I want you to befriend Jonathan Derby. He has a silver pistol we’ll be needing.’

51

Dinner’s being served, the guests taking their seats at the table, as I crouch in the bushes near the reflecting pool. It’s early, but my plan depends on being the first person to reach Evelyn when she emerges from the house. I can’t risk the past tripping me up.

Rain drips from the leaves, icy cold on my skin.

The wind stirs, my legs cramping.

Shifting my weight, I realise I haven’t eaten or taken a drink all day, which isn’t ideal preparation for the evening ahead. I’m light-headed and without anything to distract me I can feel every one of my hosts pressed up against the inside of my skull. Their memories crowd the edges of my mind, the weight of them almost too much to bear. I want everything they want. I feel their aches and am made timid by their fears. I’m no longer a man, I’m a chorus.