The Body in the Ice

by A. J. MacKenzie

  ‘Then how did you gain entrance to the house?’

  ‘That was easily done,’ said Emma Rossiter. ‘We have a key.’

  Mrs Chaytor gave a little laugh. ‘The simplest explanation,’ she said, ‘and we never thought of it. Your father left you a key in his will?’

  ‘Yes. He took it with him when he left for America long ago, as a memento. He told us he had never intended to stay permanently; he always planned to return home. And New Hall was his mother’s house, the home of his heart. That was why he kept the key.’

  ‘Go on,’ said the rector, but he said it gently.

  ‘The house was very dark and cold, and smelled. Sarah was still afraid. She had lived all her life in the city, and she found this dark, silent countryside threatening; just as I had been shocked by the noise of the city. We made our way to the kitchen – I see very well in the darkness – and there we found candles and a tinderbox. We lit candles and explored the house, going through every room. I wanted to show Sarah there was nothing to fear, not here, not in my father’s house. And also . . . it was like I was in a dream. I could feel my father’s spirit in every room. It was as if he was present, there beside me.’

  Mrs Chaytor, that most rational of women, gave a little shiver.

  ‘Was there anything unusual about the house?’ asked the rector. ‘Anything that seemed untoward, or out of place?’

  ‘There was very little in the house. Some furniture covered by sheets, beds and chairs, a few tables. Many rooms were entirely empty. Even so, the house seemed warm and welcoming to me . . . although there was something odd about the passage at the rear, behind the stairs. I did not like that passage; there was something there.’

  ‘Something there? Do you mean, a presence?’

  ‘A spirit from the afterlife? No, I do not think it was haunted. But I felt something. Apart from that, the only unpleasant thing was the room where the caretaker slept.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘That was not nice.’

  ‘No . . . What did you do next?’

  ‘The hour was late, so we lit a fire in the kitchen. We had brought food from London, and we made a meal of bread and cheese, sitting together and talking. Then we went to bed. Sarah insisted on sleeping in the servants’ quarters, even though I told her it was not necessary. I picked a room that I thought, I hoped, had once been Father’s. I lay down in our father’s bed with a blanket wrapped around me, and I slept and dreamed that I was home.

  ‘Next morning was cold, and the pond outside was frozen. I found an axe and chopped a hole in the ice to draw water from the pond, for the well was frozen solid. We explored the outbuildings, and found the door to the cellar. Sarah did not want to go down; she said it would be full of dead spiders and cobwebs. I found a lantern in the stable, and lit it and went down by myself. I explored all the rooms, looked into some empty barrels, looked at all the walls and floors and ceilings, trying to find places where treasure or papers might be hidden. I found nothing. Father, I thought, you really did tease me; there is no secret here. But I knew I was wrong. Father would not simply make up a story like that. There was a secret; if only I could find it.

  ‘Sarah spent the rest of the day cleaning the kitchen. She said she had to, the dirt and untidiness offended her. We had plenty of wood and water, though we had to keep chopping through the ice on the pond; the cold was such that the water froze in a few minutes. As for me, I had never lived here, of course, but I made up memories for myself, imagining what life would have been like here as a child. It was make-believe; I do not know this country or its people, and I have no idea what life is like here. But in my made-up memories I roamed the Marsh, watching birds and butterflies in summer, or walked along the edge of the sea, and even went swimming in the water. Or maybe I had a little boat and sailed on the sea. My memories were warm and beautiful, and I was as happy as I have been since before Ahneewakee died.’

  She paused, and they waited, letting her remember. I really must acknowledge, Mrs Chaytor told herself fiercely, that I have no monopoly on sorrow.

  ‘The next day,’ said Emma, continuing with a visible effort, ‘was Christmas. Sarah was very patient with me, for it cannot have been a very pleasant Christmas for her; but at least, she was not alone . . . She liked to organise things. She started moving furniture from other rooms into the morning room, to make it more comfortable. It was now quite cold. In the morning I chopped through the ice on the pond again to draw more water, but by early afternoon it had frozen over again and I had to cut a new hole. I spent the morning by the kitchen fire, thinking. My dreams were done now, and I knew I should have to leave this place and return to London, and confess to Samuel what I had done. I knew he would scold me for having done a wrong thing. I was thinking about how I would apologise to him.

  ‘And then, quite suddenly, a different thought came to me. What if the secret of the cellars was a hidden door or passage that opened onto other, undiscovered rooms? Another mansion might exist below the house, an underground palace or castle. I thought of the rack for bottles. Perhaps it had a . . . mechanism of some sort that would open the invisible door. Father’s desk in Montréal had a handle that, if turned, opened a secret compartment behind the others. Now I wondered if there might be something like it in the cellars.

  ‘Sarah was upstairs. I lit a lantern and went out without telling her, into the cold afternoon. I went down to the cellars to test my theory. Again, I was obsessed. I tried every piece of the bottle rack to see if it would move. None did. Then I tested the walls and floors and ceilings again, looking for loose bricks or any sign of a hidden door.

  ‘By the time my lantern went out it was late and growing dark. I climbed back up to the courtyard, and then I smelled it; the blood. I knew it was fresh, quite fresh, for it smelled warm against the cold air. I followed the scent, and came to the pond. I found the body face down in the water. It took me a moment to realise it was Sarah. Her feet were nearest me; I seized them and tried to pull her from the water, but her body was heavy and the ice had already started to form. One of her boots came away in my hand. I realised then that she must already be dead.

  ‘Then I heard a noise behind me, near the front of the house. At once I thought, it is the killer. He is looking for me. He killed poor Sarah, now he is coming for me. I could do nothing to help Sarah, for she was beyond human aid, so I left her there.

  ‘I ran back to the house. I know how to move silently and swiftly, and also how to fight, but even so I was afraid. When I entered the house I could hear someone moving around in the front rooms, so I went quietly up the back stairs and fetched my clothes and money. Then I came down and went out to the stables and saddled both horses. I put my baggage on one, and rode the other. I rode as quickly and quietly as I could, out of the yard and down to the gates, expecting to be pursued, but I was not.

  ‘I kept going until I was well away from the village and up in the hills above the Marsh. I found a stand of trees, where I picketed the horses and slept for a while. Early next morning, I rode back to Ashford and returned the horses to the stable where I hired them. I had to wait a day at Ashford, as the weather was bad and no coaches were running. Then I returned to London and Samuel. But Samuel was gone.

  ‘I realised he must have come after me, so I retraced my journey. At Ashford, I learned he had hired a horse, but no one knew where he was now. I was very worried. I could think of no reason why anyone would want to kill Sarah. I thought at first that someone had killed her thinking she was me; but then I realised it was quite possible that in my man’s clothes, someone had mistaken me for Samuel and it was he they wanted to kill.’

  ‘Who do you think might want to kill Samuel?’ the rector asked. ‘Or yourself, come to that?’ And when the young woman did not answer, he said, ‘You have an idea, don’t you?’

  ‘Mr Parker hates us,’ she said. ‘He threatened Samuel.’

  ‘A murder had been done. Your brother had disappeared. Parker had threatened you. Why did you n
ot come to the authorities and inform them of all this?’

  ‘I did not know who the authorities were,’ she said simply. ‘And even if I did, how did I know they would listen to me? We are strangers, and of a different race. We are not of your people. Why would you believe us, against one of your own?’

  The rector had no answer to that. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘What did you do next?’

  ‘I wanted to find Samuel, but I did not know where to look. And, I wanted to find out what had happened to poor Sarah. As I said, I was responsible for her death. So, I went to a town called Lydd, where I found a room in a house. I was still in men’s clothes, and I used a man’s name. I was nervous, as I expected people to ask what I was doing there, but no one did.’

  Lydd was another smugglers’ haunt, where people kept their business to themselves. Strangers, provided there was nothing suspicious about them, were ignored.

  ‘I read the newspapers,’ said Emma, ‘and learned there would be an inquest. I came here and attended it, and learned that no one yet knew who Sarah was or who had killed her. I thought of speaking up then, and identifying her, but I knew that you and others would start asking questions. Then I might be in trouble, and I might never find Samuel.’

  ‘You were at the inquest?’ said Mrs Chaytor, and then she gave a little gasp. ‘You were! You sat behind me.’

  ‘I was dressed as a woman then,’ said Emma, giving her a little nod. ‘I used to leave the house in Lydd every morning and go to a little barn that no one used, and change my costume. Sometimes I went as a man, sometimes as a woman, each time appearing as a different person. That way no one would ask why I kept coming back to the same places. I went all over, looking for Samuel and listening for news of him. I came here to St Mary several times.’

  ‘You left holly on your grandmother’s grave,’ said the rector. ‘And on Sarah’s.’

  ‘It seemed the right thing to do,’ she said simply. ‘I do not know why. Then I heard Samuel had been arrested. I was terrified, not knowing what would happen to him. I went often to New Romney and watched the gaol, hoping to hear news. I saw you there several times,’ she said to the rector.

  Hardcastle remembered a young man counting coins, and another standing holding a horse. ‘You are a master of disguise,’ he said, and he smiled for the first time that evening. ‘Of course, as we assumed you were dead, it never occurred to us to look for you. But did you not know that Samuel also thinks you are dead?’

  ‘I did not think he would believe that,’ said Emma emphatically. ‘The newspaper described Sarah as having brown skin. I do not. He must have known I was still alive. He must!’ There were sudden tears in her eyes. ‘He must know!’

  ‘I think he does know,’ said Mrs Chaytor gently. ‘I think that may be one of the reasons why he has now escaped. I think he is still looking for you, Emma.’

  ‘Koneskwa!’ They did not know what she meant, but there was no doubting that it was a cry from the heart. ‘I have done wrong,’ said Emma. ‘All along, I have done wrong. I went to New Hall when I should have stayed away. I fled and left Sarah dead. I failed to go to the authorities and so Samuel was arrested for Sarah’s murder. Now he has escaped because of me, and is in danger once more. Oh, what have I done?’

  ‘Do not be so harsh with yourself,’ said the rector. ‘From another perspective, you have done right most of the time. You could not have known that by going to New Hall, you were putting Miss Freebody in danger. Had you come forward sooner, Samuel would doubtless have been freed. And both of you would have been out in the open, and exposed to Parker’s vengeance.

  ‘No, Miss Rossiter; you were well hidden and Parker could not find you, and Samuel was safe in gaol where Parker could not touch him. You have put your brother through a certain amount of pain, but it is quite likely that you have also saved his life.’

  ‘Why does Mr Parker hate us so?’ Emma implored. ‘We have done no harm to him, or any of his family. Is it because our mother was black, but we are of Rossiter blood? Is that why he wants us dead?’

  ‘He hates you for those reasons, but that is not why he wants to kill you. Your father was quite right, Miss Rossiter. There is a secret at New Hall, and I am willing to bet that it is in the cellars. Parker knows what the secret is, and he is afraid that you know too. He knows you were at the house, and whether he knows it was you in disguise or still thinks it was Samuel no longer really matters.’

  ‘But I do not know what the secret is. I searched and searched, but I found nothing.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter that you yourself do not know what the secret is. Parker thinks you do, and so long as he thinks that, you are dangerous to him.’

  ‘We will tell him that we do not know.’

  ‘He would not believe you. Parker is a man of violence,’ said the rector, ‘and thinks violence solves all problems. I’m afraid, my dear, that if you show yourselves in public, both you and Samuel will be very much in danger.’

  *

  In the end, Hardcastle left Miss Rossiter with Mrs Chaytor. It was the safest thing he could think of; Lucy the housekeeper was devoted to her mistress, and could be trusted. He did not want to send her back to Lydd; Parker, or Foucarmont, was more than capable of tracking her there, and she was lucky they had not found her already. By now they must certainly know she was not in London, and would assume she had come back to the Marsh to find her brother.

  Samuel in his prison manacles was still out there in the dark and the cold. Emma had been surprisingly unconcerned about this; Samuel, she said, had grown up with the Shawnee and knew how to survive in far colder weather than this. What worried her was that he would do something foolish and show himself, and Parker would then find him and kill him. On this score the rector could offer her no reassurance. He could only look after her own safety, and in the capable hands of Mrs Chaytor she was as safe as she would be anywhere. He returned home late, his mind a whirl. Mrs Kemp scolded him for spoiling dinner, and he snapped at her. Calpurnia scolded him for snapping at Mrs Kemp, and he snarled at her too, at which point she threw down her fork and marched away into the drawing room. So absorbed was he in the problem that he did not hear her weeping.

  Half the puzzle had been solved. They knew for certain who the murdered woman was, and it was not Emma Rossiter. That left the other half: who had killed Sarah Freebody and why, and what were they trying to protect?

  It was possible, the rector reflected, that Emma Rossiter was lying; that it was she who had killed Sarah Freebody, or even Samuel and she in collusion. A good barrister – like Lord Clavertye – could still make a case, and a jury might believe it. What was the phrase Samuel had used? A convenient murderer. That could apply to Emma too.

  It was possible that they were the killers, yes; but he did not believe it for a moment. Twenty years as a clergyman had taught him how to take the measure of people. Emma Rossiter was no murderer. She was a worried, even frightened young woman who had stumbled into something she did not understand. She needed help. And in any case, he was certain he had his killer – or one of them. That Parker was complicit in murder and collusion with Foucarmont, he knew beyond doubt.

  The fog lingered all the following day, hanging chill and silent over the Marsh and blotting out the sun. The rector thought about Samuel Rossiter as he went about his duties, out there somewhere on the run, and shivered. His sister had seemed confident that he knew how to look after himself, but even if able to cope with the cold he would be tired and hungry. Perhaps Clavertye was right and he would turn himself in. That was now a thing devoutly to be hoped for. Joseph Parker was a frightened man. Despite his bluster, Parker knew full well that the case against him was building, and a little more pressure would break his resistance. If handled correctly, he would not only confess to his own role, but implicate his confederates as well. That would kill the murder case against Samuel; and the rector was confident now that he could persuade the deputy lord lieutenant to abandon the notion that Samuel was in league with F
oucarmont.

  At dinner he was silent and Calpurnia, still wounded by his behaviour the previous day, was quiet too. Rodolpho’s snoring as he lay before the fire was the loudest noise in the room.

  ‘You are very preoccupied, Marcus,’ his sister said finally. ‘Is there any news about Samuel Rossiter?’

  ‘No,’ said the rector. Not trusting her discretion, he had not told her about Emma.

  ‘You are not very forthcoming, either. Never mind, I shall ask Mrs Chaytor. She will tell me, I am sure. She trusts me, you see.’

  The rector ignored this. ‘When are you seeing Mrs Chaytor?’

  ‘This very evening. I promised to call around and read her the latest chapter from my book . . . What did you say? It sounded very much like blasphemy, Marcus. Not terribly becoming for a clergyman, is it?’

  ‘I said, please don’t go. Mrs Chaytor has a guest, a young cousin from up-country.’ That was the story they had decided upon to explain the presence of the young woman in the house. So long as Parker was at liberty, Emma was in danger.

  ‘But it is all arranged!’ protested Calpurnia. ‘If Mrs Chaytor wished me not to call on her, then I am sure she would have let me know it herself. I am going, Marcus, and there is an end to it.’

  ‘All right! Peace, for the love of God. The night is very dark, so take Rodolpho with you. *He won’t be of any use, but any vagabond won’t know that.’

  ‘Rodolpho will always protect me,’ said Calpurnia firmly. ‘Won’t you, my lovely, lovely boy?’ she crooned to the dog, who woke up and wagged his tail.

  Muttering under his breath, the rector retired to the sanctuary of his study. A few minutes later he heard the sound of his sister and the dog departing. Silently, he thanked Mrs Chaytor for providing him with a quiet and peaceful evening in his own home.