She bounds towards Daniel, raising the rock above her head as she goes.
Turning my back, I pick up the fallen storm lantern, stoking the sickly flame with a hoarse breath. I have no urge to watch somebody else die, no matter how much they may deserve it. The Plague Doctor claimed Blackheath was meant to rehabilitate us, but bars can’t build better men and misery can only break what goodness remains. This place pinches out the hope in people and without that hope what use is love, or compassion, or kindness? Whatever the intention behind its creation, Blackheath speaks to the monster in us, and I have no intention of indulging mine any longer. It’s had free rein long enough.
Lifting the lantern into the air, I peel away towards the boathouse. All day I’ve been looking for Helena Hardcastle, believing her responsible for the events in the house. Strange to think I was probably right, though not in the way I imagined.
Whether she intended it or not, she’s the reason all of this is happening.
The boathouse is little more than a shed overhanging the water, the stilts along the right-hand side collapsed, twisting the entire building out of shape. The doors are locked, but the wood is so rotten it crumbles beneath my touch. They’ll open with the slightest force, but still I hesitate. My hand is shaking, the light bouncing. It’s not fear that gives me pause, Gold’s heart is still as a stone. It’s expectation. Something long sought is about to be found, and when that happens all this will be over.
We’ll be free.
Taking a deep breath, I push the doors open, disturbing some bats which flee the boathouse in a chorus of indignant squeaks. A couple of skeletal rowing boats are tethered inside. Only one of them is covered in a mouldy blanket, though.
Kneeling down, I pull it aside, revealing Helena Hardcastle’s pale face. Her eyes are open, the pupils as colourless as her skin. She seems surprised, as though death arrived with flowers in its hand.
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 deal: 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.