The Body in the Ice

by A. J. MacKenzie

  They hurried into the hall. Calpurnia rushed out of the dining room behind them and stopped dead, her hand to her mouth. There, standing in the doorway, muddy and exhausted with broken manacles hanging from his wrists, was Samuel Rossiter.

  Chapter 17

  Return, Reunion, Return

  ‘I must apologise for my appearance,’ the young man said, his voice slurred with fatigue.

  ‘Come inside. Quickly.’ The rector slammed and barred the door and then pressed Samuel down into a chair. ‘When did you last eat?’

  ‘Two days ago.’

  ‘Biddy, bring food. No: first, fetch a blanket. And something hot to drink.’ Beneath his ragged coat, Samuel was shivering. ‘There is something I must tell you,’ the rector said. ‘Emma is alive.’

  Samuel’s head shot up and his eyes, dark and intense, fixed on the rector’s face. Then he nodded slowly. ‘I knew it must be so,’ he said. ‘Forgive me for doubting your word, sir. But the more I thought about it, after we spoke, the more I knew she must be alive. I knew I would have felt it in my heart if she had died.’

  ‘Is that why you escaped?’ asked Mrs Chaytor.

  ‘Yes . . . I decided to come here, and beg the reverend to help me find her. But they were searching for me everywhere, so I had to hide. Then the search stopped, and I thought it would be safe to approach him.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Where is Emma?’

  ‘She is at my house,’ said Mrs Chaytor, ‘very close by. I will fetch her.’

  The young man looked at his muddy clothes and the manacles on his hands. ‘I do not want her to see me like this.’

  ‘Then let us get you fed and cleaned up,’ said Calpurnia briskly, coming forward. ‘Come into the kitchen where it is warm. No, don’t worry about the mud, Biddy will clear that up. Let’s see you fed first, and then I will find some of Marcus’s clothes for you. They will be a little large, but they will suffice. Marcus won’t mind; will you, Marcus?’

  This was said meaningfully; the rector shook his head. Clucking, Calpurnia drew the young man away to the kitchen. Mrs Chaytor looked at the rector and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘She is angry with us for not telling her about Emma,’ the rector said. ‘She has decided to push her way into this affair again, no doubt so she can collect material for another of her ghastly books.’

  ‘She is already involved, to a degree,’ Mrs Chaytor pointed out. ‘I shall go and fetch Emma.’

  Half an hour later, Samuel Rossiter had eaten and changed into coat, baggy breeches and thick wool stockings. Calpurnia brought him back to the drawing room, wrapped in a heavy blanket, and placed him in a chair next to the fire. Biddy, skipping with excitement, answered the door when Mrs Chaytor knocked, and ushered her and Emma into the drawing room.

  Brother and sister stood for a moment, gazing at each other. ‘Aracoma,’ breathed Samuel.

  ‘Oh, Holeskwa!’ the girl cried, tears glistening in her dark eyes. They embraced, clumsily because of the manacles still dangling from Samuel’s wrists. There were tears on his face too, and Calpurnia dabbed at her own eyes with a handkerchief. Hardcastle and Amelia stood quietly, watching while brother and sister clung to each other, speaking softly in a language only they could understand. They held onto one another like shipwrecked survivors in a storm, clinging to their hope of salvation. They had endured great hardship and great sorrow; but so long as they had each other, Emma and Samuel would survive.

  Gradually they released each other, and the storm of emotion receded. Emma, wiping her eyes, turned to the rector and reverted back to English. ‘What do we do now?’ she asked, striving to remain calm.

  ‘First, we need to remove those manacles,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I will send for someone who can do so, and we will have them off you as soon as possible.’ Filing through manacles was well within Joshua Stemp’s range of skills. ‘Tomorrow, I will see the deputy lord lieutenant and ensure that all charges against Samuel are dropped. You will then be free.’

  ‘A moment, sir, please,’ said Samuel. ‘I am glad you believe me innocent, but there is still a murder to explain. Emma is alive – so who was killed at New Hall?’

  They had forgotten that he did not know. ‘It was Sarah,’ said Emma softly. ‘You remember, she used to clean at the house where we stayed? I hired her to come with me.’

  ‘Sarah! Oh, how terrible! She was such a kind and gentle person. But who would want to kill her? And why?’

  ‘Because someone thought she was you,’ the rector said to Samuel. The young man looked confused, and Hardcastle said, ‘I did not tell you earlier, but Miss Freebody was wearing men’s clothes when she was attacked. This is a tragic case of mistaken identity.’

  ‘Someone thought Sarah was me . . .’ said Samuel slowly, repeating the rector’s words. ‘That means I am responsible for her death. It is because of me that she was killed.’

  ‘No!’ said Emma. ‘I am at fault. It was I who asked her to come with me, and placed her in danger.’

  ‘And that means you are both still in danger,’ said Calpurnia. ‘Until the secret of New Hall is known, neither of you are safe. Whoever tried to kill you may well try to do so again.’

  The rector opened his mouth to rebuke his sister for interfering, and then realised she was right. Parker was dead, Foucarmont and Steele had gone, but that did not mean the danger was over. ‘You have already run great risks for us,’ Emma said. ‘If we are in danger, so are you. Samuel and I can go to London. We would be safe there.’

  ‘That, you most certainly would not be,’ said the rector. ‘The men who tried to kill you know where you were staying in London. They found you once, and they would find you once more, quite easily; and in London, murdering you would be much simpler than here on the Marsh. My sister is right. Neither of you is safe until we know the truth about New Hall and the killer of Sarah Freebody is caught. You had better stay with us: Emma with Mrs Chaytor, and Samuel can remain here at the rectory.’

  ‘You are kind,’ said Emma simply. She paused, and they could see her thinking hard. Then she turned and looked at Samuel. ‘I too have no wish to place you in danger,’ the latter said.

  ‘Let me worry about that,’ said the rector.

  A moment passed, and then both young people nodded. ‘We trust you,’ said Samuel. His face was drawn and thin, but he looked far less desperate than he had on arrival.

  They did not linger for long. Samuel was swaying with lack of sleep, and Calpurnia insisted he must be put to bed. Emma went to help her, and together they half carried the stumbling young man upstairs. ‘I have an idea,’ said Mrs Chaytor to the rector. ‘I want to introduce Emma to Laure.’

  He stared at her. ‘That rather obviates the point of keeping them in hiding.’

  ‘My dear man, the people who matter already know where Emma is; that is why they tried to kill her. And how long do you think Samuel’s presence at the rectory will remain a secret? I think it is time we forced the issue. Let Laure meet Emma and then tell the rest of her family about the meeting. We shall know by their reactions which of them we can trust and which are in on the plot.’

  ‘It means taking a considerable risk,’ said the rector.

  ‘I know. But as Emma says, we are already taking risks. This affair has dragged on for too long. It is time we drew it to a conclusion, and saw justice done for Sarah Freebody.’

  ‘Do you wish to know what I think?’ the rector asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I think you would make a better justice of the peace than me.’

  *

  Lord Clavertye arrived mid-morning. ‘I have Samuel Rossiter in my custody,’ Hardcastle said. ‘He came to the house last night and turned himself in.’

  ‘Well done, Hardcastle! I knew the man would surrender eventually.’

  ‘Save your congratulations, my lord, until you hear what I intend. We were all mistaken. Emma Rossiter is alive and well. The woman who was killed at New Hall was her servant, and the murderer wa
s not Samuel. He did not arrive on the scene until several days later. One of the family, probably Joseph Parker, was behind the murder; whether committing it or ordering it to be carried out, we have yet to determine. It was then a case of mistaken identity; the murderer attacked the servant, who was dressed in men’s clothing, in the belief that she was Samuel Rossiter. He is innocent, and I intend to release him. I must ask you to drop all the charges against him.’

  Hardcastle had been prepared for an explosive reaction, but it did not come. Instead Clavertye nodded.

  ‘Very well. And what of the charges of espionage and trafficking with Foucarmont?’

  ‘When you interview the young man, my lord, I think you will see that these charges too are without foundation. You could speak to him while you are here, if you wish.’

  One of Clavertye’s virtues was that he knew how to lose gracefully. He nodded again. ‘And Parker’s death?’

  ‘It is very likely that he was killed by Foucarmont the same day that the latter attacked Sandy House. Foucarmont had learned that Emma was sheltering with Mrs Chaytor; she was the target of the attack.’

  ‘And now it seems Foucarmont has escaped. So, where does that leave us?’

  ‘It leaves us with the Rossiters,’ said the rector directly. ‘Specifically, with James Rossiter, who I am convinced has been directing this entire business. The original plan, whatever it was, has failed, but it does not mean that Rossiter will not try again. He will return to New Hall very shortly, I am certain, to attend the inquest and funeral of Parker. While he is here, I intend to interrogate him closely, and if possible, get to the bottom of this affair.’

  ‘You think Rossiter may be a murderer?’

  ‘Rossiter is the planner, the brain behind the plot. Others did the killing. I am not ruling out the possibility that his son or his nephew may have had a hand in the murder of either Sarah Freebody, or Joseph Parker, or both.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they are hiding something,’ said the rector. ‘Something so important that it transcends blood and kinship. And anything in which Foucarmont is involved represents a threat to Britain. Will you give me your consent to investigate this matter fully?’

  Clavertye thought for a moment. ‘Officially, no; the sensitivities are too great. Unofficially, carry on, but go carefully. If Rossiter decides to call on his interests, we could both be in trouble. The Duke of Portland wields a great deal of influence in this country.’

  ‘I am aware of that, my lord. But if I find evidence connecting James Rossiter to murder and espionage, will you give me your support?’

  Clavertye looked him in the eye. ‘It will give me very great pleasure to do so,’ he said. ‘And now, let me have a word with Samuel Rossiter.’

  *

  An hour later his lordship was away to London, where he would doubtless make what capital he could out of his role in the hunt for Foucarmont. It was nearly time for morning service, but as Hardcastle crossed the road to the church, a thought struck him. He turned and walked into the village and knocked at the door of Stemp’s cottage. Stemp himself answered the door.

  ‘What can I do for you, reverend?’

  ‘I have a task for you, Joshua. I need someone to look again at the New Hall cellars, someone with a better eye for such things than myself. I need to know if there is anything unusual about them, any signs of secret doors or compartments that could be opened.’

  ‘Jack Hoad’s the man for that. I’ll talk to him.’

  After matins, the rector walked down to New Hall and knocked at the door. It was young William Rossiter who came down to see him this time. ‘Aunt Jane is asleep. Laure is sitting with her.’

  ‘Then I shall not disturb her. But do please tell her I called.’ He looked at the fair-haired young man. ‘As we are private, Mr Rossiter, I should quite like a word with you. Might you spare me a moment of your time?’

  ‘Of course, sir. Does this concern my uncle’s death?’ William asked.

  ‘Indirectly, yes.’

  ‘Then ask whatever you like. I’ll help in any way I can.’

  They sat in the big drawing room, the fire crackling in the grate. ‘Would you begin by telling me what led to the rupture with your father?’ the rector asked.

  William looked surprised. ‘How did you know about that? Oh, Laure, I suppose,’ he said, looking pained. ‘It was all over politics, you see. I was six when the revolutionary war ended, too young to know much about it. Our family, father and mother and myself, moved to Montréal. Mother died a few years later, and I went to stay for a time with Uncle James and my cousins in Boston. I heard all about the war and how heroic Uncle James and Uncle Joe had been. They said very little themselves; it was Eddy, my cousin, who told me most of it.’

  ‘Edward is older than you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, seven years. But he’s always been very good to me. He’s a great gun; more like a brother than a cousin.’

  ‘And you heard his story and felt sympathy for your uncles’ cause?’

  ‘America is wonderful. There is such freedom there, such hope for the future. We have the beginnings of a great country,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘It really is a new world, in every sense. We’ve thrown off the shackles of Europe. No more constraints of monarchy or religion to hold us in our places and tie us down. We’re free to imagine our own future and create a new nation based on principles like equality and justice.’

  The words sounded like something Hardcastle had heard someone else say, but there was no doubting the young man’s sincerity. ‘But your father felt otherwise?’

  ‘Father changed after Mother died. He lost interest in the world around him. He kept harking back to the past, back to the days before the revolution; that was all that interested him. To him, the revolution was nothing but destruction and strife. He couldn’t see that was the price that had to be paid for freedom.’ William paused, his handsome young face suddenly sad. ‘We had a quarrel; well, a series of quarrels. And four years ago, I stormed out, announcing that I was off to live with Uncle James. I was fifteen then, too young and stupid to realise what I was doing. Father cut me off, for which I don’t blame him. But I never saw him or spoke to him again. Now I regret that, very much.’

  ‘But you continue to hold true to your beliefs.’

  ‘Of course. I believe in America and its future. I just wish I hadn’t lost Father along the way. Maybe that too is the price that must be paid. But I’m not happy about it.’

  ‘What did your father do during the war?’

  ‘What a lot of folk did: kept his head down and waited for it to blow over. Mother once told me that at the beginning of the Revolution, Uncle James tried to persuade him to join the American cause. Father refused and they had a violent quarrel. I don’t think they ever spoke again.’

  It was time for a change of tack. ‘Did your father ever mention his earlier marriage? Or the children born to his first wife?’

  ‘Not once. It was a bolt from the blue when they showed up in Boston. I say, reverend; do you think he really married the lady?’

  ‘We shall find out in due course. Certainly their two children believe he did. But regardless of marriage lines, they are still your brother and sister.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said the boy in sudden wonder. ‘I suppose that’s true, isn’t it? It hadn’t occurred to me before. I suppose I just accepted what Uncle Joe said, that they were trying to squeeze money out of the family.’

  Perhaps you should spend more time thinking for yourself than listening to what others say, thought the rector. Aloud, he asked, ‘Did your father ever talk about New Hall?’

  ‘Sometimes, especially after Mother died. He was quite sentimental about the place. That’s why I wanted so much to come here, you see. But Uncle James and Uncle Joe weren’t too keen at first.’

  ‘Did your father ever mention a secret in connection with the house? Something to do with the cellars?’

  ‘If he did, I don’t remember it. What’s so rema
rkable about the cellars? I’ve been down there a few times. There’s nothing to see.’

  ‘William, think carefully. Did your Uncle Joseph ever discuss the cellars? With you or any other member of the family?’

  ‘Not in my hearing,’ said the young man, shaking his head.

  ‘Did your uncle ever meet with anyone here? Did he have appointments out of the house, or did anyone call on him at New Hall?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Or if he did, I never noticed. Apart from church, he rarely left the house at all; he wasn’t a great one for exercise. If he wanted something, he usually sent a servant out to get it.’

  The rector nodded. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Rossiter. Pray do not trouble; I will see myself out.’

  He walked home through the drizzle, thinking hard. William Rossiter was a callow and ingenuous young man with a great deal to learn about life. He was an idealist and a romantic. Could he also be a murderer? Men killed for political ideals; over in France, they had been killing them off in thousands, all in the name of liberty. On the face of it, William seemed an unlikely conspirator; he was too young and too naïve. But, it was also possible that he was an expert at dissembling.

  *

  ‘I came directly I received your note,’ said Laure Rossiter, smiling. ‘Your message was most mysterious.’

  ‘I am so glad you could come,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘And here is the object of the mystery. Laure; may I present your cousin, Miss Emma Rossiter.’

  ‘Goodness,’ said Laure softly.

  She and Emma stood still for a moment, studying each other. They were both tall; one fair and green-eyed, the other with rich, curling brown hair and deep, dark eyes.

  Then Laure turned to Mrs Chaytor. ‘But if this is Emma, who was killed at New Hall?’

  ‘A young woman named Sarah Freebody,’ said Emma softly. ‘She came from London with me, as my servant. The person who killed her thought she was my brother.’