The Body in the Ice

by A. J. MacKenzie

  The toddies arrived, and Biddy dropped a curtsey and departed, closing the door softly behind her. Hardcastle rubbed his nose. ‘We are making some progress,’ he said. ‘We have tested a number of theories about the identities of the victim and the killer, and the motive of the latter. Most of those theories have been discarded, but I regard that as progress. Each false lead that we discard brings us a little closer to the truth.’ He looked Rossiter in the eye. ‘I feel we are now on the right track.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ Rossiter sipped his toddy. ‘You must be asking yourself why this is so important to me,’ he said. ‘You see . . . I had hoped this visit to St Mary would be a happy time for us all. Seeing my nephew come into his inheritance; bringing my own children to visit their grandmother’s grave; seeing once more the house where my sister and I used to play as children. But this affair has cast a shadow over our happiness. I suppose I am hoping once the killer is found and the mystery solved, that shadow will be lifted.’

  ‘I am truly sorry to hear that you have been disturbed by these events,’ said the rector. ‘Let me assure you that I am resolved to find the killer and bring him to justice. And I will do so, no matter how long it takes.’

  ‘I am absolutely sure you will,’ said Rossiter, smiling, and he raised his glass. ‘More power to your elbow. I do not know how long I will stay in St Mary, and I fear I will be called back to London sooner rather than later. However, I should like to hear as soon as you know anything definite about this poor girl and her killer. If I am in London, would you please write to me with any information that you may have?’ He raised a hand. ‘Once again, only if your duty permits you to tell me.’

  ‘Your ward is the owner of the property where the murder took place. I think that gives him, and you, the right to know.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. That is very understanding of you. Now, permit me to change the subject,’ said Rossiter. ‘You preached a very fine service, reverend. Would you, as a token of my esteem, allow me to make a small donation to church funds?’

  *

  Music was the refuge of Amelia Chaytor’s soul. When she played the harpsichord, the world around her vanished. That afternoon her long fingers moved across the keyboard, filling the drawing room with a tumult of sound, passion and energy released, flowing in the air like invisible fire. So absorbed was she, indeed, that she did not hear the knock at the door, nor did she at first notice Lucy enter the room. Lucy walked quietly, almost on tiptoes, as she always did when Mrs Chaytor was playing. Lucy had been her personal maid for several years, and had been her rock of strength during the terrible time after John died. Last autumn, when Mrs Chaytor’s housekeeper had been forced by a bad back to retire, Lucy had volunteered to take on the additional role, and Mrs Chaytor had accepted gratefully. She relied on Lucy as she did on few others.

  Still playing, she looked up. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Miss Rossiter from New Hall, ma’am. She says you are expecting her.’

  Amelia sighed, and her fingers became still. ‘Of course. Show her in, and then be a dear and make us some coffee. Hot and sweet, the Italian way.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am.’

  Laure Rossiter wore a dark-red gown that made her look rather stately. Her green eyes were wide with amazement. ‘Forgive me, but I heard you playing while I was in the hall. It was marvellous! Was that Handel?’

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Chaytor, rising. ‘That was Telemann, a cantata called the “Thunder Ode”. I think it is perfect music for a stormy day.’

  ‘It was marvellous,’ repeated Miss Rossiter as they took seats by the fire. ‘I wish I could play half so well as you.’

  ‘You are fond of music?’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Chaytor, I cannot tell you the joy music brings to me. And London for me is like paradise, for there is music everywhere! Why, in a few short weeks, I have heard music by Haydn and Mozart and Johann Christian Bach, and operas by Cherubini and Zingarelli; new music, such as had never reached my ears before, and all so full of excitement and promise! I feel as if I have been reborn.’

  They talked about music until the coffee arrived and then, gently, Amelia took hold of the conversation and steered it.

  ‘How are you enjoying The Silent Sorcerer?’ she asked. ‘I assume Mrs Vane was as good as her word.’

  ‘The book arrived within an hour of her departure,’ said Laure, smiling. ‘Her writing is . . .’

  ‘Not a word you say will leave this room.’

  ‘Shall I then say that the writing is as enthusiastic as the lady herself?’

  They giggled together for a moment. It struck Amelia that they must be about the same age, but there was a freshness and innocence about Laure Rossiter that made her seem much younger. Next to her I feel like a withered old crone, she thought.

  ‘It was nonetheless a splendid party,’ she said. ‘My thanks again to your family for inviting me, and I look forward to repaying their hospitality. It was a particular pleasure to meet you, Miss Rossiter. I felt at once that we should have much in common.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Laure, shyly.

  Amelia lowered her voice a little and leaned forward. ‘As I said yesterday, it is clear that something is troubling you. As one, albeit new, friend to another, will you tell me what it is?’

  Some of the light had gone out of Laure’s eyes. ‘I should not have spoken,’ she said. ‘And I certainly should not have bothered the rector with this matter. It is nothing, I am sure.’

  ‘Perhaps you might permit me to be the judge of that,’ said Amelia.

  ‘There is an idea that has got into my head, and I cannot get it out. I cannot help thinking . . . Mrs Chaytor, I keep wondering whether the woman who was killed at New Hall was in fact my cousin.’

  The first thought that flitted through Amelia’s mind was, that makes two of us. ‘If so, then I am most truly sorry for you. Is there something in particular that makes you think she was your cousin?’

  ‘It would be dreadful. I don’t want to think about it, but I cannot stop.’

  Thinking hard, Mrs Chaytor lifted the silver coffee pot and refilled their cups. ‘In my experience,’ she said, ‘talking to other people and sharing one’s problems can help one find solace.’ Advice I ought to take myself, she thought, but probably never shall. ‘If you want to tell me about it, I am here to listen.’

  There was a long pause. ‘My Uncle Nicholas had two children from a liaison, before he married William’s mother,’ Laure said finally. ‘None of us knew about them until they arrived in Boston, year before last, seeking us out. Only Uncle Joseph saw them; he handles all our legal affairs, you see. I’m afraid to say that he was quite unkind to them. He refused to acknowledge them as Uncle Nicholas’s children, and forbade them to see or correspond with any others of the family.’ She looked at Mrs Chaytor. ‘Father supported him in this. I love my father and my uncle, but I thought that was mean-spirited of them both.’

  ‘I suppose they were attempting to protect the family interests,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘These two could have been impostors.’

  ‘Oh, they were definitely Uncle Nicholas’s offspring. Uncle Joseph said so himself, although “offspring” is not the word he used. But there is more.’

  Mrs Chaytor waited. ‘They followed us to London,’ said Laure. ‘Or at least, they arrived in London not long after we did. I know, because I heard Father and Uncle Joseph arguing about it. Father wanted to pay them to go away, but Uncle Joseph said if we gave them money they would just come back later and demand more.’

  ‘Do the rest of your family know about this?’

  ‘I don’t believe so. Father and Uncle Joseph didn’t know I was listening, and they didn’t tell any of the rest of the family what had happened. I am sure you are right; they are trying to protect us. But I still think they are being unkind.’

  ‘But what makes you think the dead woman is your cousin? Her name was Emma, by the way.’

  ‘Emma. That’s a nice name,’ Laur
e said wistfully. She did not ask how Mrs Chaytor knew this. ‘It’s the coincidence, I suppose, of both women being dark-skinned; my cousin, and the dead woman. She may have come to New Hall because of the connection with our family. Perhaps she just wanted to see the house, and imagine what it would be like to be part of our family. But why would anyone want to kill her?’

  ‘Why, indeed?’ said Amelia. ‘That is what the rector is trying to discover.’

  ‘Does he have any idea what might have happened?’

  ‘My dear, what makes you think I might know?’

  Laure blushed. ‘I am so sorry. What must you think of me? I assumed . . . I thought perhaps that because you are friendly with his sister, that you might have heard something from her.’

  ‘Mrs Vane is indiscreet,’ said Amelia, ‘but the rector is not. He does not gossip about investigations, not even to his sister.’

  ‘I have said too much. I am sorry, I shall go.’

  I’m losing her, Amelia thought, as the younger woman rose from her seat. I shall have to give something away. ‘I said the rector does not gossip. I did not say that I don’t know anything. Do sit down, my dear, please.’

  Slowly, still pink with embarrassment, Laure sat, arranging her skirts.

  Mrs Chaytor thought for a moment. ‘I was one of the first to find the body,’ she said, ‘and therefore I am privy to a certain amount of information. Her identity is not yet generally known, but your theory that she was Emma Rossiter does not seem unlikely to me. As for the killer, it seems quite possible that he has remained in the district. If he has, then he will probably be found and caught quite soon.’

  ‘Why did it happen at New Hall?’

  ‘That too is an excellent question. When the killer is found, then hopefully we shall learn the answer.’

  Laure asked the same question her mother had asked the rector. ‘Mrs Chaytor, are we in any danger? My family, I mean? Will we be safe at New Hall?’

  ‘I see absolutely no reason why not,’ said Mrs Chaytor smiling. ‘Far safer than London, with its footpads and highwaymen. We do have smugglers down here, of course, but they only work during the new moon, and they’re mostly harmless so long as you stay out of their way. My dear, may I offer you some more coffee?’

  *

  ‘I invited her intending to pick her brain,’ Mrs Chaytor told the rector later that afternoon, sitting in his study. ‘Instead, I found my own brain being picked, quite skilfully.’

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘There is a phrase they use at the Foreign Office: the truth, nothing but the truth, but not necessarily the whole truth.’

  ‘What do you think she was after?’ Hardcastle asked.

  ’Oh, information, of course. The real question is: why was she asking? Is she genuinely concerned for her family’s safety? Does she really feel sympathy for these lost cousins? Or does she know more than she is letting on, and is trying to find out what we know?’

  ‘I asked myself the same questions after speaking with Rossiter this morning,’ said the rector. ‘He too picked my brains. He even offered me a bribe if I would tell him what I knew about the case.’

  ‘A bribe? How exciting. You don’t like James Rossiter.’

  ‘No. And I like Joseph Parker even less. And that is difficult, because I am in danger of allowing my dislike of them to cloud my judgement. But . . .’

  ‘What is it?’ she said. She felt tired, but also strangely exhilarated.

  ‘They are very pleasant people. Their manners are impeccable. They go out of their way to be charming and agreeable to everyone. They even attended church this morning.’

  ‘Gracious! They really must be rotters.’

  ‘But Rossiter made a mistake today. He told me Beazley had been a good caretaker at the house. That is clear nonsense. We both saw what the house looked like under his care. And, Beazley went absent without leave and thus allowed two people to break into the house. Most landlords would dismiss a caretaker for such a dereliction. Instead, Rossiter has found him another post elsewhere.’

  ‘So, he is a generous employer. They do exist, I am told.’

  ‘But is he generous? Or has he sent Beazley to Buckinghamshire to get him out of the way? Does Beazley know something about the house or the family that Rossiter wishes kept quiet?’

  ‘What might that be?’

  ‘I do not know, but I am more certain than ever that the house itself is important. There is another thing, too. In conversation with the Rossiters at their party, I mentioned Foucarmont. From Parker’s reaction, I am quite positive that he recognised the name.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said. She thought for a moment. ‘He may have read accounts of the trial, and the scandal, since coming to England.’

  ‘In that case, I would have expected him to ask questions, to want to know more. Instead, he became deeply uneasy and said nothing. I got the distinct impression that he did not care for that topic of conversation. And I would add that, for a lawyer, he is not especially good at schooling his face.’

  ‘I too have begun to dislike Mr Parker,’ said Mrs Chaytor, and she related her conversation with Laure.

  The rector listened, rubbing his nose thoughtfully. ‘Cases like this are not uncommon,’ he said at the end. ‘By-blows of a gentle family make themselves known to the heirs, and are offered a pension in exchange for waiving any claims on the estate. If in future they should become in any way objectionable, the pension ceases. Often these settlements are reached quite amicably by both parties. So, what Rossiter proposed was nothing out of the ordinary. Why then was Parker so against it?’

  ‘From what Laure says, and from what Mr Jessington wrote to you, it would seem that Parker has a strong personal antipathy towards Samuel and Emma.’

  ‘Why? Because of their race?’ The rector made a gesture of distaste. ‘If so, my dislike of Parker increases still further.’

  ‘Then, while we are disliking Mr Parker, let us essay a new thought. Might his antipathy lead him to commit murder? Or commission someone else to do so?’

  ‘It is possible,’ said Hardcastle, considering this new thought. ‘He might justify such an act by claiming that he was trying to keep the family “pure”, to ward off the malign influences that might come from contact with members of the African race. Damn that man Blumenbach,’ he added.

  ‘I agree, that is certainly a possible reason for his strong dislike. My suspicions are running along different lines. I was thinking instead of the cardinal’s jewels.’

  The rector regarded her. ‘You will have to enlighten me,’ he said.

  ‘During our time in Rome, there was a most sensational crime.’

  ‘Only one?’

  ‘Touché. The mistress of a cardinal was murdered by her brother, ostensibly because she had stained the family honour. The brother’s body was found floating in the Tiber a day later, and it was believed that he had committed suicide in a fit of remorse.’

  ‘That would seem to fit.’

  ‘I didn’t believe a word of it. I told John and anyone else who would listen that this was a matter of greed. And, I was proved right. It transpired that the cardinal had given his mistress a number of jewels, which her family wanted so they could pay their debts. When she refused to hand them over, the brother killed her and stole the jewels. He was then killed by the rest of the family when he tried to keep some of the jewels for himself.’

  ‘Charming people, the Italians. I have always said so. What has this to do with our case?’ Just then, a horse’s hooves sounded in the drive. They heard the knock at the door, and Mrs Kemp shuffling to answer it.

  ‘Greed,’ Mrs Chaytor continued, in answer to Hardcastle’s question. ‘Parker, or someone else in the Rossiter family, wants something and is willing to kill to get it. And like you, I am willing to wager that whatever they want is connected in some way with New Hall.’

  ‘Another theory,’ he said, and groaned.

  ‘And it still doesn’t explain the boot,�
�� she said.

  ‘I knew you were going to say that . . . I’m sorry to say it, but your theory has a rather large hole in it. Parker and Rossiter are both well-off, if their clothes and that house are anything to go by. They have presumably made their fortunes in America. By contrast, the estates here in England are small, and New Hall is frankly an encumbrance. There is nothing of sufficient value to tempt either man to commit murder, or to countenance it.’

  The front door closed and they heard the horse trotting back down the drive. ‘Samuel and Emma, on the other hand, might not know this,’ he continued. ‘They might well think the estates are valuable. Hence their determination to get their hands on New Hall.’

  ‘Very well, I concede the point,’ she said glumly. ‘Samuel Rossiter remains our most likely killer.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I fear so. Parker and Rossiter are concealing something from us, of that I am quite convinced; but I don’t think it is murder. Yes, Mrs Kemp, what is it?’

  ‘A letter has come,’ said Mrs Kemp, laying a sealed packet on the rector’s desk.

  ‘Thank you.’ He opened the letter and read it, then looked up sharply at Mrs Chaytor.

  ‘We will learn the truth very soon now,’ he said. ‘This is from Dobbs, the magistrate in Rye. He has arrested Samuel Rossiter.’

  Chapter 8

  Brother Against Brother

  Dusk was already falling as the rector walked up New Romney high street and knocked at the door of the gaol. A short, square man with thinning grey hair admitted him. ‘They’ve just arrived, reverend.’

  ‘Good.’ He was shown into an anteroom: bare walls with wooden floor and a small stove, radiating heat. Stemp and the parish constable of New Romney were already there, warming their hands.

  ‘Did he give you any trouble?’ asked Hardcastle.