Given her fractured relationship with her parents, I’d half expected to find her sleeping in a broom closet, but the bedroom is comfortable enough, if modest. There’s a four-poster bed at the centre, a bathtub and bowl behind a curtain on a rail. Evidently the maid hasn’t been allowed in for some time because the bath is full of cold, dirty water, towels discarded in soggy heaps on the floor, a necklace tossed carelessly on the dressing table beside a pile of scrunched-up tissues, all stained with make-up. The curtains are drawn, Evelyn’s fire piled high with logs. Four oil lamps stand in the corners of the room, pinching the gloom between their flickering light and that of the fireplace.
I’m shaking with pleasure, Derby’s excitement at this intrusion a warm blush rising through my body. I can feel my spirit trying to recoil from my host, and it’s all I can do to hold onto myself as I sift through Evelyn’s possessions, searching for anything that might drive her towards the reflecting pool later tonight. She’s a messy sort, discarded clothes stuffed wherever they happen to fit, costume jewellery heaped in the drawers, tangled up with old scarves and shawls. There’s no system, no order, no hint that she allows a maid anywhere near her things. Whatever her secrets, she’s hiding them from more than me.
I catch myself stroking a silk blouse, frowning at my own hand before realising it’s not me that wants this, it’s him.
It’s Derby.
With a cry I pull my hand back, slamming the wardrobe shut.
I can feel his yearning. He’d have me on my knees, pawing through her belongings, inhaling her scent. He’s a beast and for a second he had control.
Wiping the beads of desire from my forehead, I take a deep breath to collect myself before pushing on with the search.
I narrow my concentration to a point, keeping hold of my thoughts, allowing no gap for him to creep through. Even so, the investigation is fruitless. About the only item of interest is an old scrapbook containing curios from Evelyn’s life: old correspondence between herself and Michael, pictures from her childhood, scraps of poetry and musings from her adolescence, all combining to present a portrait of a very lonely woman who loved her brother desperately and now misses him terribly.
Closing the book, I push it back under the bed where I found it, departing the room as quietly as I came, dragging a thrashing Derby within me.
30
I’m sitting in an armchair in a dim corner of the entrance hall, the seat arranged to give me a clear view to Evelyn’s bedroom door. Dinner’s under way, but Evelyn will be dead in three hours and I plan to dog her every step to the reflecting pool.
Such patience would normally be beyond my host, but I’ve discovered that he enjoys smoking, which is handy because it makes me light-headed, dulling the cancer of Derby in my thoughts. It’s a pleasant, if unexpected, benefit of this inherited habit.
‘They’ll be ready when you need them,’ says Cunningham, appearing through the fog and crouching by my chair. There’s a pleased grin on his face I can make neither head nor tail of.
‘Who’ll be ready?’ I say, looking at him.
This grin disappears, embarrassment taking its place as he lurches to his feet.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Derby, I thought you were somebody else,’ he says hastily.
‘I am somebody else, Cunningham, it’s me, Aiden. I still don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talking about, though.’
‘You asked me to get some people together,’ he says.
‘No, I didn’t.’
Our confusions must mirror each other, because Cunningham’s face has twisted into the same knot as my brain.
‘I’m sorry, he said you’d understand,’ says Cunningham.
‘Who said?’
A sound draws my attention to the entrance hall, and, turning in my seat, I see Evelyn fleeing across the marble, weeping into her hands.
‘Take this, I have to go,’ says Cunningham, thrusting a piece of paper into my hand with the phrase ‘all of them’ written on it.
‘Wait! I don’t know what this means,’ I call after him, but it’s too late, he’s already gone.
I’d follow him, but Michael is chasing Evelyn into the entrance hall, and this is why I’m here. These are the missing moments that transform Evelyn from the brave, kind woman I met as Bell into the suicidal heiress who’ll take her life by the reflecting pool.
‘Evie, Evie, don’t go, tell me what I can do,’ says Michael, catching her arm at the elbow.
She shakes her head, tears sparkling in the candlelight, mirroring the diamonds flashing in her hair.
‘I just...’ Her voice chokes. ‘I need to...’
Shaking her head, she shrugs him off, flying past me towards her bedroom. Fumbling the key into the lock, she slips inside, slamming the door shut behind her. Michael watches her go despondently, grabbing a glass of port from the tray Madeline’s carrying to the dining hall.
It disappears in one gulp, his cheeks flushing.
Lifting the tray out of her hands, he waves the maid towards Evelyn’s bedroom.
‘Don’t worry about this, see to your mistress,’ he orders.
It’s a grand gesture, somewhat undone by the confusion that follows as he tries to work out what to do with the thirty glasses of sherry, port and brandy he’s inherited.
From my seat, I watch Madeline rap on Evelyn’s door, the poor maid becoming increasingly upset with every ignored entreaty. Finally, she returns to the entrance hall, where Michael is still casting around for somewhere to put the tray.
‘I’m afraid Mademoiselle is...’ Madeline makes a despairing gesture.
‘It’s fine, Madeline,’ Michael says wearily. ‘It’s been a difficult day. Why don’t you leave her be for now. I’m sure she’ll call when she needs you.’
Madeline lingers uncertainly, looking back towards Evelyn’s bedroom, but after a brief hesitation she does as he asks, disappearing down the servant’s staircase towards the kitchen.
Casting left and right for somewhere to dispense with the tray, Michael spots me watching him.
‘I must look a damned fool,’ he says, blushing.
‘More like an inept waiter,’ I say bluntly. ‘I assume the dinner didn’t go as planned?’
‘It’s this business with Ravencourt,’ he says, balancing the tray rather precariously across the padded arms of a nearby chair. ‘Do you have one of those cigarettes spare?’
I emerge from the fog to hand him one, lighting it in his fingers. ‘Does she really have to marry him?’ I ask.
‘We’re almost broke, old chum,’ he sighs, taking a long drag. ‘Father’s buying up every empty mine and blighted plantation in the empire. I give it a year or two before our coffers are completely dry.’
‘But I thought Evelyn and your parents didn’t get on? Why would she agree to go through with it?’
‘For me,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘My parents threatened to cut me off if she doesn’t obey them. I’d be flattered if I didn’t feel so damn guilty about it all.’
‘There must be another way.’
‘Father’s wrung every penny he can out of those few banks still impressed by his title. If we don’t get this money, well... truth be told, I don’t know what will happen, but we’ll end up poor and I’m fairly certain we’ll be dreadful at it.’
‘Most people are,’ I say.
‘Well, at least they’ve had practice,’ he says, tapping ash onto the marble floor. ‘Why is there a bandage on your head?’
I touch it self-consciously, having quite forgotten it was there.
‘I got on the wrong side of Stanwin,’ I say. ‘I heard him arguing with Evelyn about somebody called Felicity Maddox, and tried to intervene.’
‘Felicity?’ he says, recognition showing on his face.
‘You know the name?’
He pauses, taking a deep puff of his cigarette, before exhaling slowly.
‘Old friend of my sister,’ he says. ‘Can’t imagine why they’d be arguing about her. Evelyn hasn’t seen her in years.’
‘She’s here in Blackheath,’ I say. ‘She left a note for Evelyn at the well.’
‘Are you certain?’ he asks sceptically. ‘She wasn’t on the guest list and Evelyn didn’t say anything to me.’
We’re interrupted by a noise at the doorway, Doctor Dickie hurrying towards me. He places a hand on my shoulder and leans close to my ear.
‘It’s your mother,’ he whispers. ‘You need to come with me.’
Whatever’s happened, it’s dreadful enough for him to have buried his antipathy towards me.