‘Mr Coleridge,’ calls out Millicent with forced bonhomie.
‘Mrs Derby,’ he says, drawing alongside us. ‘Broken any hearts this morning?’
‘They don’t even quiver these days, Mr Coleridge, more’s the pity.’ There’s something cautious in her tone, as if she’s crossing a bridge she feels certain will break. ‘What disreputable business brings you out on such a terrible morning?’
‘I’ve a favour to ask your son, and I assure you, it’s entirely above board.’
‘Well, that’s disappointing.’
‘For you and me both.’ He looks at me for the first time. ‘A minute, Derby?’
We step aside, Millicent doing her best to appear uninterested, while shooting us speculative glances from above her scarf.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘I’m going after the footman,’ he says, that handsome face of his caught somewhere between fear and excitement.
‘How?’ I say, immediately taken with the idea.
‘We know he’s going to be in the dining hall tormenting Ravencourt around one,’ he says. ‘I propose catching hold of the dog there.’
Recalling those ghostly steps and that evil laughter is enough to raise goose bumps on my neck, and the thought of finally laying hands on the devil sets fire to my veins. The ferocity of the feeling isn’t far off what Derby felt in the forest, when we were chasing the maid, and it immediately puts me on my guard. I can’t give this host an inch.
‘What’s your scheme?’ I say, tempering my enthusiasm. ‘I was in that room alone, I couldn’t even guess at where he was hiding.’
‘Nor could I, until I got talking to an old friend of the Hardcastles at dinner last night,’ he says, drawing me a little further away from Millicent, who’s managed to sidle near the edge of our conversation. ‘Turns out there’s a warren of priest tunnels beneath the floorboards. That’s where the footman was hiding, and that’s where we’ll put an end to him.’
‘How?’
‘My new friend tells me there are entrances in the library, drawing room and gallery. I suggest we each watch an entrance and grab him when he comes out.’
‘Sounds ideal,’ I say, struggling to contain Derby’s rising excitement. ‘I’ll take the library, you take the drawing room. Who’s in the gallery?’
‘Ask Anna,’ he says, ‘but none of us is strong enough to tackle the footman alone. Why don’t you two guard the library, and I’ll round up some of our other hosts to help me with the drawing room and gallery?’
‘Magnificent,’ I say, beaming.
If I didn’t have a hand on Derby’s lead, he’d already be running towards the tunnels with a lantern and a kitchen knife.
‘Good,’ he says, lavishing a smile of such affection upon me it’s impossible to imagine how we could ever fail. ‘Take your position a few minutes before one. With any luck, this will all be over by dinner.’
He turns to depart, but I catch his arm.
‘Did you tell Anna you’d find a way for both of us to escape if she helped us?’ I ask.
He gazes at me steadily, and I quickly withdraw my hand.
‘Yes,’ he says.
‘It’s a lie, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘Only one of us can escape Blackheath.’
‘Let’s call it a potential lie, shall we? I’ve not given up hope of fulfilling our end of the bargain.’
‘You’re my last host, how much hope do you have?’
‘Not a great deal,’ he says, his expression softening. ‘I know you’re fond of her. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten how that felt, but we need her on our side. We won’t escape this house if we have to spend the day looking over our shoulder for both the footman and Anna.’
‘I have to tell her the truth,’ I say, aghast at his callous disregard of my friend.
He stiffens.
‘Do that and you make an enemy of her,’ he hisses, looking around to make sure we’re not being overheard. ‘At which point, any hope of genuinely helping her goes up in smoke.’
Puffing out his cheeks, he ruffles his hair and smiles at me, agitation leaking out of him like air from a punctured balloon.
‘Do what you think is right,’ he says. ‘But at least wait until we’ve caught the footman.’ He checks his watch. ‘Three more hours, that’s all I’m asking.’
Our eyes meet, mine doubtful and his appealing. I can’t help but submit.
‘Very well,’ I say.
‘You won’t regret it,’ he says.
Squeezing my shoulder, he waves cheerily at Millicent, before striding back towards Blackheath, a man possessed by purpose.
I turn to find Millicent contemplating me through pursed lips.
‘You have some rotten friends,’ she says.
‘I’m a rotten sort of chap,’ I respond, holding her gaze, until finally she shakes her head and carries on walking, slowing enough for me to fall in step beside her. We come upon a long greenhouse. Most of the windowpanes are cracked, the plants inside so overgrown they’re bulging against the glass. Millicent peers inside, but the foliage is much too dense. She gestures for me to follow, and we head to the far end, finding the doors locked with a new chain and padlock.
‘Pity,’ she says, rattling it futilely. ‘I used to love coming here when I was younger.’
‘You’ve visited Blackheath before?’
‘I summered here when I was girl, we all did: Cecil Ravencourt, the Curtis twins, Peter Hardcastle and Helena – that’s how they met. When I married, I brought your brother and sister down. They practically grew up with Evelyn, Michael and Thomas.’
She links my arm, continuing our walk.
‘Oh, I used to love those summers,’ she says. ‘Helena was always frightfully jealous of your sister, because Evelyn was so plain. Michael wasn’t much better mind, with that squashed face of his. Thomas was the only one with a dash of beauty and he ended up in that lake, which strikes me as fate kicking the poor woman twice, but there it is. Wasn’t a one of them could measure up to you, my handsome lad,’ she says, cupping my cheek.
‘Evelyn turned out all right,’ I protest. ‘She’s quite striking actually.’
‘Really?’ says Millicent disbelievingly. ‘Must have blossomed in Paris, not that I’d know. The girl’s been avoiding me all morning. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose. Explains why Cecil’s circling, though. Vainest man I’ve ever met, which is saying something after fifty years of living with your father.’
‘The Hardcastles hate her, you know. Evelyn, I mean.’
‘Who’s filled your head with that rot?’ says Millicent, gripping my arm while she shakes her foot, trying to dislodge some mud from her boot. ‘Michael adores her. He’s over in Paris almost every month, and from what I understand they’ve been thick as thieves since she got back. And Peter doesn’t hate her, he’s indifferent. It’s only Helena, and she’s never been quite right since Thomas died. Still comes up here, you know. Every year on the anniversary of his death, she takes a walk around the lake, even talks to him sometimes. Heard her myself.’
The path has brought us to the reflecting pool. This is where Evelyn will take her life tonight, and as with everything at Blackheath, its beauty is dependent on distance. Viewed from the ballroom the reflecting pool’s a magnificent sight, a long mirror conveying all the drama of the house. Here and now though, it’s just a filthy pond, the stone cracked, moss growing thick as carpet on the surface.
Why take her life here? Why not in her bedroom, or the entrance hall?
‘Are you okay, dear?’ asks Millicent. ‘You look a little pale.’
‘I was thinking it’s a shame they’ve let the place go,’ I say, hoisting a smile onto my face.
‘Oh, I know, but what could they do?’ she says, adjusting her scarf. ‘After the murder they couldn’t live here, and nobody wants these big piles any more, especially not when they have Blackheath’s history. Should have left it to the forest, if you ask me.’