Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 34 - The Woman on the Beach

“Are they relatives on her mother’s or father’s side?”

“On the father’s. The person I asked believes that Ole Knudsen’s siblings are dead. However, they had lots of children. Petra had many cousins.”

André took a deep breath. “Then we can rule out Ole Knudsen, because he’s not a relative of mine.”

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“People don’t have many children in my family,” he explained somewhat shyly. “They generally have one, and rarely two. In one single instance there were three. That was more or less an orgy!”

“What an extraordinary family trait!”

“We think so too, but it’s just how things are.”

“So you believe that if Petra is related to you, it will be on her mother’s side?”

“Yes, absolutely!”

Now the woman became businesslike. “Then we need to find the name of Ole Knudsen’s wife. We ought to be able to find it in the parish register, but about fifteen years ago there was a fire in the building housing the parish office. Quite a lot of papers were lost then. Whether the parish registers were affected, I don’t know. Nobody knows anything about Ole Knudsen’s wife, because she died young and I don’t think she came from this parish.”

“It’s awfully kind of you to spend time on my concerns.”

“Not at all! I can accompany you to the church office now. Via the back entrance. There’s always someone there, even outside office hours.”

André followed her readily and they walked through the many corridors in the administration building.

“By the way,” said the woman, “I also ferreted out something else. The name of the father of Petra’s first child. Would that be of interest to you?”

“Not really, but he might know something about Petra, which might be important. You’re an angel, Miss ... I’m sorry, what is your name?”

“Mikalsrud. Nette Mikalsrud.”

She stopped in the empty corridor and lowered her voice. “He’s called Theodor Brandstedt and he’s a well-known politician. He’s head of the Trondheim education authority and harbours ambitions to become mayor – at least! I know him well through my job and I was pretty ... surprised.”

“Shocked?”

She hesitated. “Yes, absolutely!”

“Who is your ... excellent informant?”

“Oh, my immediate superior is a nice man, but his wife is a terrible gossip. That’s why he knows so much.”

They continued down the corridor and ended up in the parish office, where a young man listened to their request. André suspected that the law of maximum devilry had been in force here as well: the current parish register had been burnt. Only the covers and some charred flakes of the pages were left.

They felt dejected as they returned the way they had come, and André thanked the woman for her assistance.

As he left the place, he thought to himself what a peculiar woman she was. She had been so helpful, which he hadn’t expected when he first met her. Anyway, I’m grateful. I must give her something in return. Chocolates? Or flowers? I’m absolutely sure that she won’t accept money – which, anyway, I can’t afford. The journey up here was more expensive than I had reckoned with.

When André got back to his hotel, a fat envelope was waiting for him. It was from Linden Avenue. They had agreed in advance which hotel he would stay at. In the envelope, there was a handwritten letter, quite long and not all that new. And a small packet. Another sheet of paper was enclosed on which Benedikte had written to him:

My dear son,

Immediately after you left, I was searching for something among the Ice People’s old treasures when I came across these objects, which I don’t recall seeing before. They were among Vanja’s things so they must have belonged to her.

I have read the whole handwritten letter, which is interesting. You should do the same. Perhaps you may find a clue? If you look at the other sheet of paper, you will see a short footnote written by Vanja.

Of course, André looked straightaway. Vanja had written in her neat handwriting:

These objects were found in the house where Petra Olsdatter lived. Since there was clearly quite an interest in them and an outright struggle between the cousins, I seized them without anybody’s knowledge. I am adding them to the Ice People’s treasure, because I came across a strange connection there.

Vanja Lind of the Ice People, 6 June 1900.

Fantastic! André was thrilled. Here was something tangible, something that had belonged to Petra. Perhaps it could serve as a clue?

He opened the little packet.

Out dropped a locket.

The very object he was searching for.

It seemed precious enough to fight about for those who didn’t own anything.

He tried to open the pretty golden heart. But it was old and difficult to open. In the end he needed to use force to prise the two halves apart, so he used a knife.

A lock of hair. Blonde and fine. A child’s hair.

Some letters were engraved inside the lid. André twisted and turned the locket in the light trying to decipher them.

At long last, he got the inscription.

It said “Petra Eriksd. Nordlade 1829” in small, curly letters.

Petra, 1829? It couldn’t be this Petra because she was born in 1890. But it was quite common for a girl to be named after her paternal or maternal grandmother. The child must have been very small in 1829, you could tell that from the hair. And from quite a good, well-to-do family. Not everybody would wear such a locket. The owner must have been Petra’s maternal grandmother – she was said to have come from quite a prosperous home.

And the grandmother’s father was called Erik. Erik Nordlade. This was a good clue in the right direction. It was something he could tell his friendly informant.

Fancy Vanja not telling the others at Linden Avenue about this! Of course, she must just have forgotten. Vanja always had so much to think about. We knew that, didn’t we? That demon occupied all her thoughts.

His thoughts wandered back to the lady in the office. She really was a strange person. She had seemed so stiff and dismissive, but she was obviously very nice. He would like to have her as an ally. He could do with one in this strange town. How stupid and rude of him not to have asked her name until just now. Nette Mikalsrud.

He ought to talk further with her, perhaps this evening. But on the other hand, he didn’t want to intrude on her private life.

And anyway, he really didn’t have time. When he had finished his day’s work, whenever that would be, he needed to read Petra’s story. Not that he thought it would be of very great importance, but everything about poor Petra interested him. After all, he had so little to go on.

But first of all, he had to visit the notorious orphanage.

Nette Mikalsrud was sitting in her office, deep in thought. Fortunately, no citizens of Trondheim came to seek her help, so she was allowed to think in peace.

She already had pen and paper ready in front of her. Her cheeks were flushed with eagerness after being allowed to help, and she composed the sentences in her mind. Finally, she began to write.

Dear Mr Brandtstedt,

I am writing to ask for your kind assistance regarding Petra Olsdatter. At the moment, I am conducting an important investigation into her background and extraction.

The matter is, of course, strictly confidential. I am the only person involved in the investigation. My client knows nothing.

What I need is all the information that Petra Olsdatter may have given you about her background. This has to do with an inheritance, and if it shows that Petra belonged to a particular well-to-do family, her daughter stands to inherit a certain sum, which cannot be disclosed here.