Evelyn took her own life, and I’m responsible. Her marriage to Ravencourt was a punishment, a humiliation designed to push her over the edge, and, however unwittingly, I was part of it. It was my face she hated, my presence that drove her to the water’s edge with a pistol in her hand.
And what of the Plague Doctor? He offered me freedom in return for solving a murder that wouldn’t look like a murder, but I watched Evelyn shoot herself after fleeing a dinner in despair. There can be no doubt about her actions or motivation, which makes me wonder at my captor’s. Was his offer just another torment, a slither of hope to go mad chasing?
What about the graveyard? The gun?
If Evelyn were truly so despondent, why did she seem in such good cheer when she accompanied Bell into the graveyard, less than two hours after the dinner? And what about the gun she was carrying? It was a large black revolver, almost too big for her clutch bag. The gun she used to take her life was a silver pistol. Why would she change weapons?
I don’t know how long I sit there thinking about it, amid the delighted mourners, but the police never come.
The crowds thin and the candles gutter, the party flickers and goes out.
The last thing I see before falling asleep in my chair is the image of Michael Hardcastle, kneeling on the grass cradling the dripping-wet body of his dead sister.
21
Day Two (continued)
Pain stirs me, every breath painful. Blinking away the tatters of sleep, I see a white wall, white sheets and a blossom of crusted blood on the pillow. My cheek is resting on my hand, saliva sticking my top lip to my knuckles.
I know this moment, I saw it through Bell’s eyes.
I’m in the butler again, after he was moved to the gatehouse.
Somebody’s pacing beside my bed, a maid judging by the black dress and white apron. There’s a large book held open in her arms, which she’s flipping through furiously. My head’s too heavy to see anything above her waist, so I groan to call her over.
‘Oh, good, you’re awake,’ she says, halting her pacing. ‘When’s Ravencourt going to be alone? You didn’t write it down, but the bloody idiot has his valet nosing around the kitchen—’
‘Who are—’ My throat is clogged with blood and phlegm.
There’s a jug of water on the sideboard and the maid hurries over to pour me some, placing her book on the counter, while she tips a glass to my lips. I move my head a fraction, trying to look up at her face, but the world immediately starts to spin.
‘You shouldn’t talk,’ she says, using her apron to wipe a stray drop of water from my chin.
She pauses.
‘I mean you can talk, but only when you’re ready.’
She pauses again.
‘Actually, I really need you to answer my question about Ravencourt, before he gets me killed.’
‘Who are you?’ I croak.
‘How hard did that ape... wait—’ She lowers her face to my own, her brown eyes searching for something. She’s puffy-cheeked and pale with strands of tangled blonde hair straying free from her cap. With a start, I realise this is the maid Bell and Evelyn met, the one who was keeping watch on the butler.
‘How may hosts have you had?’ she asks.
‘I don’t—’
‘How many hosts?’ she insists, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘How many bodies have you been in?’
‘You’re Anna,’ I say, twisting my neck to get a better look at her, the pain setting fire to my bones. Very gently she presses me back down onto the mattress.
‘Yes, I’m Anna,’ she says patiently. ‘How many hosts?’
Tears of joy prod my eyes, affection washing through me like warm water. Even though I can’t remember this woman, I can feel the years of friendship between us, a trust that borders on instinct. More than that, I’m overcome by the simple joy of this reunion. As strange as it is to say about somebody I can’t remember, I now realise I’ve missed her.
Seeing the emotion on my face, answering tears form in Anna’s eyes, and leaning down, she hugs me gently.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ she says, voicing my feeling.
We stay like that for a while, before she clears her throat and wipes the tears away.
‘Well, that’s enough of that,’ she sniffs. ‘Crying on each other isn’t going to help. I need you to tell me about your hosts or crying’s all we’ll do.’
‘I... I...’ I’m struggling to speak through the lump in my throat. ‘I woke up as Bell, then the butler, then Donald Davies, the butler again, Ravencourt and now—’
‘The butler again,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘Third time’s a charm, ain’t it?’
Stroking a lock of disturbed hair from my forehead, she leans closer.
‘I take it we haven’t been introduced yet, or at least you haven’t been introduced to me,’ she says. ‘My name’s Anna and you’re Aiden Bishop, or have we done that part already? You keep arriving in the wrong order, I never know where we’re up to.’
‘You’ve met my other selves?’
‘They pop in and out,’ she says, glancing at the door as voices sound somewhere in the house. ‘Usually with a favour to ask.’
‘What about your hosts, are they—’
‘I don’t have other hosts, it’s just me,’ she says. ‘No visits from a Plague Doctor, no other days neither. I won’t remember any of this tomorrow, which seems a bit of luck given how today’s going so far.’
‘But you know what’s happening, you know about Evelyn’s suicide?’
‘It’s murder, and I woke up knowing,’ she says, straightening my sheets. ‘Couldn’t remember my own name, but I knew yours and I knew there was no escaping until we took the killer’s name, and proof of their guilt, to the lake at 11 p.m. They’re like rules, I think. Words scraped onto my brain so I don’t forget.’
‘I didn’t remember anything when I woke up,’ I respond, trying to understand why our torments would be different. ‘Aside from your name, the Plague Doctor had to tell me everything.’
‘Course he did, you’re his special project,’ she says, adjusting my pillow. ‘Doesn’t give a rat’s fart about what I’m doing. Haven’t heard a peep out of him all day. Won’t leave you alone though. Surprised he’s not waiting under that bed.’
‘He told me only one of us can escape,’ I say.
‘Yeah, and it’s pretty bloody obvious he wants it to be you,’ she says, the anger draining from her voice as quickly as it came. She shakes her head. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be taking any of this out on you, but I can’t shift the feeling he’s up to something, and I don’t like it.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I say. ‘But if only one of us can escape—’
‘Why are we helping each other?’ she interrupts. ‘Because you’ve got a plan to get us both out.’
‘I have?’
‘Well, you said you did.’
For the first time, her confidence falters, a worried frown appearing on her face, but before I can press the issue, wood creaks in the corridor, steps thumping up the stairs. It feels like the entire house is shaking with their ascent.
‘Just a tick,’ she says, collecting the book from the counter. Only now do I realise it’s actually an artist’s sketchbook, the brown leather covers filled with sheets of loose-leaf paper, untidily bound by string. Hiding the book under the bed, she comes up instead with a shotgun. Pressing the butt against her shoulder, she stalks over to the door, opening it a crack to better hear the commotion outside.
‘Oh, hell,’ says Anna, kicking the door closed with her foot. ‘It’s the doctor with your sedative. Quick, when’s Ravencourt going to be alone? I need to tell him to stop searching for me.’
‘Why, who’s—’
‘We don’t have time, Aiden,’ she says, sliding the shotgun back under the bed out of sight. ‘I’ll be here next time you wake up and we can have a proper talk then I promise, but for now tell me about Ravencourt, every detail you can remember.’