The ice house itself was the typical dome, built in blocks of stone with a brick surround around the low wooden door. The smell from the swamps was strong here. He knew that the interior of the ice house would be far lower than the surrounding ground and it didn’t take a genius to know that the lower level would soon fill with seeping water, no matter how well they lined it.
He pushed at the wooden door to gauge the extent of the problems. He thought that he might be able to get an idea of how high the water table was here.
The door swung open with surprising ease, and it caught him unawares as he’d given it quite a shove. It flung itself back on its hinges. Though the ice house was in a shaded spot, north of the castle and overhung by gloomy trees, there was enough late summer midday light to illuminate most of the immediate floor by the entrance.
And it illuminated most of the fresh corpse, too.
Four
“How interesting!” was Theodore’s first thought, closely followed by, “I wonder who it is?” He peered down at the stocky male figure and nudged at him with his boot. By bending over he could see the corpse’s half-turned head. It was Hartley Knight, the insufferable house steward, and Theodore’s trained eye spotted immediately that the corpse was very recent. Then he stifled his medical curiosity and backed out of the ice house. There were protocols to be followed, after all. He tried not to feel excited about the situation. He had to do what was right – he had to rush back to the house, alert the staff, have someone fetch the local police, and then secure the scene as much as he could so that nothing got disturbed and all the potential clues remained in place.
All this he did with great speed and efficiency and then, hardly caring to stifle his excitement any longer, he returned to the ice house and stood at the entrance, looking around for clues. He had warned all the staff to remain away.
He had a little time before any of the officials would arrive to take over the case. He wanted to be able to present the inspector with a list of his observations but he was keenly aware that he must not disturb the surroundings of the dead body. So he remained on the step and peered into the gloom of the ice house.
It smelled. That was the first thing one noticed, even more than the presence of the corpse, which had not yet begun to enter the various well-known stages of decay. It smelled of the bad drains – in fact it smelled very strongly of eggs, a very particular sulphurous odour. It made Theodore cough and his eyes streamed. He stepped back to suck in some cleaner air for a moment.
The dark interior was filled with boxes and chests, and piled upon them and scattered around them were rocks and lumps of minerals. Some of the wooden boxes had broken open, their lower planks rotted away by resting in pools of stagnant water, and more rocks spilled out. There were jars, too, and canvas bags.
He would need to get closer, in a better light, to confirm what he was looking at but it didn’t take a clever man to make an educated guess. Here was the Seeley-Wood family’s old store of lapis lazuli, collected by successive generations of the earls of Buckshaw. Here was the root of their fortune, and if The Countess was to be believed, here was the seat of their curse.
Yet this all had value, though it might not have been the dizzying heights that it once was. The gems were still useable, just not as pigments. Why was it all left to rot in a foetid ice house, not even locked away securely as befitted their value? Did no one care? The family was wealthy but even the wealthiest family didn’t leave heaps of precious stones heaped about in the open.
It was a curious question and one that seemed to be important, because now there was a dead man lying in amongst the costly gems and the explanations for both situations had to be linked.
Hartley Knight was sprawled on his stomach, his head turned to one side, his eyes still disconcertingly open. His head was lower than his body, his shoulders awkwardly placed, and Theodore spotted that he was actually lying with his upper half in a wide channel that had been cut into the floor, presumably for drainage, not that it was particularly effective. Scummy water filled it, and it was impossible to tell how deep it was at the far end without poking a stick into it, which Theodore promptly did. It was about four inches deep but Hartley Knight had not drowned. Theodore had touched the body once, to check for a pulse, and while he had done so he had not noticed any signs of a struggle. He peered over again, and wondered if that was matted hair at the back of his head, indicating a blow. Perhaps. He would have to get closer to be sure and he didn’t want to contaminate the scene. He was sure the coming police would allow him to investigate, however, so he stepped away and waited for them with a growing impatience.
He heard them before he saw them.
Oscar Brodie led the way. Theodore had sent him into town as the most responsible person, and he was followed by two men in uniform and an older man with wispy pale red hair and a dull, faded brown check suit. Behind those came Adelia, Lady Agnes, Mrs Rush the housekeeper and an unnamed assortment of household staff. No doubt Adelia already knew everyone’s name; Theodore sometimes struggled to remember the birth order of his own
