Imogen Robertson - Island of Bones

‘Do you have a father, sir?’ he said suddenly.

The question shook Felix out of his thoughts and he looked down at Stephen with eyebrows raised. ‘I do. Everyone does, you know.’

Stephen lifted the bow, but found he could not see the target very clearly. He felt Felix’s hand on his shoulder, slightly correcting his posture. ‘I do not,’ he whispered to the feathers of the arrow’s flight and then released the string. The arrow fell short and skidded through the grass. Felix said something swiftly in German under his breath.

‘Damn stupid thing to say. Sorry, Stephen. I know your father was a fine man. My mother is right — I am an idiot not fit to be let out.’

Stephen let the bow drop to his side. ‘It does not matter. You are being kind to me.’

Felix shook his head. ‘Do not trust me, Stephen. I have bad blood.’ He looked up, distracted by some movement at the edge of the garden, and his expression changed from curiosity to sudden shock. ‘Good God!’ Stephen turned to see where he was looking and saw Casper emerging onto the upper lawn from the path into the woods. He was leaning heavily on a stick. Slung around his shoulders was a thick rope, and with it he was dragging something that looked like a sledge. There was a body on it.

Felix set off up the hill at a run with Stephen at his heels. When Casper saw them heading towards him he came to a stop and waited, breathing deeply. One of the gardeners who had been working on the beds outside the front door turned, then dropping his trowel, raced into the house. Felix arrived by Casper’s side, and as he looked at the body, went completely white. He turned at once to Casper.

‘What happened? Where? You are injured! Did you have some sort of fight with this man? Did you kill him?’ Casper looked at him coolly but said nothing. Felix flushed. ‘I said, what happened? Answer me!’

Stephen moved away from him and closer to Casper, who put his hand on the boy’s shoulder but still said nothing. The door to Silverside Hall burst open again and Harriet and Crowther appeared, the Vizegrafin following behind them.

Casper leaned over to Stephen. ‘Is the lady with the red hair your mother?’

Stephen nodded. ‘And the man with her is Mr Crowther.’

‘Him I know, I think. Don’t be frightened, lad.’

Harriet was in the lead of the little group from the house. As she reached them and saw the body on the sledge, she slowed her steps, then put out her hand.

‘I think you must be Casper Grace,’ she said.

Casper took her hand and shook it. ‘I am, and glad to know you.’

‘I am sorry to see you have been hurt. Stephen told us.’

‘I shall mend, madam.’

Crowther had crouched down beside the body and having touched the neck for a moment, stood again. ‘And who was this gentleman?’

Casper lifted the ropes from around his shoulders, wincing as he did so, and dropped them to the ground. ‘I cannot tell you that, my lord. Though by his looks, I’d say this man,’ he nodded towards Felix, ‘knows what name he went by.’

Stephen watched as Crowther turned his cold blue eyes on his nephew. Felix put his hand briefly towards his throat before replying.

‘Hurst, his name is Hurst. I knew him in Vienna.’

Stephen started. ‘Casper! He is Sophia’s father!’

Casper squeezed his shoulder, but continued to speak to Crowther. ‘I found him in the old mine on the flank of Swineside. You know the place?’ Crowther nodded. ‘He was hidden beneath rocks and branches, just in the lip of the workings. If I had not had business there, he might have lain a year.’

‘Hidden?’ Harriet repeated, looking intently into Casper’s face.

‘Yes, ma’am. Someone had aimed for him to stay there.’ He sniffed, and settled his satchel under his arm. ‘Good morning to you,’ he said, and with another squeeze of Stephen’s shoulder he was gone. Stephen looked at the body. It was a man about the age and size of Ham, the coachman. Old, but not as old as Crowther. He had black hair, curled over his ears and very shiny like his daughter’s. Mr Hurst was wearing a buff jacket with gold buttons, and a high, pale waistcoat, a little dusty. There was a twig sticking out from under his collar. His face looked very grey, and his lips were a strange pale purple. The only corpse that Stephen had seen before now was that of his father. James Westerman had looked in the first minutes after death as if he were sleeping, his eyes closed. Mr Hurst’s eyes were still wide open and his mouth a little agape. He lay in the sledge as a man might in a hammock with his ankles together and his arms by his side. His shoes had gold buckles on them and the skin on his face looked very smooth. Stephen could see no blood.

‘Why has he left?’ the Vizegrafin asked, suddenly shrill. ‘What are we supposed to do with the body?’

She was ignored. Stephen felt a pressure on his arm. His mother had crouched down until she could look him in the eye, and was turning him away from the body. ‘Stephen, would you go and find Isaiah and Ham for me?’ she asked, and looked up at Crowther. ‘We shall carry Mr Hurst into the brewery. .’ She seemed to be asking Mr Crowther something. He nodded and she stood again. ‘Quick as you can, young man.’

Stephen shook himself, and set out for the house.

Only someone who knew Harriet as intimately as Crowther did would have noticed the set of her mouth, and slight paleness in her cheeks. To anyone else she would seem almost unnaturally calm in the circumstances. She turned to Felix.

‘This man’s daughter was here only half an hour ago, Felix, asking for you and concerned about her father. Miss Scales took her to the vicarage. Perhaps you should go and give her the news that his body has been found, since you know the young woman.’

Felix put his hand to his face; he was still staring at the body. ‘She was here? I did not kn-’

His mother interrupted. ‘There is no reason my son should be sent to talk to the girl! Let one of the servants carry a note. And why should the body be left here? Let it be taken away.’

Crowther listened to the rising notes of her voice, and once again thanked the fates that Mrs Westerman was not inclined to be hysterical.

‘Felix, perhaps you should take your mother into the house. Mrs Westerman, I suggest once the body is secured, that we send a note to Mr Sturgess. He is the magistrate, and the coroner must be summoned. Perhaps then we may go to the vicarage and speak to Fraulein Hurst and Miss Scales.’ He looked again at his nephew. He was waiting, perhaps even hoping that the boy would insist on accompanying them. Felix, however, only took his mother’s arm and Crowther felt his lip curl.

When they were out of earshot he turned to Harriet. She had crouched down next to the body, and lifted the head between her palms, turning it carefully to left and right. ‘I can see no signs of injury, Crowther. The skull seems intact.’ She gently lowered the head. ‘Our skeletal friend is safely boxed then, I take it?’ She took hold of the far shoulder of the corpse and attempted to roll it towards her.

Crowther knelt by her side and assisted her until they could gain sight of Mr Hurst’s back. The limbs were rigid. His tight jacket appeared unmarked, only dusty, as his waistcoat. They let the body rock onto its back again.

‘Nothing,’ Harriet said. ‘But the body is quite dry. His daughter was concerned for him before the fireworks last night.’

‘We can assume he was in his hiding-place before the storm of yesterday evening then,’ Crowther said softly. As they stood again, the two servants of the Hall came trotting out towards them. Both exclaimed at the corpse. Harriet was surprised to see Ham pull one of Casper’s rowan crosses from his pocket and kiss it. Crowther gave them their orders and they picked the rough sled up like a stretcher and headed towards the old brewery. As they followed a few steps behind, Crowther leaned towards Harriet. ‘Let us delay sending to Mr Sturgess half an hour.’