Free Snow Shadow by Andre Norton

restless hands—which were plucking at the cover over her—into mine. Perhaps my steady hold did act as a calming agent. Her head, which had also been turning from side to side as if still to deny all which had just passed, lay quiet now, and her breathing deepened and slowed. I might havethought her asleep, had I not had the disturbing feeling that once or twice I had been spied upon from beneath those heavy eyelids.
    “Roderick.” I repeated the name to myself. Who was Roderick? Mrs. Frimsbee’s son—but I had heard him called Charles—
    Her violent reaction—certainly that proved she lied in answer to Irene’s spontaneous identification. I was sure not even the best of actresses could have counterfeited the extreme shock Anne had registered.
    Emma—for the first time I remembered Emma Horvath. With her coffin now tenanted by this strange interloper Roderick, where was Emma? My over-stimulated imagination began to play with several grisly possibilities.
    Miss Elizabeth must have known something. She had tried hard to prevent this very discovery; again, why? Could she be responsible for the substitution? I found that impossible to believe. I did not think any situation, no matter how desperate, would lead Elizabeth Austin to commit an act so closely approaching desecration. Nor would she have the physical strength to carry it through. Yet the eldest of the Austins had wanted the coffin sealed for burial before the funeral. This must have something to do with the early-morning collapse I had witnessed. Could she have seen the substitution? If so, why had she not protested?
    Whatever had happened, I was very sure Miss Elizabeth had acted for what she believed to be the best. She had not kept silent for any personal reason. Therefore—if I were questioned I would choose my answers carefully—

    Apart from the desire not to be drawn into a family scandal which was no business of mine, I was determined not to talk. Miss Elizabeth was now, I believed, lying here gathering her forces, trying to rebuild shattered defenses, against a time when she must hold fort to her secrets. I knew myself only too well the pain of broken reserves, how one writhed when there were breaches through which one’s inner emotions might be betrayed. No, I would volunteer nothing. Any questions I would answer as tersely as possible.
    I wished I dared offer Miss Elizabeth that reassurance, but I thought that to speak now, to force her out of her hiding, would undo all the good of these moments of rest she was being allowed. Then my dilemma was solved by Maud and the doctor entering together. As she passed me, the maid said in a low voice:
    “The police are downstairs, miss. They want to talk to everyone, they said.”
    I had the usual private citizen’s reaction to that news the law wanted to talk to me: a feeling of sudden nervous guilt even when my conscience was clear—and at this moment that was slightly clouded. I was somehow convinced they might see straight through any evasions I might try.
    “Severe shock is never good at her age.” The doctor addressed me as if I were in charge. “I shall give her a sedative and then make sure they don’t try to question her—not today anyway.”
    “A nice cup of tea. Miss Elizabeth likes a nice cup of tea when she is upset-like. Herb tea, it is. Miss Elizabeth gets it special—she says it’s better than medicine.” Maud broke in.

    The doctor nodded. “Yes, try that. And later perhaps some of Reena’s soup. Then, if she rouses in the night, one of these pills. But don’t talk to her. Discourage it if she tries to discuss what has happened. We don’t want her dwelling on that.”
    That, I was sure, was the last thing Miss Elizabeth would want to do. I would wager that she was not any longer as exhausted as she seemed, and that the mind behind the netted hair and forehead fringe was already at work, trying to find a solution to some problem I could not begin to understand. Perhaps the