The Heiress of Linn Hagh (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 1)

by Karen Charlton

  ‘Yes,’ Lavender replied, more sharply than he had intended. ‘And in the meantime poor Helen Carnaby faces another night of God knows what while we sleep comfortably in our beds.’

  Woods paused guiltily with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

  ‘D’ya reckon there’s somethin’ we can do tonight?’

  Lavender smiled grimly and shook his head. The dreary travelling, the incident with the highwaymen and his unresolved encounter with Magdalena had affected his mood. None of this was the fault of his cheerful constable.

  ‘Other than setting off into the freezing, pitch-black night, and searching this unfamiliar and treacherous countryside for a body? No, my friend. There is nothing we can do at the moment. See here.’

  He laid The Newcastle Courant on the table in front of Woods.

  ‘This is last Saturday’s paper.’

  Woods examined it closely. The first entry in the Hue & Cry section was an offer of a reward for the safe return of Helen Carnaby.

  One Hundred Pounds Reward

  Whereas Miss Helen Carnaby, the sister of Mr George Carnaby of Linn Hagh, Bellingham, in the County of Northumberland, was, during the night of Thursday, the 21st day of October, removed from her home at Linn Hagh, Bellingham, by persons unknown. Whoever therefore will, after this notice, provide information to safely reunite Miss Carnaby with her grieving family, and apprehend the offender or offenders, so as he, she, or they may be brought to conviction, shall be paid a Reward of ONE HUNDRED POUNDS upon his, her or their conviction, by applying to Mr George Carnaby, Linn Hagh, Bellingham.’

  ‘Good grief,’ Woods said. ‘The poor gal has been missin’ for nearly a month.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lavender said. ‘We should have been summoned to this crime weeks ago—before the trail went cold.’

  ‘D’ya think she was kidnapped and taken for ransom? You said she’s wealthy.’

  ‘If the girl has been kidnapped and there is no ransom note, then her chances of survival are indeed very slim. The perpetrators of the crime will have disposed of her by now.’

  Woods grimaced.

  ‘However, if no corpse has been found,’ Lavender continued, ‘then there is still hope that we are not looking at a murder. One thing is for sure, though: if a young woman who has not reached her majority disappears with a man—whether voluntarily or involuntarily—then he could face a series of charges brought by her family. At the conclusion of this case, it’s highly likely that someone will be transported.’

  He sat back and realised that the smoky warmth of the inn, the good food and the prospect of a challenging new case had started to lift his spirits. This was what he needed to get Magdalena out of his mind: hard work.

  When they entered Mr Armstrong’s substantial house on Bellingham High Street the next day, they were shown into a front parlour cluttered with brightly upholstered and mismatched furniture, ornaments and children’s toys. Despite the clutter, the house was comfortable and the furnishings in excellent condition. A good indication of the financial stability of this family, Lavender thought.

  ‘Hello, young fellah,’ Woods said as a small boy suddenly popped up from behind the sewing boxes, books and cushions piled on a sofa.

  The child, probably no more than three, stuck out his tongue, dashed out from his hiding place, veered past the clothing and blankets that littered the wooden floor, and clattered past them into the hallway. Another crowd of noisy young lads raced down the stairs, whooping at the tops of their voices. They quickly disappeared into the back of the house. Two young girls leant over the banister above the stairs and giggled at them as the maid took them across the hallway into Armstrong’s study.

  ‘Do shut the door firmly on your way out, Parker.’ Armstrong’s tone was plaintive as he instructed the maid. The old, white-haired man seated in front of the fire sighed deeply when the door finally clicked shut. Lavender could understand why. The young lads had returned to the hallway with reinforcements and wooden swords. They appeared to be enacting one of General Wellesley’s victories.

  ‘Damn those French dogs!’

  ‘To Vimeiro!’ they screamed in unison.

  Peace eventually descended on the room, and Lavender could hear the steady tick of the French clock on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Thank goodness for that.’ The elderly man was wrapped in plaid blankets. He held out a gnarled, arthritic hand towards Lavender. ‘Their father is with Colonel Taylor in the Twentieth Regiment of Light Dragoons. A re-enactment of the Battle of Vimeiro is a daily occurrence in this house.’

  ‘It was a splendid victory,’ Lavender said, smiling. ‘No wonder your grandsons are proud of their father.’ He shook Armstrong’s hand and introduced him to Woods. Next, he handed over a sheaf of papers from Magistrate Read in Bow Street.

  Armstrong’s hands shook slightly as he held up his monocle to read the invoice in his lap. Lavender knew that their client had run a successful legal practice for many years. Despite his obvious frailty, the old man’s eyes were sharp as they scanned the invoice. ‘Everything seems to be in order.’ Armstrong’s voice had lost its whine and become steady and authoritative. ‘I’m glad you’re finally here.’

  ‘I’m sorry for the delay, sir,’ Lavender said. ‘I was detained on important Home Department business in Nottinghamshire.’

  ‘Never mind—at least you’ve made it here. Let’s just hope you can bring this case to a speedy resolution—and a happy one. Please take a seat.’

  Lavender sat down in the armchair opposite Mr Armstrong. Woods pulled up another chair and sat behind him.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to tell us how far the local constables have progressed with investigating Miss Carnaby’s disappearance?’

  ‘They haven’t.’ Armstrong’s tone was sharp. ‘The local constables have not discovered anything. No one knows what happened to my niece, or where she is.’

  ‘Surely someone must have seen or heard something unusual on the night of her disappearance—or in the following days?’

  ‘Not that we’ve discovered. My family and I are all very distressed and bewildered by these events, as are the constables who have already investigated the case.’

  ‘Can we start from the beginning, sir? What exactly happened at Linn Hagh on the night of the twenty-first of October?’

  The elderly man sighed as if he was weary of retelling the story.

  ‘I’m sure George and Isobel Carnaby will be able to tell you the details better than I, when you visit Linn Hagh. However, I understand there was a dinner party; a couple of guests stayed for the evening. Helen had excused herself and retired to her room. The servants heard her bar the door just after nine. The next morning, when Helen didn’t appear, her brother, fearing his sister may have taken ill, broke down the chamber door. The room was completely empty.’

  ‘Was the window closed?’

  ‘Her bedchamber is at the top of the tower. When you see Linn Hagh, you’ll understand why no one would consider escaping from the window. Her bed was still made as if she had not slept in it, and a tray of food from the night before lay untouched on the table.’

  ‘Uh-oh.’ The noise that escaped from Woods’ gaping mouth was involuntary, but audible enough to be heard by the sharp ears of the old man.

  ‘Yes, exactly, a very strange state of affairs. I trust you’re not a superstitious man, Constable? I’ll be very disappointed if you report to me in a few days’ time that my great-niece has been spirited away by the fairies.’

  ‘Of course not, sir,’ Woods reassured him. ‘There’s bound to be a simple explanation.’

  ‘We shall make it one of our first priorities to establish how Miss Carnaby managed to leave her room with the door barred,’ Lavender said quickly. ‘It will be a significant step in establishing whether she left the room voluntarily—or was forced.’

  ‘Good. None of the addled-brai
ned constables around here have managed to explain this mystery. Unfortunately, because of the unusual nature of Helen’s disappearance, there has been a resurgence of old superstitions and folktales in the town. It’s a small, tight-knit community, Detective, with a high rate of illiteracy and a lax approach to church attendance. The situation is not helped by the unpopular presence of a band of faws in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘Faws?’

  ‘Gypsies. A travelling band of tinkers. Baxter Carnaby, Helen’s father, was always far too indulgent with them and allowed them to camp on his land. There have been mutterings of witchcraft in the town since Helen’s disappearance—linking it to one of the gypsy women.’

  ‘Has their camp been searched?’

  ‘Yes. This was one of the first things the local constable arranged. His men came away with nothing—except the curses of the faws ringing in their ears.’

  ‘What other steps did the local constables take to track down your niece?’

  ‘I’ve arranged for the local man, Constable Beddows, to call on us at ten o’clock. He will escort you to Linn Hagh and furnish you with further details of his enquiry.’

  The door opened and a middle-aged woman came into the room. She was round-faced and plump, with a kind smile, and wisps of curly, grey hair escaped over her forehead below her lace cap.

  Lavender and Woods rose hastily to their feet.

  ‘Detective Lavender, Constable Woods—may I present my eldest daughter, Miss Katherine Armstrong? Katherine runs the house for me since my dear wife died.’

  Lavender bowed over Miss Armstrong’s hand. She smiled, nodded courteously to Woods and then moved over to her father and straightened his blanket.

  ‘Please excuse me, gentlemen; I’ve just come to check that Papa is not tiring himself too much.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, Katherine,’ her father whined. She ignored his protests and poured out a measure of dark red medicine from one of the bottles on the rosewood table beside his chair. He took the drink, swallowed it back in one gulp and grimaced at the bitter taste. His daughter sank gracefully onto a padded stool next to her father’s chair. Lavender instantly felt that she was a pleasant and likeable woman.

  ‘Helen’s disappearance has been so distressing for him.’

  ‘I’m sure it must have been very upsetting for everyone,’ Lavender observed. ‘You seem a close family. How was Miss Carnaby related to you all?’

  ‘Helen’s grandfather was my older brother, Thomas Armstrong. She is my great-niece. You may have heard of Thomas? While I happily settled for a steady career in law, my brother was a shrewd businessman and an entrepreneur. He made a fortune from various enterprises.’

  Inwardly, Lavender congratulated himself. It was important to him that he was always thoroughly prepared for every case, and he usually carried out meticulous research on his clients before he met them. The good citizens of Northumberland would be amazed at how many parchment documents containing their details were now being held and filed, down in the dusty offices of the burgeoning British Home Department in London.

  ‘Was your brother, Thomas Armstrong, of the Newcastle shipbuilding yard of the same name?’ he enquired.

  Armstrong looked impressed.

  ‘Yes! He had successful interests in several shipping lines and coal mining ventures. He amassed a fortune. Sadly, his son and heir died in infancy, which left him with only one child, a daughter named Esther. Helen’s fortune comes down the maternal line, from her mother and my brother.’

  ‘This George Carnaby you mentioned—is he your great-nephew?’

  ‘Heavens, no. They share the same father but had different mothers. George Carnaby has nothing to do with the Armstrong inheritance; he is Helen’s half-brother. I’ve a copy of my own brother’s will, Detective—if you think it would help with your investigation.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, it would be helpful, but I’ll pick it up another time,’ Lavender said.

  ‘Esther was my cousin,’ Miss Katherine told him as she rearranged her father’s blankets. ‘We were very close as girls, and we’ve always been very fond of her only child, Helen.’

  ‘Yes, Esther was a lovely woman.’ Mr Armstrong looked sad. ‘Unfortunately, she died earlier this year, in February.’

  ‘That was why Helen came home from school in Whitby,’ Miss Katherine explained. ‘She came to nurse her mother in her final few weeks.’

  ‘School? Exactly how old is Miss Carnaby?’ Lavender started with alarm. Had he missed something here?

  ‘She is twenty years old. When she finished her education, Helen stayed on as a pupil teacher for a while. She only returned to Northumberland in February when her mother became seriously ill.’

  Ah, a pupil teacher. That explained it. For one awful minute, he’d thought he had misread the information and was looking at child abduction.

  ‘Several of my sisters have sent their daughters to the same school,’ Miss Armstrong volunteered. ‘I understand Helen was well liked and very popular with the pupils.’

  Lavender nodded and glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten o’clock.

  ‘Before we leave you to set off for Linn Hagh, I need to ask you if you have a likeness of Miss Carnaby.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve a small portrait of her.’ Miss Armstrong rose to her slippered feet and padded over to the great mahogany desk that stood by the window. She removed an oval-shaped frame from one of the deep drawers.

  Woods leant forward and both men stared at the portrait in Lavender’s hand. A very pretty, fair-haired woman smiled back at them. Her skin was luminous, and her vivid blue eyes gleamed with warmth.

  ‘She is beautiful,’ Lavender said. ‘Were either of you—or any of your family—aware if she had any admirers? A beau, perhaps?’

  Mr Armstrong shook his head. ‘We’ve been through this several times with Constable Beddows. As far as we know, Helen was not romantically attached to any young man. She was greatly distressed after her mother’s death and has just quietly lived at Linn Hagh since then.’

  Lavender nodded again, but a new thought struck him, and his forehead creased into a frown. ‘Why did Miss Carnaby need to work? I understood she was quite wealthy. Surely she didn’t need the money?’

  The two Armstrongs stiffened and glanced quickly at each other across the stuffy room. ‘I believe Helen wanted to teach at the school,’ Miss Katherine said carefully. ‘She enjoyed it and liked the independence she gained from having her own income.’

  ‘She doesn’t come into her inheritance until her twenty-first birthday at the beginning of January,’ Armstrong added. ‘Until then, she is still financially dependent on her half-brother, George Carnaby.’

  Lavender had the curious impression that these answers had been rehearsed—or at least discussed beforehand. The Armstrongs delivered those lines with the wooden amateurism of the set of actors he had recently had the misfortune to watch at Vauxhall Gardens. Betsy Woods had dragged both him and Ned along to the play. Woods had nodded off in his seat and started to snore loudly. Lavender’s hand moved instinctively to rub the spot on his own arm where Betsy had battered her husband’s arm with her fan.

  Lavender noted this slight change in the demeanour and tone of the Armstrongs, but he didn’t comment. His face remained inscrutable, his voice neutral.

  ‘Exactly how much is Helen Carnaby due to inherit in January?’

  ‘My brother’s fortune is invested for her. It amounts to around ten thousand pounds.’

  An involuntary whistle escaped from Constable Woods’ lips.

  Chapter Seven

  What’s that?’ Woods asked in surprise. ‘A castle?’

  They had rounded a bend on the lonely road from Bellingham and caught their first glimpse of Linn Hagh. Woods reined in his horse and paused to admire the towering, cresselated stone rectangle that reached up into the brooding sky.


  ‘It’s a pele tower,’ Lavender said, drawing up beside him. ‘An ancient family home, common in these border regions. It’s fortified, of course.’

  ‘How’s that work, then?’

  ‘The walls will be three feet thick, and the roof is made of stone. In those days, the building was impregnable, even to fire. You see the bigger windows on the first and second floors? That’s where the family lived. Animals would have been stored in the building on the ground floor, and there would have been no staircase back then—just a wooden ladder up to a trapdoor in the floor above, which would have been hastily pulled up if they were under attack.’

  ‘Seems like a lot of trouble to go to.’

  ‘It was necessary. This area was completely lawless until the union of the nation under James the First. Before that, roving bands of reivers—from both sides of the border—pillaged and stole at will. Even royalty was nervous about travelling around here.’

  ‘Aye,’ their escort, Constable Beddows, agreed. ‘Rough lot around these here parts.’

  Lavender and Woods didn’t reply. Their relationship with Constable Beddows had not got off to a good start when he had turned up at Mr Armstrong’s house with horses for the London officers.

  ‘That’s a right pair of queer prancers you expect us to ride!’ Woods had exclaimed in disgust as he ran his hand down the quivering, bony flank of the smaller nag.

  ‘Constable Woods is the finest horseman in the Bow Street Horse Patrol,’ Lavender told Beddows. He had trouble hiding his smile.

  ‘Is he now?’ Beddows shuffled uncomfortably, and his eyes would not meet Lavender’s. ‘I see our northern horses are not good enough fer you southerners.’

  ‘I’ve seen northern horses,’ snapped Woods. ‘On our last case up here, we ran into the Duke of Northumberland himself—and he had a right set of gallopers on his carriage. Don’t tell me you can’t get decent horse flesh in this part of Britain.’