Free The Dead of Winter by Jane A. Adams Page A

down, and how she would enjoy his disgrace.
    Spinelli caught her eye and smiled, inclining his head in a little bow. ‘An atmospheric setting, Mrs Southam. I am sure the evening will be invigorating.’
    Elizabeth returned the bow and then closed her eyes, focusing. She heard the two servants they had selected as neutral observers come in and stand in the corners closest to the door, and the heavy door was closed and the room darkened, lit now only by a single candle nestled in the heart of the rose bowl placed at the centre of the table. A slight shuffling of feet betrayed the nervousness of the maidservant, and Elizabeth could imagine the sharp look that Banks, the butler, would cast in her direction. The shuffling ceased, and a close silence descended.
    The servants had been a last-minute addition. ‘We should employ some observers,’ Spinelli had stated. ‘Eyes of those that are not involved in the proceedings.’
    Albert had reluctantly agreed. Elizabeth had some qualms about involving Pym in this; he was an honourable man and was not going to take kindly to being involved in such trickery. Spinelli though – now, he was the object of it all, a man truly deserving of being cut down to size, and Elizabeth was the mechanism by which this odious little creature would be destroyed, his reputation tattered and crushed. Justice would be done.
    She allowed herself a little smile at the thought. ‘If everyone would please join hands,’ she said quietly. ‘I feel the spirits are with us and ready to begin.’

SEVEN
    T hey knew they had to move the body before the weather really got too bad for it to be possible. Simeon Meehan had been shifted twice already: once into an outbuilding, and then into the boot of the car belonging to the Aikensthorpe Estate.
    It was late, rain still fell intermittently, and the journey down the gated road was a nightmare of slipping and sliding and spinning wheels and anxiety that the noise of wheels and revving engine would carry
    The journey back was yet another trauma, and it was after four in the morning when they returned to the house, entering via the rear door and disposing of wellingtons in the boot room.
    â€˜It’s done now,’ he said, and his companion nodded uneasily. ‘We’ll move the car later. If we get the chance. If we don’t, it doesn’t matter, we’ll be long gone.’
    â€˜I suppose so.’
    He cast a suspicious look at his companion. ‘Don’t let me down,’ he said. ‘You know what I do to people who let me down.’

EIGHT
    M orning brought the promised coachloads of attendees – mostly male, Rina noted with amusement – and it also brought the first flurries of snow.
    â€˜Bet the buses had fun coming through the gated road,’ Joy said. ‘Look at the mud.’ The pair of them had taken up residence on the stairs, sitting halfway up the first flight so they could people-watch. They could see the new arrivals through the wide-open doors. Melissa had laid down big rubber mats, but even so the polished wooden floor was now mired in black clay and wet with melting snow.
    Rina nodded. The trackway wasn’t much more than rutted earth for the most part. Closer to the house, a few tons of gravel had been spread about to give the impression that the cart track was in fact a drive, but the section from the road crossing the fields left a great deal to be desired.
    â€˜I wondered about that,’ Rina said. ‘Don’t you think it odd? A big house like this usually has an impressive entrance-way. There’s a coach house, which presumably housed coaches, and yet—’
    â€˜No convenient way in or out,’ Joy said, nodding. ‘I find a lot of things odd about this house. It has a sort of not quite finished feel to it. Almost as though after Albert Southam died everything stopped. Did he finish the drive, do you think? Or was that just another job he