‘At least I’m an honest one,’ he says. ‘How many other people in this house can claim the same thing? You can go now. Don’t forget to pass along my message.’
I hear the door to Stanwin’s room open, Evelyn storming past the nursery a few moments later. I’m tempted to follow her, but there’d be little value in another confrontation. Besides, Evelyn mentioned something about a letter that’s now in Stanwin’s possession. She seemed keen to retrieve it, which means I need to see it. Who knows, perhaps Stanwin and Derby are friends.
‘Jonathan Derby’s waiting for you in the nursery,’ I hear the burly fellow tell Stanwin.
‘Good,’ says Stanwin, drawers scraping open. ‘Let me get changed for this hunt and we’ll go and have a word with the greasy little bugger.’
Or perhaps not.
26
I sit with my feet on the table, the chessboard beside them. Cupping my chin in my hand, I stare at the game trying to decipher some strategy from the arrangement of the pieces. It’s proving an impossible task. Derby’s too flighty for study. His attention is forever straying towards the window, towards the dust in the air and the noises in the corridor. He’s never at peace.
Daniel warned me that each of our hosts thinks differently, but only now do I comprehend the full extent of his meaning. Bell was a coward and Ravencourt ruthless, but both possessed focused minds. That’s not the case with Derby. Thoughts come buzzing through his head like bluebottles, lingering long enough to be distracting but never settling.
A sound draws my attention to the door, Ted Stanwin shaking out a match as he surveys me from above his pipe. He’s larger than I recall, a slab of a man spreading sideways like a wedge of melting butter.
‘Never took you for a chess man, Jonathan,’ he says, pushing the old rocking horse back and forth so that it thumps on the floor.
‘I’m teaching myself,’ I say.
‘Good for you, men should seek to better themselves.’
His eyes linger on me before being tugged to the windows. Though Stanwin hasn’t done or said anything threatening, Derby’s afraid of him. My pulse is tapping that out in Morse code.
I glance at the door, ready to bolt, but the burly fellow is leaning against the wall in the corridor with his arms crossed. He offers me a little nod, friendly as two men in a cell.
‘Your mother’s running a little late on her payments,’ says Stanwin, his forehead pressed against the window. ‘I hope all’s well?’
‘Quite well,’ I say.
‘I’d hate for that to change.’
I shift in my seat to catch his eye.
‘Are you threatening me, Mr Stanwin?’
He turns from the window, smiling at the fellow in the corridor, then myself.
‘Of course not, Jonathan, I’m threatening your mother. You don’t think I’d come all this way for a worthless little sod like yourself, do you?’
Taking a puff on his pipe, he picks up a doll and casually tosses it at the chessboard, sending the pieces scattering across the room. Rage snatches me up by the strings, flinging me at him, but he catches my fist in the air, spinning me around as one of his huge arms crushes my throat.
His breath is on my neck, rotten as old meat.
‘Talk to your mother, Jonathan,’ he sneers, squeezing my windpipe hard enough for black spots to swim in the corners of my eyes. ‘Otherwise, I might have to pay her a visit.’
He lets the words settle, then releases me.
I drop to my knees, clutching my throat and gasping for air.
‘You’ll come a cropper with that temper,’ he says, jabbing his pipe in my direction. ‘I’d get it under control if I were you. Don’t worry, my friend here is good at helping people learn new things.’
I glare at him from the floor, but he’s already on his way out. Passing into the corridor, he nods to his companion who steps into the room. He looks at me without emotion, peeling off his jacket.
‘On your feet, lad,’ he says. ‘Sooner we get started, sooner it’ll be over.’
Somehow, he seems even bigger than he did at the door. His chest is a shield, his arms straining the seams of his white shirt. Terror takes hold of me as he closes the distance between us, my fingers searching blindly for a weapon and finding the heavy chessboard on the table.
Without thinking, I hurl it at him.
Time seems to hang as the chessboard turns in the air, an impossible object in flight, my future clinging onto its surface for dear life. Evidently, fate has a soft spot for me because it hits his face with a sickening crunch, sending him reeling backwards into the wall with a muffled cry.
I’m on my feet as the blood pours between his fingers, sprinting down the corridor with Stanwin’s angry voice at my back. A quick glance behind me reveals Stanwin’s halfway out of the reception room, his face red with rage. Fleeing down the staircase, I follow the burble of voices into the drawing room, which is now full of red-eyed guests digging into their breakfasts. Doctor Dickie’s guffawing with Michael Hardcastle and Clifford Herrington, the naval officer I met at dinner, while Cunningham piles food onto the silver platter that will greet Ravencourt when he wakes up.
A sudden quieting of chatter tells me Stanwin’s approaching, and I slip through into the study, hiding behind the door. I’m half hysterical, my heart beating hard enough to shatter my ribs. I want to laugh and cry, to pick up a weapon and throw myself at Stanwin, screaming. It’s taking all my concentration to stand still, but if I don’t, I’m going to lose this host and one more precious day.
Peering through the gap between the door and frame, I watch as Stanwin wrenches people around by the shoulder, searching for my face. Men stand aside for him, the powerful mumbling vague apologies as he approaches. Whatever his hold on these people, it’s complete enough that nobody takes umbrage at his manhandling of them. He could beat me to death in the middle of the carpet and they wouldn’t say a word about it. I’ll find no help here.
Something cold touches my fingers, and, looking down, I discover my hand has closed around a heavy cigarette box on a shelf.
Derby’s arming himself.
Hissing at him, I let it go and return my attention to the drawing room, almost crying out in shock.
Stanwin’s a few paces away, and he’s walking directly towards the study.
I look for places to hide, but there aren’t any, and I can’t flee into the library without passing the door he’s about to walk through. I’m trapped.
Picking up the cigarette box, I take a deep breath, preparing to pounce on him when he walks in.
Nobody appears.
Slipping back to the gap, I peek into the drawing room. He’s nowhere to be seen.
I’m shaking, uncertain. Derby isn’t built for indecision, he doesn’t have the patience, and before I know it, I’m creeping around the door to get a better view.
I immediately see Stanwin.
He has his back to me, and is talking to Doctor Dickie. I’m too far away to catch their conversation but it’s enough to propel the good doctor out of the room, presumably to tend to Stanwin’s stricken bodyguard.
He has sedatives.
The idea delivers itself fully formed.
I just need to get out of here without being seen.
A voice calls to Stanwin from near the table, and the moment he’s out of sight, I drop the cigarette case and flee into the gallery, taking the long way around to reach the entrance hall unseen.
I catch Doctor Dickie as he’s leaving his bedroom, his medical case swinging in his hand. He smiles as he sees me, that ridiculous moustache of his leaping about two inches up his face.
‘Ah, young Master Jonathan,’ he says cheerfully, as I fall into step beside him. ‘Everything well? You seem a little puffed.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, hurrying to keep up with him. ‘Well, I’m not actually. I need a favour.’
His eyes narrow, the cheerful tone dropping out of his voice. ‘What have you done this time?’
‘The man you’re going to see, I need you to sedate him.’
‘Sedate him? Why the devil would I sedate him?’
‘Because he’s going to harm my mother.’
‘Millicent?’ He stops dead, grabbing me by the arm with a surprising amount of strength. ‘What’s all this about, Jonathan?’