The Body in the Ice

by A. J. MacKenzie

  Edward looked troubled. ‘I know. I’ve thought the same, often, and I despise myself for inflicting that on him.’ He looked around suddenly. ‘Is Samuel here? Laure said he was staying at the rectory.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you suppose . . . Do you think he would consent to see me? I’d like to apologise, if he would accept it, and see if we can make a fresh start. When Laure told me she had taken Emma by the hand and called her cousin; well, I was quite deeply moved. I should like to do the same with Samuel, if he’ll forgive me.’

  The rector regarded him for a moment, and then nodded. ‘I will ask him. But if he says no, you must promise to abide by his decision.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Hardcastle rose and went out. He returned after a couple of minutes. ‘He has agreed to see you. Come this way, if you please.’

  *

  Samuel Rossiter still looked tired and worn, but hot food and Calpurnia’s kind care had clearly restored him a great deal. Calpurnia herself stood to one side, smiling fondly.

  Edward bowed as they were introduced, then walked up to the other man and stopped and looked him in the eye. ‘You and your sister have been deeply wronged by our family,’ he said directly. ‘I would like to help put that right, if I can. My uncle and father behaved very badly, and I did nothing to prevent them. I regret that deeply. When I found out what had happened to your sister and that poor servant girl, and then how you were arrested and chained up, I was stricken with remorse.’ He forced a smile. ‘When word came that you had escaped, I even went out and looked for you myself.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Samuel asked. His manner, unsurprisingly, was guarded.

  ‘I thought if I found you before the soldiers did, I could help you somehow; get you food, or smuggle you into the stables at New Hall and give you a hiding place. It was all a bit mad, I suppose. But I thought you needed to know that at least one person in our family actually does feel that you are kith and kin, and wants to help you. Cousin Samuel, if I may call you such; it is asking a great deal, given what you have suffered. Can you see fit to put the past behind you, and join us in making a new start?’

  ‘If you can make such a noble offer,’ said Samuel, visibly relaxing at Edward’s words and breaking into a smile, ‘it would be unkind of me to refuse it.’

  The two men clasped hands, and the relief in Edward’s face was plain to see. Calpurnia gave a little cry of delight and clapped her hands. ‘Two more cousins, reconciled! Laure and Emma are already fast friends, and now this! Oh, Marcus, is it not splendid?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ the rector said gravely. ‘I congratulate you both, my young friends, on your courage and generosity of spirit. But what will your father say?’ he asked Edward.

  ‘Father does not know I am here,’ said Edward. ‘And in any case, he departs for London once more first thing in the morning. Now, that gives me a thought.’

  He looked at Samuel. ‘Aunt Jane keeps mostly to her room at the moment. That leaves we three of the younger generation, Laure my sister and my cousin William; your half-brother, come to that. Now that we have found the two missing members of our family, we would very much like to be better acquainted with both of you. Therefore, would you and your sister do us the honour of calling on us tomorrow evening? I know that my cousin would be delighted to host you. Do please say yes.’

  ‘Yes. We should like that very much.’

  ‘Well, that is perfectly splendid,’ said Edward. He bowed again, and then to Calpurnia and then the rector. ‘Would you, reverend, and you, Mrs Vane, care to join us also?’

  ‘Surely this should be an occasion for family alone,’ the rector said, surprised.

  ‘’Tis true, but the two of you have done so much to help our cousins, and we should like to express our thanks.’

  ‘Then it gives us great pleasure to accept,’ said the rector. Calpurnia beamed at Samuel.

  ‘Good. Now that is arranged, I shall take my leave,’ said Edward, smiling. ‘Your servant, ma’am. Reverend, thank you so much for hearing me and offering me your advice and consolation. And as for you, cousin, and all of you; until tomorrow.’

  *

  Thursday, 16th February. At first light, wheels rumbled on the drive at New Hall and the big carriage rolled out and turned away south towards New Romney and the high road to Ashford, and London. The rector, walking Rodolpho in the meadows north of the New Sewer, watched it go. He wondered what lay behind Edward’s spur-of-the-moment invitation. He wondered too why William had made no move to come and meet his cousins. Perhaps he did not share the views of Edward and Laure.

  At three in the afternoon, Joshua Stemp came to the rectory. Bill Hayton, the old shepherd, was ill again; a combination of marsh fever and drink, Stemp reckoned. Whatever the cause, he was in a bad way. Stemp’s wife had gone out to look after the old man, taking a pot of soup, but Stemp thought his condition might need more than that.

  ‘He cannot survive many more of these attacks,’ the rector agreed. ‘We must send for Dr Mackay, I think.’

  ‘I can easily inform him, reverend. I’m on my way to New Romney now.’

  The night of the full moon was past; in another ten days or two weeks, the smugglers would be making another run. Stemp was doubtless on his way to New Romney to meet his fellows and plan the event. ‘Be so good as to do so,’ the rector said. ‘I will go and assist Mrs Stemp, and sit with him until the doctor arrives.’

  He put on his cloak and his stoutest boots, and picked up his hat and gloves and stick. Anticipating a lengthy visit, took a lantern and tinderbox. ‘I am sorry,’ he said to Calpurnia, who came out to see what he was doing. ‘But I may be detained for some while. If I do not return in time for the soirée, kindly make my apologies to the Rossiters.’

  ‘Oh, Marcus, it is a shame. It will be so lovely to see all the young people together.’

  ‘There will be other occasions.’

  ‘Take Rodolpho with you. He will be company for you, at least.’

  He whistled to the dog and the two of them departed, walking out across the flat Marsh, the grasses swept by the incessant wind. Clouds were building up to the southwest, charcoal coloured and livid with impending rain.

  Old Bill Hayton was unconscious on his bed, feverish and muttering in his sleep. Mrs Stemp, a bright woman who managed Stemp himself and their two fractious young daughters with an ever-capable hand, looked up as the rector came in, stooping under the low beams. ‘He’s not at all well, reverend. I haven’t been able to get any soup into him.’

  Hardcastle sat down by the cot and felt Hayton’s forehead, burning and dry. ‘The doctor is on his way,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay with him, Mrs Stemp, if you want to get back to your girls.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, reverend.’ Mrs Stemp departed, leaving the soup. Hardcastle sat on, listening to the old man’s fevered whispers and the whistle of the wind. Presently Rodolpho began to whine; looking out, the rector realised it was raining. He called the dog inside, and Rodolpho lay down, gave a grateful sigh, and went to sleep.

  Dr Mackay arrived at the fall of dusk, wet and disgruntled. He checked the patient carefully, then opened his bag and took out several glass bottles. ‘Will you fetch me some water?’ he asked the rector.

  Hardcastle found a can of water and poured some into a tolerably clean bowl. Mackay added a small measure from one of the bottles. ‘Belladonna,’ he said. ‘It should relax him and lower the fever a little. Help me to get it down him.’

  Together, they opened the old man’s jaws and spooned the tincture very slowly into his throat. Mackay next took a cloth and soaked it in vinegar from another of his bottles and began to wipe the patient’s forehead. ‘How long before this takes effect?’ the rector asked.

  ‘Who knows? It might be a few hours, or it might be all night. Or it might be never.’ Mackay looked up. ‘If you want to get along, I’ll stay with him.’

  ‘I will remain for a while.’ They sat on, waiting. After a couple o
f hours it seemed that Hayton’s fever was less fierce and he had begun to breathe a little more easily.

  Outside, the rain was drumming down hard. ‘I shall take my leave now,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Thank you, doctor. It was kind of you to come so far. Send your bill to me, as usual.’

  ‘You may be sure of it.’

  He lit the lantern, hearing the wind and rain increasing. He whistled to Rodolpho and stepped outside, wrapping his cloak around him. His hat brim dripping with water, the wolfhound trying unsuccessfully to take shelter behind him and stepping on his heels, he strode back down the track towards St Mary.

  The rector was about a quarter of a mile from the village when he saw something glowing on the horizon through the rain. For a few moments he was puzzled, but then the glow increased and he was in no doubt. Somewhere in St Mary in the Marsh, a building was on fire.

  *

  ‘Welcome,’ said William Rossiter, and he bowed stiffly to Calpurnia Vane and Mrs Chaytor, and then even more awkwardly to Samuel and Emma. ‘We are very happy to have your company.’ His tone of voice, Mrs Chaytor thought, was rather less welcoming than his words.

  ‘Yes,’ said Edward. ‘It is a great pleasure to have you all here, to be sure! Only, where is Reverend Hardcastle?’

  ‘He was called away to attend a sick man,’ said Calpurnia. ‘Poor Marcus, he is a martyr to his work. He is forever being called out, for one reason or another.’

  ‘What a shame,’ said Edward, and he laughed a little.

  ‘Perhaps I should begin,’ said Laure. She too looked nervous. ‘William, Eddy, may I present to you our cousin Emma? I am sure you will be as glad as I was to make her acquaintance, and welcome her to the family.’

  ‘Well said, dear sister,’ said Edward. ‘I too am glad to introduce our other cousin Samuel, Emma’s brother. I’ve only met him the once, but he is a splendid fellow and I am sure we are all going to get on very well.’

  William gave another stiff bow, but said nothing. His attitude to Samuel and Emma was markedly cold, in sharp contrast to that of his cousin. Samuel bowed too, smiling tentatively. ‘And this is my sister Laure,’ said Edward. ‘You must thank her especially, cousin Samuel. It was her courage in going against our parents’ wishes that led to this reunion of our family. I doubt Will and I would have had the mettle to do it ourselves. Odd how the ladies in the family often turn out to be the strong ones, isn’t it?’

  He bowed to the two younger women. William was staring at his cousin. He is puzzled, Mrs Chaytor thought; he does not understand something. Come to that, neither do I.

  A footman appeared in the doorway, bowing. ‘That’s everything loaded, sir.’

  ‘Good,’ said Edward. ‘You can be on your way.’

  ‘It’s getting dark, sir.’

  ‘Never mind, it’s a good road from New Romney. You can make Tenterden tonight, if you push on.’

  The footman bowed again, looking sulky, and departed. Edward poured glasses of Madeira and handed them around. Emma smiled, her eyes glowing. She wore dark clothes, as they all did, but there was no mistaking the happiness in her eyes. She had wanted to be part of a family, she said. Now, at last, she was. She crossed the room to William, smiling still.

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you,’ she said. ‘I have often thought of this moment.’

  ‘Indeed, ma’am,’ he said, and he gave another stiff little bow, his manner not at all welcoming. The young woman continued to smile, but now her eyes too were puzzled.

  ‘You appear to be packing up,’ said Mrs Chaytor. Her own inclusion in the party had come at the last minute; Laure had written a sweet little note, begging her company, and she did not feel she could refuse. But she was still perplexed by the purpose of this gathering, on the eve of the family’s departure.

  ‘It is most sad,’ said Laure. ‘We are to depart in the morning, it seems, and all the hired servants have been sent off today. We shall make do with a cold collation for supper, but they have left us some excellent claret to wash it down. I do wonder how they came by the claret? After all, this country is at war with France.’

  ‘It has been smuggled in, silly,’ laughed Edward. ‘Didn’t you know? This whole area is full of smuggling; am I not right, Mrs Chaytor?’

  ‘It is an important local industry, to be sure,’ Mrs Chaytor said drily.

  Edward laughed again. ‘Even this house was built by smugglers. That’s why it has so many cellars.’

  ‘What, this house? Do you mean to say our ancestors were smugglers?’ asked William, suddenly showing some animation.

  ‘Of course. Didn’t you know? It’s part of our history, old fellow.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Emma, smiling. ‘Now at last I understand! Father told me there was a secret about the cellars of New Hall. That must be it. The cellars were used for smuggling.’

  ‘So Uncle Nicholas told you about the cellars, did he?’ said Edward. ‘He would have known all about them, of course; he lived here longer than my father did. So he will have told you the other secret too?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said William. ‘That’s moonshine. We looked everywhere when we first moved in, didn’t we, Laure?’

  ‘We did.’ Laure turned to Mrs Chaytor and explained. ‘There’s an old fable that there is a second set of cellars, secret and hidden away. Will and I looked for them, as he says, but we found nothing.’

  ‘Really?’ said Edward. ‘You looked too?’

  ‘Oh, for hours. If there are really any hidden cellars, they must be so well disguised that no one will ever find them again. Perhaps the secret died with Uncle Nicholas.’

  ‘Father spoke of a secret door,’ said Emma, and Samuel nodded. ‘But he never said where it might be.’

  ‘A secret door!’ said Calpurnia. ‘Oh, how exciting! I very much want to include a secret door in my new novel. I have been racking my brains to understand how such a door might work. Come, what does one need for a secret door?’

  ‘A door, of course,’ said Samuel, smiling at her enthusiasm. ‘And a passage behind, or a stair down to the cellars.’

  ‘Exactly! So where in a house like this might there be room for a concealed stairwell or a passageway? Oh, Mr Rossiter, this is exciting! Shall we have another look for it? It would be a splendid game!’

  ‘Oh, do let’s, Will,’ said Laure, laughing. ‘It is our last night here; we might not get another chance.’

  ‘Have you tried the library?’ asked Calpurnia. ‘The walls of the library are panelled, and panelling is always an excellent place for hidden compartments. It features in many novels.’

  ‘I did check it quite thoroughly,’ said William. ‘But I am not certain the walls of the library are thick enough to admit of a staircase. What about the morning room?’

  They fell to speculating; Edward wandered restlessly around the drawing room, tapping the walls from time to time. Mrs Chaytor watched them for a while, still uncertain as to the real purpose of the evening.

  ‘There is one wall you have not thought of,’ she said finally. ‘That of the rear passage, behind the stairs. It is a most substantial wall; I noticed as much from the outside. I thought it was perhaps part of a much earlier structure, when they built walls of greater thickness.’

  ‘Oh! Let us go and look!’ cried Calpurnia, her enthusiasm bubbling over.

  William, his earlier hesitation quite gone, and Laure led the way out of the drawing room, Edward behind them carrying a candle in each hand. Mrs Chaytor followed them all, watchful. They walked down the kitchen passage beside the staircase. At the end of the passage was a blank wall. To the left, a door gave way to the kitchen; to the right, another passage ran behind the staircase and around it, leading to the morning room and breakfast room.

  The wall that faced them was smooth plaster, quite blank. ‘I can see nothing,’ said Calpurnia.

  ‘I can,’ said Samuel, pointing. ‘There is a very faint line, just there.’

  William took one of the candles and bent down for a closer look. �
��So there is. I wonder how we missed it before? Now, how does it open, do we think?’

  ‘There must be a spring or a catch somewhere,’ said Samuel.

  William knelt down and ran his fingers around the skirting boards, slowly. Suddenly he stopped. ‘I think I’ve found it! Let’s see what happens . . .’

  He pressed with his fingers. There was a sudden click, and a little panel in the wall sprang open to reveal a keyhole. The young people gave a concerted cry of delight, Edward joining in.

  ‘How exciting!’ said Calpurnia, and they all agreed. ‘Now if only we had a key.’

  They stood and stared at the keyhole. An odd expression passed over Edward’s face. ‘I wonder,’ he said. Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he drew out a black key and held it up in the candlelight. ‘I wonder,’ he repeated slowly.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ asked William. His tone was sharp.

  ‘Father gave it to me, before he departed for London,’ said Edward. ‘He never said what it was for.’

  ‘Why would he give it to you? This is after all my house, not yours!’

  ‘It was just as he was leaving. I don’t think you were around, old fellow. There was nothing to the matter; he just said he thought the key should stay here. I put it in my pocket, and never gave it a second thought, until now.’

  William continued to look unhappy. ‘But you’re quite right, it is your house,’ said Edward. ‘Take it, please. See if it fits, if you like.’

  Slowly, William took the key, knelt and inserted it in the keyhole. There was another, louder click, and the panel swung open to reveal a doorway opening onto a dark stair. A draught of cold musty air blew upwards. Calpurnia gasped, and clutched at Samuel’s hand.