‘My mother sent me a message this morning, asking me to meet her by the lake,’ she says. ‘She never came, and I don’t think she ever meant to. She just wanted me to stand out there, where it happened, remembering. Does that answer your question?’
‘Evelyn... I... I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing to say, Sebastian. Wealth is poisonous to the soul and my parents have been wealthy a very long time – as have most of the guests who will be at this party,’ says Evelyn. ‘Their manners are a mask, you’d do well to remember that.’
She smiles at my pained expression, taking my hand. Her fingers are cold, her gaze warm. She has the brittle courage of a prisoner walking their final steps to the gallows.
‘Oh, don’t fret, dear heart,’ she says. ‘I’ve done all the tossing and turning it’s possible to do. I see little benefit in your losing sleep over it also. If you want, you could make a wish in the well on my behalf, though I’d understand if you have more pressing concerns.’
From her pocket she pulls out a small coin.
‘Here,’ she says, handing it to me. ‘I don’t think our pebbles did much good.’
The coin travels a long way, hitting rock rather than water at the bottom. Despite Evelyn’s advice, I hitch no hopes for myself to its surface. Instead, I pray for her deliverance from this place, for a happy life and freedom from her parents’ machinations. Like a child I close my eyes in the hopes that when I open them again, the natural order will be overturned, the impossible made plausible by desire alone.
‘You’ve changed so much,’ mutters Evelyn, a ripple of emotion disturbing her face, the slightest indication of discomfort when she realises what she’s said.
‘You knew me before?’ I say, surprised. Somehow it never occurred to me that Evelyn and I might have had a relationship prior to this one.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ she says, walking away from me.
‘Evie, I’ve been in your company for over an hour, which makes you my best friend in this world,’ I say. ‘Please, be honest with me. Who am I?’
Her eyes criss-cross my face.
‘I’m not the right person to say,’ she protests. ‘We met two days ago, and only briefly. Most of what I know is innuendo and rumour.’
‘I’m sitting at an empty table, I’ll take whatever crumbs I’m fed.’
Her lips are tight. She’s tugging her sleeves down awkwardly. If she had a shovel, she’d dig herself an escape tunnel. The deeds of good men are not related so reluctantly, and I’m already beginning to dread what she has to tell me. Even so, I cannot let this go.
‘Please,’ I plead. ‘You told me earlier I could choose who I wanted to be, but I cannot do that without knowing who I was.’
Her obstinacy flickers, and she looks up at me from under her eyelashes.
‘Are you certain you wish to know?’ she asks. ‘The truth isn’t always a kindness.’
‘Kind or not, I need to understand what’s been lost.’
‘Not a great deal in my opinion,’ she sighs, squeezing my hand in both of hers. ‘You were a dope dealer, Sebastian. You made your living alleviating the boredom of the idle rich, and quite a living it was too, if your practice on Harley Street is anything to go by.’
‘I’m a...’
‘Dope dealer,’ she repeats. ‘Laudanum’s the fashion I believe, though from what I understand, your trunk of tricks has something to cater to every taste.’
I slump within myself. I wouldn’t have believed I could be so wounded by the past, but the revelation of my former profession tears a hole right through me. Though my failings were numerous, against them was always stacked the small pride of being a doctor. There was nobility in that course, honour even. But no, Sebastian Bell took the title and twisted it to his own selfish ends, making it perverse, denying what little good remained to him.
Evelyn was right, the truth isn’t always a kindness, but no man should discover himself this way, like an abandoned house stumbled upon in the darkness.
‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ says Evelyn, cocking her head to catch my averted eye. ‘I see little of that odious creature in the man before me.’
‘Is that why I’m at this party?’ I ask quietly. ‘To sell my wares?’
Her smile is sympathetic. ‘I suspect so.’
I’m numb, two steps behind myself. Every strange glance over the course of the day, every whisper and commotion as I walked into a room is explained. I thought people were concerned for my well-being, but they were wondering when my trunk would reopen for business.
I feel such a fool.
‘I have to...’
I’m moving before I understand how that sentence ends, my body carrying me back through the forest at an ever increasing pace. I’m almost running by the time I arrive on the road. Evelyn’s at my heels, struggling to keep up. She’s trying to anchor me with words, reminding me of my desire to meet Madeline, but I’m impervious to reason, consumed by my hatred for the man I was. His flaws I could accept, perhaps even overcome, but this is a betrayal. He made his mistakes and fled, leaving me holding the tatters of his scorched life.
Blackheath’s door stands open and I’m up the staircase and into my room so quickly the smell of damp earth still clings to me, as I stand panting over the trunk. Is this what drove me into the forest last night? Is this what I spilled blood for? Well, I’m going to smash it all, and with it any connection to the man I was.
Evelyn arrives to find me ransacking my bedroom for something heavy enough to break the lock. Intuiting my purpose, she ducks into the corridor, returning with the bust of some Roman emperor or other.
‘You’re a treasure,’ I say, using it to hammer the lock.
When I yanked the trunk out of the cupboard this morning, it was so heavy it took all my strength to lift, but now it’s sliding backwards with each blow. Once again Evelyn comes to the rescue, sitting on the trunk to keep it in place, and after three enormous strikes, the lock clatters to the floor.
Tossing the bust on the bed, I lift the heavy lid.
The trunk’s empty.
Or at least mostly empty.
In a dark corner is a solitary chess piece with Anna’s name carved into the base.
‘I think it’s time you told me the rest of your story,’ says Evelyn.
8
Darkness presses up against my bedroom window, its cold breath leaving frost on the glass. The fire hisses in response, the swaying flames my only light. Steps hurry down the corridor beyond my closed door, a jumble of voices on their way to the ball. Somewhere in the distance I hear the tremble of a violin coming awake.
Stretching my feet towards the fire, I wait for silence. Evelyn asked me to attend both dinner and the party, but I can’t mingle with these people, knowing who I am and what it is they really want from me. I’m tired of this house, their games. I’m going to meet Anna at 10:20 p.m. in the graveyard, and then I’ll have a stable hand take us to the village, away from this madness.
My gaze returns to the chess piece I found in the trunk. I’m holding it up to the light in the hopes of worrying loose some further memories. Thus far it’s kept quiet and there’s little about the piece itself to illuminate my memory. It’s a bishop, hand-carved and freckled with white paint; a far cry from the expensive ivory sets I’ve seen around the house, and yet... it means something to me. Regardless of any memory there’s a feeling associated with it, a sense of comfort almost. Holding it brings me courage.
There’s a knock on the door, my hand tightening around the chess piece as I start from the chair. The closer I come to the meeting in the graveyard the more highly strung I’ve become, practically leaping out of the window every time the fire pops in the grate.