‘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.
‘You went without me?’ I say, surprised by his recklessness. When we made the plan to corner the footman beneath the house, it was evident that it required six people to be successful, a pair to watch each of the three exits. Once Anna refused to help and Derby was knocked unconscious, I assumed Daniel would drop it. Evidently, Derby isn’t the last of my bull-headed hosts.
‘No choice, old chap,’ he says. ‘Thought I had him. Turns out I was mistaken. Luckily, I managed to fight him off before he loosed his knife.’
Anger sizzles deep in every word. I can only imagine how it must feel to be so preoccupied by the future that you’re blindsided by the present.
‘Have you found a way to free Anna yet?’ I ask.
With a painful groan, Daniel hitches his shotgun up his arm. Even limping at my slow pace, he’s barely able to stand up straight.
‘I haven’t, and I don’t think I’m going to,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry, hard as it is to hear, only one of us can leave, and the closer we get to 11 p.m., the more likely it is Anna will betray us. We can only trust each other from here on.’
She’ll betray you.
Is this the moment behind the Plague Doctor’s warning? Friendship is a simple matter when everybody stands to benefit, but now... how will she react knowing Daniel’s giving up on her?
How will you react?
Sensing my hesitation, Daniel lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. With a start I realise that Dance admires this man. He finds his sense of purpose exhilarating, his single-mindedness resonating with a quality my host values in himself. Perhaps that’s why Daniel approached me with this information rather than any of our other hosts. These two are reflections of each other.
‘You didn’t tell her, did you?’ he says anxiously. ‘About our offer being hollow?’
‘I was distracted.’
‘I know it’s difficult, but you must keep all of this to yourself,’ says Daniel, sweeping me into his confidence as one would a child entrusted with a secret. ‘If we’re to outfox the footman, we’ll need Anna’s help. We won’t get that if she knows we can’t hold up our end of the bargain.’
Heavy steps sound behind us, and, looking over my shoulder, I see Michael advancing on us, his customary grin replaced by a scowl.
‘Heavens,’ says Daniel. ‘You look like somebody kicked your dog. What on earth’s wrong?’
‘It’s this damnable search,’ he says irritably. ‘Belly saw a girl murdered out here, and yet I can’t get a single person to take it seriously. I’m not asking much, just that they look around as they walk. Maybe knock over a pile of leaves, that sort of thing.’
Daniel coughs, shooting Michael an embarrassed glance.
‘Oh, dear,’ says Michael, frowning at him. ‘This is bad news, isn’t it?’
‘Good news, really,’ says Daniel hastily. ‘There’s no dead girl. It was a misunderstanding.’
‘A misunderstanding,’ says Michael slowly. ‘How on earth could it be a misunderstanding?’
‘Derby was out here,’ says Daniel. ‘He frightened a maid, things got heated and your sister took a shot at him. Bell mistook it for a murder.’
‘Blast Derby!’ Michael turns abruptly for the house. ‘I’ll not have it. He can go to the devil under somebody else’s roof.’
‘It wasn’t his fault,’ interrupts Daniel. ‘Not this time at least. Hard as it is to believe, Derby was trying to help. He simply got the wrong end of the stick.’
Michael stops, eyeing Daniel suspiciously.
‘Are you certain?’ he asks.
‘I am,’ says Daniel, putting an arm around his friend’s tense shoulders. ‘It was a dreadful misunderstanding. Nobody’s fault.’
‘That’s a first for Derby.’
Michael lets out a rueful sigh, the fury evaporating from his face. He’s a man of fleeting emotions this one, quick to anger, easily amused and just as easily bored, I shouldn’t wonder. I briefly imagine what it would be like to inhabit that mind. Dance’s coldness has its drawbacks, but it’s undoubtedly preferable to Michael’s mood hopscotch.
‘All morning I’ve been telling the chaps there’s a dead body out here, and they should be ashamed of being so jolly,’ says Michael, abashed. ‘As if this weekend wasn’t already miserable enough for them.’