The Heiress of Linn Hagh (10 page)

‘This is how ladies ride,’ Constable Woods said. ‘You’re a proper lady now, with a horse and a handsome escort back to Linn Hagh.’

Anna giggled. Constable Woods was not handsome. In fact, he was quite old. He had short-cropped grey hair beneath his hat, and his teeth were a bit black, but the grin that lit up his broad face made him look friendly. He pulled the reins over the head of the beast and pointed to where she could hold on.

‘Ready?’

She nodded, then gasped again as they began to move off. She felt she was a long way from the ground, and it took her a moment or two to get used to the swaying of the horse, but she loved it. Woods turned the horse around, and they slowly began to return to Linn Hagh. The detective and Constable Beddows continued their journey to Bellingham.

Constable Woods was chattering on about his daughter again.

‘She’s a natural on a horse—just like you; she’s fearless and she’s got the poise for it. I reckon she’ll become a better rider than either of her elder brothers.’

As the animal plodded along, Anna asked him a few questions about his children, which he answered enthusiastically. She was enjoying herself and marvelled at how strange everything looked from horseback; it was a completely different view. Within a few minutes, he had her laughing when he told her about one of the scrapes his two lads had got themselves into. Next, he told her how their furious mother had grabbed the broom and whacked both of the rapscallions out of the house. Anna’s face fell.

‘What’s the matter, treacle? My wife didn’t hurt them really. Why so sad?’

‘You remind me of my da. He died five years ago in the explosion in Mr Carnaby’s mine. It used to be lively and fun like that in our cottage. When Da died, all the fun went out of the house. My brothers moved away to work in other mines, and my ma has been unhappy ever since.’

‘That’s sad,’ Woods said. ‘It hurts when you lose someone you care about. Mr Armstrong has told us what a kind young woman Miss Carnaby is. I’m guessing you were sad when she disappeared?’

‘Yes, it broke my heart. You and that scary detective will find her, won’t you?’

‘ ’Course we will, darling. Can you tell me a bit about what she’s like?’

‘She’s lovely to work for—kind, gentle and funny. She looked after her mother really well when she was dying. She wanted to take her mother away to the seaside in Whitby, to let the sea air help her get better, but there wasn’t enough money. I think she hoped her ma would last out until she got her inheritance in January, but she didn’t. Miss Helen was very sad after she died.’

‘Did Miss Helen make any other plans for after her birthday, when she would come into her money?’

‘Oh yes, we talked about it all the time,’ Anna said brightly. ‘She wanted to move back to Whitby—she liked it there.’

‘And she was going to take you with her?’

‘Yes. She wanted me to be her lady’s maid. Sometimes Miss Helen would ask me to come to her room and style her hair.’ Her voice grew wistful as she remembered. ‘She has a beautiful tortoiseshell brush and a sparkling set of jewelled hairpins. I would try to copy the styles Miss Helen showed me in pictures from some old pamphlets. I were a bit awkward at first: I dropped the pins often and tied her hair up too loose because I were frightened I might hurt her. But I got better and was quite good at the end.’

‘Did you help her with her dresses and clothes?’

‘Oh yes, she has some wonderful gowns.’

‘Did she not take any of them with her when she disappeared?’

‘No. I used the laundry list to check everything carefully. I was very careful. She disappeared with only the clothes she was wearing that day. Nothing else was missing—except the old blue dress I knew she had given to the faw—but I didn’t tell Miss Isobel about that.’

‘Sorry?’ Woods exclaimed. ‘She gave an old dress to one of them gypsy women?’

Anna suddenly felt alarmed. Had she said too much?

‘Yes, it was a
very
old dress—too small for Miss Helen. Should I have told Miss Isobel about it?’

‘No, treacle, not at all—and don’t worry; I’ll keep your secret. Was Miss Helen friendly with this gypsy girl, then?’

‘I’ve seen her talking to her a couple of times. Her name is Laurel Faa Geddes.’

‘Wasn’t Miss Carnaby nervous about roaming around these woods and fields on her own?’

‘She didn’t used to be. But she had got it into her head lately that someone were following her, intent on harming her.’

Sharply, Woods pulled the horse to a standstill.

‘Did she tell anyone?’

‘Yes, her brother—but Master George said it was her imagination and she were being silly, but I know it was true—I heard this gadgie following us in the woods. He had a horrible laugh. I thought it best not to say anything to Constable Beddows if the master didn’t think it were important.’

They reached the bend at the bottom of the long drive that led up to Linn Hagh. Darkness was falling rapidly, but Anna knew that in a moment the pele tower would come into view, and they would be visible from the house. Constable Woods realised it, too.

‘I’m going to have to leave you here to walk back to the hall on your own, Anna. Will you be alright?’

‘Of course.’

His strong arms reached up and lifted her down. She felt sad; she’d enjoyed herself.

‘Listen, treacle, that scary detective and I are going to find out what happened to Miss Helen—but we might need a bit of help from you.’

‘Oh? He looks so serious.’

‘He can be—but he’s very good at his job. I need you to trust us both.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘First of all, if you hear or see anything that you think might be important, I want you to tell me, yes? Anything at all—no matter how small—just like you’ve done today. You can read and write, can’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, leave me a note at The Rose and Crown in Bellingham if you can’t find me. And I need you to search out the laundry list and go back through Miss Helen’s wardrobe to double-check everything is still there.’

Anna was confused, but she nodded in agreement.

‘We’ll be back up to Linn Hagh in a few days’ time. Can you do that for me, treacle?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right now, take care of yourself, and remember that if anyone has seen us together, you’ve done everything Mr Carnaby asked; you haven’t told me a thing about the night Miss Helen disappeared. Do you understand?’

She nodded happily, waved goodbye and skipped off down the road and around the bend.

Woods swung himself up into the saddle and watched her disappear into the gloom, his mind going over the details he had gleaned. Helen Carnaby had turned out to be an enigma, he realised. Adored by her doting uncle, kind to her young servant and vagrants—yet scorned by her half-brother as a spoilt brat. She was also an intelligent young woman with a bright future who was plagued by irrational fears. Or were they irrational?

The old horse moved restlessly beneath him. He shivered slightly as a cold breeze moaned through the creaking timber of the ancient woodland. Night had fallen quickly as they had travelled back to the hall. He could barely see the road in front of him. His own breath began to billow out before him in white clouds. The persistent drizzle had ceased, and the temperature had plummeted. He was suddenly conscious of how remote the area was and the darkness and heavy silence of the woods that lined one side of the road.

A sharp crack in the forest made him reach for the highwayman’s flintlock in his coat pocket. His horse whinnied nervously. He cocked the pistol and paused. Memories of the attack near Barnby Moor flooded back into his mind. Silence descended again.

‘Sod this,’ he muttered beneath his breath and turned the horse around. ‘Time to see what you’re made off, you old piper.’

Woods spurred the animal into a gallop and thundered back towards the warmth and safety of Bellingham.

Chapter Nine

L
avender made straight for the blazing fire in the taproom of The Rose and Crown and warmed his frozen hands. He called for a glass of brandy and began to remove his outer garments. He was staring thoughtfully into the flames when Mistress McMullen, the landlady, appeared at his side with the brandy and some startling news.

‘Ye’ve got a lady visitor.’

For one brief dramatic moment, he thought it was Magdalena.

Has she followed me here? Why? Is she in trouble?

He felt his rush of excitement fade to disappointment when the ample figure of Mistress McMullen stepped aside to reveal the equally rounded Katherine Armstrong standing behind her.

He flushed as he bowed and greeted her.

‘Miss Armstrong! What a pleasant surprise. How can I be of assistance?’

His client’s daughter regarded him quizzically with her warm brown eyes.

‘Good evening, Detective Lavender. I came to bring you this.’

She pulled out a bundle of stiff parchment from her hand muff and offered it to him. He recognised the seal of legal documents.

‘It’s the copy of Thomas Armstrong’s will you asked for.’

Lavender suddenly became aware that the landlady was hovering. On top of that, the noisy dice game to his right had been suspended with the cup poised in midair. Most of the large group of drunken farmers, at the far end of the taproom, now watched them curiously. When one of them let out a curse, his neighbour elbowed him in the ribs and told him to ‘mind his language’.

‘Do you have a private room where we could go?’ Lavender asked the landlady.

Disappointed at being excluded, Mistress McMullen mumbled that a fire had been lit earlier in one of the private parlours, and she led them to it.

‘Evening, Miss Armstrong.’

Several of the farmers nodded respectfully as the small, stout, middle-aged woman glided past their table.

Katherine Armstrong was well wrapped up against the cold in a purple, fur-trimmed pelisse over her brown dress. She wore stout boots and a domed velvet bonnet that matched her coat. Her funny-shaped hat, decorated with artificial berries, reminded Lavender of a plum pudding. This was a good metaphor for her, he decided: rich, full of goodness, traditional and probably only remembered by her family on Christmas day.

They moved to the barely warm dining room at the back of the inn. Lavender recovered his wits and shoved Magdalena out of his mind. They sat down in the chairs by the fireplace, where a few red embers still glowed in the grate. The landlady poured half a scuttle of coal on the fire and then left them in peace. Katherine Armstrong declined the offer of refreshments.

‘This is most kind of you to deliver the will personally, Miss Armstrong,’ Lavender said. ‘However, I would be remiss in my duty to your father if I didn’t point out that your reputation may suffer if you’re seen entering a public house without a chaperone.’

Her kind eyes twinkled with mischief and amusement, and the lined corners of her mouth turned up in a smile.

‘At my age, Detective, I would be most grateful if a whiff of scandal would attach itself to my name. I fear I’ve been far too good and far too boring for the last forty years.’

Lavender smiled and took the dry parchment from her hand. He undid the tapes that bound it and spread the thin pages out on his knee.

‘It’s rather complicated,’ she informed him as she peeled off her gloves. ‘My uncle’s assets were vast. I thought it might help if I stayed to explain it.’

‘Thank you. Fortunately, I’ve had some legal training. I studied to become a barrister at Lincoln’s Inn.’

Katherine Armstrong’s face registered surprise.

‘But you never practised as a lawyer?’

He put down the documents in his hand, his face serious.

‘That was my father’s dream for me, Miss Armstrong—not mine. My ambition was always to become a policeman, like him. My father worked for thirty years for the magistrates at Bow Street—he knew both the Fielding brothers well. I’m fascinated by the law—but I wanted a more active occupation.’

‘Do you regret the choice you made?’

‘Not at all.’ He smiled. ‘I think my current role is far more stimulating than that of a legal barrister.’ His mind flashed back to the attempted robbery of the stagecoach at Barnby Moor. ‘In fact, sometimes the responsibilities of being a police officer are a little
too
exciting. I do regret, though, any pain my decision may have caused my father.’

She nodded and then smiled.

‘I’m sure he is very proud of you. After all, you’ve paid him a
huge
compliment, following in his footsteps.’

He had long since realised that women were the more curious of the two sexes. They were never happy until they had determined someone’s pedigree and ‘placed’ that person in society. Perhaps now she would be more open about the Carnabys.

He turned his attention to the documents before him. By the time he had finished reading, a frown creased his forehead.

‘I confess that I don’t understand, Miss Armstrong. What happened to your Uncle Thomas’ fortune when he died? Why didn’t his daughter, Esther Carnaby, inherit it? Why was she passed over in favour of
her
daughter, Helen?’

‘This is why I thought it might be useful if I stayed and explained,’ she said. ‘My Uncle Thomas was unhappy when Esther married Baxter Carnaby.’

‘He was Helen Carnaby’s father?’

‘Yes. Baxter Carnaby was a decent man, of course—popular and well liked in the local community.’

‘But?’

‘But he had made an unfortunate first marriage.’

‘How so?’

For a moment, Miss Armstrong struggled to find the right words. Her hands fidgeted in her lap. Clearly, some dark family secret lay behind her torment. When the words came, they came out in a rush. Her voice hardened.

‘His first wife, Martha, was a mad woman.’

‘A mad woman?’

‘She was hysterical, an insomniac—and prone to violent fits and rages. Baxter had no choice but to send her to an asylum for the last years of her life. She became a danger to all around her, including herself and her own children. Poor Baxter had a terrible time with her in the years before he had her committed.’