Hazardous spirits z

And now there he was, spent and snoring. For Evelyn, it felt like the disorientation after an accident. With a before and an after and no way to go back. Robert was the one who always knew how to make things right, to think practically, to be rational, reasonable. He was an accountant, for heaven’s sake! Evelyn peered across the room. The window on the far side was fixed at the latch, and yet the curtain was moving, the peacock pattern rippling, all by itself. She felt her panic growing, a zeppelin inflating in her throat. Grabbing the first coat that came to her hand in the hallway, she let herself out of the house.

It was dark outside, the streetlamps smudgy baubles of light in the misty evening. Not until she was halfway along the front path, did Evelyn realise the coat she had seized was, in fact, a summer gabardine cloak she’d intended to donate to the Salvation Army. On the other side of the road, Mrs Wrigley’s housemaid was walking her beagle, and she nodded politely. Evelyn swallowed – what if the housemaid could already sense the peculiarity, pulsing out of her? Now aware she was hatless, Evelyn bunched up her cloak and began to run. Breathless, she arrived at Kitty’s house and pounded on the door.

Jeanie, Kitty’s maid, answered. ‘Mrs Hazard, good evening,’ she said, her eyes travelling over Evelyn’s attire.

Without waiting for an invitation, Evelyn pushed past her into the hallway. ‘Where is Kitty? Upstairs?’

‘No, Mrs Hazard.’ Jeanie licked her lips. ‘Mr and Mrs Fraser are in the dining room.’

Evelyn marched along the corridor and stopped at the dining-room door. From outside, she heard conversation, and through the gap in the hinge, silver candlesticks glittered. Kitty never used the Mairibank silver unless she was entertaining.

‘Who else is here?’ she hissed at Jeanie.

‘Mr and Mrs Wheeler are dining here tonight,’ Jeanie said. ‘Shall I let Mrs Fraser know you are expecting her?’

‘Yes.’ Evelyn stepped from foot to foot, and dared to put her face around the door. The wallpaper was red-and-black velvet damask, which Evelyn had always found far too heavy, and in the dim light, it took her a precious two seconds to locate Kitty at the far end of the table. She was wearing her pink Callot Soeurs evening dress, the pearls around her neck shining in the glow from the polished candlesticks.

Jeanie cleared her throat, and Evelyn pulled back.

‘Mrs Hazard? The parlour is available, if you like.’

‘Fine.’ Evelyn hurried next door where a fire was burning in the grate, and a card table and four folding chairs had been pulled into the middle of the room, ready for a game of bridge. She paced the narrow aisle between the sofa and the table.

‘Evie?’ came Kitty’s voice.

Evelyn flung herself at her sister so violently she almost bowled her over. Kitty patted her on the back, and then gently levered her away. ‘What’s wrong? Your coat – your shoes!’

Looking down, Evelyn now saw that she was still wearing her Turkish house slippers. ‘It’s Robert,’ she said, and began to cry. ‘He’s gone insane.’

Kitty’s hand flew to her pearls, and even through Evelyn’s distress, the primness of the action chimed in a way she would later identify as funny. Kitty glanced over her shoulder to the doorway, where Jeanie was wearing a practised blank expression. ‘Fetch Dr Greitzer,’ Kitty said.

Jeanie nodded with the indecent haste of someone thrilled to find themselves perpendicular to a drama.

Kitty gestured to the sofa. ‘Tell me what’s happened. What do you mean, insane?’

Evelyn sniffed into a handkerchief she had recovered from the cloak pocket. ‘He called me into the parlour, and I thought he was going to complain about the purse I bought for your Christmas present—’ Evelyn stopped. ‘Oh, and now the surprise is ruined.’

‘Never mind that. What has he done? Has he …’ Kitty’s face flushed. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Has he struck you?’

Evelyn bristled. Even insane, her husband wasn’t that insane. ‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ She wiped her face with the handkerchief; now realising it wasn’t at all clean. She swallowed. ‘He thinks he’s hearing voices, whispers in the house.’

The Burning Time

Peter Hanington peter hanington is the author of A Dying Breed, A Single Source and A Cursed Place, which star William Carver. Peter worked as a journalist and radio producer for over twentyfive years, including fourteen years at Radio 4 on the Today Programme as well as The World Tonight and Newshour on the BBC World Service. He currently lives between London and New York and still travels frequently as research for his novels. @HaningtonPhan

An intriguing tip-off leads old-school reporter William Carver deep into a dangerous world of corruption and greed in this gripping international thriller that races between Sydney, New York, Seville and London.

Extract

The London Eye, South Bank, London

CARVER WAS HALFWAY ROUND ON HIS FIRST ROTATION and two thirds of the way through his first bottle of prosecco when he saw Leonard Allen waiting at the foot of the London Eye, dressed for the weather in a fawn-coloured mackintosh with a black umbrella. It took another fifteen minutes for Carver’s pod to wobble its way down to terra firma. When it did, he greeted the civil servant with a handshake and a quick hello before negotiating with the attendant to exchange his now empty bottle for a fresh one and a second glass. As soon as the pod doors slid shut, he filled both glasses and handed one to Allen who gave a little bow of thanks.

‘I suppose it’s five o’clock somewhere.’

‘It’s almost five o’clock here.’ Carver looked at his watch. ‘Or four anyway. I’m not a big fan of heights, I thought a drink might help.’

‘I’m sure it will.’ The civil servant shrugged himself free from his coat and folded it carefully, placing it on the egg-shaped bench in the middle of the pod next to his umbrella. He was wearing a dark suit with a faint chalk stripe to it, a white shirt and knitted navy-blue tie. ‘I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have suggested we meet here if I’d known you were… it’s acrophobic, isn’t it? Sounds a bit like the spider one but isn’t. We could press that…’ He pointed at a big red emergency button next to the sliding glass door. ‘…and ask them to let us off.’

Carver shook his head. ‘We’re here now.’

‘True. I thought this would make a nice change from those dingy little pubs and hotel bars where we’ve met in the past.’

‘I see.’

‘Plus, there’s that hiding in plain sight thing, isn’t there? What could be less suspicious than two fellows taking a ride on the London Eye?’

Carver could think of many things, but he let it go.

‘What’s this about then, Leonard? I haven’t heard from you for a while.’

‘No, well you haven’t asked me to…clarify anything for you…’ He took a tiny sip of his prosecco. ‘…and I haven’t had anything interesting to say to you.’

‘Until now.’