The Body in the Ice

by A. J. MacKenzie

  ‘When I accused you just now of being motivated by racial hatred and greed, I was not telling the full truth. Both are motives, I am certain; but there is something at New Hall that runs deeper than hatred, deeper than greed. What is it, Parker? What are you afraid of, and so desperate to protect?’

  ‘Now this really is moonshine,’ said Parker. ‘You know, Hardcastle, I’ve heard rumours that you’re something of a tippler. Did you dream up all these fancy theories while you were foxed? That might explain it.’

  There was a sneer in Parker’s voice, but it was not real; he was labouring to keep up a pretence. Yes, thought the rector; not a very good lawyer at all.

  ‘When you served in the continental army, Major Parker,’ he said, ‘you met a number of French officers. You know who I mean; the gentlemen who came over with Monsieur de Lafayette and Monsieur de Biron to help you win your freedom.’

  Suddenly, there were beads of sweat on Parker’s gleaming head. ‘That is not true.’

  ‘Mr Parker . . . It really is not a good idea to lie to me. Have you visited France since the end of the war?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you corresponded with any of these men?’

  ‘No!’

  The rector sighed. ‘So you have never met or corresponded with a French army officer named Camille de Foucarmont?’

  ‘Foucarmont?’

  ‘Foucarmont served in America. Perhaps you met him there for the first time, or perhaps there was already an existing link; after all, your wife’s family have French connections.’

  Parker had gone pale. ‘So what? Many families have relations in France.’

  The rector nodded. ‘Either way, you established a direct connection with him, and that leads us to the present moment. I think Foucarmont knows the secret of New Hall too. Because of that, he came back to Romney Marsh at almost exactly the same time you arrived. Now, that could be coincidence, but Mr Parker, I do not believe in coincidences.’

  Hardcastle paused as Parker opened his mouth to speak, but closed it without saying a word. The American’s breathing was shallow and fast, his fists clenching and unclenching. ‘You are in league with him,’ said the rector. ‘You and he are here for the same purpose.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Parker suddenly. ‘What purpose could the two of us possibly have?’

  ‘I do not yet know what that purpose is, but I suspect it bodes no good for England. It has already led to one murder, and another attempted murder, and unless I can put a stop to your activities, there may be yet more killing. Mark my words, Parker, and listen to them well. I will stop you.’

  Parker made one last attempt at bluster. ‘You have a fine imagination, reverend, but I am still waiting for you to come up with any proof. And now, if you’ll forgive me, I must take my leave. Too much time has been wasted on this nonsense.’

  ‘Proof? I am braiding the rope of evidence even as we speak, and the day is not far off when I will place it around your neck. I will have justice for Emma Rossiter. You have my pledged word on that.’

  *

  ‘You look cold,’ said Mrs Chaytor.

  It was early evening on 9th February. A chill mist was falling, its umbrous shrouds trailing slowly over the flat Marsh.

  ‘I went for a walk along the shore,’ said the rector, ‘and got caught in this accursed fog. I am cold to the bone.’

  ‘Lucy will bring us some tea. Should you be out walking alone at the moment? Foucarmont is still at large. I hope at least you took Rodolpho with you.’

  ‘I did; not that he would be much use. The dog is an utter coward.’

  ‘Truly?’ She stared at him.

  ‘It is quite true. The other day down at the bay, he was terrified of a rabbit. And this afternoon as we were walking, a small field creature, a mouse or vole or some such, ran across the path in front of us, and I thought Rodolpho would jump out of his skin. He is surely the most timorous creature on four legs.’

  ‘Poor Rodolpho,’ said Mrs Chaytor, putting a hand to her mouth. ‘Unless, perhaps, he is a Quaker? Dedicated to doing no harm?’

  ‘A Quaker wolfhound? In this day and age, I suppose anything is possible.’

  The tea arrived. Mrs Chaytor poured. ‘And so,’ she said expectantly as she picked up the sugar tongs, ‘apart from Rodolpho’s terrors, what have you come to tell me?’

  ‘I had a theory about Parker. I decided to test it, the difficult way.’

  He told her about the conversation earlier in the day, she watching him steadily. ‘I thought I could crack him,’ Hardcastle said. ‘He is more resilient than I suspected. He is certainly guilty of something; his demeanour told me as much. But guilty of exactly what offence is not clear. I feel sure he had a hand in poor Emma Rossiter’s murder, and he certainly has some connection with Foucarmont. Emma was killed to stop the secret of New Hall, whatever it is, from getting out. But it seemed to me that he was more afraid of being linked with Foucarmont than the accusation of murder.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Mrs Chaytor said, staring at him. ‘Parker has a connection with Foucarmont? Then you have made a substantial advance.’

  ‘Have I? Parker is still at liberty, and for all my fine words he will remain so until I can find evidence that will convince Lord Clavertye of Parker’s guilt. Indeed, I may have put myself in jeopardy. Clavertye told me to stay away from the Rossiters, and I am certain that Parker will now complain of my behaviour to his London connections or to his lordship, or both. I should do so, were I in his position. And until I can prove that Parker was involved in the killing of Emma, I cannot prove the innocence of Samuel.’

  ‘But the connection with Foucarmont is very serious,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘Should you not lay that before Lord Clavertye?’

  ‘I have no proof; it is only a theory. I do not know anything for certain, merely that the man began to perspire like Niagara as soon as I mentioned Foucarmont’s name. So long as he has the protection of the American ambassador, there is little to be done except continue to probe.’

  ‘The American ambassador may not be so closely involved as you think,’ she said. ‘Laure told me yesterday that Parker is only with the embassy as a guest of his brother-in-law, James. He is the one with the official protection, not Parker. Of course, James would have to be persuaded to cut his tie with his sister’s husband. But he might not be entirely averse to doing so.’

  ‘Oh?’

  There was a noise at the front door, and they heard Lucy moving to answer it. ‘Laure also told me that Parker and his wife have largely squandered their fortune. They have, in the fine old phrase, not got sixpence to scratch with. James paid their fares to come to England, which was generous of him. But would that generous, extremely rich brother also enable his sister to go travelling to France and Italy?’

  ‘They want to go to France?’ The rector stared.

  ‘To buy antiquities and pictures, Laure said.’

  ‘I would lay money there is more to it than that . . . And James will not lend them the money?’

  ‘Laure did not say that. I inferred it . . . Yes, Lucy, who is it?’

  ‘It’s a lady, ma’am. She has no card, and will not give her name. She says she must see you urgently. It is about New Hall, she says.’

  ‘About New Hall! Is it Miss Rossiter?’

  ‘No, ma’am. It’s no one I have seen before.’

  ‘You had better show her in,’ said Mrs Chaytor.

  The woman who quietly entered the room a few moments later was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, dressed in a dark grey gown of the sort that a prosperous merchant’s wife might wear. She was on the tall side, about the same height as Mrs Chaytor, but broader in figure, with curling brown hair framing her face. She is a pretty woman, Amelia thought. I could envy those deep brown eyes, and those full lips and that lustrous golden skin. She looks familiar, too; but I am sure we have not met.

  ‘Mrs Amelia Chaytor?’ the other woman asked. She had a soft, well-modulated voice with a peculia
r accent neither Mrs Chaytor nor the rector could place.

  ‘I am she,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘This is the Reverend Hardcastle.’

  ‘I recognise you both,’ the other woman said, curtseying a little. ‘I have seen you before. But I think you do not know me.’

  ‘Then will you tell us your name?’ asked Mrs Chaytor.

  The young woman nodded. ‘My name is Emma Rossiter,’ she said.

  Chapter 14

  Death Comes to Hope

  They stared at her, and for a fleeting moment both the rector and Mrs Chaytor wondered if they were seeing a ghost.

  The rector cleared his throat. ‘Emma Rossiter,’ he said. ‘Can you prove that you are she?’

  The woman nodded again, a quick little motion of her head; she had anticipated the question. ‘I have no documents to prove my name. But you may ask me any question you wish. I will answer you truthfully.’

  She had something of Samuel’s manner of speaking, the rector thought, though she spoke more quickly and with greater fluency, and she had the same firm jaw and chin common to the Rossiter family. My God; could she really be who she says she is?

  Aloud, he said, ‘If you really are Emma Rossiter, then start by telling us who died at New Hall on Christmas Day.’

  An expression of pain crossed the young woman’s face. ‘Her name was Sarah Freebody,’ she said. ‘She was my servant. And I am responsible for her death.’

  ‘I see,’ said the rector, and he shot a glance at Mrs Chaytor. ‘I should warn you at once that I am a justice of the peace, an officer of the law. Are you confessing to the murder of this woman?’

  ‘No. I am responsible, for it was my actions that led to her death. But I did not kill her. She was a good woman, and innocent of any misdeed.’

  ‘Do you know who did kill her? Did you see the murderer?’

  ‘No. She was attacked while I was in the cellar of the house. I saw nothing at the time.’

  ‘I think we should all sit down,’ said Mrs Chaytor.

  They sat. The young woman perched on the edge of a chair opposite them, her hands in her lap. She had strong, capable hands, the rector thought. There was a poise about her that was part natural grace, part something she had learned very recently, for she was still very conscious of her posture. She looked at them now with wide dark eyes, her face full of concern and . . . yes, there was fear too, but only a little.

  ‘Let us begin at the beginning,’ said the rector. ‘You say your name is Emma Rossiter. Where were you born, and when?’

  ‘I was born in the city of New York in 1772. My mother was Martha Rossiter, wife of Nicholas Rossiter.’

  The story she told was identical in every respect to that he had heard from Samuel, except it was a little more detailed. When she spoke of their life among the Shawnee her face softened. ‘Looking back on it now, I see our life was a hard one. The winters were cold, and sometimes when the settlers burned our crops there was hunger. But Ahneewakee always looked after us. She would go without food herself, so that we might eat. She gave us everything she had.’

  ‘She sounds like a good woman,’ said Mrs Chaytor gently.

  ‘Yes. She was noble and generous. No mother could have done more for us. Her death was a great sorrow, the greatest I have known. Not even the death of Father affected me so much.’

  She spoke also of the return to her mother’s family in Pennsylvania and the welcome they received there; her story was more nuanced than the one Samuel had told. ‘Aunt Rachel was very kind and good, and she loved us. Not all the family did, nor did others in the village. Some still disliked the fact that our mother had married Father. They did not think it was fitting. And because we were the product of that union, they disliked us too.’

  ‘Racial prejudice goes both ways, it would seem,’ said Mrs Chaytor.

  ‘I had never heard of this idea of race before. Among the Shawnee, all were equal; our colour was hardly remarked upon. In Pennsylvania, Samuel was accepted more quickly than I, because he had our mother’s colour. I inherited my skin colour from my father, and they disliked this. That has often been the case. To black people I am white, but to white people I am black.’

  ‘What do you think you are?’ the rector asked. The question slipped out almost before he was aware of it.

  ‘I do not know. I seem to be neither one thing, nor another.’ The young woman stared into the fire. ‘I miss my childhood among the Shawnee,’ she said. ‘Life was hard, but I knew who I was. Ever since Ahneewakee died, I have been searching for a home. I thought I had one with Aunt Rachel, and then with Father, but they died too.’

  Those whom we love, die, Samuel had said. ‘Did you ever think of going back?’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘Back to the Indians?’

  The other woman smiled a little. ‘Yes. But it would not have been the same. What I wanted was my childhood all over again. I wanted Ahneewakee’s love. But, time will not run backwards.’

  She told of their journey to New York and then to Boston, and their rough reception there by Parker, and then the walk to Montréal and the reunion with their father. ‘When he died, we were once again alone,’ she said simply. ‘But Father gave us something to cling to. He gave us the idea of a home here in England. We knew nothing about England. But, the will said we owned New Hall, where Father had lived as a child and where our grandmother was buried. That, we thought, might be a home for us.’

  ‘So, you came to London,’ said the rector. ‘What then?’

  ‘We searched for Mr Parker, the lawyer who had charge of the estate, but were told he was dead. We were not sure what to do then.’ She smiled a little. ‘Life among the Shawnee taught us many things; I can trap and skin a rabbit, I can track a deer, I can grow corn, I can harvest wild fruits and live for days in the forest on my own. But it did not teach us how the laws worked, or what lawyers do. It was some time before we found a kind friend to give us advice and tell us what to do.’

  ‘That would be Mr Equiano,’ said the rector.

  ‘Yes. Samuel has spoken of him to you, then. He has also told you of his visit to Mr Jessington?’

  ‘Yes. And after that, Mr Parker came and threatened you.’

  ‘I was not there when this happened; he spoke to Samuel only. I came back to find Samuel very distressed. He was ready to give up. “We cannot fight these other Rossiters,” he said. “They are rich and powerful, and they have the law on their side. We should stay in London for the winter, and in spring when the ships are sailing we should return to Montréal and make our lives there.”’

  She paused; she was coming to the crux of the matter now, and her audience watched her gather her thoughts, painfully.

  ‘I wanted to see New Hall,’ she said. ‘What is the word I want? Obsessed, that is it. I was obsessed by New Hall. Even before Father’s will was unsealed and we learned that we owned it, I yearned to see it. I knew that Samuel was right, and the house would never be ours. But I thought, if only I could see it for a little while, I could pretend it was the home we have been seeking.’

  She is holding something back, the rector thought. For the first time since she entered this room, she is not telling the whole truth. He waited.

  ‘So, I did a bad thing,’ the young woman said. ‘I knew that if Samuel learned what I intended to do, he would talk me out of it. We cannot go against the law, he would say, because the law is on their side. So, I left secretly without telling him, and I journeyed with Sarah Freebody to New Hall. That was two days before Christmas.’

  ‘A moment, if you please,’ said the rector. ‘Can you describe Miss Freebody to me?’

  ‘I will try.’ In fact, the description was remarkably accurate, and left the rector in no doubt as to the dead woman’s identity. ‘When did she come into your service?’ he asked.

  ‘Only the previous day, the twenty-second. She was a seamstress, but she did other work to make ends meet. She sometimes came to clean at the rooming house where Samuel and I lived. I wanted a companion to travel with, so
meone who understood England and English manners and customs better than I. Sarah was born in London and lived all her life there. So, I thought, she could be my guide, and asked if she would be willing to come with me. She had no family left, and nowhere to spend Christmas, so she agreed. If I had not hired her, she would still be alive. I cannot forgive myself for that.’

  ‘And why dress in men’s clothing?’

  ‘I knew we would attract less attention that way. I often travel in men’s dress when I am with Samuel. It is my colouring, you see. Not everyone likes to see a white woman, as I am often perceived, in the company of a black man. Sometimes he travels as my servant, but I detest that. To treat my brother as a servant, even as a subterfuge, seems wrong to me. So, I dress as a man. I am tall, and can easily play the part.’

  The rector nodded. ‘What else did your father tell you about New Hall?’ he asked quietly.

  The question caught her off guard, and it took her several seconds to respond. ‘He told me the house had a secret,’ she said finally. ‘The secret lies in the cellars, he said. He would say no more. I begged him to tell me, but he just sat and watched me with his eyes twinkling. He was teasing me, of course. He loved to tease me, and he knows I am curious about things and cannot resist a puzzle. I knew it was a game . . . but I convinced myself there really was a secret in the cellar. I made up stories for myself, about buried treasure, or old papers that would prove we were descended from kings; all kinds of things. As much as New Hall itself, I had to see the cellars.’

  The cellars, thought the rector. The cellars that Foucarmont knows of, and has used. He sat forward a little, looking directly at the young woman.

  ‘This is very important. You must tell me everything that happened from the moment you arrived at St Mary on the twenty-third of December.’

  She paused again, thinking and remembering. ‘The hour was late,’ she said. ‘It was nearly dark and quite cold. There were no people about. The house when we arrived was dark too, and I recall Sarah was a little afraid. She said we should not be able to gain entry, for there was bound to be a caretaker who would refuse us. I said all would be well. I would persuade the caretaker, or give him money, and he would let us in. In the end, it did not matter, for the caretaker was not there.’