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

by Karen Charlton

  Beddows’ thin mouth had gaped open at the mention of the Duke of Northumberland. Then it slammed shut.

  They conducted most of their slow journey to Linn Hagh in silence. Both constables were sulking: Beddows was smarting from the criticism he had received from Woods, and Woods was fuming from the perceived insult of being given a couple of inferior horses.

  However, the sight of Linn Hagh seemed to have roused Beddows back to his purpose.

  ‘It was snowing on the night of her disappearance,’ he announced. ‘All footprints were completely covered.’

  ‘What efforts did you employ to try to find Miss Carnaby?’ Lavender asked.

  ‘Well, George Carnaby and his guests searched the outbuildings of Linn Hagh and the surrounding area on the morning of her disappearance.’ He pointed at the single-storey buildings just visible behind the pele tower. ‘Later, us constables undertook a lengthy search of these here woods. We gave her description to the local tollgate keepers and the landlords of the coaching inns. Everyone was questioned to see if they remembered the lass passing through on the night of the twenty-first or the morning of the twenty-second. But damn me, she has disappeared without a bloody trace.’

  ‘And this Saturday you posted a reward notice for her, in the Hue & Cry section of the local newspaper?’

  Constable Beddows bristled with pride.

  ‘Aye, that were my idea. I had a rum job persuading George Carnaby to pay fer it at first, but eventually he agreed.’

  They rode up an overgrown, meandering path through meadows, where a few scattered sheep bleated mournfully. As they drew closer to the hall, they could see the dead moss clinging to the side of the stone building. Rusty farm equipment lay scattered around the entrance amongst the weeds. Window frames were rotten and warped. The whole place looked neglected and reeked of decay.

  ‘I can see someone’s got a fire blazin’ in the forest, o’er yonder,’ Woods commented.

  The other two men paused and glanced to their right. A thin spiral of black smoke swirled and disappeared into the leaden sky above the treetops.

  Constable Beddows spat onto the ground.

  ‘It’ll be them damned faws.’

  ‘Ah, the famous gypsies,’ Lavender said. ‘So that’s where they camp. I think we’ll have to pay them a visit at some point, Woods.’

  ‘Ye’ll not find owt,’ Beddows informed them sharply. ‘We’ve already searched their camp.’

  ‘Is there another way to Bellingham besides the road?’ Lavender asked.

  ‘Aye, there’s a path through the woods, but it ain’t no good fer horses. Damned woods are full of beggars and faws.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Bellingham is a market town, Detective. Every week we’re swamped with beggars come to tap the crowds. They doss in the woods on a night. There are caves along the side of the gorge.’

  To enter Linn Hagh, they had to climb a narrow flight of worn sandstone steps to a studded oak door. Grains of silica glistened in the sandstone staircase and the weathered walls around them. The frail wooden banister swayed dangerously beneath their grasp. Lavender hammered on the door with his cane, then used it to point upwards to a lip of stone above their heads. He turned to his constable.

  ‘That is where they poured out faeces and boiling water onto anyone trying to break their way in.’

  ‘Charmin’ ,’ said Woods.

  They were greeted by an elderly serving woman with frizzy grey hair and wearing a scowl. She wiped her hands on her dirty apron and informed them that everyone was out except the master. She let them into a small, paved vestibule and swayed arthritically up the stairs to announce their arrival.

  Lavender noted that only one room led off from the vestibule—a large, gloomy kitchen.

  Eventually, the woman returned and told them that the master would see them now.

  ‘Thank you, my good woman,’ Woods said with a charming grin.

  The cook seemed taken aback at his politeness. Lavender smiled to himself as they mounted the staircase. It was Woods’ job to ingratiate himself with the servants whenever they investigated a crime. His constable had made a start.

  George Carnaby sprawled inelegantly across a faded armchair in front of the huge stone fireplace that dominated the back room of the Great Hall. A large grey cat sat purring in his lap. He was a plain man with a tanned, rugged face and close-set brown eyes. His unkempt dark hair was rapidly greying and loosely tied back with a black ribbon. His slack mouth drooped at the corners. He didn’t get up to greet them when they entered the room.

  ‘I had no idea you would be calling today. Armstrong told me he had employed Bow Street runners, of course, but he didn’t let me know you had arrived. You could have let me know, Beddows,’ he snapped at the constable.

  The local man flushed and shuffled uncomfortably beneath Carnaby’s glare.

  ‘Shall I fetch tea for yer guests?’ the serving woman asked.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you,’ Lavender said. ‘I would prefer to get straight on with the investigation.’

  The elderly servant hovered for a moment, as if she preferred to get her instructions from Carnaby. But he remained silent, so she bobbed a curtsey and disappeared back down the stairwell.

  Carnaby indicated that the officers were to join him around the fire, but he didn’t offer them a seat. They stood and waited patiently while he groped in the pocket of his waistcoat for a silver snuffbox.

  ‘What do you want to know? No doubt Armstrong and my man Beddows have filled you in on the details of the night of the twenty-first.’

  My man Beddows? Lavender frowned.

  While Carnaby took his snuff, Lavender allowed himself a quick glance around. The vaulted wooden ceiling that towered over their heads was crumbling with woodworm. He could just make out the grimy rectangles on the bare stone walls where tapestries and oil paintings had once hung. This family was selling off their heirlooms. He smelt mould beneath the wood smoke.

  ‘Mr Armstrong and Constable Beddows have already given me their version of events, but perhaps you can tell me in your own words what happened?’

  ‘Nothing new to add, really. We rose late that day, and when we realised no one had seen my sister, I went to find out what had happened to her. She’d not been well the previous day, so naturally I was concerned. She’d barred her door, and when we couldn’t rouse her, I broke it down. But she’d gone—like a bloody spirit in the night. We’ve been searching high and low for the damned gal ever since.’

  He scowled, took another pinch of snuff, then wiped his nose with the back of his shirtsleeve. Lavender recognised the rich and expensive aroma of Macouba.

  ‘What do you think happened to Miss Carnaby?’

  ‘Damned if I know. That’s your job to find out, ain’t it, Lavender? The bloody minx has probably run off somewhere just to give us all the trouble of looking for her.’

  ‘Were you aware if she had a lover or an admirer?’

  Carnaby flushed and a muscle twitched in his neck. ‘If there is one and he’s part of this, I’ll thrash the bastard to within an inch of his life when I catch him. She’s been under my protection since our father died, and I’ll have no bloody fortune hunters seducing my baby sister.’

  ‘We’ve found no evidence of a man in her life,’ Beddows soothed. ‘I’m sure that our reward advert in the Hue & Cry will bring forward some information—with or without the help of these London detectives.’ His voice was high pitched. Lavender could not tell whether it was with nerves or affectation.

  ‘It might have been better if you’d included a full description of Miss Carnaby in the advert,’ Lavender observed wryly. ‘Fair hair, blue eyes, five foot two inches tall—or something like that—so the readers of The Newcastle Courant would recognise her if they saw her.’

  A stunned silence descended into the room,
and Lavender could see Carnaby’s neck begin to twitch again.

  ‘You bloody saphead, Beddows,’ he growled. ‘You made me pay for an advert and didn’t write the damned thing properly?’

  ‘How was I to know?’ Beddows began to bluster beneath the glowering fury of the owner of Linn Hagh. ‘I’ve never dealt with a case of a missin’ lass before.’

  ‘You’re an addled-brained idiot, Beddows! If you fell in a barrel of women’s dugs, you’d climb out sucking your thumb.’

  Lavender had seen and heard enough.

  ‘Can you point us in the direction of Miss Carnaby’s room?’

  The master of Linn Hagh threw a final contemptuous glance in the direction of the local constable and then rose to his feet.

  ‘I’ll take you,’ he said. ‘I won’t have any bugger wandering around Linn Hagh on their own.’

  ‘I’ll get back to the horses.’ Beddows sniffed and left.

  The door of Helen Carnaby’s room was a mess. The upper half had been completely smashed away by Carnaby’s axe. The bottom half was spiked with light-coloured jagged shards where the blade had sliced through the age-blackened wood and revealed the natural patina beneath. Someone had made a half-hearted attempt to sweep up the mess, but splinters still crunched beneath their boots.

  Lavender pointed at the door on the other side of the dark corridor.

  ‘What room is that?’

  ‘It’s where the female servants sleep. We’ve two of them. The cook—you’ve met her—and a maid.’

  Lavender followed Carnaby and Woods into the bedchamber, closed what remained of the door and began to examine it. Behind him, he heard Woods slide up the sash window.

  Two iron staples were screwed into the rough stones on either side of the door, and another two staples were widely spaced on the back of the door. These were needed to hold the weight of the heavy metal bar that was designed to lie along them. The iron bar leant against the wall. Lavender picked it up and tested its weight. Next, he lowered it down onto the four staples. He noted its snug fit against the wood. The door would never have yielded an inch once the bar was dropped in place, although it clearly had not stood up to a determined man with an axe.

  ‘The last line of defence,’ he said.

  ‘Eh?’ Carnaby growled. His eyes flitted coldly between the two officers.

  ‘Oh, I was explaining to Constable Woods earlier about how pele towers were designed to protect families from the border reivers. See here, Woods? If raiders has breached the pele tower and were storming through the building, the family could bar themselves into one of these rooms in a last desperate attempt to save themselves from rape and murder.’

  ‘Charmin’ ,’ Woods said.

  ‘Very interesting, Detective.’ Carnaby yawned. ‘But how did my sister get out of this room when it was barred from the inside?’

  Lavender lifted the bar off the staples, dropped one end onto the floor and ran his hand across the flaking, rusty surface. His fingers caught against a globule of candle wax. He scratched it off with his nail and pocketed it discreetly.

  ‘I’ve no idea at the moment, Mr Carnaby. I’ll have to give it some thought.’

  ‘Was anything missing when you checked the room after your sister’s disappearance?’ Woods asked.

  ‘Only her cloak and hand muff,’ Carnaby said.

  ‘Nothing stolen?’

  ‘No. Not that we could see.’

  ‘So she didn’t wander outside in the freezing snow in her nightgown,’ Lavender said with some satisfaction in his voice.

  ‘No, the maid who sorted her clothes said that her nightgown was still here, and Helen had disappeared in the same dress she had been wearing the day before.’

  ‘Which suggests she never undressed for bed on the night of the twenty-first.’ Lavender dropped down onto his haunches and began to scan the dusty floorboards. He gently shifted piles of sawdust and splinters with his fingers. He felt Carnaby’s dull eyes bore into his back. He leant forward onto his knees and began to inch his way towards the iron bed frame, sifting patiently through the debris on the floor.

  ‘And whatever happened,’ he called back over his shoulder, ‘Miss Carnaby—or whoever took her—remembered to take warm clothes for when she left the hall.’

  ‘Might not have done her any good,’ Carnaby observed dispassionately. ‘It was a foul night and snowed heavily. No late night coaches run from Bellingham. Cloak or no cloak, unless she got inside somewhere quickly, she’ll have bloody perished.’

  ‘Where’s the maidservant now?’ Woods asked.

  ‘She’s on her half-day, but she’ll be back soon. Both servants heard my sister put down the bar on the door just after nine that night.’

  ‘And no one else saw or heard anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has this room been cleaned since Miss Carnaby’s disappearance?’

  ‘She was expected to clean her own room. The servants had enough to do without running after her.’

  ‘What kind of a young woman is Miss Carnaby?’ Woods asked.

  Lavender appreciated the distraction his constable was causing. Carnaby was clearly irritated with the questions, and his attention was now directed entirely at Woods.

  ‘We haven’t seen much of her for the last ten years while she’s been away at school. She came back to nurse her mother while she was dying.’

  ‘How would you describe Miss Helen’s character?’

  ‘She’s a spoilt piece,’ Carnaby snapped. ‘She always wanted extra coal for her fire—or different food from the rest of us. She ran the servants ragged with her demands and drove Izzie to distraction.’

  ‘Izzie? Is this your other sister, Miss Isobel Carnaby?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. Izzie runs Linn Hagh for me. Helen was the baby of the family and the only child of my father’s second marriage. My father and his silly wife doted on her, spoilt her—and that school she went to filled her head with fancy ideas.’

  Lavender lifted the trailing bedcover and moved to inspect beneath the bed. There, next to the cracked chamber pot, he finally found what he was looking for—the stub end of a candle. He pocketed it stealthily, slid back out and stood up.

  ‘Where is Miss Isobel Carnaby now?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s also in Bellingham at the Saturday market. She’ll be back before dark, if you want to talk to her. Sometimes she comes back with the maid.’

  ‘No. We’ll probably call back here next week and talk to her then. We’d better get back to Bellingham now.’

  ‘Send word if you plan to come here again,’ Carnaby growled.

  Lavender brushed the filth and the sawdust from his coat and breeches. ‘Constable Woods tells me that those horses Beddows provided are a poor show, and at least one of them is likely to die beneath us on the way back to town. I’d like us to be able to walk back before dark falls if that happens. I understand the woods around here are riddled with robbing gypsies and beggars?’

  Carnaby shrugged. ‘My father was soft. He should have burnt those bloody faws off his land a long time ago.’

  ‘Mmm, that is what everyone keeps saying. But he didn’t; your father let them stay—and so have you,’ Lavender observed. ‘I wonder why?’

  Alarm flashed in Carnaby’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t you want to see the rest of Linn Hagh?’ he asked hurriedly. ‘Save you the trouble of coming up here again.’

  ‘Not today.’ Lavender smiled. ‘Today I’ve seen and heard enough.’

  Chapter Eight

  Anna was halfway back to Linn Hagh when she saw the three horsemen on the road ahead of her. In the failing light, she couldn’t make them out at first, but as she drew nearer, she recognised the slight figure and untrimmed sideburns of Constable Beddows. He was talking to the dark-haired man riding beside him. This man wasn’t listening to Bed
dows; he was watching Anna approach. She pulled her cloak tighter, stared straight ahead and quickened her pace.

  ‘Miss Jones?’ The man had a funny accent. She stopped and turned towards him. His features were mostly hidden beneath the shadow cast by his hat, but he had a long, sharp nose.

  ‘Miss Jones, I’m Detective Stephen Lavender from Bow Street in London. Mr Armstrong has employed me to try to find out what has happened to your mistress. I need to talk to you.’

  Anna recoiled slightly. George Carnaby had threatened all the servants with dismissal if they talked to the authorities without either him or Miss Isobel present. Yes, she wanted to find out Miss Helen was safe, but as the miserable days since her disappearance had dragged on into weeks, Anna had become more and more reconciled to the fact that her favourite mistress had fled without her. All the dreams she had shared with Miss Helen had vanished into that snowy night, along with the only person who could help her escape from her wretched existence as a drudge at Linn Hagh. Anna’s moods had swung between depression, anger and frantic concern for her former mistress.

  The detective dismounted from his horse and turned to face her. He was dressed almost entirely in black from the soles of his mud-splattered boots to the tip of his hat. Only his spotless white cravat broke up the severity of his attire. Above its whiteness, his skin, stretched tightly over his high cheekbones, looked pale in the poor light. A pair of sharp brown eyes scrutinised her dispassionately. Constable Beddows remained on his horse, but the other constable dismounted and moved to the side of the detective. Now two strange men were watching her closely.

  ‘I need to hear in your words what happened on the night of the twenty-first of October.’

  Anna felt intimidated and stepped back away. Her foot slipped on the mud, and she struggled to keep her balance. A large hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

  ‘Easy there, li’l lady,’ another foreign voice said. ‘We don’t want you fallin’ .’

  Her rescuer let go of her arm and grinned at her. He had a large round moon of a face.