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.
Oblivious to my presence, two servants spill out of the house, their arms laden with wood for the braziers, oil lamps hanging from their belts. One by one they ignite the braziers, drawing a line of fire into the pitch-black evening. The last one is next to the greenhouse, the flames reflecting on the glass panels so that the entire thing seems to be ablaze.
As the wind howls and the trees drip, Blackheath flickers and changes, following the guests as they make their way from the dining hall to their bedrooms and finally into the ballroom, where the band have taken to the stage, and the evening guests await. Servants open the French doors, music exploding outwards, tumbling across the ground and into the forest.
‘Now you see them as I do,’ says the Plague Doctor, in a low voice. ‘Actors in a play, doing the same thing night after night.’
He’s standing behind me, mostly obscured by trees and bushes. In the uncertain light of the brazier, his mask appears to float in the gloom like a soul trying to tug free of its body.
‘Did you tell the footman about Anna?’ I hiss.
It’s taking every ounce of self-control I have not to leap up and throttle him.
‘I have no interest in either of them,’ he says flatly.
‘I saw you outside the gatehouse with Daniel, then again near the lake, and now Anna’s missing,’ I say. ‘Did you tell him where to find her?’
For the first time, the Plague Doctor sounds uncertain.
‘I assure you, I wasn’t at either of those locations, Mr Bishop.’
‘I saw you,’ I growl. ‘You spoke with him.’
‘It wasn’t...’ He trails off, and when he speaks again, it’s with a spark of understanding. ‘So that’s how he’s been doing it. I wondered how he knew so much.’
‘Daniel lied to me from the start, and you kept his secret.’
‘It isn’t my place to interfere. I knew you’d see through him eventually.’
‘So why warn him about Anna?’
‘Because I worried that you wouldn’t.’
The music stops sharply, and, checking my watch, I discover it’s a few minutes before eleven. Michael Hardcastle has silenced the orchestra to ask if anybody’s seen his sister. There’s movement by the side of the house, darkness stirred by darkness as Derby takes his position by the rock, following Anna’s instructions.
‘I wasn’t in that clearing, Mr Bishop, I promise you,’ says the Plague Doctor. ‘I’ll explain everything soon, but for the moment, I have my own investigation to undertake.’
He departs quickly, leaving only questions in his wake. If this were any other host, I’d run after him, but Rashton’s a subtler creature, slow to startle, quick to think. For the moment, Evelyn’s my only concern. I put the Plague Doctor out of my thoughts and creep closer to the reflecting pool. Thankfully, the leaves and twigs are so demoralised by the earlier rain they don’t have the heart to cry out beneath my feet.
Evelyn’s approaching, sobbing, looking for me in the trees. Whatever her involvement in all this, she’s clearly afraid, her entire body shaking. She must have already taken the muscle relaxant because she’s swaying slightly, as though moved by some music only she can hear.
I rustle a nearby bush to let her know I’m here, but the drug’s doing its work, she can barely see, let alone find me in the darkness. Even so, she keeps on walking, the silver pistol glinting in her right hand, and the starting pistol in her left. It’s pressed against her leg, out of sight.
She has courage, I’ll give her that.
Reaching the edge of the reflecting pool, Evelyn hesitates, and, knowing what comes next, I wonder if perhaps the silver pistol is too heavy for her now, the weight of the plan too much.
‘God help us,’ she says quietly, turning the gun towards her stomach and pulling the trigger of the starting pistol by her leg.
The shot is so loud it cracks the world, the starting pistol slipping from Evelyn’s hand into the inky blackness of the reflecting pool as the silver pistol hits the grass.
Blood spreads across her dress.
She watches it, bemused, then topples forward into the pool.
Anguish paralyses me, some combination of the gunshot and Evelyn’s expression before she fell nudging an old memory loose.
You don’t have time for this.
It’s so close. I can almost see another face, hear another plea. Another woman I failed to save, who I came to Blackheath to... what?
‘Why did I come here?’ I gasp out loud, struggling to pull the memory up from the darkness.
Save Evelyn, she’s drowning!
Blinking, I look at the reflecting pool, where Evelyn’s floating face down. Panic washes away the pain, and I scramble to my feet, leaping through the bushes and into the icy water. Her dress has spread across the surface, as heavy as a sodden sack, and the base of the reflecting pool is covered in slippery moss.
I can’t get any purchase on her.
There’s a commotion by the ballroom. Derby is fighting with Michael Hardcastle, drawing almost as much attention as the dying woman in the pool.
Fireworks explode overhead, staining everything in red and purple, yellow and orange light.
I hook my arms around Evelyn’s midriff, wrestling her out of the water and onto the grass.
Slumped in the mud, I catch my breath, checking to make sure Cunningham’s taken firm hold of Michael as I asked him to.
He has.
The plan’s working. No thanks to me. The old memory the gunshot stirred almost paralysed me. Another woman, and another death. It was the fear on Evelyn’s face. That’s what did it. I recognised that fear. It’s what brought me to Blackheath, I’m certain of it.
Doctor Dickie runs up to me. He’s flushed, panting, a fortune going up in flames behind his eyes. Evelyn told me he’d been paid to fake the death certificate. The jovial old soldier’s got quite the criminal empire up and running.
‘What happened?’ he says.