The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

by Stuart Turton

“Clever girl,” says Evelyn, purring in admiration. “Very well, turn around and start walking.”

  I listen to this exchange with increasing panic, desperately hoping the Plague Doctor will appear out of the gloom and finally put an end to this. He must surely have enough evidence to support Anna’s freedom by now.

  Unless he’s been delayed.

  The thought fills me with dread. Anna’s trying to keep us alive, but it will all be for nothing if the Plague Doctor doesn’t know where to find us.

  I reach for our lantern, but Evelyn kicks it away, motioning us into the forest with the point of her gun.

  We walk side by side with Evelyn a couple of paces behind, humming softly. I risk a look over my shoulder, but she’s far enough back to make snatching the gun an impossible endeavor. Even if I could, it wouldn’t be any use. We’re not here to capture Evelyn. We’re here to prove Anna’s not like her, and the best way of doing that is to be in danger.

  Heavy clouds blot out the stars, and with only Evelyn’s dim flame to guide us, we’re having to move cautiously to avoid tripping. It’s like trying to navigate through ink, and still there’s no sign of the Plague Doctor.

  “If your mother knew a year ago what you’d done, why didn’t she tell everybody then?” asks Anna, glancing back at Evelyn. “Why arrange this party? Why invite all these people?”

  There’s genuine curiosity in her tone. If she’s afraid, she’s keeping it in a pocket somewhere I can’t see. Evidently, Evelyn’s not the only actress in the house. I can only hope I’m doing as well. My heart’s thumping hard enough to crack a rib.

  “Greed,” says Evelyn. “My parents needed money more than my mother needed to see me hang. I can only assume the marriage took some time to arrange, because Mother sent me a letter last month telling me that unless I allowed myself to be wed to that odious Ravencourt, they’d turn me in. The humiliation of today’s party was a parting shot, a slither of justice for Thomas.”

  “So you killed them in revenge?” asks Anna.

  “Father was my gift to Michael. My brother wanted his inheritance while there still was one. He’s buying Stanwin’s blackmail business with Coleridge.”

  “Then it really was your boot print I saw outside the gatehouse window,” I say. “And you left the note claiming responsibility.”

  “Well, I couldn’t have poor Michael being blamed, that would defeat the point entirely,” she says. “I don’t intend on using my name once I leave here, so why not put it to some use?”

  “And your mother?” asks Anna. “Why kill her?”

  “I was in Paris,” says Evelyn, anger heating her words for the first time. “If she hadn’t bartered me to Ravencourt, she’d never have seen me again. As far as I’m concerned, she committed suicide.”

  The trees break suddenly, revealing the gatehouse. We’ve come out around the back of the building, opposite the latched door into the kitchen the fake Evelyn showed Bell that first morning.

  “Where did you find the other Evelyn?” I ask.

  “Her name was Felicity Maddox,” says Evelyn vaguely. “She was some sort of con artist, from what I understand. Stanwin arranged everything. Michael told him the family wanted Felicity to marry Ravencourt in my place, at which point they’d pay him half of the dowry to keep quiet.”

  “Did Stanwin know what you planned to do?” asks Anna.

  “Perhaps, but why would he care?” shrugs Evelyn, gesturing for me to open the door. “Felicity was an insect. Some policeman or other tried to help her this afternoon, and you know what she did? Instead of admitting everything to him, she ran straight to Michael and asked for more money to keep quiet. Really, a person like that is a stain upon the world. I consider her murder an act of public service.”

  “And Millicent Derby, was her death a public service?”

  “Oh, Millicent,” says Evelyn, brightening at the memory. “You know, back in the day, she was as bad as her son. She just didn’t have the energy for it in her later years.”

  We’re passing through the kitchen, into the hallway. The house is silent, all of its occupants dead. Despite that, a lamp burns brightly on the wall, suggesting Evelyn always intended on coming back here.

  “Millicent recognized you, didn’t she?” I say, dragging my fingertips along the wallpaper. I can feel myself coming unstuck. None of this feels real anymore. I need to touch something solid so I know I’m not dreaming. “She spotted you in the ballroom alongside Felicity,” I continue, remembering how the old lady hurried away from Derby. “She had watched you grow up and wasn’t going to be fooled by a maid’s outfit and Gold’s new portraits on the wall. Millicent knew immediately who you were.”

  “She came down to the kitchen, demanding to know what I was up to,” says Evelyn. “I told her it was a prank for the ball, and the silly old dear believed me.”

  I glance around, hoping for some hint of the Plague Doctor’s presence, but my hope is fading. There’s no reason for him to know we’re here, so he will have no idea how courageous Anna’s being, or that she’s solved his riddle. A madwoman’s taking us to our death, and it’s all for nothing.

  “How did you kill her?” I ask, frantically trying to keep Evelyn talking while I come up with a new plan.

  “I stole a bottle of veronal from Doctor Dickie’s bag and crushed a few tablets into her tea,” she says. “When she passed out, I held a pillow over her face until she stopped breathing and then fetched Dickie.”

  There’s joy in her voice, as if this is some happy old story being shared among friends at the dinner table. “He saw the veronal from his bag on her nightstand and immediately realized he was implicated,” she says. “That’s the beauty of corrupt men, you can always rely on them to be corrupt.”

  “So he took the bottle away and claimed it was a heart attack to cover his own tracks,” I say, letting out a little sigh.

  “Oh, don’t fret, lover,” she says, prodding me in the back with the barrel of the gun. “Millicent Derby died as she lived, with elegance and calculation. It was a gift, believe me. We should all be so lucky to meet such a meaningful end.”

  I worry she’s leading us into the room where Lord Hardcastle sits twisted in his chair, but instead she shepherds us through the door opposite. It’s a small dining room, four chairs and a square table at its center. Evelyn’s lantern light scatters across the walls, illuminating two canvas bags in the corner, each of them stuffed to bursting with jewelry, clothing, and whatever else she could steal from Blackheath.

  Her new life will begin where ours ends.

  Ever the artist, Gold can at least appreciate the symmetry.

  Placing her lantern on the table, Evelyn gestures for us to kneel on the floor. Her eyes are glittering, her face flushed.

  A window faces the road, but I can see no sign of the Plague Doctor.

  “I’m afraid you’re out of time,” she says, raising the gun.

  One move left to play.

  “Why did you kill Michael?” I ask quickly, hurling the accusation at her.

  Evelyn tenses, her smile evaporating. “What are you talking about?”

  “You poisoned him,” I say, watching the confusion sketch itself on her face. “Every day, all I’ve heard is how close you two were, how much you loved him. He didn’t even know that you’d killed Thomas, or your mother, did he? You didn’t want him thinking ill of you. And yet when the time came, you killed him as easily as the rest of your victims.”

  Her gaze is flicking between myself and Anna, the gun wavering in her hand. For the first time, she seems afraid.

  “You’re lying. I’d never hurt Michael,” she says.

  “I watched him die, Evelyn,” I say. “I stood over him as—”

  She strikes me with the gun, blood oozing from my lip.

  I’d intended on snatching the gun from her, but she was too fast, and she�
�s already taken a step away from us.

  “Don’t lie to me,” she wails, eyes ablaze, rapid breaths escaping her mouth.

  “He’s not,” protests Anna, wrapping her arms around my shoulders protectively.

  Tears roll down Evelyn’s cheeks, her lip trembling. Her love is rabid, pulsing and rotten, but it’s sincere. Somehow that only makes her more monstrous.

  “I didn’t…” She’s clutching her hair, pulling hard enough to tear it from the roots. “He knew I couldn’t marry… He wanted to help.” She looks at us pleadingly. “He killed her for me, so I could be free… He loved me…”

  “You had to be certain, didn’t you?” I say. “You couldn’t risk him losing his nerve, and Felicity waking up again, so you gave her a glass of poisoned scotch before she walked out to the reflecting pool. Michael didn’t know, though. He drank what was left, while Rashton was questioning him.”

  Evelyn’s gun has dipped, and I tense, readying myself to spring for it, but Anna tightens her grip around me.

  “He’s here,” she whispers into my ear, nodding toward the window.

  A single candle burns on the road, illuminating a porcelain beak mask. Hope stirs, but withers immediately. He isn’t moving. He can’t even hear what’s being said.

  What’s he waiting for?

  “Oh no,” says Anna, sounding sick to her stomach.

  She’s staring at the Plague Doctor as well, except instead of my confusion, there’s horror. She’s gone pale, her fingers clutching at my sleeve.

  “We haven’t solved it,” she says, speaking under her breath. “We still don’t know who kills Evelyn Hardcastle, the real Evelyn Hardcastle. And our suspect pool is down to two.”

  A cold weight settles on me.

  I’d hoped Anna’s unmasking of Evelyn would be enough to earn her freedom, but she’s right. For all the Plague Doctor’s talk of redemption and rehabilitation, he still needs one more life to pay the piper, and he expects one of us to deliver it.

  Evelyn’s still pacing, still tearing at her hair, still distracted by Michael’s death, but she’s too far away to ambush. Maybe Anna or I could wrestle the gun from her hand, but not before the other one was shot dead.

  We’ve been tricked.

  The Plague Doctor stayed away on purpose so he wouldn’t have to hear Anna’s answer and confront the good woman she’s become. He doesn’t know I was wrong about Michael.

  Or he doesn’t care.

  He’s got what he wanted. If I die, he’ll free me. If she dies, she’s trapped here, just like his superiors wanted. They’re going to keep her forever, no matter what she does.

  Unable to hold in my despair any longer, I run to the window and bang on the glass.

  “It’s not fair!” I scream at the distant shape of the Plague Doctor.

  My fury startles Anna who jumps away in fright. Evelyn advances on me with her gun raised, mistaking my anger for panic.

  Desperation claws at me.

  I told the Plague Doctor I wouldn’t abandon Anna, that I’d find a way back into Blackheath if they released me, but I can’t spend another day in this place. I can’t let myself be slaughtered again. I can’t watch Felicity’s suicide, or be betrayed by Daniel Coleridge. I can’t live any of this over, and part of me, a much larger part than I’d ever have believed possible, is ready to rush Evelyn and be done with it all, regardless of what happens to my friend.

  Blinded by my misery, I don’t notice Anna come to me. Ignoring Evelyn, who’s watching her the way an owl might a dancing mouse, Anna takes both my hands and stands on her tiptoes, kissing me on the cheek.

  “Don’t you dare come back for me,” she says, pressing her forehead to mine.

  She acts fast, turning on her heel and leaping at Evelyn in one fluid motion.

  The gunshot is deafening, and for a few seconds its fading echo is all there is. Crying out, I rush to Anna’s side, even as the gun clatters to the floor, blood seeping through Evelyn’s shirt above her hip.

  Her mouth opens and closes as she drops to her knees, a silent plea held in those hollow eyes.

  Felicity Maddox is standing in the doorway, a nightmare come to life. She’s still wearing her blue ball gown, now dripping wet and covered in mud, her makeup running down pale cheeks scratched by her hurried flight through the trees. Her lipstick is smeared, her hair wild, the black revolver steady in her hand.

  She throws us a quick glance, but I doubt she sees us. Rage has left her half mad. Pointing the revolver at Evelyn’s stomach, she pulls the trigger, the shot so loud I have to cover my ears as blood splashes across the wallpaper. Not satisfied, she fires again, Evelyn collapsing on the floor.

  Walking over to her, Felicity empties the last of her bullets into Evelyn’s lifeless body.

  60

  Anna’s face is pressed against my chest, but I can’t look away from Felicity. I don’t know if this is justice or not, but I’m desperately grateful for it all the same. Anna’s sacrifice would have set me free, but the guilt would never have let me go.

  Her death would have made me a stranger to myself.

  Felicity saved me.

  Her revolver’s empty, but she’s still pressing the trigger, burying Evelyn in a chorus of hollow clicks. I think she would go on forever, but she’s interrupted by the Plague Doctor’s arrival. He gently takes the weapon from her hand, and as if a spell’s been broken, her eyes clear, life coming into her limbs. She looks bone-tired and emptied out, pushed beyond thought.

  With a last lingering look at Evelyn’s body, she nods to the Plague Doctor, before brushing by him and disappearing outside, not even a lantern to guide her way. A moment later, the front door opens, the sound of pounding rain filling the air.

  I let Anna go and slump onto the carpet, holding my head in my hands.

  “You told Felicity we were here, didn’t you?” I say through my fingers.

  It comes out as an accusation, though I’m certain I’d meant to signal my gratitude. At this point, with all that’s happened, perhaps there’s no untangling the two.

  “I gave her a choice,” he says, kneeling down to close Evelyn’s still-open eyes. “Her nature took care of the rest, as did yours.”

  He’s looking at Anna as he says this, but his gaze soon passes over her, roaming the blood-splattered walls, before returning to the body lying at his feet. Part of me wonders if he isn’t admiring his own work, the indirect ruin of a human being.

  “How long have you known who the real Evelyn was?” asks Anna, who’s looking the Plague Doctor up and down, examining him with a child’s wonder.

  “At precisely the same moment you did,” he says. “I came to the lake as requested and witnessed her unmasking firsthand. When it became apparent where she was leading you, I returned to Blackheath to relay the information to the actress.”

  “But why help us?” asks Anna.

  “Justice,” he says simply, the beak mask turning in her direction. “Evelyn deserved to die, and Felicity deserved to kill her. You two have proven that you deserve your freedom, and I would not have you falter at the final hurdle.”

  “Is this it? Are we really done?” I ask, my voice trembling.

  “Almost,” he says. “I still need Anna to formally answer the question of who killed Evelyn Hardcastle.”

  “And what about Aiden?” she asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. “He blamed Michael.”

  “Mr. Bishop solved the murders of Michael, Peter, and Helena Hardcastle, and the attempted murder of Felicity Maddox, a crime so cleverly concealed it was entirely unknown to myself and my superiors,” says the Plague Doctor. “I cannot fault him for answering questions we never thought to ask, nor will I punish a man who risked so much to save somebody else’s life. His answer stands. Now I need yours. Who killed Evelyn Hardcastle, Anna?”

  “You didn’t say anything about Ai
den’s other hosts,” she says, stubbornly. “Will you let them go, as well? Some of them are still alive. If we go now, we can probably still save the butler. And what about poor Sebastian Bell. He only woke up this morning. What will he do without me to help him?”

  “Aiden is the Sebastian Bell who woke up this morning,” says the Plague Doctor, kindly. “They were never anything more than a trick of the light, Anna. Shadows on a wall. Now you get to walk away with the flame that casts them, and once that happens, they’ll vanish.”

  She blinks at him.

  “Trust me, Anna. Tell me who killed Evelyn Hardcastle and everybody is freed. One way or another.”

  “Aiden?” Anna glances at me uncertainly, waiting for my approval. I can only nod. A flood of emotion is welling up inside of me, waiting for release.

  “Felicity Maddox,” she declares.

  “You’re free,” he says, standing up. “Blackheath won’t cling to either of you any longer.”

  My shoulders are shaking. Unable to hold it in, I begin sobbing wretchedly, eight days of misery and fear pouring out like poison. Anna takes hold of me, but I can’t stop. I’m on the edge of my nerves, relieved and exhausted, terrified we’re being tricked.

  Everything else in Blackheath was a lie, why not this as well?

  I stare at Evelyn’s body and see Michael thrashing in the sunroom and Stanwin’s baffled expression when Daniel shot him in the forest. Peter and Helena, Jonathan and Millicent, Dance, Davies, Rashton. The footman and Coleridge. The dead piled up.

  How does somebody escape all this?

  By saying a name…

  “Anna,” I mutter.

  “I’m here,” she says, clutching me fiercely. “We’re going home, Aiden. You did it. You kept your promise.”

  She gazes at me, not a drop of doubt anywhere in her eyes. She’s smiling, jubilant. One day and one life. I thought it wouldn’t be enough to escape this place. Perhaps it’s the only way to escape this place.

  Keeping tight hold of me, she looks up at the Plague Doctor.

  “What happens next?” she asks. “I still can’t remember anything before this morning.”