‘Unsavoury?’ I say.
‘Well, that’s what Cecil said, not that I could get the rest out of him. Blasted fellow has a bear trap for a mouth, but you know how he hates scandal. Given Cunningham’s parentage, it must be desperately salacious if he’s worried. Wish I knew what it was.’
‘Cunningham’s parentage?’ I ask. ‘I think I’ve missed a step.’
‘The boy was raised at Blackheath,’ she says. ‘Cook’s son, or that’s the story at least.’
‘It’s not true?’
The old lady cackles, looking at me slyly.
‘Word has it the Honourable Lord Peter Hardcastle used to enjoy himself in London from time to time. Well, on one occasion his enjoyment followed him back to Blackheath with a baby in her arms, which she claimed was his. Peter was ready to send the child to the church, but Helena stepped in and demanded they keep it.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘Knowing Helena, she probably meant it as an insult,’ sniffs Millicent, turning her face away from the bitter wind. ‘She was never very fond of her husband and inviting his shame into the house would have tickled her. Poor Peter has probably cried himself to sleep every night for the last thirty-three years. Either way, they gave the baby to Mrs Drudge, the cook, to raise, and Helena made sure everybody knew whose child he was.’
‘Does Cunningham know any of this?’
‘Can’t see how he wouldn’t, it’s one of those secrets people shout at each other,’ says the old lady, plucking a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her running nose. ‘Anyway, you can ask him yourself seeing as you’re so chummy. Shall we walk? I see little point in us freezing on this bench waiting for a woman who isn’t coming.’
She stands before I have a chance to respond, stamping her boots and blowing warm air into her gloved hands. It really is a dreadful day, the grey sky spitting rain, lathering itself into the fury of a storm.
‘Why are you even out here?’ I ask, our feet crunching along the gravel path that circles the house. ‘Couldn’t you have met Lady Hardcastle inside?’
‘Too many people I’d rather not bump into,’ she says.
Why was she in the kitchen this morning?
‘Speaking of bumping into people, I hear you were in the kitchen this morning,’ I say.
‘Who told you that?’ she bridles.
‘Well—’
‘I haven’t been anywhere near the kitchen,’ she continues, not waiting for a response. ‘Filthy places. The smell doesn’t come out for weeks.’
She seems genuinely irritated by the suggestion, which means she probably hasn’t done it yet. A moment later she nudges me good-naturedly, her voice suddenly gleeful. ‘Did you hear about Donald Davies? Apparently he took an automobile last night and ran off back to London. The stablemaster saw him, said he turned up in the pouring rain, dressed in every colour under the sun.’
That brings me pause. Surely, I should have returned to Donald Davies by now, as I have done with the butler. He was my third host, and Anna told me I’m obliged to live one full day in each of them, whether I want to or not. It can’t have been much past mid-morning when I left him asleep on the road, so why haven’t I seen him again?
You left him defenceless and alone.
I felt a ripple of guilt. For all I know, the footman has already found him.
‘Were you listening to me?’ says Millicent, annoyed. ‘I said Donald Davies took off in an automobile. They’re cracked that family, every one of them, and that’s an official medical opinion.’
‘You’ve been talking to Dickie,’ I say absently, still thinking about Davies.
‘Been talked at more like,’ she scoffs. ‘Thirty minutes I spent trying to keep my eyes off that moustache. I’m surprised sound can penetrate it.’
That makes me laugh.
‘Do you actually like anybody at Blackheath, Mother?’
‘Not that I recall, but it’s envy I suspect. Society’s a dance, darling, and I’m too old to take part. Speaking of dancing, here comes the organ grinder himself.’
I follow her gaze to see Daniel approaching us from the opposite direction. Despite the cold, he’s dressed in a cricket sweater and linen trousers, the same outfit he’ll be wearing when he encounters Bell in the entrance hall for the first time. I check my watch, that meeting can’t be far off.
‘Mr Coleridge,’ calls out Millicent with forced bonhomie.
‘Mrs Derby,’ he says, drawing alongside us. ‘Broken any hearts this morning?’
‘They don’t even quiver these days, Mr Coleridge, more’s the pity.’ There’s something cautious in her tone, as if she’s crossing a bridge she feels certain will break. ‘What disreputable business brings you out on such a terrible morning?’
‘I’ve a favour to ask your son, and I assure you, it’s entirely above board.’
‘Well, that’s disappointing.’
‘For you and me both.’ He looks at me for the first time. ‘A minute, Derby?’
We step aside, Millicent doing her best to appear uninterested, while shooting us speculative glances from above her scarf.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘I’m going after the footman,’ he says, that handsome face of his caught somewhere between fear and excitement.
‘How?’ I say, immediately taken with the idea.
‘We know he’s going to be in the dining hall tormenting Ravencourt around one,’ he says. ‘I propose catching hold of the dog there.’
Recalling those ghostly steps and that evil laughter is enough to raise goose bumps on my neck, and the thought of finally laying hands on the devil sets fire to my veins. The ferocity of the feeling isn’t far off what Derby felt in the forest, when we were chasing the maid, and it immediately puts me on my guard. I can’t give this host an inch.
‘What’s your scheme?’ I say, tempering my enthusiasm. ‘I was in that room alone, I couldn’t even guess at where he was hiding.’
‘Nor could I, until I got talking to an old friend of the Hardcastles at dinner last night,’ he says, drawing me a little further away from Millicent, who’s managed to sidle near the edge of our conversation. ‘Turns out there’s a warren of priest tunnels beneath the floorboards. That’s where the footman was hiding, and that’s where we’ll put an end to him.’
‘How?’
‘My new friend tells me there are entrances in the library, drawing room and gallery. I suggest we each watch an entrance and grab him when he comes out.’
‘Sounds ideal,’ I say, struggling to contain Derby’s rising excitement. ‘I’ll take the library, you take the drawing room. Who’s in the gallery?’
‘Ask Anna,’ he says, ‘but none of us is strong enough to tackle the footman alone. Why don’t you two guard the library, and I’ll round up some of our other hosts to help me with the drawing room and gallery?’
‘Magnificent,’ I say, beaming.
If I didn’t have a hand on Derby’s lead, he’d already be running towards the tunnels with a lantern and a kitchen knife.
‘Good,’ he says, lavishing a smile of such affection upon me it’s impossible to imagine how we could ever fail. ‘Take your position a few minutes before one. With any luck, this will all be over by dinner.’
He turns to depart, but I catch his arm.
‘Did you tell Anna you’d find a way for both of us to escape if she helped us?’ I ask.
He gazes at me steadily, and I quickly withdraw my hand.
‘Yes,’ he says.
‘It’s a lie, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘Only one of us can escape Blackheath.’
‘Let’s call it a potential lie, shall we? I’ve not given up hope of fulfilling our end of the bargain.’
‘You’re my last host, how much hope do you have?’
‘Not a great deal,’ he says, his expression softening. ‘I know you’re fond of her. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten how that felt, but we need her on our side. We won’t escape this house if we have to spend the day looking over our shoulder for both the footman and Anna.’
‘I have to tell her the truth,’ I say, aghast at his callous disregard of my friend.
He stiffens.