The Heiress of Linn Hagh (23 page)

‘That’s Beddows’ job—roundin’ up villains.’ The older man spat onto the muddy cobbles by their boots. Lavender ignored him. Hamilton was the natural leader of this group; where he led, the others followed.

‘Apparently, he’s got a lopsided grin, which gives him a leering expression—and his eyes—his eyes are light in colour.’

‘Sounds more like Carnaby’s idiot younger brother,’ Daly suggested.

Hamilton remained silent, his face thoughtful.

‘If you can spread the word that we seek this man,’ Lavender said, ‘and keep an eye out for him—I’d be grateful.’

‘Ye’ve a cheek askin’ favours from us,’ Hamilton finally said. ‘What’s in it fer us, anyhow?’

‘Safety in Bellingham for your families—and Armstrong has offered a twenty guinea reward for further information. In the meantime, my offer to take your grievances to Magistrate Clennell on Friday still stands.’

The glimmer of a wry smile traced the edges of Hamilton’s mouth.

For a moment, there was silence.

‘Abel Knowles ain’t here,’ Hamilton suddenly informed him. ‘He’s drivin’ sheep to Newcastle market this week.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You oughta stick to searchin’ fer that missin’ lass, Detective. Tha’s gonna be busy if you try to rid this parish of all its crime,’ Hamilton suggested. ‘Half this bloody town’s guilty of sommat.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

L
avender called briefly at the Armstrongs’ home before continuing on his way to Otterburn. Miss Katherine and her father had already heard about the ‘incident’ in the churchyard earlier that morning. In a small town like Bellingham, news such as this spread like wildfire. They listened gravely as he recounted what had happened to Helen Carnaby as she stood beside her father’s headstone. Miss Katherine turned pale when he mentioned the knife.

‘Who is this murdering devil?’ Armstrong asked. His thin arm thumped the side of his chair angrily. Miss Katherine reached out and took his arthritic hand in hers to soothe him.

‘We don’t know.’ Lavender gave them the description supplied to him by Woods.

‘It doesn’t sound like anyone from around here.’ Miss Katherine frowned. ‘We’re a small community, Detective; strangers are quickly noticed.’

‘And your constable is sure it was Helen?’

‘The woman was heavily veiled—but he is certain. The second bunch of hellebores and her interest in Baxter Carnaby’s grave convinced him it was Miss Carnaby. It couldn’t have been anyone else.’

Miss Katherine shuddered, and fear flashed across her face.

‘Thank the Lord Constable Woods was there. I dread to think what would have happened to Helen if he had not been present.’

‘Do you suspect that George Carnaby had a hand in this?’ the old man asked angrily.

Lavender hesitated for a moment before he nodded. Slowly, he relayed to them his suspicions about George and Isobel Carnaby. However, he refrained from revealing the concerns voiced by Doctor Goddard about Esther Carnaby’s death. They had enough to take in at the moment, he decided.

He explained about the poison they had found at Linn Hagh, the man who had stalked Helen Carnaby in Hareshaw Woods and all the other little details that led him to believe that Helen Carnaby had been in fear for her life.

The Armstrongs were horrified.

‘But I’ve no evidence at the moment to prove that George and Isobel Carnaby have tried to murder their sister—or to connect them directly to this would-be killer. I was going to suggest that we all take a trip up to Linn Hagh tomorrow morning, so I can demonstrate to you how Helen escaped from the locked bedchamber, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate now.’

‘Nonsense, Detective, of course it’s appropriate,’ Mr Armstrong snapped. ‘We’ll leave here at ten for Linn Hagh. Carnaby is no threat to us. I’m not scared of the brute.’ His grey, lined face set with determination.

‘I would like to see George Carnaby’s expression when he realises how Helen tricked him,’ Miss Katherine said. Lavender could see the cold anger in her eyes.

‘So would I, ma’am,’ he confessed. ‘But I need you both to understand that I don’t intend to confront Carnaby as yet—I need more time to find evidence that links him to this would-be murderer.’

‘We understand. We shall be discreet,’ she reassured him.

Lavender nodded, satisfied. Armstrong might be elderly and frail, but he was a retired lawyer and could practise discretion. Katherine Armstrong also had his trust.

‘And as for dear Isobel—well! I suppose that as long as neither of us eats or drinks anything that comes out of her kitchen, we shall not come to any harm!’ she snapped. ‘Foxgloves! Pah!’

Katherine Armstrong accompanied him out into the spacious hallway. As soon as the door had closed on her father’s study, she dismissed the maid and walked alone with Lavender towards the studded main entrance. She lowered her voice to an urgent whisper.

‘Have you any idea where Helen is hiding, Detective? I’m so frightened for her.’

He could see the concern etched across her gentle face.

‘Yes. We’ve heard rumours—though nothing I’ve been able to substantiate yet—that she had a lover, an admirer. I suspect she is with him.’

A wave of alarm now flashed across Miss Katherine’s features.

‘Have they eloped?’

‘I don’t know. The fact that they’ve not returned to Bellingham openly as man and wife suggests to me that something has gone wrong with their plans—very wrong. But of course, George Carnaby will be furious and create trouble for any man who dares to marry his sister without his permission. He may still bring charges against him. Perhaps that is why they’re still lying low. They may wait until she turns twenty-one in January.’

He paused while she struggled to digest this latest information. He could see her fighting to suppress her shock.

‘So Helen could be living in mortal sin, unmarried—
with a man
?’ she whispered.

‘Yes.’

‘Good grief ! Please don’t say a word of this to my father.’

‘I won’t,’ he reassured her. ‘Miss Armstrong, I know that this is a lot to take in, and I know you’re concerned about the scandal that will follow. But I’m still convinced that Helen is safer where she is at the moment, while we try to catch this murdering rogue who stalks her.’

‘I see you’re a practical man rather than a spiritual one, Detective,’ she observed.

‘Yes. I believe that we face far greater dangers in this world than “mortal sin”. I genuinely fear for Miss Carnaby’s life.’

She paled, set her mouth in a firm line and nodded as he moved to open the door.

‘Find this terrible man, Detective—and find him
quickly
—please!’

Woods woke up just after one o’clock and came down to the taproom for food. He still felt a bit groggy, but as the warm chicken, bread and a large slice of meat and potato pie filled his growling stomach, he began to feel better. He washed down his food with a glass of ale and belched with satisfaction.

Their business in the market concluded, a few of the usual gang of farmers began to cluster around the low wooden tables. The blank-faced barman in a dirty apron drew flagons of ale from a large casket and exchanged them for a few coins from the farmers’ cold and grimy hands. Mistress McMullen bobbed around the room, refilling brandy glasses out of a chipped ceramic jug.

‘It does my old heart good to see you back enjoyin’ yer food again,’ she told Woods as she piled a second helping of pie onto his plate.

He smiled at her solicitude. He knew full well that her attentiveness was prompted more out of relief that he had not pegged it on her premises during his mysterious ‘illness’ than out of genuine concern. Nevertheless, he chatted amiably with the woman and complimented her on her cooking.

After she had left, he closed his eyes, enjoyed the warmth of the fire as it licked his face and settled himself down for a fireside snooze. A genial hum of conversation hung over the far end of the bar, where the farmers discussed the price of corn and beef.

Still exhausted and sore from a night staking out the graveyard, he needed more sleep.
This is the toughest part of police work,
he decided.
The night shifts.
Three weeks ago, he had spent two bitterly cold nights down at the East India docks with other officers, desperately trying to avoid freezing to death, while they waited for a gang of pilferers to appear. Then his mind drifted back to the expenses he was earning from this case, and a broad grin spread across his face.

His pleasure was to be short-lived. He had only just registered the angry stomp of riding boots heading his way across the flagstones, when George Carnaby’s fist crashed down on the table in front of him. The crockery leapt and rattled. All conversation died.

Woods jerked awake and tensed.

‘Easy there, fellah!’ he drawled.

Carnaby’s lip curled and he scowled. ‘
Mister
Carnaby to the likes of you. Where’s that damned fool Lavender?’

Woods could not decide whether Carnaby’s face was red with exertion or anger. The man wore a stained riding coat and buckskin breeches and clutched a bloodied horsewhip in his right hand. Briefly, Woods wondered how hard the bastard had driven his poor horse on the ride into town, and the thought angered him. Woods shoved his clenched fists into his pockets.

‘
Detective
Lavender is away on
Mr Armstrong’s
business,’ he said slowly.

Carnaby’s eyes narrowed, and his hand tightened on his whip. ‘All business concerning my sister is also my business,’ he snarled between gritted teeth. ‘I cannot fathom why you haven’t reported the attempt on her life this morning. And why your detective instructed Beddows not to tell me anything about it.’

Damn that ruddy Constable Beddows,
thought Woods.
The blethering idiot has gone straight back to Carnaby with the news.

‘I’m sure Detective Lavender had his reasons. For the record, I could not be sure that the lass in the graveyard were your sister. She could have been anyone. It were barely dawn.’

‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me. You’re both a pair of incompetents. Nor am I impressed to discover that you’ve also questioned my cook behind my back.’

Another one who can’t be trusted,
Woods thought.
Damn the bloody cook. What about Anna? Was she still his friend?

‘You can stay away from Linn Hagh and my servants, do you hear? I shall complain to Armstrong about your cack-handed methods.’

Woods had endured enough. Gentry or not, this cocksure braggart thrashed his younger siblings and had tried to murder one of them. Disgust rose in his throat like bile. The whole tavern had fallen silent now; everyone watched the two men closely. Woods pushed back the table, its legs screeching in protest along the flagstones.

Carnaby fell silent in surprise when Woods stood and squared up to him. He stared Carnaby straight in the eyes. The two men were the same height. Carnaby might have been ten years younger, but Woods was broader and more confident in a fight.

‘I’ll bid you a good day. This interview is over,
Mister
Carnaby.’

Carnaby’s plain face contorted with rage as he sized up the defiant man before him.

‘Don’t you try to dismiss me, you insolent dog! You’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a policeman. I’ve a good mind to—’

‘To what?’ Woods shouted. ‘Use yer ridin’ whip on me? Come on then, man, try it.’

Startled, Carnaby edged back slightly.

‘Why, you!’

Carnaby began to raise his arm but then stopped midway when he caught the glint of iron flint in Woods’ eyes.

‘If you raise that whip at me,
Mister
Carnaby’—the constable’s deep voice was loud, calm and dangerous—‘I’ll take it off you, snap it and slam both ends up between your blind cheeks and into your arse.’

There were howls of delighted laughter from around the tavern. Woods stared straight ahead, his face rigid. His eyes never left Carnaby’s face.

‘You tell him, Constable!’

Carnaby’s face flashed with a mixture of confusion and fury. Then he broke eye contact with Woods and turned on his heel.

‘Stay away from Linn Hagh!’ he shouted over his shoulder as he stormed out of the taproom.

‘There’s never a dull minute in this here tavern since you gadgies came to join us!’ Jethro Hamilton was laughing his head off.

‘You London detectives have a real charmin’ manner,’ Isaac Daly added. ‘One helluva way with words!’

Woods paused to let his racing heart calm down while the public house continued to comment and laugh around him. He reached down for his glass.

That’s buggered it,
he thought.

He shrugged and drank off the last of his ale.

What’s done is done,
he reasoned as he burped up the gas.
Lavender has nearly got this case in the bag, and George Carnaby should be in gaol by the Sabbath.
Too tense to return to his afternoon nap, he decided to ride out to Otterburn and try to track down some evidence about the murdering bravo who stalked Miss Helen.

Meanwhile, Lavender had changed his plans.

Katherine Armstrong’s words rang in his ears as he left her home:
‘Find this terrible man, Detective—and find him
quickly
—please!’

She was right. Catching the thug who had tried to murder Helen Carnaby should be his main priority. He primed his pistol and set off on foot through Hareshaw Woods towards Linn Hagh. The dense woodland remained as silent and secretive as ever. Apart from the distant roar of the waterfall, he could hear the steady drip of condensation from the naked branches arched above his head. He saw no one. Yet, no matter how quietly he trod along the muddy path, he still felt that someone else was watching him, someone who was quieter and slyer than he.

The ground around the caves in the gorge was heavily trampled. He had no doubt that Beddows and his beadles had been there before him. The pile of rags within the cave had been disturbed and carelessly tossed to one side, but the ashes of the fire were cold, and there was no sign that new fires had been lit or that the murdering beggar had returned to his lair.