Agnes pondered the questions. Too many questions. Was the bench Felicity’s destination, or was she on her way somewhere else? Was she there by choice, chance, or design? With no answers, she studied her sketch of the chateau again. Remarkably, there were only two exterior exits or, perhaps more important, entrances. On the principal level, there were doors that opened onto the interior courtyard; however, from there everyone still had to pass under the heavy iron portcullis and through the main gate. The other outside access was this small door near the kitchen leading down through the foundation to the lawn. Two points of entry or exit.
Agnes returned to the entrance hall and felt a weight press on her. There were dozens of ways to travel through the chateau unnoticed and the more she walked the more she felt the profundity of the silence. She worked her way up the various flights of stairs until she emerged to stand on the walkway at the top of the northeast wall. The morning was cold but clear and she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. Lighting one, she took a drag, edging closer to the parapet for shelter from the slight wind. The covered open walkway ran the circumference of the chateau’s ramparts and linked the turrets. The outer wall was crenellated, while the inner wall intersected with the roof overhead. Despite this, ice had driven under the roof to almost completely coat the walls and floor. Everywhere she looked—as far as the eye could see—ordinary forms were outlined in ice, creating a surreal landscape.
“Hope you aren’t contemplating jumping.”
The man’s voice startled her. Annoyance followed swiftly.
Julien Vallotton emerged from a narrow, low door. “I was going to leave these by your bedroom door, but one of the maids said you were already up here. She was impressed that you were at work so early; I think her way of criticizing the rest of us.” Vallotton held out a wool hat and a pair of fleece-lined winter boots. “She also said that she offered you boots last night and you refused.” He glanced at her thin damp shoes. “Understandable that you were uncertain about accepting help from the suspects—maybe the lining is poisoned—but I thought you might change your mind. Selfish really, I’m trying to keep out of prison for murder and don’t want to find you frozen in a lonely corner. A second victim.”
“Are you bird-watching?” Agnes nodded to the binoculars hanging from a leather strap around his neck. “I’d think all the birds outside today are frozen.”
He grinned. “I’m glad Bardy sent you.”
Agnes took the boots and after a moment’s hesitation eased her cold feet into them, jumping back in surprise. “They’re hot.”
“They shouldn’t be. Mine were only warm.” Vallotton reached for one and she stopped him, embarrassed. Of course they warmed their boots before putting them on. Who would put on cold boots when there were servants to prevent such things? Her toes were so chilled the heat felt like boiling water. She waved him off and tried not to sigh with pleasure as the temperature evened out. She added the thick hat, mashing her hair flat.
“I think you aren’t going to prison,” she said, remembering what Carnet had told her about the timing of Julien Vallotton’s arrival.
“Comforting. But someone is. Or should.” Vallotton raised his binoculars. “I wanted to see the damage. Of course, I could be checking to see that I hid all the evidence of my criminal behavior yesterday.” He lowered the lenses to look at the ground beneath them. “Yes, snowmobile tracks from the airport eradicated completely.”
Over his shoulder she saw a shadow in the distance. A man. Ralph Mulholland turned quickly and headed around the corner to the far tower. She studied his disappearing back, wondering if it was her overactive imagination that made him appear to scuttle. Perhaps he was simply cold and in a hurry to return inside.
Vallotton held his binoculars out. She shook her head, more interested in the activity directly below. Carnet and Petit had emerged from the chateau onto the lawn, Petit peeling off toward the drive in search of his missing radio, while Carnet started a grid search, setting out small wooden stakes near where they found the body.
Squinting to see in the glare of sun on ice, Agnes located the canvas walls used to shelter Felicity Cowell the night before. They had blown into a tangled heap against the trees before being encased in several inches of ice. Carnet’s efforts to find a weapon were likely in vain.