Dearest Evelyn,
Mr Stanwin has informed me of your plight, and I can quite understand your concern. Your mother’s behaviour is certainly alarming, and you’re quite right to be on guard against whatever scheme she’s cooking up. I stand ready to help, but I’m afraid Mr Stanwin’s word will not be enough. I require some proof of your agency in these matters. In the society pages, I’ve often seen you wearing a signet ring, a small castle engraved on its surface. Send me this, and I’ll know of your serious intent.
Warmest regards,
Felicity Maddox
Looks like clever old Evelyn didn’t accept her fate as easily as I first believed. She brought in somebody called Felicity Maddox to help, and the description of the small castle recalls the one drawn on the note at the well. It may be serving as a signature, which suggests the message to ‘stay away from Millicent Derby’ was from Felicity.
The bodyguard snores.
Unable to wring any further information from the letter, I replace it in the ledger and slip both in my pocket.
‘Thank heavens for devious minds,’ I mutter, stepping through the door.
‘You said it,’ says somebody behind me.
Pain explodes in my head as I slam into the floor.
27
Day Two (continued)
I’m coughing blood, red drops spattering my pillow. I’m back in the butler, my aching body screaming as my head jerks upwards. The Plague Doctor’s sitting in Anna’s chair, one leg thrown across the other, his top hat in his lap. He’s drumming it with his fingers, coming to a stop when he notices me stirring.
‘Welcome back, Mr Bishop,’ he says, his voice muffled by the mask.
I stare at him absently, my coughing subsiding as I begin to piece together the pattern of this day. The first time I found myself in this body, it was morning. I answered the door to Bell and was attacked by Gold after running up the stairs for answers. The second time wasn’t more than fifteen minutes later. I was transported to the gatehouse in the carriage with Anna. Must have been midday when I woke up and we were properly introduced, but, judging by the light outside the window, it’s now early afternoon. It makes sense. Anna told me we get a full day in each of our hosts, but it never occurred to me that I’d experience one in so many fragments.
It feels like a perverse joke.
I was promised eight hosts to solve this mystery, and I’ve been given them, except that Bell was a coward, the butler was beaten half to death, Donald Davies fled, Ravencourt could barely move, and Derby can’t hold a thought.
It’s like I’ve been asked to dig a hole with a shovel made of sparrows.
Shifting in his seat, the Plague Doctor leans closer to me. His clothes are musty, that old attic smell of something long forgotten and badly aired.
‘Our last conversation was rather abrupt,’ he says. ‘So I thought you might report on your progress. Have you discovered—’
‘Why did it have to be this body?’ I interrupt, wincing as a hot streak of pain shoots up through my side. ‘Why trap me in any of these bodies? Ravencourt couldn’t walk two steps without tiring, the butler’s incapacitated and Derby’s a monster. If you really want me to escape Blackheath, why stack the deck against me? There must be better alternatives.’
‘More able perhaps, but these men all have some connection to Evelyn’s murder,’ he says. ‘Making them best placed to help you solve it.’
‘They’re suspects?’
‘Witnesses would be a more apt description.’
A yawn shakes me, my energy already evaporating. Doctor Dickie must have given me another sedative. I feel as though I’m being squeezed out of this body through the feet.
‘And who decides the order?’ I say. ‘Why did I wake up as Bell first and Derby today? Is there any way for me to predict who I’ll be next?’
Leaning back, he steeples his fingers and cocks his head. It’s a lengthy silence, revaluating and readjusting. Whether he’s pleased by what he finds, or annoyed, I can’t tell.
‘Why are you asking these questions?’ he says eventually.
‘Curiosity,’ I say, and when he doesn’t respond to that, ‘and I’m hoping there’s some advantage to be found in the answers,’ I add.
He makes a small grunt of approval.
‘Good to see you’re finally taking this seriously,’ he says. ‘Very well. Under normal circumstances, you’d arrive in your hosts in the order they woke throughout the day. Fortunately for you, I’ve been tampering.’
‘Tampering?’
‘We’ve done this dance many times before, you and I, more than even I can recall. Loop after loop, I’ve set you the task of solving Evelyn Hardcastle’s murder, and it’s always ended in failure. At first, I thought the blame for this rested solely on your shoulders, but I’ve come to realise that the sequence of hosts plays a part. For example, Donald Davies wakes up at 3:19 a.m., which should make him your first host. That doesn’t work because his life is so appealing. He has good friends in the house, family. Things you spend the loop trying to return to, rather than seeking to escape. It’s for that reason I changed your first host to the more rootless Sebastian Bell,’ he says, hoisting his trouser leg to scratch his ankle. ‘In contrast, Lord Ravencourt doesn’t stir until 10:30 a.m., which meant you shouldn’t have visited him until much deeper in the loop, a period when haste, rather than intellect, is of the essence.’
I can hear the pride in his voice, the sense of a watchmaker standing back and admiring the mechanism he’s built. ‘Each new loop I experimented, making these sorts of decisions for each of your hosts, arriving at the order you’re experiencing now,’ he says, spreading his hands magnanimously. ‘In my opinion, this is the sequence that gives you the best chance of solving the mystery.’