‘But your brother has been charged with the murder.’
‘No longer,’ said Mrs Chaytor. ‘The charges against him have been dropped. He is free, and is staying at the rectory with Reverend Hardcastle.’
‘Goodness,’ said Laure again.
‘Perhaps we should all sit down,’ said Mrs Chaytor, ringing the bell. ‘Lucy? Bring us some chocolate, my dear.’
They sat, and Laure looked at Emma. She still seemed a little dazed, but she was rallying. ‘Why, you are quite lovely,’ she said on sudden impulse. ‘And you look so much like us.’
‘I have the Rossiter chin,’ said Emma, raising her chin slightly and smiling again.
‘We are all cursed with that,’ laughed Laure. ‘One of our ancestors must have had a jaw like the side of a ship.’
Lucy arrived with the chocolate.
‘Tell me all about yourself,’ instructed Laure, and Emma obliged, recounting again the history of her life. Laure was fascinated by her cousin’s time among the Shawnee. ‘One hears of these things, of children being taken away and reared by the Indians and then finding their way back to civilisation years later,’ she said, ‘but I have never actually met anyone who had that experience. Oh, poor Uncle Nicholas! It must have been so terrible for him.’
‘Did you know nothing at all about us?’ Emma asked, visibly saddened.
Laure shook her head. ‘Uncle Nicholas was far away in New York. I remember he visited Boston a couple of times, but we didn’t know him at all well. I remember his writing to tell us that he had married – that was to Aunt Hannah, William’s mother – and then almost immediately thereafter came the war and the rupture between he and Father. The first I heard of you was when Uncle Joseph said you had come to Boston.’
Laure looked directly at the other woman. ‘I know I should not speak ill of Uncle Joseph now that he is dead. But I thought the way he treated you and Samuel was horrible. Had I my way, you would have been welcomed into our home.’
‘Thank you,’ said Emma. ‘That is good to know. For our part, we never wished to be a burden to you. We only wanted to be part of a family.’
‘Well, so far as I am concerned, you are part of our family. Cousin Emma! What a nice ring it has to it.’ She paused. ‘Need I keep your presence here a secret?’
Emma looked at Mrs Chaytor. ‘You may tell the rest of your family, of course,’ said the latter.
‘May I ask what brought you to St Mary?’ asked Laure.
They had discussed beforehand what she would say if this question were asked. ‘Father made a will, in which he left New Hall to Samuel and me. We did not know about the earlier will, leaving the house to William.’
‘Oh! That complicates things,’ said Laure. ‘I am sure William knows nothing about this either.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘What can be done about this?’
‘I do not know,’ said Emma. ‘There is a lawyer looking into matters, so we shall have to wait to see what he says. For the moment, it has been good to come and see the house where our father had once lived, and to visit the grave of our grandmother.’
‘You have seen grand-mère’s grave? Would you visit it with me? The two of us together?’
‘It would be my honour to take you there.’ Emma looked at Mrs Chaytor. ‘May we go?’
‘Of course.’ In Laure’s presence, Emma was as safe as she could ever be. After the two young women had gone, Mrs Chaytor sat and stared at the window for a while, conscious of a little prickle of emotion.
They were cousins and now, perhaps, they were on their way to becoming friends. At least something good had come from this affair.
*
That evening, a big coach drawn by a team of horses came up the road from New Romney. It did not turn into the drive at New Hall but came on through the village, turning through the rectory gates and pulling to a halt outside the front door.
James Rossiter was shown into the rector’s study a few moments later, limping and leaning heavily on his stick. He looked tired and unwell; the rector thought he seemed older than when they last met. ‘I thank you for your letter,’ he said, as Biddy was dispatched for refreshments. ‘I came as quickly as I could upon receipt of the news. Have you seen my sister?’
‘She is distraught, of course, but I think her niece and nephews are a great support to her. How has Mrs Rossiter taken the news?’
‘Badly, I fear. It has made her quite ill, so much so that I prevailed upon her to stay in London while I travelled down here. This is a damnable affair, I must say. Do you have any idea who might have perpetrated this crime?’
‘There is no doubt in my mind as to who the killer was,’ the rector said. ‘Parker was killed by your old comrade in arms, Camille de Foucarmont, who learned that Parker had spoken to me and feared he was about to betray your plot. But of course, you know this already.’
‘I left St Mary nearly a week ago, reverend,’ Rossiter said, ‘and I have been in London or travelling ever since. And I do not understand this talk of plots, or your reference to the man Foucarmont.’
‘You knew Parker was a weak reed. Before you left, you advised Foucarmont to dispose of Parker if he became unreliable.’
‘Dispose of him! This is my brother-in-law, one of my oldest and dearest friends! Reverend, I don’t know who you have been talking to or what your imagination has dreamed up, but such a suggestion is an insult!’
The rector studied the other man for a few moments, letting the silence drag on. ‘I don’t propose to waste time bandying words with you,’ he said. ‘Mark this, and mark it well. I know about the connection between yourself and Foucarmont. I know that he came to England with his men in response to a signal from yourself, a message sent most probably from London after your arrival there. I know that you and Foucarmont have been engaged in a plot against the British realm. I lack only the details of that plot, and I will have those soon enough.
‘Two people have died; one an innocent servant girl, the other your brother-in-law. Others have been grievously hurt. Attempts have been made to kill both Samuel and Emma Rossiter, as well as Mrs Chaytor. On your orders, Foucarmont spread mayhem across the Marsh, and no doubt intended to extend his activities further across the country, before our forces finally drove him off. I give you fair warning now that I intend to see you prosecuted for these crimes.’
Another long silence fell while the two men stared at each other across the rector’s desk, Rossiter’s eyes dark with impending violence. So threatening did he appear for a moment that Hardcastle tensed, half expecting to receive a blow.
‘I do not think so,’ said Rossiter.
‘You seem very sure of yourself.’
‘Of course. Have you forgotten that I am protected?’
‘I know that you are a member of the American ambassador’s court. I also know that he dislikes you, and thinks you are spying on him for the Republicans. I believe he would cut you loose without a qualm.’
‘Perhaps. Or perhaps he would do anything to avoid a scandal that might threaten America. News that a member of this embassy had been consorting with a French agent might well turn the British people against the ideas of closer ties with my country, don’t you think? And you forget too that I have the interest of the Duke of Portland. I am untouchable, reverend. Nothing you do or say can harm me.’
Rossiter leaned forward a little. ‘But all this talk is academic because you have no evidence. You have a theory, most ingeniously constructed, but that is all. There is not a shred of evidence to show that I have been in correspondence with Foucarmont, or that I have been involved in any activities against the interests of your country. Nor is there any evidence whatever to connect me with the two murders. So, I wish good luck to you, rector. You will need it. And now, I will take my leave.’
They rose. ‘You are wrong,’ said the rector. ‘I will prove you wrong.’
‘It amuses me that you should think so. Please, remain where you are, reverend. I will show myself out.’
Chapter 1
8
The Secret of New Hall
The inquest into the death of Joseph Parker was held in New Romney on Tuesday 14th February. The witnesses were Dr Mackay, the boy who had found the body, Joshua Stemp and Hardcastle. The jury took less than a minute to reach a verdict of unlawful killing.
James Rossiter attended the inquest along with his son, Edward, and nephew, William. He sat looking straight ahead at the coroner throughout the hearing, his face unchanging. Only at the end, when the coroner offered his condolences to the widow and all the family, did he move, nodding his head once in acceptance.
Gloom hung over the Marsh. Grey clouds rolled steadily overhead, spitting occasional bursts of cold rain. It had been days since anyone had seen the sun. In the dim light, Hardcastle returned to the rectory to find Samuel sitting beside the drawing room fire, listening politely while Calpurnia explained the plot of her latest novel. The rector retired to his study and opened a bottle of port. There are some things, he thought, that flesh and blood should not be called upon to bear.
He did not drink much, despite the call to do so, because he knew he needed to keep a clear head. He sifted through what he knew so far, making brief notes as he did so. Rossiter had made his intention clear; he would carry off the entire matter with a high hand, pretending that nothing threatened him or his family. Well, thought the rector wryly, from his point of view, nothing has. He knows I have no evidence, and even if I had, he would still be beyond my reach. He is one of the mighty and the powerful, who may do as they please and whom the law cannot touch.
That thought roused him to slow anger. ‘I will prove you wrong,’ he said aloud.
But how? Annoyingly, Calpurnia had been right once again. Until he knew what lay concealed at New Hall, he could not come near the truth. He thought about the instruction he had given Stemp about the New Hall cellars: quite dishonourable, entirely illegal, but about his only remaining source of hope.
*
Wednesday dawned even colder and more gloomy than the day before. At the appointed hour, the rector crossed the road to the church, robed in the vestry and then went out to wait for the funeral cortege. The coffin came, transported slowly by wagon from New Romney, followed by the family, dark in mourning, Rossiter leaning heavily on his stick and puffing a little. Once, Laure put out her arm to steady him. Jane Parker was beside him, supported by Edward, her face pale and blank. Their servants followed quietly behind.
In that moment, the rector ceased to be an officer of the law and became wholly a clergyman; intent on the people before him and the ritual of remembrance and consolation he was about to perform. As the coffin reached the lychgate, he raised his hand.
‘I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord,’ he said, his deep voice ringing a little in the cold churchyard. ‘He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.’
Throughout the funeral the widow sat unmoving, staring at the coffin. Only at the end, as the coffin was lowered into the ground, did she break down. Helpless, flooded with tears and moaning softly with pure, shattering grief, she was helped from the churchyard by her son and nephew. Hardcastle looked up, and met Mrs Chaytor’s eyes.
At the end, he offered his hand to James Rossiter and said quietly, ‘Believe me, sir, I am truly sorry for your sister’s pain. I shall pray that God sends her consolation and peace.’ Rossiter walked straight past the rector’s outstretched hand, not speaking.
*
Two hours after the funeral, Joshua Stemp called at the rectory.
‘It was easy enough,’ he said. ‘We reckoned most of the servants would be at the church, so we called round with a basket of fish. I knocked at the kitchen door and offered my wares for sale, and then kept ’em busy while Jack nipped down and had a look around. The cellars are dry and sound, there’s nothin’ unusual about them. No doors, no compartments, says Jack, and if he says so, then I reckon we have to take his word on it.’
‘Damn,’ the rector said. It had been a faint hope, but it was all he had.
‘There’s something else, though, reverend. There’s something not quite right about the house itself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s the rear wall. Part of it’s in the wrong place. Or more likely, the inside wall is.’
The rector stared at him, baffled.
‘You remember that passage that runs across the back of the house?’ asked Stemp. ‘From the kitchen, behind the staircase to the breakfast room? I remember thinking when we searched the house: part of that passage seems narrow. Nothing like as well made as the rest of the house. And then when I was outside, I saw that the outer wall and the inner wall aren’t even close to each other. I reckon that inside wall is a false wall. And you know what that means.’
‘You will have to enlighten me.’
‘A false wall means a hiding place,’ Stemp said patiently. ‘Could be something like a priest’s hole, or a door to a passageway or a stair. My money’s on a stair.’
‘A stair . . .’ Revelation came in an instant. ‘By thunder, that’s it! The “secret of the cellars” that Emma’s father told her about; it’s not in the main cellars. The secret is that there is another cellar!’
‘It’s an old trick,’ said Stemp, nodding. ‘One range of cellars for legitimate use, another hidden away, where you hide the run goods.’
‘And New Hall was built by smugglers. It all fits.’
‘Now all we need to do is find out what they’re hiding down there,’ said Stemp. ‘What do you reckon it is, reverend? Gold? We could go back at night and try a break-in.’
‘With the house full of servants, and Rossiter doubtless expecting us to try just that?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Stemp wistfully. ‘Gold, though . . .’
‘Contain your larcenous instincts for a moment, and think. Rossiter has failed in his purpose for the moment. He will try again. But what will he do next? I’m convinced that he and his family will withdraw to London and let the fuss die down while he plans his next move. Once he has gone and the house is closed up, then we can enter and search.’
Stemp looked horrified. ‘But surely he’ll just take the gold with him to London?’
‘It depends how much there is. A large amount of gold is not easy to transport. But in any case, I do not think the cellars of New Hall contain gold. I think something has been hidden at the house for a long time, perhaps since the last war, waiting for its moment. Rossiter won’t move it, whatever it is – not unless he fears it is about to be discovered.’
‘So what do you intend to do, reverend?’
‘Stay quiet for a few days, until the family and servants have all departed. Let Rossiter think we have given up. The more confident he is that we have done so, the more likely he will be to leave everything as it is.’
*
That evening after dinner, a surprise caller came to the rectory. Edward Rossiter was shown into the study.
This was opportune, as the rector very much wanted to talk to Edward, but between the inquest, the funeral and his pastoral duties, he had not yet had time to do so. Slender and neat, Edward was dressed in his mourning clothes. The flash that had been apparent about him on earlier occasions was quite gone. Sober too was the expression on the young man’s face.
‘Thank you for receiving me, reverend, and do please forgive me for calling unannounced. If this is an inconvenient hour . . .’
‘There is no inconvenience at all. How may I be of service?’
‘I’ve been doing a lot of hard thinking since Uncle Joseph died,’ Edward said quietly as they seated themselves. ‘I share his politics, his and Father’s, and I always regarded Britain as the enemy. But this event has brought me up short.’ He looked steadily at Hardcastle. ‘I was just a boy during the war, only thirteen when it ended. I thought it was all romantic and exciting, Sons of Liberty and men going out to fight for freedom and equality. It’s always
been a bit of a game to me, really. But now, with Uncle Joe getting killed . . . It’s no longer a game, is it?’
‘It never was,’ said the rector quietly.
‘No. I realise that now.’ Edward drew a deep breath. ‘As I say, I have been thinking, and I am determined to put all that foolishness behind me, and do something decent and useful with my life. And I . . . well, I came here to make a confession.’
‘Oh? A confession to a priest, or to an officer of the law?’
Edward was wry. ‘I think I will leave that to you to decide . . . It was I who told Uncle Joe that Emma and Samuel Rossiter were in London. I spotted them in the street. I hadn’t met the girl, but I had seen Samuel when he came to the house in Boston. I looked twice, as you would, but there was no mistaking them. They have the Rossiter jaw, you see.’ He rubbed his own chin. ‘I’m the only one in the family who seems to have missed out on it.’
‘And what led you to inform your uncle?’
‘Believe it or not, I was trying to protect Cousin William,’ said Edward. ‘Uncle Joe believed Samuel was after William’s inheritance. I worked with Uncle Joe in his chambers, so I thought it was my duty to inform him of anything that might be connected with William’s estate. So, I’m the one who put Uncle Joe onto the scent, and I reckon I know what Uncle Joe did next. He went around to try and frighten them off, and then when that didn’t work and they came down here, he sent Steele after them. It must have been Steele who coshed that poor servant girl and killed her.’
‘How do you know she was a servant?’
‘Laure told us the whole story after she met Emma. I realised then what had happened, and knew I was responsible. If I had said nothing Uncle Joe would have been none the wiser. Look here, reverend; if I am liable in law in any way, as an accomplice or something; well, tell me. I’ll take the penalty, whatever it is.’
Hardcastle considered this. Edward’s father would of course use his connections with the home secretary, and nothing would happen. Did Edward know this? ‘You could hardly be expected to foresee what Mr Parker would do once you told him you had seen Samuel and Emma. You should have informed me when you realised that Steele might have committed the crime, of course. Though in fact it hardly matters as I came to the same conclusion. In law, you have nothing to fear. As for your conscience,’ he said quietly, ‘that is for you to decide. Had you come forward sooner, Samuel would have been saved from gaol, and from days of cold and hunger as a fugitive on the Marsh.’
The Body in the Ice Page 27