‘And you’d have done different, would you, copper?’ he says, furiously. ‘Clapped her in irons then and there, betraying a promise to your friend. Or would you have let her get away with it, scot-free?’
I shake my head. I don’t have an answer for him, but I’m not interested in his pitying self-justification. There’s only two victims in this story: Thomas Hardcastle and Charlie Carver, a murdered child and a man who walked to the gallows to protect the woman he loved. It’s too late for me to help either of them, but I’m not going to let the truth stay buried any longer.
It’s done enough damage already.
47
Bushes rustle, twigs cracking underfoot. Daniel’s moving through the forest quickly, making no attempt at stealth. He has no need. My other hosts are all occupied, and nearly everybody else is either on the hunt, or in the Sun Room.
My heart is racing. He slipped out of the house after speaking with Bell and Michael in the study, and I’ve been following him for the last fifteen minutes, picking my way silently through the trees. I remember him missing the start of the hunt and having to catch up with Dance, and I’m curious what kept him. Hopefully, this errand will shed more light on his plans.
The trees break suddenly, giving way to an ugly clearing. We’re not far from the lake, and I can just about see the water away to my right. The footman’s pacing in circles like a caged animal, and I have to duck behind a bush to keep from being seen.
‘Make it quick,’ says Daniel, approaching him.
The footman punches him on the chin.
Staggering backwards, Daniel straightens, inviting a second blow with a nod of his head. This one crunches into his stomach, and is followed by a cross that knocks him to the ground.
‘More?’ asks the footman, looming over him.
‘That’s enough,’ says Daniel, dabbing his split lip. ‘Dance needs to believe we fought, not that you nearly killed me.’
They’re working together.
‘Can you catch them?’ says the footman, helping Daniel off the ground. ‘The hunters have a good head start.’
‘Lot of old legs. They won’t have gone far. Any luck snatching Anna?’
‘Not yet, I’ve been busy.’
‘Well hurry up, our friend’s getting impatient.’
So that’s what this was all about. They want Anna.
That’s why Daniel told me to find her when I was Ravencourt, and why he asked Derby to bring her to the library, when he laid out his plan to trap the footman. I was supposed to deliver her. A lamb to slaughter.
My head spinning, I watch them exchange a few final words, before the footman makes for the house. Daniel’s wiping the blood from his face, but he doesn’t move, and a second later I see why. The Plague Doctor’s entering the clearing. This must be the ‘friend’ Daniel mentioned.
It’s as I feared. They’re working together. Daniel’s formed a partnership with the footman, and they’re hunting Anna on the Plague Doctor’s behalf. I can’t imagine what’s fuelling this enmity, but it explains why the Plague Doctor’s spent the day trying to turn me against her.
Placing a hand on Daniel’s shoulder, he leads him into the trees, beyond my sight. The intimacy of this gesture throws me. I can’t recall a single time when the Plague Doctor has touched me, or even come close enough for that to happen.
Keeping low, I hurry after them, stopping at the treeline to listen for their voices, but I can’t hear anything. Cursing, I press deeper into the forest, stopping periodically, hoping to catch some sign of them. It’s no use. They’re gone.
Feeling like a man in a dream, I return the way I came.
Everything I saw that day, how much of it was real? Was anybody who they claimed to be? I believed Daniel and Evelyn were my friends, the Plague Doctor was a madman, and that I was a doctor called Sebastian Bell, whose biggest problem was memory loss. How could I know those were merely starting positions in a race nobody had told me I was running?
It’s the finishing line you should be concerned with.
‘The graveyard,’ I say out loud.
Daniel believes he’ll capture Anna there, and I have no doubt he’ll have the footman with him when he tries. That’s where this will end, and I need to be ready.
I’ve arrived at the wishing well, where Evelyn received the note from Felicity that first morning. I’m eager to put my plan into action, but instead of heading for the house, I instead turn left, towards the lake. This is Rashton’s doing. It’s instinct. A copper’s instinct. He wants to see the scene of the crime while Stanwin’s testimony is still fresh in my mind.
The trail is overgrown, trees leaning in on either side, their roots writhing up through the ground. Brambles snag my trench coat, rain spilling off leaves, until finally I emerge on the lake’s muddy banks.
I’ve only ever seen it at a distance, but it’s much bigger up close, with water the colour of mossy stone, and a couple of skeletal rowing boats tethered to a boathouse that’s crumbling to firewood on the far-right bank. A bandstand sits on an island at the centre, the peeling turquoise roof and wooden frame battered by the wind and rain.
No wonder the Hardcastles chose to leave Blackheath. Something evil happened here and it haunts the lake still. Such is my unease I almost turn on my heel, but a greater part of me needs to make sense of what happened here nineteen years ago, and so I walk the length of the lake, circling it twice, much as a coroner might circle a body on his slab.
An hour passes. My eyes are busy, but they stick to nothing.