The Body in the Ice

by A. J. MacKenzie

  ‘My lord; how do you know all this?’

  ‘It is my duty to prepare the case against Samuel Rossiter. As part of that task, I inquired again of the chief magistrate of London and asked him to investigate Rossiter’s connections there. It turns out Samuel Rossiter met Equiano several times, and other members of the Society too: Thelwall, Binns, Felix Vaughan, all of them suspect. If Rossiter wasn’t already a French agent when he arrived, then he was almost certainly recruited into French service while in London.’

  ‘Your lordship has been most diligent,’ said Hardcastle, a dangerous note creeping into his voice. ‘May I inquire as to why you did not see fit to pass this information on to me?’

  ‘Because it was none of your damned business,’ said Clavertye shortly. ‘Your task was to investigate the circumstances of the murder and prepare the arraignment. You have done so. The matter is now in my hands.’

  ‘But you have clearly been working on this for some time.’

  ‘I set the investigation in motion some days ago, yes.’

  ‘You deceived me!’

  ‘Don’t indulge in melodrama, Hardcastle. I have been doing my duty, just as you have been doing yours. What Rossiter did in London is outside your jurisdiction.’

  ‘Damn all that! The murder took place in St Mary in the Marsh. That makes it my responsibility!’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ said Clavertye. ‘It is no longer. Your role in this business is done. Look here, Hardcastle, don’t take on about this. You’ve done very well. You did a splendid job in detecting that attempted gaolbreak and preventing it. Without your prompt action, Rossiter might be out consorting with his sans-culotte brethren even as we speak. But don’t you see? The man who tried to organise that gaolbreak must have been one of Foucarmont’s men.’

  Anger still stirred blackly in the rector’s mind, but it was anger at himself now, for being duped. ‘It occurs to me,’ said Clavertye, ‘that given Foucarmont’s connections with the place, you might care to warn the Rossiters at New Hall? I doubt he would try to harm them, but there is always a chance he or his men might come snooping around there again.’

  ‘I did so before coming here,’ Hardcastle said shortly. He had warned Mrs Chaytor, too, and Mrs Kemp; whatever business had brought Foucarmont back to New Hall might also include the settling of old scores. He himself carried his pistol, loaded and primed, in the pocket of his cloak. He said, ‘Another thought occurs, my lord. If Samuel Rossiter is one of Foucarmont’s men, perhaps we should interrogate him again, now, before he suspects that we know more of him. He might know something that will help us track Foucarmont down.’

  Clavertye, examining the map on the wall, paused with his hand on his chin. ‘Very good idea,’ he said after a moment. ‘Yes, let’s do that.’

  Frankly, my lord, I’m surprised you didn’t think of this before, the rector thought sarcastically. ‘Let me deal with him, my lord. I know the man better than you, and I think I know how to get him to open up.’

  ‘Good, good. Carry on.’

  The rector saw himself out. The common room was empty now, all the soldiers and constables and Preventive Men gone to their respective tasks. By now, Joshua Stemp would be on his way to alert the rest of St Mary in the Marsh and warn people to be on the lookout for strangers.

  These are bleak times, the rector thought. We suspect everyone; we see in every stranger’s face the eyes of a traitor. Where there is no treason, we invent it; we spin ropes of conspiracy, and bind them around ourselves. We feed our fears with more fear. How much of Clavertye’s web of treason, encompassing radical politics, French émigrés, Methodists and the poor folk of Marylebone, was real? How much was the product of imaginations fever-bright with speculation and fear as rumours of invasion grew?

  He stepped outside, turning up his collar. Across the street a man in a mud-splashed black cloak stood holding the reins of a horse, apparently waiting for someone. That fellow had better watch it, Hardcastle thought. Standing in a public place will be a treasonable offence before long . . . Or is it me? Am I the naive one, the innocent? What if these conspiracies and fears are real? There are French agents working among us. Foucarmont did escape justice and has returned to haunt us.

  Then he stopped dead. Why, if Samuel Rossiter was a French spy, would he murder his own sister? What had the two things to do with each other?

  And what about that damned boot? Why pull a boot from the foot of the sister you have murdered, and then leave it and her lying there? And why then put holly on her grave? Why? Why?

  *

  The gaoler admitted him, touching his forehead in salute. In his cell, Samuel Rossiter lay immobile on his cot, staring at the ceiling. Hardcastle unlocked the door and sat down on the wooden stool. ‘Sit up,’ he said.

  Slowly Rossiter sat, swinging his legs to the floor, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. In the dim light, his brown eyes watched the rector warily.

  ‘This is your last chance,’ the rector said. ‘If you can convince me that you are innocent, then you might yet escape the gallows. Otherwise, death awaits you, as surely as night follows the sunset.’

  ‘Why does this matter to you?’ The question was put simply, almost innocently; there was not even a hint of challenge.

  ‘Because I believe in justice,’ Hardcastle said, ‘and I want to see justice done. Yes, I believe you to be guilty. But you have asserted your innocence over and over again. Tell me now why I should believe you, rather than the evidence I have before me.’

  Silence, while Rossiter stared at the floor. Then he raised his head again. ‘Where do you wish me to begin?’ he asked.

  It was so unexpected that Hardcastle was caught off guard for a moment. ‘Let us begin with where and when you were born, and to what parents.’

  ‘I was born in the city of New York in the year 1772. My parents were Nicholas and Martha Rossiter. Emma is my twin sister, born a few minutes before me. That makes her my older sister.’ A smile, the first the rector had ever seen from him, crossed his lips for a moment. ‘She never lets me forget it.’

  ‘Your mother was a slave?’

  ‘She had been a slave, but she was set free. She was a free woman when she married our father.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ None of this was relevant, of course, but at least the young man was talking.

  ‘She died. She was killed.’ Rossiter paused, his eyes far away now. ‘She had taken Emma and myself to visit her family, the Washburns, in Pennsylvania. They had opposed her marriage to my father, thinking that she should marry one of her own folk and not mix with white people. After our birth, she went to see them in hopes of making a reconciliation, and carried us with her. I remember none of this; we were not yet one year old, and so have no memories of our mother.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The Shawnee attacked the settlement where the family lived. Martha, our mother, was killed along with others. The Shawnee warriors found Emma and me abandoned, and took us back to their tribe.’

  The Shawnee were, presumably, some sort of American Indians. Suddenly fascinated in spite of himself, Hardcastle said, ‘What then?’

  ‘We were given to a woman who had lost her own children in a raid by Americans. She raised us as her own son and daughter. She herself had been at a mission for a time, and spoke English. She taught us the language, thinking we should be able to speak it and read it, as it was the language of our birth.’ His face in the dim light was bleak with deep-wrought sorrow. ‘Her name was Ahneewakee. She was the only mother I have ever known.’

  Wherever this narrative was going, it must be allowed to continue to its end. Hardcastle waited in silence while the young man mastered his emotions.

  ‘She died,’ Rossiter continued, ‘when we were eighteen years old. As she entered her final illness, she told us about who we were, and where we had been found. After her death, we mourned her. Then we consulted the other people of the tribe. We always knew that we were not a real part of the tri
be. After much talk, they agreed that we should go back to our own folk. The Shawnee had been good friends to us, so it was not easy to go. But . . . we wanted family, and with Ahneewakee gone, there was no one to take her place.’ Looking at the floor, he said, ‘We wanted to belong.’

  This time Hardcastle spoke. ‘Did you find your mother’s family?’

  ‘We found our mother’s sister, Aunt Rachel. She survived the raid that killed Martha. The settlement had been rebuilt, and she still lived there. She had thought we were dead, as everyone did. But she accepted us and said we must make our home now with her. She was a good woman, and she loved us very much, and we loved her too. We lived with her and worked the land alongside the other people of the settlement for . . . I must think. It would be about five years.

  ‘It was Aunt Rachel who told us what our real names were, that we were called Samuel and Emma. Before then, we had only the names Ahneewakee had given us. From Aunt Rachel, too, we learned about our father. Emma was very curious about him; more curious than me. But Emma is always more curious, more questing. That is why she gets into trouble, and I have to come and rescue her. It was always the same, even when we were children.

  ‘Then our aunt died. It has been our history; those whom we love, die.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Hardcastle gently.

  ‘It is kind of you to say so. When Aunt Rachel died, we took what little money we had and went to New York to find our father. Of course, much had changed. There had been the great war, and now the Americans were independent. Many who did not support the new government had fled. Father was one of them. We did not know at first where he had gone, but we learned that our uncle and his family still lived in Boston. We went there to find them.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Oh, it was quite easy. Mr James Rossiter, our uncle, is an important man. But we were not allowed to see him. Instead we saw Mr Parker, who was very rude to us and called us the horrible names that many white people use. He denied that our parents had married. He said that we were . . . bastards, and that we must keep away from the other Rossiters. But he also told us that Father was still alive and living in Montréal. So we decided to go there to find him. We walked much of the way.’

  The rector’s knowledge of American geography was hazy. ‘That must have been a very long way.’

  ‘It took us three weeks. It was not difficult. From our time among the Shawnee, we were used to walking. We came to Montréal, and there we found our father. He had made a new life for himself as a trader in furs, and he had prospered in Montréal. Indeed, it seemed he was now very wealthy.’

  There was a long pause while the young man remembered. ‘That was a happy time,’ he said finally. ‘Father welcomed us with tears of joy. All through the years, he had thought we were dead. But he recognised us at once. He said I looked very like our mother. And we could prove we were his children, for Emma had the earrings she had been given at her christening.

  ‘He took us into his home and introduced us to everyone as his daughter and son. Despite our colour, people did not find this difficult to believe, as Emma looks very like him, and I have my father’s chin.’ This was said proudly. ‘He loved us as Aunt Rachel had loved us, kindly and gently. I think . . . I think that we made his life complete again, after a long time of much sadness.

  ‘He gave us presents, all the time. Almost every day, there was a new gift waiting for us. Sometimes, we were moved to protest at his generosity. “Father,” we would say, “this book, this trinket, it is too much.” “No,” he would say, “this is my way of making up for the lost years.”

  ‘But Father was nearly seventy years old. His health was failing. When he knew the end was near, he called his lawyer and made a will. He had remarried after our mother died. This wife too was now dead, but there was a son from that second marriage. Father and his son William, our half-brother, had become estranged because of the war, and what happened after it. So, Father made a new will leaving everything to Emma and myself. We were uneasy about this, and felt it was not fair to William. But Father said he would be well provided for. Uncle James, Father’s brother, would look after him. And then Father died.’

  ‘Why did you decide to come to England?’

  ‘Montréal was sad without Father. We did not know what to do. And with Father gone, people were . . . less kind to us. And also, there was curiosity. During his last weeks, Father talked often about the old days in England. I think he regretted coming to America, even though he became wealthy. He missed his home. He talked about New Hall sometimes, and he spoke of his mother, our grandmother, who had lived there. When we discovered he had left us the house in his will, we were intrigued.’

  He was thinking hard now, remembering, and also still trying to hold back emotion. Often there were pauses between sentences.

  ‘So we set out. We had money now, and could afford to travel in comfort. We booked passage on a ship, the Esperance. We had never before seen the sea . . . It was cold, and there were many storms, for it was late in the year. I remember being frightened by the first storm, for the waves were like moving mountains. Emma laughed at it all; she thought it was wonderful. After a while I became resigned to it.’

  ‘When did you arrive?’

  ‘In early November. We landed at Bristol, and took the coach from there to London. Father’s will had instructed us to contact his lawyer Mr Parker, the father of that unpleasant man in Boston. We had an address for this Mr Parker in London, so we travelled there. A lady at an inn in Bristol had given us the address of a rooming house in Mary-le-bone, and we went there and rented rooms. I then set off to find Mr Parker in Lincoln’s Inn. But a man there told me Mr Parker was dead.

  ‘This was a setback,’ Samuel said earnestly. ‘We did not know what to do next. We did not understand how the law worked. We were afraid that with Mr Parker now dead, no one would know about the estate. But, at the same time, we were not unhappy. We had plenty of money, and London was interesting. We met many people, and most of them were kind to us.’

  ‘Did you ever meet a man named Olaudah Equiano?’ Hardcastle asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Samuel said at once. ‘He was very helpful to us, and introduced us to many of his friends. Mr Equiano is a great man. He was once a slave himself, and now he is fighting to free others from slavery. He argues for the abolition of the trade in slaves. Emma and I respect Mr Equiano very much.’

  ‘And did he ever mention the London Corresponding Society to you? He, or any of the others you met?’

  The young man’s brow wrinkled. ‘I do not recall the name.’

  ‘It is not important. There are many French people living in Marylebone. Did you associate with them?’

  ‘Oh, yes. They are poor people,’ Samuel explained, the earnestness back. ‘They were forced to flee from France when the Revolution broke out, just as Father was forced to flee from America. Often they have nothing but the clothes they wear, and sometimes they are even reduced to pawning their clothes, to raise money for food. It is very sad to see people in such misery.’

  Clavertye, you are wrong, the rector told himself. This boy is no more a French spy than I am. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Mr Equiano explained that when Mr Parker died, his affairs would have been taken over by another lawyer. He helped us to trace Mr Jessington. I went to see him, but learned from him that there was another will. The estate, the house, had all been given to our half-brother William, Father’s estranged son. I protested that this was wrong. I fear I became angry. I know I should not have done so, for it was surely not Mr Jessington’s fault. Emma and I then went back to Mr Equiano for advice, and he told us what we must do to challenge the other will in court, and prove our case.

  ‘Then Mr Parker came, the Mr Parker we had met in Boston. He was rude to us once again, and accused us of following the family. Until then, we had not realised that our uncle and aunt and their family were in London at all. He warned that unless we dropped
our claim to New Hall and the estate he would – what was the phrase? Darken our daylights. I was very angry, and we exchanged harsh words. He promised to make much trouble for us if we did not do as he said, and then went away.

  ‘Then Emma disappeared. I waited for her all of Christmas Eve, and then it occurred to me she might have gone to New Hall. As I said to you before, I had to wait until the twenty-seventh to travel after her.’

  ‘Can anyone, anyone at all, vouch for your presence in London on the twenty-fifth or sixth?’

  Samuel frowned. ‘I do not think so,’ he said. ‘I was on my own, and everyone was quite involved in celebrating Christmas. There was much drinking. I do not think anyone paid any heed to me.’

  ‘Why did you go to Rye? Why did you stay near the Marsh?’

  ‘I was afraid for Emma. I wanted to be close, so that if she was in trouble, I could help her. I waited and waited for news.’

  His eyes were large and dark with sorrow. ‘Sir, tell me truly. Is my sister really dead?’

  ‘I fear very much that she is, Samuel.’

  ‘It is so. I feared it, but I did not want to believe it was true. The report in the newspaper gave me hope for a while, when it said she was a dark-skinned woman, but I think the report must have been wrong.’

  ‘I saw the body, Samuel. She was much less dark-skinned than you.’

  The young man gave a sudden slow sigh of pain. ‘I must accept it,’ he said. ‘All those who love me, die. But if there is no Emma, then my heart’s wish is to die too. She is my twin, the other half of my soul. Without her, there is no life.’ He looked at the rector. ‘So, you see, I do not mind what happens next.’

  ‘Samuel,’ the rector said desperately, ‘do not give up hope. There is still the trial to come. We will ensure that you have a good barrister, the best in the country. Do not give up.’

  ‘No,’ said the young man softly. ‘Do not trouble yourself, sir, I beg you. They may take me and hang me; I do not mind. I will go to the place of the spirits, and there I will find Emma, and we will be happy.