The Body in the Ice

by A. J. MacKenzie

She said in her light voice, ‘You have rearranged your books.’

  The room was full of books, many of them, like the furniture, worn from long usage. ‘The fading relics of my past intellectual pretensions,’ he said, sitting down opposite her and looking at his bookshelves. ‘Yes, I have put them in some sort of order at last. I began rereading Gibbon, and discovered half the volumes were missing. Tracking them down involved taking practically every book off the shelves. I decided I might as well put them back in order.’

  ‘The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire? Not exactly a cheerful subject for winter evenings.’

  ‘Decline and fall have been much on my mind of late,’ he said. ‘We heard more bad news in Ashford. Lord Malmesbury’s peace mission to Paris has failed; the Directory will not even receive him. The Austrians have been beaten in Italy, again. The embers of revolt still glow in Ireland, and French ships have been sighted off the coasts, preparing, it is said, to land troops to support the rebels. France grows daily stronger, and we, it seems, grow weaker.’ He sighed and changed the subject. ‘Has Mrs Kemp offered you refreshment?’

  ‘I am perfectly content, thank you.’

  He regarded her, quietly. ‘This is a very bad business,’ he said at length. ‘I was persuaded to become a justice of the peace against my better judgement. More than ever, I am regretting that decision.’

  ‘To be honest, I have never been entirely certain why you agreed.’

  ‘After the events of last June, Lord Clavertye needed someone he could trust. A steady hand on the tiller, was how he put it. He was extremely pressing.’

  ‘I am sure he was. But in my experience, you seldom care what Lord Clavertye thinks, and are even less likely to do what he wants.’

  Lord Clavertye, the deputy lord lieutenant of Kent, was an old acquaintance of Hardcastle’s from Cambridge; these days, he thought, Clavertye respects rather than likes me. ‘I suppose I realised he was right,’ he said. ‘Someone had to take this duty, if only to restore some trust in the law after Fanscombe’s disgrace. I was the only logical choice at the time. And, I do owe Clavertye a great deal. He is the patron of this parish, and it was he who found me this living after my own . . . disgrace.’

  She nodded. ‘What do you intend to do about the murder of the young woman?’ she asked.

  He frowned, staring into the fire. ‘Let us take stock of the situation,’ he said finally. ‘New Hall has been standing empty since June. Then, on the twenty-third of December, two unknown people arrived at the house and gained entry. They apparently spent two nights there. At some point on Christmas Day the woman received a savage blow to the back of the head, then shortly afterwards drowned in the horse pond. The other member of the party has disappeared, locking the house and taking both horses with him.’

  ‘Just a moment. You said, “him”. Why do we assume the other person was a man? If one was a woman dressed as a man, why not the other?’

  ‘It is possible,’ he conceded. ‘But I suspect it was a man because of the severity of the blow the woman received. Not many women are strong enough to strike a blow of such power. Also . . . one can conceive of reasons why a man might take a woman in disguise alone to a remote house. It is a little harder to imagine a motive for another woman doing so.’

  ‘But it is possible,’ she said, echoing him. ‘I am not saying you are wrong, merely that we need to keep an open mind.’

  ‘I yield the point. I have laid out what we do know. Let us now turn to the list of things we do not know. We do not know who the dead woman is, where she comes from or why she was here. We do not know the identity of the other person, or where this other person might now be. Most of all, we do not know why he – for the moment, I shall continue to say he – attacked the dead woman.’

  ‘But you have a theory,’ she said, and waited.

  ‘I know how it appears,’ Hardcastle said. ‘The woman was enticed to the house, and the man killed her. There might be several motives: a fit of sudden anger, a quarrel, a disagreement over money, or sex. Perhaps the woman knew something, or had something the man wanted, but refused to divulge it. He attacked her out of spite, or in an attempt to beat a confession from her. The assistant coroner’s report will tell us whether there were any other marks on her body.’

  ‘All of that is certainly quite possible,’ she said. ‘But there is something particular that bothers me.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The boot. One of her boots had been pulled off and was lying near the body. Why?’

  ‘Might it have fallen off?’

  ‘They were half-boots, and snugly fitting. It would have taken an effort to pull it off.’ He remembered the boots and nodded agreement. ‘I think someone tried to pull her from the pond,’ Mrs Chaytor said, ‘and seized her by one leg, and the boot then came away in the other person’s hand. That person then dropped the boot and left the scene.’

  ‘But who could that person be? The killer? Why would the killer smash her skull, push her into the water and drown her, and then try to pull her out again?’

  ‘To hide the body?’ she asked.

  ‘Then why not go ahead and hide it? Why give up on the attempt, drop the boot and leave the body where it was?’

  ‘Perhaps the killer then heard someone coming, and fled the scene,’ she said.

  ‘It was Christmas Day, and bitterly cold. No one would be out and about . . . except perhaps for some of our neighbours coming to take wood from the woodshed, of course. But Joshua has spoken to every household in the parish. No one admits to going to New Hall that day save for the ladies’ two servants.’

  ‘Very well. You have rebutted my arguments. Now advance some of your own, so that I may destroy them in turn.’

  He smiled a little. ‘I admit it is mysterious, and I have no better explanation to offer. In fact, for the moment there are really only two things to be done. I can write to Lord Clavertye and ask him to instigate a wider search for the man who fled New Hall, on the grounds that he is suspected of murder. And, we must of course search the house and grounds for clues as soon as it is light . . .’

  The rector paused, staring into the fire again. ‘Why that house?’ he said, half to himself. ‘Why of all the remote places to carry a woman to, why choose that ill-starred place? There are plenty of empty houses on Romney Marsh, many even more remote than this. There were only two of them; why did they choose a house so large? Or did they choose it? Did they perhaps stumble upon it by accident?’

  ‘They chose it,’ she said, ‘or one of them did. They had keys to unlock and lock the doors.’

  ‘Of course, of course. Where would they have got the keys?’

  ‘From Mrs Fanscombe, after she left? Might there be some connection to her?’

  ‘You are forgetting that the Fanscombes only leased New Hall,’ he reminded her. ‘Eugénie Fanscombe terminated the lease when she departed after her husband’s death. She was unlikely to keep any reminders of her unhappy time in that house. The keys would likely have been returned to the owners’ solicitor . . .’

  The rector stopped for a moment, still staring into the fire. Then he rose and went to his desk, unlocked it and pulled out a letter, which he carried across to Mrs Chaytor and handed to her. She took it, noting the large and ornate seal, of a kind which meant the writer was either a self-important solicitor or a particularly prosperous cheesemonger. She took the letter and read.

  ANTHONY JESSINGTON, ESQ

  LINCOLN’S INN

  LONDON

  1st September, 1796.

  The Reverend M. A. Hardcastle

  The Rectory

  St Mary in the Marsh

  Kent

  The Reverend Hardcastle, Sir,

  In the wake of the unhappy events lately occurred involving the last tenant of New Hall, St Mary in the Marsh, it is my duty to resolve certain issues regarding the said estate. I would very much welcome your assistance in this matter.

  I have been, in name, legal a
dvisor to the Rossiter family, the owners of New Hall, these past two years or more. During that time I have, to the best of my professional ability, endeavoured to manage the family’s estate in this country carefully and with probity, so you may imagine my dismay on being informed of the activities of the late tenant, Mr Fanscombe. I am duty bound to inform the owners of what has transpired, but I have had no fortune in contacting any member of the Rossiter family, who, as I was informed upon taking over their affairs, are currently residing in unknown parts of the Americas. I feel it my duty to attempt to contact interested members of the family, and, as it is not currently within my power to come myself to St Mary in the Marsh due to an indisposition which makes travel inadvisable, I am therefore communicating with your good self.

  It is my devout hope that you shall be able to shed some light on any other members of the Rossiter family who are likely to be extant. For example, there might be a junior branch of the family whose names do not appear in my records. I should be very grateful if you could consult any records of baptism, marriage or death that you have, so that I might compare them with my own records to check the accuracy of the latter.

  I should also be most grateful if you felt able to provide any further information as to the whereabouts of those family members who went to America. While I have a distaste for what might be described as ‘gossip’ or ‘tittle-tattle’, I am hopeful that some of the family may have been in informal communication with persons local to their estate. It is my hope that you, as rector, may be able to gather relevant information in a discreet manner, so as not to arouse any vulgar curiosity in the locale.

  I include for your elucidation a list of the family members as I was passed them upon my acquisition of the Rossiter family affairs.

  Your faithful servant,

  ANTHONY JESSINGTON

  ‘Dear, dear,’ said Mrs Chaytor, clicking her tongue. ‘Clearly Mr Jessington is not in favour of using one word where ten will do.’ She folded the letter and returned it to Hardcastle. ‘He wants you to find the Rossiters for him.’

  ‘Which I have absolutely no intention of doing,’ said the rector, returning the letter to his desk. ‘I have enough on my plate without acting as a solicitor’s runner as well. In any case, there is nothing I could do even were I so inclined. I did consult the registers, and it so happens that there is an Amélie Rossiter buried in the churchyard, but she died more than a quarter of a century ago. Apart from that, there is nothing.’

  ‘But there is a connection between this letter and the murder,’ she said.

  He looked at her. ‘What makes you say that? Woman’s intuition?’

  Her eyebrows rose a little. ‘You must be feeling better,’ she said. ‘You are attempting humour. Your sudden recollection of the letter is reason enough to suggest a connection. Have you heard anything further from Anthony Jessington “Esk”?’

  The rector shook his head.

  ‘Suppose he did make contact with the Rossiters after the date of this letter,’ she said, ‘and informed them that their tenants have gone and New Hall is standing empty. And then suppose someone – a member of the family, a friend of the family – decided that a deserted house on Romney Marsh would make an ideal place to bring a woman for a little Christmas sport. And then, because he was angry with her, or tired of her, or because that is what gives him pleasure, he killed her.’

  Amelia Chaytor’s eyes, as she looked back at the rector, were steady and brilliant blue. ‘Which means, so long as he is free, he is likely to attack again,’ she said.

  Chapter 3

  Unlawful Killing

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  26th December, 1796.

  My lord,

  It is my unpleasant duty to inform you of an event which took place in St Mary on Christmas Day. Briefly, the body of a young black woman was found dead in the grounds of New Hall. I have yet to receive the report of the assistant coroner, but judging by the condition of the body there seems little doubt that she was murdered. I am confident that the coroner will bring in a verdict of unlawful killing, and have begun my own investigation accordingly.

  It would appear that the woman was enticed or taken to New Hall by a man, who has since disappeared. It is quite likely that this man is the murderer, and I believe it is urgent that we apprehend him, for he represents a clear danger to the public order. I urge you, therefore, to take all possible steps to track this man down as soon as you may.

  We have no description of this man, nor any clues as to his identity. We know only that he left New Hall, with two horses, at some time on Christmas Day. I regret to say also that we have no information as to the identity of the victim.

  Yr very obedient servant,

  HARDCASTLE

  THE RECTORY, ST MARY IN THE MARSH, KENT.

  27th December, 1796.

  My dear Mr Jessington,

  I am writing to inform you of an incident that took place at New Hall, St Mary in the Marsh, two days ago. The body of a young black woman was found in the grounds of the house, apparently murdered. We have, as yet, no information as to the woman’s identity. As you are the legal representative of the owners of New Hall, I felt it only right and proper you should be informed.

  As justice of the peace for the district, it falls to me to conduct an inquiry into this affair. I hope you will forgive me if, acting in that capacity, I put several questions to you.

  Firstly, with reference to your letter of 1st September last, have you been able to contact the Rossiter family since that time? Have you located their whereabouts in the Americas, or have you unearthed any further family members in this country? If so, I should very much like to be put in contact with them.

  On a related matter, can you also inform me as to whether anyone has made inquiries of you about New Hall in recent weeks? It would appear that the murdered woman, and presumably also her killer, gained access to New Hall by the use of keys. It would therefore greatly assist my inquiries if you could confirm the whereabouts of all known sets of keys to the house.

  I look forward to your soonest reply,

  Yr very obedient servant,

  REV. M. A. HARDCASTLE, J. P.

  New Hall, on a cold misty morning, loomed darkly through the trees. Brick-built with a handsome portico and four curving Dutch gables, it had an air of lost prosperity. Its builders had been people of substance and property. Walking up the drive with Stemp, his breath steaming in the cold, Hardcastle wondered what had led the Rossiters to abandon New Hall and seek a new life in the Americas. He had heard little of the family or its history during his years in the parish.

  Mrs Chaytor was waiting by the door, cloaked and muffled like them all. ‘Good morning,’ she said calmly.

  Stemp looked at the rector. ‘Are you certain you want to do this?’ the rector asked her. ‘We do not know what we may find.’

  ‘We may find nothing.’

  Half a dozen steps led up to the front door. They knocked several times, hoping the caretaker might have returned, but were met with silence. They began by searching the stables. Two horses had clearly been stabled there, but all their tack had gone with them. A bag of oats, partly full, hung from a nail on one wall. The woodshed was half full of corded wood; there was nothing to be seen there.

  An unlocked door at the end of the stable nearest the house revealed a stair going down. They descended carefully and found a range of cellars running underneath the kitchen wing of the house, musty and freezing cold. They were also surprisingly large; there were five rooms in all, each well-built and lined with brick. Apart from two hogsheads and a rack for wine bottles, the cellars were entirely empty.

  They returned to the front door of the house. They had no keys, but Stemp produced two bits of metal from his pocket and waggled them in the keyhole. After a while there was a metallic click and the door groaned open. They walked quietly into the dusty shadows of the hall, doors leading off to left and right, a dark oak staircase in front of them sweep
ing up to a small gallery. To either side of the stair were passages to the rear of the house. There was a strong smell of damp.

  Stemp held up his lantern. Shadows ran up the stairs and along the gallery, fleeing silently. Hardcastle remembered the treason and death that had been plotted in this house not so very long ago, and wondered what fresh secrets it was hiding.

  ‘Let us begin,’ he said.

  They found the blood almost at once, at the foot of the stair. Two days old now, it was dried black, a pooled stain like an old inkblot on the floor. They looked at this for a while in the wavering light of the lantern, and Mrs Chaytor was conscious once again of the chill in the air.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked quietly. ‘How was it done?’

  The rector frowned. ‘I think she was going upstairs,’ he said finally, ‘and was struck from behind on about the third step.

  Mrs Chaytor went up to the third step and stopped. ‘About here?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the rector. ‘He could easily have struck her from below. Hold up the lantern . . . yes, there. See the blood marks on the rail, and on the stairs themselves? Then, I think she fell to the bottom of the stairs, where she lay bleeding on the floor.’

  ‘Not much blood where she fell,’ commented Stemp.

  ‘No. Which could indicate that she did not lie there for very long, perhaps only a few minutes. Joshua, the lantern, if you please.’

  Holding the lantern low over the floor, the rector quartered the hall between the foot of the stairs and the back of the hall, pausing every so often to point to dark marks on the parquet. ‘Drops of blood,’ he said. ‘She was still bleeding heavily, but most of it ran down the back of her coat; I remember the fabric was stiff with blood. That would mean that she was walking upright when she crossed this floor. If she had been dragged or carried, one would expect to see a trail of blood.’