“I’ve seen that in a movie. Person killed, then boiled.”
“I think I’ve seen that one, too.” Agnes turned the bone over in her hands. “It’s cracked and dirty. Clearly old and I think it’s safe to say it’s been exposed to the elements or in the earth for some time. Is there a cemetery in the village?”
“Yes, it’s small but adequate since we don’t have a big demand for plots here.”
Meaning they didn’t practice the recycling of gravesites common elsewhere in the region. Also meaning there was absolutely no reason a human bone would have been unearthed.
Closer to the chateau, the ground was more heavily trafficked. Agnes studied the mess of footprints and broken ice. Off to the side, Winston watched as they looked for evidence of his path. Then, with a bored sigh and wagging tail, he turned and trotted in the direction of the grove. Without comment, the humans followed and Agnes felt a shiver of apprehension as she neared the place where they had found Felicity Cowell two days ago.
“It’s not hers,” Vallotton mumbled.
Agnes gave him a scathing look as they rounded the final branches. She hadn’t walked this deep into the grove since the previous morning and the change was shocking. More trees had fallen, including one enormous old chestnut. The trunk had been a few meters from the bench where they found the body; its branches forming part of the canopy that had protected the corpse from the worst of the storm. Now, the strength of the branches that had held against the weight of the ice was the reason for the tree’s demise. Instead of the branches shearing off, leaving a bare trunk, the tree had been weighted with ice until the roots sheared and the entire structure fell. When that happened, an enormous clod of earth was excavated along with the roots. The soaring structure loomed three meters high, dangling roots and soil. The black hole of frozen ground where the earth had been ripped up stretched almost to the bench and it was there, very near the stone seat, that a skeleton lay at the bottom of the dirt pit. Only the bones of one foot and leg were clearly visible. The remainder was covered by a layer of earth and something that appeared man-made.
“A shroud,” Vallotton said, before jumping into the hole. It was obvious this was a human skeleton. He held out his hand to her and Agnes clambered down, slightly unsettled to be nearly waist deep in the earth.
“There was a family cemetery on the property,” Vallotton said, “from the earliest days, but I was always told it was at the other end, near the cliff, and all of the bodies were moved about three hundred years ago to the new churchyard in the village.”
“I don’t think these bones are that old,” Agnes said. “That looks like remains of fabric.” She pointed to strands extending from the frozen ground.
“The bones aren’t new.” Vallotton brushed dirt away with a gloved hand.
“No, they’re not recently buried; however, I also don’t think this was part of a cemetery. There would be some evidence of even a simple wood coffin. Nails or something.” She hesitated to touch anything, although she wasn’t sure if it was out of respect for the dead or in anticipation of the investigation that would have to occur. “We can hardly get assistance to the living right now, so I don’t think anyone’s going to come see about this for some time. We should cover the bones again.”
“I’ll get a tarp and hold it down with stones. Keep the animals away,” Vallotton said.
Agnes glanced at Winston, who was studying her with equal interest. Suddenly she wanted to know more immediately. “Let’s ask Doctor Blanchard to look first, maybe he can tell us something.”
Taking the dog with them as a preventative measure, Agnes and Julien Vallotton entered the chateau.
“When was this door put in?” Agnes asked, remembering Marie-Chantal’s comment that it was recent.
“I don’t know. A hundred years ago? Hundred twenty-five?”
Agnes decided the family had a different idea of time than she did. They climbed the stairs to the main level where Winston shook himself and trotted off in search of other adventures. Agnes remembered a more important architectural question.
“I found Ralph Mulholland locked in the ice house this morning. He used an underground tunnel. A tunnel no one told us about.”
Vallotton looked surprised.
“It led from the pantry?” she added. “Or someplace in the kitchen.”
Julien Vallotton frowned, rubbing his forehead. Finally he nodded slowly. “I’d forgotten about it. Hasn’t been used in my lifetime if it’s really there.” He led the way toward the kitchen, sending the startled cook into a flurry of confusion.