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Miss Decima eyes darted between them. ‘You saw no one else in the road when you ran into it?’

Theodora frowned. ‘No. It was empty.’

Miss Decima and I looked at each other, bewildered. No killer in the shadows, no veiled suffragette. No sign of where these men had disappeared to, or where –

‘Except for that milk-cart,’ Theodora suddenly added. ‘I remember thinking that was odd. A milk-cart, at eight thirty in the evening!’ She pointed at the crime scene. ‘It was parked right there, at the end of the road. Of course, I didn’t have much time to think about that when –’

Sometimes the truth comes crashing down on you all at once. The noise and confusion and falsity falls away, like flecks of old dry paint on a canvas, and there’s the true answer revealed right beneath it. I stood in silence while everyone around me kept talking, and realized with a sense of slithering dread what had really happened that day on Kensington Gore.

And – more importantly – what was going to happen next.

‘What time is it?’ I shouted, cutting everyone off.

‘Eight minutes to ten,’ said Mr Benson immediately, glancing at his pocket watch. ‘Though in four more seconds, it’ll be –’

I wasn’t listening. I was already racing out of the apartment and down the stairs, trying to stop a bloodbath.

51

Thursday, 22 June, 9.53 a.m.

I skidded through the Gore and on to the main road. The streets were packed. People were out in force, dressed in their finery to celebrate the coronation. I swerved among them, leaping over horse troughs and knocking over cyclists, until I saw a hansom cab trundling towards me. I frantically waved it down.

‘The Mall!’ I cried, leaping aboard. ‘I need to get to the Mall, now!’

‘You and everyone else,’ said the driver, nodding at the packed road ahead. ‘It’s no use, mate. Traffic’s only allowed up to Hycle Park Corner.’

‘Fine!’ I cried. ‘Just go!’

He looked me up and down – at my ripped and bloodstained clothes, my swollen face – and folded his arms. ‘Double charge.’

My face drained. ‘I – I don’t have any mo—’

He shoved me off the carriage and drove away as quickly as he could, shaking his head. I groaned with despair, just as an omnibus flew past. I raced after it, grabbing the handrail at the back and dragging myself on board. It was just as packed, standing room only – and the passengers weren’t happy with someone in my condition forcing his way on either.

‘Sir, please! Can’t you see that there’s no room?’

‘The state of him …’

‘Conductor! He’s got no ticket!’

It was no use. The omnibus had already ground to a halt – I looked out of the window and saw that, just as the cab driver had said, the road ahead was carnage, carriages jostling for every last inch of space. There was no way forward except on foot. I leapt off the bus and tore down the road, sweating like a racehorse, not caring who looked at me. Every minute counted now, every second.

‘Oi! Get back here!’

‘Someone stop that idiot …’

I couldn’t stop. I flew through the gates of Hyde Park and across the grass, my eyes fixed on the far distance ahead. The heat was unbearable. I tore off my tails and dropped them on the ground, ripped off the collar of my shirt and kept on running, heart pounding as I gasped, ‘Don’t be late, please don’t be too late,’ with every breath.

There it was: Wellington Arch, rising through the trees ahead. The Mall lay far beyond it. I could make out the tops of the wooden stands lining the procession’s path, could hear the roaring of the cheering crowd, the music of marching bands, see a million flags waving as one. But there was no way to get through – the crowd was a solid wall of hats and jackets, shoulder to jowl. I could see the household cavalry holding people back, and police officers among them.

‘Everyone has to leave!’ I screamed. ‘There’s going to be a terrible accident!’

People took one look at me and turned away, muttering under their breaths and trying to put as much distance between us as possible. I knew exactly why of course. I looked – and sounded – like a madman.

I turned from the blockade and fled, dodging and weaving through the crowds and following the road south as it wrapped around to the other side of the Mall. My throat was on fire but I couldn’t stop. I had to keep running and find a way to the procession. I had to get there, before …

I followed the road around and saw another park peppered with crowds. On the other side, beyond the police blockades and soldiers on horseback, I could see the royal cavalcade in all its glory. Gleaming carriages were making their way along the Mall, pulled by white horses in grand headdresses. A crowd of thousands clapped and waved and cheered the crowning of the new King. Soon enough, I knew, the golden state carriage would pass the same way.