Why here?
‘Because history repeats,’ I mutter.
‘Aiden?’ Anna yells, a slight note of panic in her voice.
I try to shout back but my throat is still hoarse, forcing me outside into the rain. I tip my mouth to the falling rain, swallowing the freezing cold drops.
‘Over here,’ I call out. ‘In the boathouse.’
Stepping back inside, I run my lantern up and down Helena’s body. Her long coat is unbuttoned, revealing a rust-coloured woollen jacket and skirt, with a white cotton blouse beneath. Her hat has been tossed into the boat beside her. She was stabbed in the throat, long enough ago for the blood to have coagulated.
If I’m right, she’s been dead since this morning.
Anna arrives behind me, gasping as she catches sight of the body in the boat.
‘Is that...’
‘Helena Hardcastle,’ I say.
‘How did you know she’d be here?’ she asks.
‘This was the last appointment she kept,’ I explain.
The gash in her neck isn’t large, but it’s large enough, exactly the size of a horseshoe knife I shouldn’t wonder. The same weapon used to kill Thomas Hardcastle nineteen years ago. Here, finally, is what this is all about. Every other death was an echo of this one. A murder nobody heard.
My legs are aching with the strain of crouching, so I stand up and stretch them out.
‘Did Michael do this?’ asks Anna, clutching my coat.
‘No, this wasn’t Michael,’ I say. ‘Michael Hardcastle was afraid. He became a killer out of desperation. This murder was something else; it took patience and pleasure. Helena was lured here and stabbed at the door so she’d collapse inside, out of sight. The killer picked a spot not twenty feet from where Thomas Hardcastle was killed on the very anniversary of his death. What does that tell you?’
As I speak, I imagine Lady Hardcastle falling, hearing the crack of wood as she lands in the boat. A shadowy figure looms in my thoughts, drawing the blanket across the body before wading into the water.
‘The killer was covered in blood,’ I say, sweeping the lantern across the room. ‘They washed themselves in the water, knowing they were concealed by the walls of the boathouse. They had fresh clothes waiting...’
Sure enough there’s an old carpet bag in the corner, and, undoing the catch, I discover a mound of bloody women’s clothes inside. The murderer’s clothes.
This was planned...
... A long time ago, for another victim.
‘Who did this, Aiden?’ asks Anna, fear rising in her voice.
I step out of the boathouse, searching the darkness until I spot a storm lantern on the far side of the lake.
‘Expecting company?’ she asks, her gaze fixed on the growing light.
‘It’s the murderer,’ I say, feeling oddly calm. ‘I had Cunningham spread a rumour we were coming out here to... well, use the boathouse, so to speak.’
‘Why?’ says Anna, terrified. ‘If you know who helped Michael, tell the Plague Doctor!’
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘You have to explain the rest of it.’
‘What?’ she hisses, offering me a sharp glance. ‘We had a deaclass="underline" I keep you alive; you find Evelyn’s murderer.’
‘The Plague Doctor has to hear it from you,’ I say. ‘He won’t let you go otherwise. Trust me, you have all the pieces, you just need to put them together. Here, take this.’
Reaching into my pocket, I hand her the piece of paper. Unfolding it, she reads it aloud.
‘All of them,’ she says, wrinkling her forehead. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s the answer to a question I had Cunningham ask Mrs Drudge.’
‘What question?’
‘Were any of the other Hardcastle children Charlie Carver’s. I wanted to know who he’d give his life for.’
‘But they’re all dead now.’
The mysterious lantern bobs in the air, coming closer and closer. The person holding it is hurrying, making no attempt at stealth. The time for subterfuge has passed.
‘Who is that?’ asks Anna, shielding her eyes and squinting at the approaching light.
‘Yes, who am I?’ says Madeline Aubert, lowering the lantern to reveal the gun pointed directly at us.
She’s discarded her maid’s uniform in favour of trousers and a loose linen shirt, a beige cardigan thrown over her shoulders. Her dark hair’s wet, her pockmarked skin thick with powder. The mask of servitude removed, she has the look of her mother, the same oval eyes and freckles swirling into a milky white complexion. I can only hope Anna sees it.
Anna looks from me to Madeline and back again, confusion giving way to panic on her face.
‘Aiden, help me,’ she pleads.
‘It has to be you,’ I say, searching out her cold hand in the darkness. ‘All the pieces are in front of you. Who was in a position to kill Thomas Hardcastle and Lady Hardcastle in exactly the same way, nineteen years apart? Why did Evelyn say “I’m not” and “Millicent murder” after I saved her? Why did she have a signet ring she’d given to Felicity Maddox? What did Millicent Derby know that got her killed? Why was Gregory Gold hired to paint new portraits of the family when the rest of the house was crumbling? Who would Helena Hardcastle and Charlie Carver have lied to protect?’
Clarity arrives on Anna’s face like a sunrise, her eyes widening as she looks from the note to Madeline’s expectant expression.
‘Evelyn Hardcastle,’ she says quietly. Then louder, ‘You’re Evelyn Hardcastle.’
59
Quite what reaction I’d expected from Evelyn I’m not sure, but she surprises me by clapping her hands in delight, jumping up and down as though we’re pets performing a new trick.
‘I knew it would be worth following you two,’ she says, placing her lantern on the ground, stitching its glow to ours. ‘People don’t trek all the way into the darkness without a little knowledge to light the way. Though I must confess, I’m at a loss as to how this is any of your concern.’
She’s shed her French accent and with it any trace of the dutiful maid she was hiding behind. Shoulders that once slouched straighten immediately, her neck stiffening, pushing her chin into the air so that she seems to survey us from atop some lofty cliff.
Her questioning gaze passes between us, but my attention is fixed on the forest. This will all be for nothing if the Plague Doctor isn’t here to hear it, but beyond the puddle of light cast by our two lanterns, it’s pitch-black. He could be standing ten yards away and I’d never know.
Mistaking my silence for obstinacy, Evelyn offers me a wide smile. She’s enjoying us. She’s going to savour us.
We have to keep her entertained until the Plague Doctor arrives.
‘This was what you had planned for Thomas all those years ago, wasn’t it?’ I say, pointing towards Helena’s body in the boathouse. ‘I questioned the stablemaster who told me you’d gone out riding on the morning of his death, but that was just an alibi. You’d arranged to meet Thomas here, so all you had to do was ride past the gatehouse, tie up the horse and cut directly through the forest. I timed it myself. You could have arrived in under half an hour without anybody seeing, giving you plenty of time to murder Thomas quietly in the boathouse, wash in the water, change clothes and be back on your horse before anybody knew he was missing. You’d stolen the murder weapon from the stablemaster, and the blanket you were going to cover the body in. He was supposed to take the blame once Thomas was found, only the plan went wrong, didn’t it?’
‘Everything went wrong,’ she says, clicking her tongue. ‘The boathouse was a backup, in case my first idea went awry. I intended to daze Thomas with a rock and then drown him, leaving him floating in the lake for somebody to find. A tragic accident, and we’d all go about our lives. Sadly, I didn’t get a chance to use either plan. I hit Thomas over the head, but not nearly hard enough. He started screaming and I panicked, stabbing him out here in the open.’