‘Have to do I suppose,’ she says, taking it from me and unscrewing the cap.
‘I thought it was too dangerous for us to meet outside of the gatehouse.’
‘Who told you that?’ she asks, wincing as she tastes the flask’s contents.
‘You did,’ I say.
‘Will.’
‘What?’
‘I will tell you it isn’t safe for us to meet, but I haven’t yet,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t have, I’ve only been awake a few hours, and I’ve spent most of that time keeping the footman from making pincushions out of your future hosts. Missed breakfast doing it, too.’
I blink at her, struggling to stitch together a day being delivered in the wrong order. Not for the first time, I find myself wishing for the speed of Ravencourt’s mind. Working within the confines of Jonathan Derby’s intellect is like stirring croutons into a thick soup.
Seeing my confusion, she frowns.
‘Do you know about the footman yet? I never know where we’re up to.’
I very quickly tell her about Bell’s dead rabbit and the ghostly steps that dogged Ravencourt in the dining hall, her expression darkening with each fresh detail.
‘That bastard,’ she splutters, when I’m finished. She’s prowling back and forth, her hands clenched and shoulders rolled forwards. ‘Wait until I get my hands on him,’ she says, shooting the house a murderous glance.
‘You won’t have to wait long,’ I say. ‘Daniel thinks he’s hiding in some tunnels. There’s a few entrances, but we’re going to guard the library. He wants us in there before one.’
‘Or we could slit our own throats and save the footman the bother of killing us,’ she says, her tone frank and unimpressed. She’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘The footman’s not an idiot,’ she says. ‘If we know where he is, it’s because we’re supposed to know. He’s been one step ahead of us since this started. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he’s lying in wait, hoping to trip us up on our own cleverness.’
‘We have to do something!’ I protest.
‘We will, but what’s the point of doing something stupid when we can do something smart,’ she says patiently. ‘Listen to me, Aiden, I know you’re desperate, but we’ve got a deal, you and me. I keep you alive so you can find Evelyn’s killer, and then we both get out of here. This is me, doing my job. Now promise me, you won’t go after the footman.’
Her argument makes sense, but it’s weightless against my fear. If there’s a chance to put an end to this madman before he finds me, I’m going to take it, no matter the risk. I’d rather die on my feet than cowering in a corner.
‘I promise,’ I say, adding another lie to the pile.
Thankfully, Anna’s too cold to notice the catch in my voice. Despite having drunk from the hip flask, she’s shivering so hard all the colour has abandoned her face. In an attempt to shelter from the wind, she presses against me. I can smell the soap on her skin, forcing me to avert my gaze. I don’t want her to see Derby’s lust squirming within me.
Sensing my discomfort, she tilts her head to meet my downcast face.
‘Your other hosts are better, I promise,’ she says. ‘You have to keep hold of yourself. Don’t give in to him.’
‘How do I do that when I don’t know where they start and I begin?’
‘If you weren’t here, Derby would have his hands all over me,’ she says. ‘That’s how you know who you are. You don’t just remember it, you do it, and you keep doing it.’
Even so, she takes a step back into the wind, freeing me from my discomfort.
‘You shouldn’t be out in this weather,’ I say, removing my scarf and wrapping it around her neck. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
‘And if you keep this up, people might begin mistaking Jonathan Derby for a human being,’ she says, tucking the loose ends of the scarf into her coat.
‘Tell Evelyn Hardcastle that,’ I say. ‘She nearly shot me this morning.’
‘You should have shot her back,’ says Anna matter-of-factly. ‘We could have solved her murder then and there.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,’ I say.
‘Of course I am,’ she says, blowing into her chapped hands. ‘If it were that simple, we’d have been out of here ages ago. Mind you, I’m not sure trying to save her life is a much better plan.’
‘You think I should let her die?’
‘I think we’re spending a lot of time not doing the thing we’ve been asked to do.’
‘We can’t protect Evelyn without knowing who wants her dead,’ I say. ‘One thing will give us the other.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ she says dubiously.
I search for some encouraging platitude, but her doubts have crawled under my skin, and they’re beginning to itch. I told her that saving Evelyn’s life would deliver us the murderer, but that was an evasion. There’s no plan here. I don’t even know if I can save Evelyn any more. I’m working at the behest of blind sentiment, and losing ground to the footman as I’m doing it. Anna deserves better, but I have no idea how to give it to her without abandoning Evelyn – and for some reason the thought of doing that is unbearable to me.
There’s a commotion on the path, voices carried through the trees by the wind. Taking my arm, Anna pulls me further into the forest.
‘As fun as this has been, I came to ask for a favour.’
‘Always, what can I do?’
‘What’s the time?’ she says, pulling the artist’s sketchbook from her pocket. It’s the same one I saw her holding in the gatehouse, crumpled sheets and a cover riddled with holes. She’s holding it up so I can’t see inside, but, judging by the way she’s flicking through the pages, it says something important.
I check my watch. ‘It’s 10:08 a.m.,’ I say, itching with curiosity. ‘What’s in the book?’
‘Notes, information; everything I’ve managed to learn about your eight hosts and what they’re doing,’ she says absently, running her finger down one of the pages. ‘And don’t ask to see it because you can’t. We can’t risk you pulling the day down around our ears with what you know.’