Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

He strained his eyes, peering into the murk. An image sprang into his mind from the macabre story he’d read at Watendlath. A flesh-creeping picture of a misshapen oarsman, a great grey nodding sponge, rowing to his doom.

The fog, like the nameless evil in ‘The Voice in the Night’, was slow and silent and remorseless, consuming everything it encountered. Soon it would devour Ravenbank. All the landmarks he could identify were disappearing, one by one. The clawing intensity of the cold gnawing at his skin possessed a vindictiveness he’d seldom experienced before; it had become an enemy, intent upon destruction.

He realised now that to think of the fog as a blanket was too cosy, too comfortable. There was nothing homely about this scene. He might be anywhere, or nowhere. Sinister and irresistible, the fog was spreading and stretching. Soon it would devour Ravenbank, as if in punishment for a history of one hundred years of violent death.

Already the lake had disappeared. Buried beneath — how eerily appropriate — a frozen shroud.

‘They must find him soon,’ Melody whispered. ‘He wasn’t wearing any waterproof gear and he’s been on the lake for over an hour now. How long can he last … in this?’

They were standing on the shore, peering out into fog and darkness, because they didn’t know what else to do. Quin and Jeffrey Burgoyne had joined them; so had Robin and Miriam Park. Like mourners at a graveside.

The police officers at Fell View Cottage had triggered a Lake Rescue Plan. There was an established routine when someone got into trouble on Ullswater, starting with a ring-round of declared resources. The volunteers from Patterdale Mountain Rescue Team were at the heart of things, coordinating operations along with the coastguard team, and the fire brigade.

The team leader, himself a former cop, had quizzed Melody, looking for flesh to clothe the bare bones of a whereabouts feasibility study. Was there a particular destination that Oz would make for? What might be in his mind? Flailing around like a rag doll, Melody offered no clues. Oz had never done anything like this before. She felt she was living a nightmare from which she’d never wake up.

‘There’s no shortage of boats out looking for him,’ Jeffrey said. ‘The Outward Bound Trust, the steamship company, the Mountain Rescue team, they’re all on the case. Searching the shoreline, traversing the lake. The police have organised divers, the Mountain Rescue Team’s dogs are searching the shore to see if he’s run aground. They will find him, you can depend on it.’

‘They’ll find his dead body, you mean.’

Melody buried her head in her hands. The cool, elegant woman from the conference — was it really less than one week ago? — had become flaky and frightened. She began to wail, a hideous, keening sound, like an animal caught in a trap.

Miriam Park wrapped a strong arm around her, squeezing tight, trying to hush her. The family liaison officer had offered to stay with them, but Miriam had said there was no need; she’d spent a lifetime looking after people.

‘You have to grit your teeth, dear,’ she said. ‘It’s the only way to survive when things go wrong.’

‘You don’t understand. It’s … over.’

‘Hush, you don’t know what you’re saying.’ Miriam hesitated, and Daniel imagined her mental cogs whirring. ‘In any case, what on earth do you mean?’

‘We’re both ruined. Our business is dead in the water.’ A bitter laugh. ‘And so will Oz be, if this goes on any longer.’

‘You don’t think that he had anything to do with … what happened?’

Melody shrieked, as if a knitting needle had been stuck into her stomach. ‘I don’t know what to think any more!’

One of the police officers had told Daniel that, within minutes of receiving the call, the Mountain Rescue team was in the thick of the action. They’d launched their rigid inflatable craft from the pier at Glenridding. Twenty feet long, with massive lights rigged up on a gantry, he said. But in a white-out as dense as this, light scattered when it hit an object — you couldn’t see further than the hand in front of your face. Melody needed to cling to the volunteers’ years of experience, and their track record of saving countless lives, often out when all else failed.

‘The rescuers will find him soon.’ Jeffrey was in tower-of-strength mode, as if playing a part in a British stiff-upper-lip movie made just after the war. ‘Depend upon it. He may have found a sheltered spot. Near the bay at Howtown, perhaps.’

‘The prevailing wind rushes down from the top of the Kirkstone Pass,’ Robin muttered. ‘It would blow a boat further on, towards the north end of the lake.’

His mother said, ‘If he has any sense, he’ll be lying down in that boat, trying to keep warm.’

‘In weather like this,’ Jeffrey pronounced, ‘your core temperature can drop like a stone.’

‘It’s getting darker,’ Robin said. ‘Chances are, they’ll call off the search until first light tomorrow.’

‘Oh God!’ Melody said. ‘They can’t do that, surely? He won’t survive a night out in … that.’

‘They won’t give up easily, take it from me,’ Jeffrey said. ‘All we can do is wait for news.’

‘The lake is so deep,’ Melody said. ‘I can’t bear to think of it …’

‘Ullswater is deceptive,’ Quin said. ‘Only sixty metres deep, but under the surface, it’s like … well, the Mariana Trench. Tiered, like a huge jelly mould, the sides don’t taper away gradually. Anyone who goes overboard will likely finish up on one of the shelves.’

‘That’s enough!’ Jeffrey snapped. ‘Can’t you see what Melody is going through?’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean …’

Quin’s voice trailed away. Difficult to make out his expression, in conditions as vile as these, but he didn’t sound apologetic. Daniel thought he was more like a small boy, thrilled by the drama, moving restlessly up and down the shoreline, barely able to contain his excitement.

Was he hoping Oz wouldn’t make it?

‘Major new development.’ Fern tried in vain to suppress a note of jubilation. ‘Sorry I’m running late, but I had to stop on the road and take the call.’

‘No worries,’ Hannah said into her phone. ‘What’s up?’

‘Oz Knight is lost on Ullswater. Apparently he set off in a rowing boat with the fog coming down. Melody and Daniel raised the alarm. An intensive search is under way.’

‘Jesus. Suicide attempt?’

‘Looks that way. I hope to God they find him soon. Out there on a night like this, he won’t last too long. Drowning himself in lieu of a confession would be deeply unsatisfactory. Though look on the bright side, it would save a lot of paperwork.’

‘Yeah,’ Hannah said coolly. ‘Like Craig Meek’s car crash.’

‘Ouch.’ Fern hesitated. ‘Of course, you’re right. Don’t want to jump to conclusions, do we?’

‘Perish the thought.’

‘Okay, my wrists are duly slapped. I’ll get to Undercrag as soon as I can.’

After much patient coaxing, Jeffrey convinced Melody that the six of them were doing no good, standing outside in the freezing cold, staring into nothingness. Better to get into the warm, and await developments. At first, she insisted on remaining there on her own, keeping a vigil on the shore, but her resolve crumbled, and in the end she trudged back with them through the fog towards the safe haven of the Hall.

Once they were inside, Miriam took charge, making strong tea, and fussing around as if Melody was a patient from the days when the Hall was a care home. She’d nursed Esme Palladino here, and the thought struck Daniel that Francis Palladino might have ended up happier if he’d made a new life with his unprepossessing but capable housekeeper, rather than glamorous Shenagh Moss. But experience had taught him that life and love have little to do with logic.