The Body in the Ice

by A. J. MacKenzie

  Calpurnia was pale. Amelia realised she herself must be white as a sheet; she had not yet recovered from the shock in the dining room. ‘I will leave you, Rodolpho,’ said Calpurnia, retreating.

  Emma Rossiter looked at Amelia. ‘I can fight,’ she said.

  ‘I have only one pistol.’

  ‘Have you knives?’

  ‘There are carving knives in the dining room.’

  Emma darted into the dining room and came out with her hands full of knives. She held one by the point, and from her years in Italy, Mrs Chaytor knew what that meant. She knew she ought to urge Emma to go to the kitchen and be safe; she also knew she was immensely relieved to have the other woman here beside her, facing whatever was coming.

  It came. The door knocker sounded, rapping hard and peremptory. Mrs Chaytor motioned for silence and they crouched on either side of the hall behind the furniture, weapons in hand.

  The knocker sounded again, harder. ‘Open up!’ commanded a voice.

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded Mrs Chaytor. ‘Identify yourself, if you please.’

  ‘Open the door,’ said the voice, ‘or we will smash it down.’

  ‘The neighbours will hear you,’ said Amelia, ‘and come to aid us.’

  ‘No one will hear anything. Your house is apart from others, and everyone is indoors with the shutters closed. You are alone and isolated, and there are many of us. Open the door, Mrs Chaytor, and let us in.’

  ‘No. Get yourselves gone.’

  ‘Mrs Chaytor,’ said the voice, soft with menace, ‘you are women alone in a house. If I have to force this door, my men will not use you gently.’

  And then she recognised the voice, and just for a moment she shivered with horror, for she knew this man would be as good as his word. ‘Go to hell, Monsieur de Foucarmont,’ she said.

  She heard his voice no more. Instead came a hard blow on the door, and the sound of splintering wood. They were using axes. The door was oak too, and strong, but it could not last forever. And now she was aware of more blows coming from the rear of the house. They were attacking the door there also; and far from being safe, Lucy and Mrs Vane in the kitchen were in grave danger.

  I can do nothing about that, she thought. More blows pounded on the door, which shivered against the iron bar that held it. Then the blows ceased.

  Silence fell, cold and shivering. Mrs Chaytor looked for Rodolpho, but could see no sign of him. Hopefully he had gone to join his mistress in the kitchen; chicken-hearted he might be, but the sight of Rodolpho would surely be a deterrent.

  ‘Mrs Chaytor,’ said the menacing voice again. ‘I will ask you once more. Open the door and let us enter.’

  ‘Why?’ she demanded. There came the desperate thought that if she could stall for time, someone might notice the attackers and raise the alarm. ‘Is it revenge on me you seek? If so, tell me, and I will come out. But let the others alone.’

  ‘Pleasant though it would be to pay you back for the harm you did me last year,’ said the voice, ‘it is not you I seek. This is your final chance, Mrs Chaytor. Open the door. If you do not, then your body and your life are forfeit to my men.’

  ‘No,’ said Amelia. The horror had gone; ice-cold anger flooded over her now. ‘I warn you, Foucarmont. You set foot in my house at peril of your life. Get yourself gone,’ she repeated, ‘or face the consequences.’

  Outside the front door there was laughter. ‘How amusing,’ said Foucarmont. Another axe slammed into the door and she jumped, then looked down to the priming of the pistol. Emma, crouched opposite her with knives in hand, was absolutely still, her eyes fixed on the door. The pounding blows from the rear of the house continued.

  One panel of the door broke, an axe blade shining through. It was withdrawn; another blow followed, and the axe punched through again. Then the entire panel gave away, cold air rushing into the hall from outside. An arm clad in a black coat reached through, fumbling for the bar. Mrs Chaytor raised the pistol, but Emma hissed and held up a hand; wait.

  She waited, heart pounding.

  The bar was lifted. More blows rammed the door wide open, the console table sent sprawling. A fresh blast of air fluttered the candles, one of which went out. A dark cloaked figure strode into the hall, axe in hand.

  Amelia Chaytor raised her pistol and fired. The man saw her and dodged; this saved his life. The ball meant for his heart struck him instead in the side and he shouted and staggered back, dropping the axe and clutching at his wound. Another man pushed through after him, raising his own pistol. Faster than thought he fired at Amelia; the ball brushed her hair, and buried itself in the wall behind. Even as he fired, Emma Rossiter rose like a coiled spring and threw her first knife. A brief flash in the candlelight and the man howled, clutching at his arm. The second knife hit him high up in the chest and he recoiled, stumbling back through the door. The third knife was aimed at the man Amelia had shot; he saw her arm go back to throw, and dived back through the doorway too, the knife whistling over his back. Emma threw back her head and screamed, an ululation of triumph and anger that rang for a moment in the hallway, and then she lowered her head, panting, and picked up the next knife.

  From the rear of the house came a different kind of scream and then a crash, a clang like a pot overturning, followed by a man’s long howl of agony. It went on and on, fading away as the source of the noise retreated. Running as fast as her skirts would allow, smoking pistol still in hand, Amelia hurried to the kitchen to find half the floor covered in steaming water and Lucy and Calpurnia standing in the other half, lady and housekeeper clinging to each other and shaking.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘A man broke in. It was Mrs Vane’s idea,’ said Lucy. ‘We filled pots with hot water from the copper, and when the man came through the door, we threw them at him. We hit him, too.’

  ‘We certainly did,’ said Calpurnia. ‘He ran away screaming like the devil.’ Then both women burst into tears.

  There were noises at the front of the house. My God, I haven’t reloaded the pistol, Amelia thought, and hurried frantically back to the hall, where faces were peering through the wrecked door. But they were kind faces, worried faces; the faces of her neighbours, roused by the shots. Jack Hoad was the first man in, waving away the thin veil of powder smoke.

  ‘Blind me,’ said the fisherman, staring at the scene. ‘Are you all right, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, we are all safe. Hoad, it was the Frenchman, Foucarmont. I shot him, but he escaped. He must be out there somewhere.’

  ‘We’ll go after him. Blind me,’ said the fisherman again, looking at her in admiration. ‘If you ever fancy a little excitement, ladies, come along with us on the next run. I’d like to see you two with a Preventive man in your sights.’

  Chapter 16

  The Pieces Fall Into Place

  By the time the rector arrived in St Mary fifteen minutes later, the entire village had been roused. A small crowd had gathered around Sandy House, spilling across the garden. Lanterns made haloes in the swirling fog. The first person to spot the rector was Tim Luckhurst, the landlord of the Star, carrying two wooden planks and a hammer.

  ‘There you are, reverend! We sent for you, but Mrs Kemp said you had gone out with Josh Stemp.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘That goddamned Frenchman came back, with a gang, that’s what happened. They tried to break into the house.’

  ‘Dear God! Are the ladies safe?’

  ‘Safe and well,’ Luckhurst said, smiling. ‘Mrs Chaytor showed them off, right enough. She’s a right plucky one, ain’t she? Do you know, she actually shot the Frenchman when he tried to come in?’ Luckhurst gestured to the shattered front door. ‘I offered to bring her and her cousin over to the Star, but she won’t have it. So we’re repairing the doors. Just a temporary job, to tide her over until she can get a joiner in to make a new one.’

  ‘What became of Foucarmont?’

  ‘He got away, but the lads are on his trail. With Josh not he
re, Jack Hoad took charge. They’re out there on the Marsh now, hunting him.’

  Miss Godfrey and Miss Roper were there too, twittering. Hardcastle calmed them and then entered the house, stepping over the splintered oak littering the floor. He found all four women in the drawing room. Lucy was sitting on the settee, very still, her face white as chalk; Calpurnia, red-eyed, knelt beside her with her arms around Rodolpho. Emma stood calm and still as a statue by the fire. Amelia was at the sideboard pouring large measures of brandy. Wordlessly she offered one to Hardcastle.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly. ‘All of you?’

  ‘A little nerve-shattered,’ said Mrs Chaytor, ‘but I expect we will recover very shortly. Here, Lucy dear, drink this. No, do not get up. You have had a terrible shock and you must stay still.’ She turned to Hardcastle. ‘Your sister was very resourceful,’ she said, ‘and both she and Lucy were very brave. Miss Latimer showed an aspect to her character that I did not know existed. Rodolpho, I am sorry to say, did not cover himself in glory. We found him hiding under the dining room table, and had to practically drag him out.’

  ’Oh, but he was very frightened,’ said Calpurnia, hugging the still shivering wolfhound.

  Hardcastle put down his brandy. ‘You are certain it was Foucarmont?’

  ‘I heard him, and saw him. I shot at him too, but I only winged him. I must be out of practice. Normally I shoot straighter than that. Marcus; he didn’t come for me.’

  Hardcastle turned and looked at Emma, still motionless. ‘The secret of New Hall,’ he said quietly. ‘How did he know she was here?’

  ‘I don’t know. Lucy has been entirely faithful, I am certain of it.’

  ‘Foucarmont must have traced her to Lydd,’ he said, completely forgetting Calpurnia was in the room. ‘He must have doubled back almost at once to the Marsh, leaving Clavertye to continue the hue and cry in Sussex. If he discovered she had left Lydd, he might well have worked out why. I think he has been hunting for both her and Samuel, and Parker and that man of his will have been looking for signs too.’

  ‘The man with the broken nose!’ Mrs Chaytor said suddenly. ‘He was there tonight. He will be badly injured now. Emma hit him twice with her knives.’

  The rector blinked. ‘I suspect one of the local servants at New Hall happened to mention that Mrs Chaytor had a young woman house guest,’ he said. ‘The valet Steele heard this and put two and two together, and got a message to Foucarmont.’

  ‘Will you question Parker again?’

  ‘No one will ever question Parker again.’ He told her what had happened and she listened, her blue eyes intense.

  ‘Foucarmont has had a busy day,’ she observed. ‘What do we think? Is Foucarmont then the mastermind behind this plot, whatever it is?’

  ‘Lord Clavertye referred to Foucarmont as the lynchpin. But he has never played that role before. He was the thug of the crew, the killer, but he took his orders from another. Perhaps things have changed . . . Or perhaps there is another lynchpin out there, someone we have overlooked.’

  He looked at her more closely. ‘Thank God you are safe,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you quite certain you want to stay here? If not the Star, you could go to the rectory.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Why? Do you think we cannot look after ourselves?’

  ‘I don’t think anyone can doubt that. Will you keep my sister here for a while longer? There is something I must do, and then I will come and escort her home.’

  *

  At New Hall the windows blazed with lights. William Rossiter came out into the hall while the footman was still taking the rector’s hat and coat and gloves. ‘Is something wrong in the village?’ the young man asked. ‘We heard what sounded like gunshots.’

  ‘There has been an attempt at house-breaking,’ said the rector. ‘The intruder was warned off. Is Mrs Parker here?’

  He saw the young man’s face change. ‘What is it? Uncle Joe went out at midday, and we have not seen him since. We’re all rather concerned.’

  ‘I must speak to Mrs Parker,’ the rector said quietly. ‘Take me to her, if you please.’

  The family were gathered in the drawing room: Jane Parker seated on a settee, round face clouded with worry; Laure in a long red gown standing by the fire, Edward, her brother, seated with one of the London periodicals tossed on the floor beside him. He rose as the rector entered the room.

  ‘Mrs Parker,’ said the rector, kneeling down and taking her hand in his, ‘I fear I have dreadful news for you. There is no easy way to say this. I must tell you that your husband is dead.’

  He heard Laure gasp. Edward took a step forward and then stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, Hardcastle noticed that the young man’s boots were muddy. Jane Parker gazed at the rector for a long time, her hands folded in her lap, firelight glinting off her greying hair.

  ‘Dead,’ she said finally, in a soft voice. ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘What happened to Uncle Joe?’ asked William.

  ‘He had been struck a heavy blow on the head. If it is any consolation, death must have come quickly.’

  ‘A blow on the head! How did it happen? Did he have a fall?’

  ‘The coroner will determine the facts in due course, Mr Rossiter. But I think it entirely likely that your uncle was murdered.’

  They all stared at him in silence.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Mrs Parker again, in a voice gone very small. ‘What shall I do now?’

  She was stunned by the news. Hardcastle had seen it before, people who simply cannot take in the magnitude of what they have heard, and only slowly begin to believe it is real. The only thing to do in such cases was to give people time to let the truth sink in, and then be ready to help them when the full force of grief hits home. Parker was in league with enemy agents and had ordered a murder, but at the moment that did not matter; what mattered was the woman before him, whose life had been shattered in a moment.

  ‘Mrs Parker,’ he said gently, ‘we will make every effort to discover what happened to your husband, and to see justice done. That too will be scant consolation, I know.’

  ‘No, no,’ she said, and her voice grew a little stronger. ‘I very much hope you do find the man who killed my husband. It would be a great pleasure to see him hang; whoever he is.’

  Nonplussed for a moment, the rector looked at her. ‘Then I must begin by asking all of you when you last saw Mr Parker,’ he said.

  ‘I think I was the last to see him,’ said Edward. ‘It was just after midday. He was putting on his coat, and I asked him if he was going out. He said yes, but did not say where.’

  ‘Did he have any appointments today? Did he receive any messages?’

  All shook their heads.

  ‘Mr Parker had a valet named Steele. Is he here?’

  Mrs Parker studied him for a moment. ‘Why should you want to see Steele?’ she asked, her voice soft and puzzled.

  ‘He might know something of his master’s plans,’ the rector said.

  ‘But Steele is no longer in my husband’s employ. Joseph dismissed him yesterday evening.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Joseph caught him pilfering. Several pairs of gold cufflinks and a ring had gone missing, and were found in Steele’s possession.’

  ‘Had Steele been in Mr Parker’s service for a long time?’

  ‘Nearly twenty years.’

  ‘It must have come as a great shock to find such a faithful servant had betrayed his master.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It was a very great shock.’

  ‘Have you any idea where Steele went after his dismissal?’

  They all shook their heads. The rector turned to William. ‘I would be grateful if in the morning you would allow me to ask a few questions of your servants. They might know something that will help us track Steele down.’

  William stared at him. ‘Do you mean to say Steele might have had something to do with Uncle Joe’s death?’

  ‘It is possible. An unhappy servant a
lways makes a bad enemy. Mrs Parker,’ he said gently, ‘please be assured of my deepest sympathies. I shall pray that God watches over you and sends you consolation in this time of great sorrow. I shall return tomorrow to see how you are faring.’

  ‘It is good of you to trouble,’ said Jane Parker. ‘I am grateful for your prayers, but I am perfectly well, I assure you. But now, if you do not mind, I think I will retire.’

  The men bowed as she rose, walking slowly to the door and then out, and they heard her footsteps on the stair. The rector turned to Edward. ‘Are Mr and Mrs Rossiter away from home?’

  ‘Why, yes. They returned to London three days ago.’

  ‘I see. You were out earlier. May I ask where you went?’

  Edward looked startled. ‘Oh; I went riding.’

  ‘It is hardly weather for riding.’

  ‘So I discovered when I went outside. I came back quite quickly, I assure you. How does this concern you?’

  ‘Mr Rossiter, I am investigating a case of murder and espionage. Everything involving members of this household and the wider community is of concern to me. Did you see anything of importance while you were out and about? Any suspicious persons, any tracks, any movement?’

  ‘I saw absolutely nothing,’ said Edward. ‘And now, if you will forgive me, I shall go and see that my aunt has everything that she needs. I do not think she should be alone at the moment.’

  He bowed and left the room. That left William, silent with astonishment, and Laure, pale and biting her lip. She too looked at the door.

  ‘I will take my leave,’ said the rector, and he bowed in turn. ‘Look after your aunt; she will need your strength.’

  ‘Of course,’ said William. ‘But . . . reverend, why would anyone want to kill Uncle Joe? I know he dismissed Steele, but that does not seem sufficient reason for murder.’

  He was the first person in the house to ask why Parker had been murdered. ‘I will discover what happened and who is responsible,’ said the rector. ‘Of that, you may be assured.’