Rapping the doorframe with his knuckle, he turns away, following the rest of the guests on their way to the party.
I watch him go, digesting the news. I’d quite forgotten about Anna’s flight through the woods this morning, our imminent meeting in the graveyard sapping much of the horror from my first memory. And yet, something momentous clearly happened, even if Daniel has been telling people it didn’t. I’m certain of what I witnessed, the gunshot and the fear. Anna was chased by a figure in black, whom I must now assume to have been the footman. Somehow she survived, as did I after my assault last night. Is that what she wants to talk about? Our mutual enemy, and why he wants us dead? Perhaps he’s after the drugs? They’re clearly valuable. Maybe Anna’s my partner and she removed them from the trunk to keep them out of his hands? That would, at least, explain the presence of the chess piece. Maybe it’s some sort of calling card?
After taking my coat from the wardrobe, I wrap myself in a long scarf and slip my hands into a thick pair of gloves, pocketing the paperknife and chess piece on the way out. I’m rewarded by a crisp, cold night. As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I breathe in the fresh air, still damp with the storm, and follow the gravel path around the house towards the graveyard.
My shoulders are tense, my stomach unsettled.
I’m frightened of this forest, but I’m more frightened by this meeting.
When I first awoke I wanted nothing more than to rediscover myself, but last night’s misadventure now seems a blessing. Injury has given me the chance to start again, but what if meeting Anna brings all my old memories flooding back? Can this higgledy-piggledy personality I’ve cobbled together over the course of the day survive such a deluge, or will it be washed away entirely?
Will I be washed away?
The thought is almost enough to turn me around by the shoulders, but I cannot confront the person I was by running from the life he built. Better to make a stand here, confident of whom I wish to become.
Gritting my teeth, I follow the path through the trees, coming upon a small gardener’s cottage, the windows dark. Evelyn’s leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, a lantern burning by her feet. She’s wearing a long beige coat and wellington boots, an outfit somewhat at odds with the blue evening dress beneath it and the diamond tiara sparkling in her hair. She’s really quite beautiful, though she carries it awkwardly.
She notices me noticing.
‘I didn’t have time to change after dinner,’ she says defensively, tossing her cigarette away.
‘What are you doing here, Evie?’ I ask. ‘You’re supposed to be at the ball.’
‘I slipped away. You didn’t think I’d miss all the fun?’ she says, grinding the cigarette beneath her heel.
‘It’s dangerous.’
‘Then it would be foolish for you to go alone, besides I brought some help.’
From her handbag, she pulls out a black revolver.
‘Where on earth did you find that?’ I ask, feeling shocked and slightly guilty. The idea that my problem has put a weapon in Evelyn’s hand seems like a betrayal somehow. She should be warm and safe in Blackheath, not out here in harm’s way.
‘It’s my mother’s, so the better question might be where she found it.’
‘Evie, you can’t—’
‘Sebastian, you’re my only friend in this dreadful place and I’m not going to let you stroll into a graveyard alone, without knowing what’s waiting for you. Somebody’s already tried to kill you once. I have no intention of letting them try again.’
A lump of gratitude lodges itself in my throat.
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s either this or I stay in that house with everybody’s eyes upon me,’ she says, lifting the lantern into the air. ‘I should be thanking you. Now, shall we go? There’ll be hell to pay if I’m not back for the speeches.’
Darkness weighs heavy on the graveyard, the iron fence buckled, trees bent low over crooked gravestones. Thick piles of rotting leaves smother the plots, the tombs cracked and crumbling, taking the names of the dead with them. ‘I spoke with Madeline about the note you received last night,’ says Evelyn, pushing open the squeaking gate and leading us inside. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Of course, I don’t,’ I say, looking around nervously. ‘It slipped my mind, truth be told. What did she say?’
‘Only that the note was given to her by Mrs Drudge, the cook. I spoke to her separately, and she told me it had been left in the kitchen, though she couldn’t say by whom. There was too much coming and going.’
‘And did Madeline read it?’ I ask.
‘Of course,’ says Evelyn, wryly. ‘She didn’t even blush when she admitted to it. The message was very brief, it asked you to come immediately to the usual spot.’
‘That was all? No signature?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’m sorry Sebastian, I’d hoped to have better news.’
We’ve reached the mausoleum at the far end of the graveyard, a large marble box watched over by two broken angels. A lantern hangs from one of their beckoning hands and though it flickers in the gloom, there’s nothing of note to illuminate. The graveyard’s empty.
‘Perhaps Anna’s running a little late,’ says Evelyn.
‘Then who left the lantern burning?’ I ask.
My heart is racing, damp seeping up my trousers as I wade through ankle-deep leaves. Evelyn’s watch assures us of the time, but Anna’s nowhere to be seen. There’s just that damnable lantern, squeaking as it sways in the breeze, and for fifteen minutes or more, we stand stiff beneath it, the light draping our shoulders, our eyes searching for Anna and finding her everywhere: in the shifting shadows and stirring leaves, the low-hanging branches disturbed by the breeze. Time and again one of us taps the other on the shoulder, drawing their attention to a sudden sound or startled animal darting through the underbrush.
As the hour grows later, it’s difficult to keep one’s thoughts from venturing to more frightening places. Doctor Dickie believed the wounds on my arms were defensive in nature, as though I’d been fending off an assault with a knife. What if Anna isn’t an ally, but an enemy? Perhaps that’s why her name was fixed in my mind? For all I know, she penned the note I received at the dinner table, and has now lured me out here to finish the job started yesterday evening.
These thoughts spread like cracks through my already brittle courage, fear pouring into the hollowness behind. Only Evelyn’s presence keeps me upright, her own courage pinning me in place.
‘I don’t think she’s coming,’ says Evelyn.
‘No, I rather think not,’ I say, speaking quietly to mask my relief. ‘Perhaps we should head back.’
‘I think so,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry, dear heart.’
With an unsteady hand, I take the lantern down from the angel’s arm, and follow Evelyn towards the gate. We’ve only taken a couple of steps when Evelyn clutches my arm, lowering her flame towards the ground. Light splashes the leaves, revealing blood splattered across their surface. Kneeling down, I rub the sticky substance between my thumb and forefinger.
‘Here,’ says Evelyn quietly.
She’s followed the drips to a nearby tombstone, where something glitters beneath the leaves. Sweeping them aside, I find the compass that led me out of the forest this morning. It’s bloodstained and shattered, yet still unwavering in its devotion to north.
‘Is that the compass the killer gave you?’ says Evelyn, her voice hushed.
‘It is,’ I say, weighing it in my palm. ‘Daniel Coleridge took it from me this morning.’
‘And then it appears somebody took it from him.’
Whatever danger Anna intended to warn me about, it seems to have found her first and Daniel Coleridge was involved somehow.
Evelyn lays a hand on my shoulder as she squints warily into the darkness beyond the glow of the lantern.
‘I think it’s best we get you out of Blackheath,’ she says. ‘Go to your room and I’ll send a carriage to fetch you.’