I believed I could bully him as I did the stablemaster and Dickie, but Stanwin’s nervousness wasn’t a symptom of fear, it was the unease of a man finding a lone question in his pile of answers.
‘Tell me, Mr Dance,’ he says, leaning close enough to whisper into my ear. ‘Who’s the mother of your son? I know it wasn’t your dearly departed Rebecca. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got a few ideas, but it would save me the cost of confirming them if you’d tell me up front. I might even discount your monthly payment afterwards, for services rendered.’
My blood freezes. This secret sits at the core of Dance’s being. It’s his greatest shame, his only weakness, and Stanwin’s just closed his fist around it.
I couldn’t respond even if I wanted to.
Stepping away from me, Stanwin tosses the untouched brandy into the bushes with a flick of his wrist.
‘Next time you come to trade, make sure you have something—’
A shotgun explodes behind me.
Something splashes my face, Stanwin’s body jolting backwards before hitting the ground in a mangled heap. My ears are ringing and, touching my cheek, I find blood on my fingertips.
Stanwin’s blood.
Someone shrieks, others gasp and cry out.
Nobody moves, then everybody does.
Michael and Clifford Herrington race towards the body, hollering for somebody to fetch Doctor Dickie, but it’s obvious the blackmailer’s dead. His chest is broken open, the malice that drove him flown the coop. One good eye is pointed in my direction, an accusation held within. I want to tell him this wasn’t my fault, that I didn’t do this. Suddenly, that seems like the most important thing in the world.
It’s shock.
Bushes rustle, Daniel stepping out, smoke rising from the barrel of his shotgun. He’s looking down at the body with so little emotion I could almost believe him innocent of the crime.
‘What did you do, Coleridge?’ cries Michael, checking Stanwin for a pulse.
‘Exactly what I promised your father I would do,’ he says flatly. ‘I’ve made sure Ted Stanwin will never blackmail any of you again.’
‘You murdered him!’
‘Yes,’ says Daniel, meeting his shocked gaze. ‘I did.’
Reaching into his pocket, Daniel hands me a silk handkerchief.
‘Clean yourself up, old man,’ he says.
I take it unthinkingly, even thanking him. I’m dazed, bewildered. Nothing about this feels real. Wiping Stanwin’s blood off my face, I stare at the crimson smear on the handkerchief, as if it can somehow explain what’s happening. I was speaking with Stanwin, and then he was dead, and I don’t understand how that could be. Surely there should be more? A chase, fear, a warning of some sort. We shouldn’t simply die. It feels like a swindle. So much paid, too much asked.
‘We’re ruined,’ wails Sutcliffe, slumping against a tree. ‘Stanwin always said that if anything happened to him, our secrets would be made common knowledge.’
‘That’s your concern?’ yells Herrington, wheeling on him. ‘Coleridge murdered a man in front of us!’
‘A man we all hated,’ Sutcliffe shoots back. ‘Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking the same thing. Don’t any of you pretend! Stanwin bled us dry in life and he’s going to destroy us in death.’
‘No, he won’t,’ says Daniel, resting the shotgun across his shoulder.
He’s the only one who’s calm, the only one who isn’t acting like an entirely different person. None of this means anything to him.
‘Everything he has on us—’ says Pettigrew.
‘Is written in a book that I now own,’ interrupts Daniel, retrieving a cigarette from his silver case.
His hand’s not even shaking. My hand. What the hell does Blackheath make me?
‘I commissioned somebody to steal it for me,’ he continues casually, lighting his cigarette. ‘Your secrets are my secrets and they’ll never see the light of day. Now, I believe each of you owes me a promise. It’s this: you won’t mention this to anybody for the rest of the day. Is that understood? If anybody asks, Stanwin stayed behind when we left. He didn’t say why, and that was the last you saw of him.’
Blank faces find each other, everybody too stunned to speak. I can’t tell whether they’re aghast at what they’ve witnessed or simply overcome by their good fortune.
For my part, the shock is fading, the horror of Daniel’s actions finally sinking in. Half an hour ago, I was praising him for showing a modicum of kindness to Michael. Now I’m covered in another man’s blood, realising how deeply I’ve underestimated his desperation.
My desperation. This is my future I’m seeing, and it makes me feel sick.
‘I need to hear the words, gentleman,’ says Daniel, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. ‘Tell me you understand what happened here.’
Assurances arrive in a jumble, muted but sincere. Only Michael seems upset.
Meeting his gaze, Daniel speaks coldly.
‘And don’t forget, I have all of your secrets in my hands.’ He lets that settle. ‘Now, I think you should head back before anybody comes looking for us.’
The suggestion is met with a murmur of agreement, everybody disappearing back into the forest. Signalling for me to remain behind, Daniel waits until they’re out of earshot before speaking.
‘Help me go through his pockets,’ he says, rolling up his sleeves. ‘The other hunters will be coming back this way soon, and I don’t want them to see us with the body.’
‘What have you done, Daniel?’ I hiss.
‘He’ll be alive tomorrow,’ he says, waving his hand dismissively. ‘I’ve knocked over a scarecrow.’
‘We’re supposed to be solving a murder, not committing one.’
‘Give a little boy an electric train set and he’ll immediately try to derail it,’ he says. ‘The act does not speak to his character, nor do we judge him for it.’
‘You think this is a game?’ I snap, pointing at Stanwin’s body.
‘A puzzle, with disposable pieces. Solve it and we get to go home.’ He frowns at me, as if I’m a stranger who’s asked directions to a place that doesn’t exist. ‘I don’t understand your concern.’
‘If we solve Evelyn’s murder in the manner you’re suggesting, we don’t deserve to go home! Can’t you see, these masks we wear betray us. They reveal us.’
‘You’re babbling,’ he says, searching Stanwin’s pockets.
‘We are never more ourselves than when we think people aren’t watching, don’t you realise that? It doesn’t matter if Stanwin’s alive tomorrow, you murdered him today. You murdered a man in cold blood, and that will blot your soul for the rest of your life. I don’t know why we’re here, Daniel, or why this is happening to us, but we should be proving that it’s an injustice, not making ourselves worthy of it.’
‘You’re misguided,’ he says, contempt creeping into his voice. ‘We can no more mistreat these people than we could their shadow cast upon the wall. I don’t understand what you’re asking of me.’
‘That we hold ourselves to a higher standard,’ I say, my voice rising. ‘That we be better men than our hosts! Murdering Stanwin was Daniel Coleridge’s solution, but it shouldn’t be yours. You’re a good man, you can’t lose sight of that.’
‘A good man,’ he scoffs. ‘Avoiding unpleasant acts doesn’t make a man good. Look at where we are, what’s been done to us. Escaping this place requires that we do what is necessary, even if our nature compels us otherwise. I know this makes you squeamish, that you don’t have the stomach for it. I was the same, but I no longer have the time to tiptoe around my ethics. I can end this tonight and I mean to, so don’t measure me by how tightly I cling to my goodness, measure me by what I’m willing to sacrifice that you might cling to yours. If I fail, you can always try another way.’
‘And how will you live with yourself when you’re done?’ I demand.
‘I’ll look at the faces of my family, and know that what I lost in this place was not nearly as important as my reward for leaving it.’
‘You can’t believe that,’ I say.
‘I do, and so will you after a few more days in this place,’ he says. ‘Now, please, help me search him before the hunters find us here. I have no intention of wasting my evening answering a policeman’s questions.’