Snow Shadow

by Andre Norton

  “With a lid firmly on the tin between uses, indefinitely. It is preserved. But I don't understand—” I glanced from one man to the other.

  “Very simple.” Again it was Mark who replied. “This particular ginger has had something else added.”

  I put the tin down hastily. “Poison?”

  “Poison,” he confirmed. “It seems that—” he began, when Daniels cut in:

  “You never met Mrs. Horvath?”

  “No. She had her accident long before I came. I heard that Miss Austin and Irene Frimsbee visited her. I think they did last Sunday, and she was better.”

  “Did Mrs. Horvath like preserved ginger?”

  “I don't know. No one mentioned that.”

  “And you have never seen such a container as this?”

  “If it was supposed to be here before Mrs. Horvath's death,” I retorted, “I wouldn't have had much chance to. I moved in last Sunday, and shortly after left with Mrs. Cantrell. During the time between arriving and leaving again, I did not visit the kitchen, nor did I see such a box. I doubt I would have noticed it anyway unless my attention had been called to it.”

  Daniels rubbed one finger along his jaw and Mark's eyes were half-closed, an indication, I knew of old, that he was thinking. Was my inquisition over now? But Mark had one last question:

  “Do you happen to know if anyone in the house is a gardener?”

  “Mrs. Anne Frimsbee said that Miss Austin had created an Austen garden. The delphiniums were noted—”

  “Delphiniums!” Daniels was a cat pouncing on a long-expected mouse. “There are delphiniums here?”

  “According to Mrs. Frimsbee they are quite famous. Some garden magazine sent a photographer here to take pictures of them. But I don't see—”

  “Did you ever hear of staphisagriae semina?” Daniels pronounced the words with such care I judged he had not heard of them often himself.

  “No. Is it a poison?”

  “The ripe seeds of a certain type of delphinium,” Mark supplied.

  The look Daniels gave him was not one of unqualified approval. Perhaps the Lieutenant had not intended to share that information.

  “Anyone besides Miss Austin work in the garden? She's pretty old to do heavy work now—”

  “They all may take turns, for all I know.” I was growing impatient. “I haven't exchanged many confidences. I'm afraid I'm of small help to you.”

  “But you can be, Miss Jansen.” That was Daniels. “We have been repeatedly told that Miss Austin is too ill to see us. Short of battering down her door, we can't make headway. Will you look in on her and give us a clear and unbiased report on her condition?”

  He had trapped me. I could not refuse without arousing his suspicions, perhaps focusing them even more strongly on Miss Elizabeth.

  “I will do what I can.” I was not going to be too quick with any affirmative answer. “Are you through with me now?”

  “Yes. And thank you very much, Miss Jansen.” He placed the ginger tin back in the center of the desk, where the attention of his next victim would be unerringly drawn to it.

  Mark escorted me to the door. “Do your best with Miss Austin. It will be better for her to let us get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible.”

  I hoped he was right. So Miss Elizabeth was not one of their prime suspects? However, I did not believe that that fact was going to make the interrogation easier for the woman upstairs.

  As I went I tried to think how I could warn her. To get past Maud would be difficult. Then—what could I say? “Miss Austin, you had better tell the police all your secrets?”

  Miss Elizabeth, safely ill in her room, could keep the police dangling as long as she wished. The Austin name still counted for something in Ladensville. A few words from her doctor might hold the authorities at bay. Would she listen to any advice from me, a stranger who had no right to comment on private matters—even if such were a part of murder?

  I braced myself for a coming struggle. Then once more I heard voices from the very room which was my target. Another quarrel with Anne? The door was not firmly closed—

  I rapped and the sound was followed by a dead silence. Then a voice—Maud's—

  “Go away! Please go away!”

  But her cry was overridden by Miss Austin's more precise voice: “Come in—at once!”

  I chose to obey the second order, and opened the door. Miss Austin sat up in bed, a mound of pillows supporting her back. Save that the bed-clothes were pulled up and she wore a crocheted bed jacket, she was in as much command of the scene as she would have been fully clothed and sitting in her parlor chair.

  “Come in,” she ordered for the second time.

  Maud stood defiantly between me and the bed, as if she would bar me if she quite dared. Outwardly the maid was her usual stiffly starched self. But in whatever battle had raged Miss Austin had triumphed. Maud might glower, and did, but she could not protest my intrusion.

  “Perhaps you can tell me just what is going on in this house!” Miss Elizabeth frowned at Maud but addressed me. “When I ask a simple question, I expect a truthful and forthright answer.” I decided that remark must have been aimed at Maud. “The police are here again, are they not?”

  Since Miss Elizabeth's windows did not overlook the drive, I wondered how she had learned that—unless Maud had told her.

  “Yes, Miss Austin.” I confined myself to the simple truth she said she wanted.

  “Why?”

  This seemed to me an opening for my mission. “That they would like to explain to you in person, Miss Austin.”

  “Sent you up to say that, did they? You needn't answer. Any simpleton could guess that. Well, they shall just wait until I am ready.”

  All the deciviseness she had shown at our first meeting was back. Miss Austin had the appearance of one well ready not only to defend her own position, but to carry war into the enemy camp.

  “Now tell me the truth, Miss Jansen, why are they here? What have they found out about Roderick?”

  I was forced into a half-truth. “They don't tell us anything—they just ask questions—”

  “And you answer those questions, is that it? It never pays to let authority have matters all their own way, you know. And what kind of questions have they been asking? You never knew Roderick, did you? What would they have then to ask you? Nothing to answer seems to have taken quite a while—”

  How did Miss Austin know how long I had been in the library? Was she just guessing, or was Maud eyes and ears for her mistress?

  “Roderick Frimsbee was a sorry man and disgrace alive, and he will cause even more trouble now that he is dead,” Miss Elizabeth observed dispassionately. “What new crime of his have they discovered?”

  “None that I know of, Miss Austin.” I was glad we were sticking to the comparatively safe ground of Roderick. Yet, should Miss Elizabeth decide to speak to the police, she should be warned that it was a second murder which had brought them here.

  I might have guessed she would be too shrewd for me—just as Aunt Otilda had always been. Now the old lady spoke again, slowly, as if pausing to gather strength after each word.

  “Your face gives you away, my girl. This concerns more than just Roderick now. What do they want?”

  I made one last effort; they should never have sent me to do this. But my conditioning by Aunt Otilda was too strong to resist. Miss Elizabeth had produced just the tone of voice to which I had been trained to answer.

  “If you will just see them, Miss Austin—”

  “When I am ready, not before,” she flashed back. “Tell me, what are they after now?”

  “It is about Mrs. Horvath.” The silence became intense.

  “Miss Emma!” Maud's voice was choked. “What about Miss Emma?” she demanded shrilly.

  Against the pillow Miss Austin's back was ramrod straight, but there was a new look on her face, a coldness. I had heard of icy rages. Now I believed I was witnessing the results of one such.

>   “What about my sister?”

  There was no withstanding her demand, no twists or turns I could use to evade the truth.

  “They say she was poisoned.”

  I heard Maud cry out. But there was no alteration in Miss Austin's expression. It was as if she had anticipated just such a statement, had been steeling herself to meet it.

  “Maud, ask Miss Irene to come here—at once!” Her tone held the crack of a whip, and I was not surprised to see Maud go out meekly. But I had not yet been dismissed.

  “How?” she asked.

  Again dissimulation was beyond me. “Something to do with a box of preserved ginger.”

  Miss Austin's hands were clasped before her. She stared past—through—me, as if I had ceased to exist. The ticking of the clock on the mantel was all which broke the quiet.

  “What do you want, Aunt? Stuart is very sick. I can't leave him—” Irene came in.

  “I want to talk to you,” said Miss Elizabeth, and Irene seemed drawn forward from the door by the force of the older woman's will. “Maud will stay with Stuart. Yes, I mean that, Maud!”

  For a moment it looked as if Maud, hovering in the doorway, might mutiny. Thankfully I followed her into the hall, but I was not to escape so easily.

  “Please, miss.” Maud caught at my sleeve. “Don't go yet Miss Elizabeth, she ain't as well as she seems. It's her heart, but she won't admit it. Now she's all worked up, and it's bad for her. Please stay here, miss, and call me if she has one of her spells!” She ended on such an imploring note I could not deny her and nodded.

  “—tell the truth!” The words delivered in Miss Austin's stern voice carried out into the hall.

  “I have told the truth!” Anger and impatience colored Irene's reply.

  “I cannot disbelieve the evidence of my own eyes, wretched girl. I saw you Wednesday night—do you understand? I was witness to your infamous conduct. And the time has come when I can no longer conceal that from the police. Emma—Emma was a forceful personality, she could be both callous and cruel. I have always been clear-sighted concerning my sister. But that is no excuse for murder. If fear drove you to that act on Wednesday night, that, too, I can understand. We are all creatures played upon by our emotions and we react differently. You have never impressed me, Irene, as a person of strong will or purpose. I must admit, therefore, your actions have surprised me. There is more in you than I ever expected to find. But I am now telling you the truth. After this moment I shall cease to keep silence on your behalf. Do you understand me?”

  “You—you're mad!” Irene's voice shook. It held, I thought, a ragged note of fear. “I don't know what you're talking about You must be mad!”

  “Sunday you went with me to visit Emma,” Miss Austin continued. “I even encouraged you to make the trip. Emma had not acted fairly towards you. I had some hopes that once she had had time to consider matters, she might change her mind. Emma was exceedingly fond of ginger. Even greedy where it was concerned.”

  “Yes, I took her some ginger. But what's all this about? Aunt, what are you trying to tell me?”

  I put my hand to the doorknob. Surely this confrontation could be doing Miss Austin little good if Maud's warning about her heart was correct

  “The police are here. They say Emma was poisoned.”

  “Nor!” The single word was a scream. “No, I won't believe it! You're wicked—just as cruel as she was. You're mad!”

  I had just time to step back before Irene burst out of the room.

  “She's mad—mad!” Her hands were at her mouth, her eyes wide with fear. She pushed past, running towards her own room.

  “Hmmm—”

  Startled I nearly jumped. Sergeant Blake's sturdy bulk loomed there. He must have come up the back stairs. How much had he overheard? He was going away and, once Blake reported, the lieutenant might come up himself. I went back to face Miss Elizabeth.

  “The police sergeant was just outside. I think he overheard some of what you said to Irene. He's gone to report.”

  “Very well.” Miss Austin retained her composure. If the scene with her nephew's wife had troubled her any, she did not show that. “Very well. Let him come if he wishes.”

  “Miss Austin, would you like me to call the doctor? He could forbid their questioning you—”

  “There comes a time when truth must out. I have been very weak, influenced by matters which should not have made any difference. My nephew Roderick was a sly, greedy boy. He grew up to be an evil and devious man. Perhaps to shield the innocent—I would have—I have done things which are abhorrent to me. But Emma's death is another matter altogether. Emma was hard, but she was not evil. And she should not have died before her time.”

  I thought that last statement must be important to anyone as old as Miss Austin—the thought of a sudden and murderous death. Death might stand by the door, but should not enter until the right time, not be summoned by violence.

  “If it was true,” she said, “if Emma was really poisoned—then—”

  “Then what, Miss Austin?”

  Lieutenant Daniels had entered the door I must have left open. Behind him was Mark.

  “Come in.” Miss Elizabeth chose to ignore the fact that Daniels was already a step or so inside. “You may be seated—there—”

  When they were seated, just as she had indicated, she continued calmly:

  “You informed Miss Jansen that my sister died unnaturally—of poison.”

  Daniels glared at me. I stared coolly back.

  “Yes.”

  “This has been proven beyond a doubt?”

  “Yes.”

  For a second or two Miss Austin closed her eyes.

  “And my nephew Roderick?”

  “He was shot, perhaps sometime Saturday night.”

  “He was also engaged in some criminal activity, or else was in hiding after the commission of such a crime?”

  “What makes you ask that, Miss Austin?” Mark wanted to know.

  “I have known Roderick ever since a short time after he was born. He was always a trouble and a source of family disgrace. The fact that he did not come openly to this house, but apparently remained in biding on the grounds, conveys the supposition that he was in difficulties of one kind or another.”

  “You have little sympathy with your nephew then?” Daniels wanted to know.

  “It was impossible for me to have any sympathy for Roderick. His was a twisted nature, and, from early boyhood, he caused only sorrow and disappointment By my father's orders, he was exiled from the family. I have heard nothing of or from him for years.”

  “Then you have no idea of who may have wanted him dead?”

  “What is your name, please?” She looked directly at Mark when he asked that question.

  Hurriedly I introduced him.

  “Are you also of the police, Colonel Rohmer?”

  “No, Miss Austin. I am in government service.”

  “But you are here because of Roderick. He was engaged in some sort of crime against his country, is that what you must tell me?”

  “We are not sure, Miss Austin. I am really only investigating rumors.”

  “Which, knowing Roderick, I am prepared to accept as true.” Again her eyes closed for a long moment. “But I assure you that I know absolutely nothing of my nephew and his concerns. I did not even know he was in this country until—until—” Her voice trailed away.

  “Miss Austin.” Daniels spoke then. “It is not primarily your nephew's death we have come to see you about—now—”

  “Emma—” Her lips visibly shaped the word without speaking it aloud.

  “Yes, Mrs. Horvath. You knew that her body, taken from the coffin, had been lightly buried in the grave opened in your private plot?”

  The assenting inclination of her head was slight

  “In fact, Miss Austin, you were aware of the substitution of your nephew's body for that of Mrs. Horvath before the coffin was opened, is that not so?”

  “I was
.” Her voice was firmer than I expected to hear. “That is, I was aware of an exchange of bodies. I was not aware that the man was Roderick.”

  “Suppose,” Mark said quietly, “you tell us about it, Miss Austin.”

  “I was unable to sleep,” she began. “Though Emma and I had never been close, we were sisters after all, and her sudden and unexpected death—when she seemed to be so much better—came as a shock. I found myself dreading the funeral, and was unable to compose myself. It is my custom when I am so disturbed to brew a cup of a herb tea of my own blending—I have found such most efficacious to quiet mind and nerves.”

  A herb blend? Miss Austin, then, had still room for knowledge of brewing and blending?

  “I made my tea and drank it and was about to return to my room when I heard a noise in the hall leading to the garden door. Since the hour was late and I knew all the members of the household were supposedly in their beds, I decided it well to investigate. What I saw—” she paused, not looking at any of us but at the wall as if she viewed there the scene she described—"was so astounding that for a few moments I was under the impression I was in the grip of a nightmare.

  “A man and a woman were going toward the front of the house, supporting between them a third person. From the limpness of his body I was inclined to believe he was either unconscious or dead.”

  “And who were this man and woman?” Daniels asked as Miss Elizabeth fell silent and was touching her lips with a fine handkerchief.

  “It was dark, and I was so surprised and, I will admit, frightened, that I did not endeavor to see their faces. They went on into the parlor. I was so unstrung—I have a heart condition which I do not pamper but which limits me at times—that I had to sit down on the steps of the back staircase trying to get my breath. I may even have lost consciousness for a short period. I do know that when I was again aware of my surrounding I saw the man coming back, another burden in his arms.” Her eyes were closed, her face gray.

  Mark spoke swiftly. “You need not tell us about that, Miss Austin. We can guess what you saw.”

  Again she touched the handkerchief to her lips. “Thank you. After the man was gone, I managed to reach the parlor door. It was my intention to see what was going on before I called the police.”