Under Suspicion, page 3
Andreas was extremely baffled. Here she walked about, day in and day out, keeping everything neat and tidy, and nobody came to see it. Nobody had visited in maybe fifteen years. The unpleasant father was the only other person here, who wouldn’t be particularly cheerful company.
Despite her shyness, Andreas thought that this woman must possess surprising strength.
“Would you please help me move him,” he said as kindly as he could, because he could sense that she was embarrassingly shy.
Without a word, she took hold of her father’s legs and together they carried him into the small chamber, where there was hardly room for them all.
Hilde looked at Andreas out of the corner of her eye. A memory suddenly came back to her. She had once climbed up onto the ridge a long time ago. There she had stood, looking over the countryside right out to the fjord and across the ridges that were hidden by a blue haze in the distance. She felt a pang of emptiness inside, a feeling of being drawn towards something she could never reach. She felt the same sensation now.
“Would you please help me move him?” he had said. He had been speaking to her! Was there not something despicable in those words? ‘Would you please help me move him?’
Andreas was the first presentable young man she had ever seen. Debonair, with a pleasant voice and a kind demeanour. In Hilde’s inexperienced eyes, he was a miracle. Andreas Lind of the Ice People didn’t look at all bad in anybody’s opinion, although he was not exactly unique. He was stocky like his father and grandfather, tall and with a broad chest and a good-natured expression. The dark colours in his hair and eyebrows were charming and his smile was warm and trustworthy.
At that moment, Hilde was very much aware of who she was.
Andreas said something to her about a blanket that had been crumpled, and she swiftly bent down over her wounded father to straighten it.
At that moment, Mattias came in.
Hilde stiffened and sent them a glance of panic. Once more, she lifted her scarf to her head.
“Here comes the doctor,” explained Andreas. “Mattias Meiden. I sent for him. He’s my relative.”
She bent her head, confused. She had a pretty face - that much they had managed to see. Not so young, but with fine, almost classic features. There was no similarity between her and her father.
Mattias, who greeted her so politely that she instinctively dropped him a curtsy, bent over Joel Night Man. Meanwhile Hilde fetched a bowl of hot water and began to wash her father’s face with a clean cloth.
Now and then she would cast a frightened glance at Mattias and Andreas, as if she expected a torrent of mocking abuse.
Mattias sent her a kind smile – and nobody could smile in a more calming way than him. They saw that her shoulders began to drop slightly as she gradually began to relax.
The executioner’s assistant gained consciousness and moaned for a short moment.
“By God, you’re killing me, you damn bitch!” he said through his nose with swollen lips and aching teeth. Then he was unconscious once more.
Hilde bit her lip at the sight of her father’s terribly wounded face.
“He’ll recover. Don’t worry!” said Mattias.
Hilde looked questioningly at them.
“It was hardly his fault,” said Andreas, and Hilde immediately looked at him. “I can well imagine what has happened. They wanted to blame him for the murders.”
She instinctively looked out of the window that faced the meadow.
“Yes, it was down there,” said Mattias. “Did you know that?”
She shook her head.
“Haven’t any of your friends told you about it? There Are four dead women.”
“Friends?” she said in a toneless voice.
Andreas and Mattias exchanged telling glances. The daughter of the executioner’s assistant had no friends.
“Four women?” she said in her thin voice. She was somewhat braver now as none of them had mocked or teased her.
But she was still on guard because her shifty glance betrayed it. Like a snail which is always ready to draw into its shell at the least sign of danger.
“Yes, four women,” answered Andreas. “They were killed. Do you know anything about it? Have you seen or heard anything this spring or last autumn?”
She tried to think and now that they were waiting for an answer, they could allow themselves to look at her openly. Her eyes were thoughtful, with a slightly sad and dreamy expression in them. She gave a strangely confused, despondent impression. But she was clean, beautiful and straight-backed, definitely attractive to look at.
“Nooo,” she answered nervously.
“If something comes to mind, please let us know,” said Mattias.
She nodded and then once more was reminded of her place in society and blushed. She restrained herself before she could apologise for having had the nerve to say something.
“I think it’s best if we pretend that your father is dying,” said Mattias. “People are agitated right now, and they’ve found a scapegoat. If we say that he’s close to death, they’ll stay away, and the guilty ones will have a bad conscience. But, to be on the safe side, keep the door locked for the next couple of days. ”And ...” he hesitated, “You’d better not go out when it’s dark.”
When she understood that they were about to leave, she got a nervous and eager look in her eyes.
“Oh, but please don’t refuse a refreshment,” she said shyly. “I’ve got cakes and honey juice. I’ll bring them in a moment.”
They sensed that she made an effort to speak in a well-educated manner. She was already on her feet and dashed to and fro between the kitchen corner and the pantry.
They looked at each other. Both were sufficiently understanding to say thank you although they were late in their various tasks.
She was so eager. She placed a bowl and a wooden plate with beautifully, artistically made cakes on the table.
‘Oh, for heavens sake!’ thought Mattias. ‘They were baked for Christmas. Weren’t they nice! And nobody had eaten them. Nobody had seen them at all.’
Then she asked them, her hands waving nervously, to sit on the planks that served as the seats in the house. She herself stood in the background, checking that her guests were not short of anything. She was restless and was quite unable to stand still. She went over to the table time and again to correct something, move the plate, the flower vase ...
The cakes were as hard as stone but they dipped them discreetly in the honey juice and praised Hilde for making them look so attractive. She turned away but they saw her happy, radiant smile. So they forced themselves to eat a few more of the rock-hard cakes before they said thank you and prepared to leave.
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” promised Mattias. “To see how your father’s doing.”
She nodded and found a slender purse to pay the doctor. But he smiled and refused to take any money.
“We can always talk about that later. I may need to call in several times before your father’s well. Goodbye, Hilde Joelsdatter, and thank you for a lovely meal.”
The two men walked silently down the hill, each one deep in his own thoughts. They didn’t need to turn round to know that Hilde stood in the farmyard, gazing at them.
“One knows so little about one’s neighbours,” said Andreas.
“Yes,” said Mattias. “I heard that you mentioned the werewolf and did so very gently. That was good ...”
When they were out of sight, Hilde went inside again. She looked about the place and was surprised. She felt that something had changed.
This was where they had sat. She knew that those places would never be the same. She gently touched the beams in the wall which they had leaned their shoulders on. They had touched her wooden bowl. And this was where the doctor had bent over her father. Now the blanket was crumpled, he had said, so they had both smoothed it out.
He had noticed the flowers on the table. A shame she hadn’t picked some more. In preparation for tomorrow, she would... Tomorrow they would be back. Or maybe only the doctor? The one with the kind eyes.
Hilde went in to check on her father, but he was sleeping or was unconscious. Then she went outside and gazed towards Linden Avenue.
Brand waited for Andreas and Mattias just as they were arriving at home.
“Dad has summoned the whole family,” he said. “You’d better go over to Linden Avenue.”
The entire Norwegian part of the family sat in Brand’s and Matilda’s parlour. Matilda had baked a barley cake and served it with thick cream. The two young men looked at each other, moaning quietly. Hilde’s Christmas cakes lay heavily in their stomachs.
Are breathed heavily. His grey-white beard made him appear masterful and patriarchal.
“The discovery of the dead women has put us in a fix,” he said. “I want to discuss the matter with you in detail before the bailiff interrogates us. You know how vulnerable we are when it comes to witchcraft. So we need to know who we can rule out entirely.”
“But Dad,” replied Brand. “Surely you don’t suspect any of us? And you don’t believe in werewolves, do you?”
“Of course not! But we’re exposed and must be able to defend ourselves. Those who are under suspicion must count on our support. Now and in the future. What worries me is the witch rope.”
The others nodded. The slender and agile Eli, who was sixteen, sent a questioning glance at her foster mother, Gabriella: May she take another barley cake? Gabriella nodded absentmindedly. The girl still needed to put on some weight. Kaleb sent Eli a stern glance but said nothing. Both he and Eli stood outside the circle of suspects as did Yrja and Matilda. However, all four of them felt deep loyalty towards their dear ones.
“We must discuss the relatives of the Ice People one after the other,” began Are. “Above all, we can exclude Cecilie and Tancred and his young daughter, Lene. Surely we agree on that?”
“Yes,” replied Gabriella. “And the same goes for Tarjei’s son, Mikael.”
“Yes, of course,” said Are, who always looked sad when Mikael was mentioned. “On my side there’s me, Brand and Andreas to discuss. Shall we agree that we exclude Andreas, who found the deceased and was quite shaken afterwards? Actually, I’ve never seen him so agitated.”
“Yes,” said the others. “We’ll rule him out.”
“Good!” continued Are. “On Liv’s side of the family there’s herself, Tarald, Mattias and Gabriella. Is there anybody I’ve forgotten?”
No, nobody had been left out. Then Tengel and Silje’s descendants were listed one after the other.
“What’s all this business about witchcraft anyway?” said Kaleb. “Nine different pieces of string tied together – what does that mean?”
Are smiled. “This is where it would have been nice if we could have asked one of the afflicted. But there’s nobody we can ask now. The only one who has a small amount of supernatural powers is Cecilie because she masters the art of telepathy. But she’s in Denmark and hardly knows about witchcraft. And Mattias, who keeps the Ice People’s supply of witchcraft remedies, has probably never used them, have you?”
“No,” answered Mattias.
“I think there’s somebody you’ve forgotten,” said Liv gently. She was still dignified and youthful even at seventy one. “You forget that I possess quite a lot of knowledge, although I always try to suppress anything that’s evil.”
“You?” asked a surprised Are.
Liv smiled sadly. “You must remember that I’ve seen seven generations of the unfortunate afflicted among the Ice People.”
“Seven? But that’s impossible!” exclaimed Mattias.
“It’s true. I met Hanna, the witch. I was only three years old but I remember her. She’s someone you never forget. There was also another witch in the Valley of the Ice People of the same generation as Hanna – so there can be more than one who’s afflicted in each generation – but I never met her. My mother, Silje, was the only one who saw her. Then I met Grimar, Hanna’s helper, who was one generation younger than her. That makes two. Then there’s my dear, late Dad, Tengel the Good. In my generation there was our cousin, Sol, who was like a sister to us. Trond I only knew as a lovely, happy boy. I had no idea that he was struck, not until afterwards.”
Liv’s voiced was filled with sadness. “Kolgrim we all knew. In the tragic history of the Ice People, nothing gives me so much pain as thinking of poor Kolgrim’s fate. And Are and I were the only ones to see Gabriella’s little, accursed daughter.”
She held her breath for a moment and continued: “My Dad taught me about our clan’s power bit by bit, but I learned most from dear Sol. She was wild and unhappy but also full of joy and zest. She liked to illustrate what she was capable of. Although I’d never dream of practicing witchcraft, I still know a lot about it.”
“What about the knots?” asked Yrja.
“Well,” smiled Liv, “they have nothing to do with death or violence. It’s is just something you make when you don’t want the neighbour’s cow to produce so much milk. I insist that it has no effect whatsoever when it comes to witchcraft. Sol thought it was useless, and so do I.”
“Well, then, why did that woman have the string in her hand?” asked Tarald.
“I have no idea. Maybe it’s a sign that she practised magic. Or was at least interested. You must remember that witchcraft depends entirely on the person who practises it. If I tried, nothing would happen at all. But Sol was simply born with that talent. She could do the most incredible things just with telepathy. Are and I saw it for ourselves.”
“Do all of the Ice People who are struck have this ability?” asked Kaleb.
“More or less. Sometimes the legacy manifests as pure evil, and sometimes it’s dormant, as with Trond ... Hanna and Sol had supernatural powers and so did my Dad, but he didn’t want to use them.”
“Wait a minute,” said Gabriella. “Grandma says that it can be dormant ...”
Liv nodded. Are began to speak: “Precisely. You hit the nail on the head. This is what I now fear: that one of us possesses this evil power and the rest of us know nothing about it.”
“I don’t think so,” said Yrja spontaneously.
“Well, it’s very unlikely,” said Are. “But it’s why I’ve summoned you here, to discuss the possibilities.”
“First of all,” said Tarald impatiently, “Mum and Uncle Are have lived for seventy years without anybody noticing something! So we can count them out.”
The others agreed.
“Thank you,” smiled Are. “That leaves Brand, Tarald, Mattias and Gabriella.”
“You can rule out Gabriella,” said Kaleb immediately. “She’s slogging away at our small orphanage from morning till night, then tumbles into bed. As far as I know she hasn’t been out of the house on her own in the past year.”
“Not even to visit Linden Avenue or Graastensholm in the evening?”
“Gabriella? Nobody’s as afraid of the dark as she is! I even have to follow her to the bathroom!”
“And I know of someone who drops asleep in his chair every evening,” said Yrja. “I almost have to blow the horn so that he can wake up and waddle to bed.”
The others smiled. Everybody knew that Tarald liked a dram every evening – without indulging in drinking sprees. Tarald had always been the weakest among the descendants of the Ice People. Most of them were great personalities for better or for worse, but Tarald had a weakness of character and was fairly nondescript. He had only kept his dignity thanks to Yrja.
Nobody could deny he was the epitome of kindness, though. He was also a clever landowner, but his life was marked by fickleness and a tendency to choose the simplest way out without considering the consequences.
Liv gazed at her only son with concern. Could Tarald be capable of such atrocities? Surely not. Besides, Yrja supported him, and you couldn’t find a more honest person than her. If she had suspected her husband, she would have made him understand the evil he had done, made him explain why and stand by his actions. Then she would fight like a lioness to have him acquitted.
Despite Tarald’s weak character, Liv just couldn’t imagine him as a murderer of women. And all the others were above suspicion by virtue of their character. And what about Tarald as a werewolf? No, that was even more absurd!
Liv had often pondered the character of her two children. Cecilie was so strong, a true descendant of the Ice People... but Tarald probably took after his grandfather, the useless Jeppe Marsvin, who had seduced the young Charlotte Meiden and then just disappeared.
“And I can vouch for Brand,” said Matilda with a nervous smile. “I’m the type who always knows where my loved ones are, so I can’t see how he’d have the time to walk about and murder women.”
“No,” added Andreas. “He’d have to get to know them first, wouldn’t he? I mean: surely four unknown women wouldn’t accidentally come to this remote spot just to be killed, would they?”
“Unless they were witches that would meet here,” said Kaleb.
“No, you have got to stop,” exclaimed Mattias. “You’ve excluded just about everybody and who’s left? Me! What sort of a conspiracy is this?”
They all laughed. Mattias as a criminal? That was quite impossible. Such sweet and harmless werewolves didn’t exist.
A maid entered the room. “The bailiff’s here,” she said, looking frightened.
He was shown in.
“I see that the clan is gathered,” he began. “That’s good because then I won’t have to drive around so much.”
“Do you have any news?” asked Are.
“Magic is at the heart of it.”
“I doubt that,” said Liv matter-of-factly.
“Why would the women have those knots on them otherwise?”
“I asked myself that same question,”said Liv. “It seems so unmotivated. If they had been real witches, they would have had a string with three knots plaited into their hair. That’s the sort of method such women would use. They would assert that Satan himself had tied the string when they were at the Brocken.”
