The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

‘Partially,’ I say. ‘She explained how you’d agreed to help her by running up to the reflecting pool and dragging her onto the grass, as a grieving brother naturally would. That’s when I saw how you could commit the perfect crime, and why you needed two matching revolvers. Before pulling her out of the pool, all you had to do was shoot her in the stomach using the fireworks as cover for the second shot. The murder weapon would disappear into the murky water, and the bullet would match the identical gun she’d just dropped on the grass. Murder by suicide. It was quite brilliant, really.’

‘Which is why you made her use the silver pistol instead,’ he says, understanding coming into his voice. ‘You needed me to change my plan.’

‘I had to bait the trap.’

‘Very clever,’ he says, miming applause.

‘Not clever enough,’ I say, surprised by his calmness. ‘I still don’t understand how you could go through with it. Time and again today I’ve been told how close you and Evelyn are. How much you care for her. Was that all a lie?’

Anger brings him upright in his chair.

‘I love my sister more than anything in this world,’ he says, glaring at me. ‘I would do anything for her. Why else do you think she came to me for help? Why else would I have said yes?’

His passion has thrown me. I set this plan in motion believing I knew the story Michael would be telling, but this isn’t it. I expected to hear how his mother had put him on this path while she orchestrated events elsewhere. Not for the first time, I have the unmistakable feeling of having misread the map.

‘If you love your sister, why betray her?’ I ask, confused.

‘Because her plan wasn’t going to work!’ he says, slapping his palm down on the arm of the chair. ‘We couldn’t pay the amount Dickie wanted for the fake death certificate. He agreed to assist us anyway, but yesterday Coleridge found out that Dickie was planning to sell our secret to Father later this evening. Do you see? After all this, Evelyn would have woken up in Blackheath trapped in the same life she was so desperate to escape.’

‘Did you tell her this?’

‘How could I?’ he asks miserably. ‘This plan was her one chance to be free, to be happy. How could I take that away from her?’

‘You could have killed Dickie.’

‘Coleridge said the same thing, but when? I needed him to confirm Evelyn’s death, and he intended on meeting my father directly afterwards.’ He shakes his head. ‘I made the only decision I could.’

There are two glasses of Scotch beside his chair, one halfway full and smeared with lipstick, the other unmarked, a little alcohol left at the bottom. He reaches towards the lipstick-smeared one slowly, keeping his eyes on me.

‘Mind if I have a drink?’ he asks. ‘It’s Evelyn’s. We had a toast in here before the ball began. Best of luck and all that.’

There’s a catch in his throat. Any other host might think him repentant, but Rashton can spot fear a mile away.

‘Of course.’

He picks it up gratefully, and takes a stiff slug. If nothing else, it serves to steady his trembling hands.

‘I know my sister, Inspector,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘She’s always hated being forced into things, even when we were children. She couldn’t bear the humiliation of a life with Ravencourt, knowing people were laughing behind her back. Look at what she was willing to do to avoid it. Slowly but surely that marriage would have destroyed her. I wanted to spare her that suffering.’

His cheeks are flushed, his green eyes glazed. They’re filled with such a sweet, sincere sorrow that I almost believe him.

‘And I suppose the money had nothing to do with it?’ I say flatly.

A scowl mars his sadness.

‘Evelyn told me that your parents threatened to cut you from the will if she didn’t do as they asked,’ I say. ‘You were leverage, and it worked. That threat was the reason she obeyed their summons in the first place, but who knows if she’d have done the same thing again knowing her escape plan was gone? With Evelyn dead, that uncertainty is laid to rest.’

‘Look around you, Inspector,’ he says, gesturing around the room with his glass. ‘Do you really think any of this is worth killing for?’

‘Now your father can’t squander the family fortune, I imagine your prospects have improved immeasurably.’

‘Squandering the fortune is all my father’s good for,’ he snorts, finishing his drink.

‘Is that why you killed him?’

His scowl deepens. He’s tight-lipped, pale.

‘I found his body, Michael. I know you poisoned him, probably when you went to fetch him for the hunt. You left a note blaming Evelyn. The boot print outside the window was particularly devious.’ His expression flickers uncertainly. ‘Or was that somebody else?’ I say slowly. ‘Felicity, perhaps? I’ll admit, I still haven’t untangled that knot. Or was it your mother’s? Where is she, Michael? Or did you kill her, as well?’

His eyes widen as his face crumples in shock, his glass slipping from his hand onto the floor.

‘You deny it?’ I ask, suddenly uncertain.

‘No... I... I...’

‘Where’s your mother, Michael? Did she put you up to this?’