It was Juliette’s murder that brought me to Blackheath. It was the weekly phone calls that stopped coming. The stories we stopped sharing. It was the space where she should have been and would never be again. It was the way Annabelle was eventually caught.
Bloodlessly. Painlessly.
Entirely without incident.
And they sent her to Blackheath, where my sister’s murderer would spend a lifetime solving the death of a murdered sister. They called it justice. They patted themselves on the back for their ingenuity, thinking I’d be as pleased as they were. Thinking it was enough.
They were wrong.
The injustice tore into me at night, and stalked me during the day. It whittled me down until she was the only thing I could think about.
I followed her through the gates of hell. I pursued, terrified and tortured Annabelle Caulker, until I forgot the reasons why. Until I forgot Juliette. Until Annabelle became Anna, and all I saw was a terrified girl at the mercy of monsters.
I became the thing I hated, and made Annabelle into the thing I loved.
And I blamed Blackheath.
I look up at the Plague Doctor through eyes raw with tears. He’s looking me full in the face, weighing my reaction. I wonder what he sees, because I have no idea what to think. All of this is happening to me because of the person I’m trying to save.
This is Anna’s fault.
Annabelle.
‘What?’ I ask, surprised by how insistent the voice in my head sounds.
It’s Annabelle Caulker’s fault, not Anna’s. That’s who we hated.
‘Aiden?’ asks the Plague Doctor.
And Annabelle Caulker’s dead.
‘Annabelle Caulker’s dead,’ I repeat slowly, meeting the Plague Doctor’s startled gaze.
He shakes his head. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘It took thirty years,’ I say. ‘And it wasn’t done with violence and it wasn’t done with hatred. It was done with forgiveness. Annabelle Caulker is dead.’
‘You’re mistaken.’
‘No, you are,’ I say, building in confidence. ‘You asked me to listen to the voice in my head, and I am. You asked me to believe Blackheath could rehabilitate people, and I have. Now you need to do the same, because you’re so blinded by who Anna used to be, you’re ignoring who she’s become, and if you’re not willing to accept she’s changed, then what good is any of this?’
Frustrated, he kicks at the dirt with the toe of his boot.
‘I should never have taken the mask off,’ he growls, getting to his feet and striding into the garden, scattering the rabbits that had been eating the grass. Hands on hips, he stares at Blackheath in the distance, and for the first time, I realise it’s as much his master as mine. While I was free to tinker and change, he’s been forced to watch murder, rape and suicide, wrapped in enough lies to bury the entire place. He’s had to accept whatever the day brought him, no matter how horrific. And unlike me, he wasn’t allowed to forget. A man could go mad. Most men would, unless they had faith. Unless they believed the ends justified the means.
As if privy to my thoughts, the Plague Doctor turns towards me.
‘What is it you’re asking of me, Aiden?’
‘Come to the lake at eleven,’ I say firmly. ‘There’ll be a monster there, and I guarantee it won’t be Anna. Watch her, give her a chance to prove herself. You’ll see who she really is, and you’ll see I’m right.’
He looks uncertain.
‘How can you know that?’ he asks.
‘Because I’ll be in danger.’
‘Even if you convince me she’s rehabilitated, you’ve already solved the mystery of Evelyn’s death,’ he says. ‘The rules are clear: the first prisoner to explain who killed Evelyn Hardcastle will be released. That’s you. Not Anna. What’s your solution to that?’
Getting to my feet, I stumble over to my sketch of the tree, jabbing at the knots, the holes in my knowledge.
‘I haven’t solved everything,’ I say. ‘If Michael Hardcastle planned to shoot his sister in the reflecting pool, why would he also poison her? I don’t think he did. I don’t think he knew there was poison in the drink that killed him. I think somebody else put it there in case Michael failed.’
The Plague Doctor’s followed me inside.
‘That’s thin reasoning, Aiden.’
‘We still have too many questions for anything else,’ I say, recalling Evelyn’s pale face after I saved her in the Sun Room, and the message she worked so hard to deliver. ‘If this was finished, why would Evelyn tell me Millicent Derby was murdered? What does that achieve?’
‘Perhaps Michael killed her also?’
‘And what was his motive? No, we’re missing something.’
‘What sort of something?’ he asks, his conviction wavering.
‘I think Michael Hardcastle was working with somebody else, somebody who’s kept out of sight all along,’ I say.
‘A second killer,’ he says, taking a second to consider it. ‘I’ve been here for thirty years, and I’ve never suspected... nobody ever has. It can’t be, Aiden. It’s impossible.’
‘Everything about today is impossible,’ I say, thumping my charcoal tree. ‘There’s a second killer, I know there is. I have an idea who it may be and, if I’m right, they killed Millicent Derby to cover their tracks. They’re as implicated in Evelyn’s murder as Michael, and that means you need two answers. If Anna delivers Michael’s partner, will that be enough to set her free?’ I ask.
‘My superiors do not want to see Annabelle Caulker leave Blackheath,’ he says. ‘And I’m not certain they can be convinced she’s changed. Even if they can, they’ll be looking for any excuse to keep her imprisoned, Aiden.’
‘You helped me because I don’t belong here,’ I say. ‘If I’m right about Anna, the same is now true for her.’
Running his hand across his scalp, he paces back and forth, casting anxious glances between myself and the sketch.
‘I can only promise I’ll be at the lake tonight with an open mind,’ he says.
‘It’s enough,’ I say, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Meet me by the boathouse at eleven, and you’ll see I’m right.’
‘And may I ask what you’ll be doing in the meantime?’
‘I’m going to find out who murdered Millicent Derby.’
54