I look around, but Daniel’s nowhere to be seen and all I can offer in reply is a shrug.
Gamekeepers are handing out shotguns to those who haven’t brought their own, including me. Mine’s been polished and oiled, the barrels are cracked open to display the two red shells stuffed in the cylinders. The others seem to have some experience with firearms, immediately checking the sights by aiming at imaginary targets in the sky, but Dance does not share their enthusiasm for the pursuit, leaving me somewhat at a loss. After watching me fiddle with the shotgun for some minutes, the impatient gamekeeper shows me how to settle it across my forearm, handing me a box of shells and moving on to the next man.
I must admit the gun makes me feel better. All day I’ve felt eyes upon me, and I’ll be glad of a weapon when the forest surrounds me. No doubt the footman’s waiting to catch me alone, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to make it easy for him.
Appearing out of nowhere, Michael Hardcastle is by our side, blowing warm breaths into his hands.
‘Sorry for the delay, gentlemen,’ he says. ‘My father sends his apologies, but something’s come up. He’s asked us to press on ahead without him.’
‘And what should we do if we spot Bell’s dead woman?’ asks Pettigrew sarcastically.
Michael scowls at him. ‘A little Christian charity, please,’ he says. ‘The doctor’s been through a lot.’
‘Five bottles at least,’ says Sutcliffe, bringing guffaws from everybody except Michael. Catching the younger man’s withering look, he throws his hands up in the air. ‘Oh, come, Michael, you saw the state he was in last night. You can’t believe we’re actually going to find anything? Nobody’s missing, the man’s raving.’
‘Bell wouldn’t make this up,’ says Michael. ‘I saw his arm, somebody cut him to ribbons out there.’
‘Probably fell over his own bottle,’ snorts Pettigrew, rubbing his hands together for warmth.
We’re interrupted by the gamekeeper, who hands Michael a black revolver. Aside from a long scratch down the barrel, it’s identical to the gun Evelyn will carry into the graveyard tonight, one of the pair taken from Helena Hardcastle’s bedroom.
‘Oiled it for you, sir,’ says the gamekeeper, tipping his cap and moving off.
Michael slips the weapon into the holster at his waist, resuming our conversation, quite oblivious to my interest.
‘I don’t see why everybody’s taking it so hard,’ he continues. ‘This hunt’s been arranged for days, we’re merely going in a different direction than originally intended, that’s all. If we spot something, very well. If not, we’ve lost nothing in setting the doctor’s mind at rest.’
A few expectant glances are cast my way, Dance usually being the deciding voice in these matters. I’m spared having to comment by the barking dogs, who’ve been given a little lead by the gamekeepers and are now tugging our company across the lawn towards the forest.
Looking back towards Blackheath, I search out Bell. He’s framed by the study window, his body half obscured by the red velvet drapes. In this light, at this distance, there’s something of the spectre about him, though in this case I suppose the house is haunting him.
The other hunters are already entering the forest, the group having fractured into smaller knots by the time I finally catch up. I need to talk to Stanwin about Helena, but he’s moving quickly, holding himself apart from us. I can barely keep sight of him, let alone talk with him, and eventually I give up, deciding to corner him when we stop to rest.
Wary of encountering the footman, I join Sutcliffe and Pettigrew, who are still pondering the implications of Daniel’s deal with Lord Hardcastle. Their good cheer doesn’t last. The forest is oppressive, bludgeoning every utterance down to a whisper after an hour, and crushing all conversation twenty minutes after that. Even the dogs have gone quiet, sniffing at the ground as they tug us deeper into the murk. The shotgun is a comforting weight in my arms and I cling to it fiercely, tiring quickly, but never letting myself fall too far behind the group.
‘Enjoy yourself, old man,’ Daniel Coleridge calls out from behind me.
‘I’m sorry?’ I stir sluggishly from my thoughts.
‘Dance is one of the better hosts,’ says Daniel, drawing closer. ‘Good mind, calm manner, able-enough body.’
‘This able-enough body feels like it’s walked a thousand miles, not ten,’ I say, hearing the weariness in my voice.
‘Michael’s arranged for the hunting party to split,’ he says. ‘The older gents will take a breather, while the younger lot carry on. Don’t worry, you’ll have a chance to rest your legs soon.’
Thick bushes have sprung up between us, forcing us to carry on our conversation blind, like two lovers in a maze.
‘It’s a damn nuisance being tired all of the time,’ I say, seeing glimpses of him through the leaves. ‘I’m looking forward to Coleridge’s youth.’
‘Don’t let this handsome face of his fool you,’ he muses. ‘Coleridge’s soul is black as pitch. Keeping hold of him is exhausting. Mark my words, when you’re wearing this body, you’ll look back on Dance with a great deal of fondness, so enjoy him while you can.’
The bushes recede, allowing Daniel to fall into step beside me. He has a black eye and is walking with a slight limp, every step accompanied by a wince of pain. I remember seeing these injuries at dinner, but the gentle candlelight made them look far less severe. Shock must show on my face, because he smiles weakly.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ he says.
‘What happened?’
‘I chased the footman through the passages,’ he says.