BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery)

by D. M. Mitchell

  ‘Yes, very brave of him,’ she mused softly, the faintest of movement from her eyes, the juddering of a muscle in her cheek.

  ‘What do you know of your father’s association with Sir Peter Lansdowne?’ he asked boldly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How long has he known your father? How did they meet? What is their relationship?’

  ‘Business acquaintances first and foremost,’ she replied. ‘They have known each other five or six years, I believe.’

  ‘Are they close?’ he probed.

  ‘Close?’ She shrugged. ‘Sir Peter invites us to his houses, my father invites him to ours. We have met socially in London when we stay there for the season. He generally keeps himself to himself. Anyone who says they know Sir Peter Lansdowne well will be lying. That doesn’t stop all the available women that come within his exclusive orbit throwing themselves at him like hopeless jellyfishes onto a beach in the hope of landing him as a husband. He would make a valuable catch. Not only is he quite handsome, but he is a very wealthy and powerful man and has the ear of government and the prince.’

  ‘And you? Are you interested in him as a husband? Are you one of those jellyfish?’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘That is an indelicate thing to ask, Thomas,’ she said. ‘You have been too long in the army and need to have your manners polished.’ She shuffled her shawl into place. ‘No, I am not interested in him, if by interest you mean love; but naturally my father is after seeing me make a good match. That is all I will say on the subject.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘Thomas, it is no use, I cannot keep this to myself any longer – I have to tell you something. The letter you received from Jonathan…’

  ‘I thought I heard voices!’ said Reverend Bole, easing open the parlour door and stopping Julianne in her tracks. ‘Is no one sleeping tonight?’ His eyes looked heavy and tired.

  ‘Have you been keeping vigil on father all this time?’ Blackdown asked. ‘He has servants that can do that.’

  ‘He deserves more than a servant in his final hours. He has asked to see his solicitor, Cornelius Reeve, at once. I am instructed to send someone to drag the poor fellow out of bed and bring him over. Reeve will not be best pleased at the interruption to his sleep. He has a fondness for his mattress.’

  ‘So the old man breathes still?’ said Blackdown flatly. ‘He hangs on to life like a cat to curtains.’

  ‘I think it is time to take to my bed,’ said Julianne quickly, rising to her feet.

  ‘The letter,’ he said quietly. ‘You were going to tell me something about the letter from Jonathan.’

  Julianne looked up at Reverend Bole. ‘It does not matter, Thomas. Another time perhaps.’ Then she bent close to him. ‘You do not fool me, Thomas,’ she whispered close to his ear. ‘It is but an icy crust…’ She lifted her guttering candle. ‘Find out who killed Jonathan for me, Thomas,’ she implored, almost under her breath, drifting away from him and passing Reverend Bole in the doorway.

  ‘Try to get a little sleep,’ Bole said to her insistently. He closed the door quietly after her. ‘So no more signs of our nefarious visitors, eh, Thomas?’

  ‘Retreated to whatever dark hole they came from,’ he returned.

  ‘And your arm – how is that?’

  Blackdown glanced at his forearm. Blood had leaked through the bandage he’d had applied. ‘It may need a stitch or two.’

  ‘The doctor will be calling tomorrow – today,’ he said, seeing the dawn light beginning to bleach the treetops in the distance. ‘Perhaps you will let him examine it.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said distantly. ‘Will you be blessing the demon-beast effigy when they light it tonight?’

  Bole gave a light chuckle. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘A mind sitting in the dark and quiet often wanders.’

  ‘There’s the irony of it all, Thomas, my boy; here I am every year asked to bless what is in effect a pagan image. But it has been so long done that no one thinks to change it, or even question it. It is the end of harvest time, the onset of winter, and the people need whatever spiritual help they can get and I am grateful I am on hand to administer it.’

  ‘Do you believe in the Beast of Blackdown?’ he asked.

  ‘We have touched on this before. The devil can take many forms, Thomas.’

  ‘A beast that stalks Devilbowl Wood, slaughters sheep and murders my brother?’

  Bole came over to Blackdown. ‘You seek answers. But there are some things we shall never know.’

  ‘I heard it…’ he said.

  ‘Heard it?’

  ‘I heard the creature. Moreover, I sensed it staring at me, reverend. I believe I came across it in Devilbowl Wood.’

  ‘But in your heart you say this cannot be true, and so you are torn, eh, Thomas? Looking for someone to tell you it’s not true.’

  ‘So tell me it’s not true.’

  ‘I can’t, Thomas. Because I don’t know the truth. If God created good, then the Devil creates evil, and that evil might take many different guises. Who is not to say it takes the form of a beast that oftentimes emerges from Devilbowl Wood? I would not be the one to be so rash as to denounce it as pure fantasy born of poor men’s superstitions. In doing so I would be denouncing God as fantasy, and you know that to be untrue.’

  He smiled inwardly at Bole’s words. ‘Why does my father want to see Cornelius Reeve?’

  ‘I don’t know the workings of your father’s mind.’

  ‘Do you trust this Reeve?’

  Bole rolled his tongue over his lips. ‘I make it a rule never to trust dogs, lawyers, politicians or archbishops. Everyone else I view with suspicion.’

  ‘Reeve grows rich on my father’s foolishness.’

  ‘The only fault of your father’s is pride. It is the fault of many.’ He eyed Blackdown. ‘And you must understand Reeve has done much to curb your father’s excesses. He is not out to make his fortune. You do not know him properly and yet you paint the man black.’

  ‘Still, I hate the fleas that suck on the blood of others, no matter who they are.’

  ‘So speaks a man who appears to have been bitten too many times, eh, Thomas?’

  ‘You knew Jonathan…’

  Bole gave a shrug. ‘We were not close, if that is what you are implying. He never came to church so I rarely saw him except when I had occasion to visit Blackdown Manor, and then only if he was in residence. More often than not he would be away somewhere, and your father was reluctant to discuss him except to curse his damned luck with sons.’ He offered an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Thomas, but I say it as it is.’

  ‘I was led to believe by father that Jonathan was a good and dutiful son.’

  ‘Your father’s memory of Jonathan improved greatly with his son’s death. And I fear he uses it to beat you over the head with.’

  ‘I am only here to find out who murdered my brother. It seems Jonathan might have made more enemies than I first supposed. What I have learnt tonight makes me wonder whether he deserves my effort.’

  Reverend Bole reached out a hand and placed it on Blackdown’s shoulder. ‘You must not condemn Jonathan. People behave as they behave for many reasons.’

  ‘This entire house is riddled with bitterness and spite,’ he said, rising from his chair. His legs felt stiff and he stretched himself upright. ‘The longer I stay the more infected I become.’

  ‘So are you to leave?’ Bole asked.

  Blackdown ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. Julianne’s breath-like words floated in his mind still. Find out who killed Jonathan for me.

  In doing so had she finally admitted she did not believe it to be the Beast of Blackdown?

  ‘I shan’t be leaving just yet,’ Blackdown declared. ‘I have things to do and people to see.’

  ‘People to see?’

  ‘Tresham’s gamekeeper and Sir Peter Lansdowne to start with,’ he said.

  ‘You mean to approach them about Jonathan’s murder?’

  ‘And why
not?’

  ‘Sir Peter is a very private man…’ Bole began.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Tread carefully when questioning him on such a delicate matter as murder, Thomas. He is easily angered or upset, and he is not a man to be trifled with lightly.’

  ‘Then that makes two of us,’ he returned shortly.

  Lord Tresham apologised and took his leave of them after breakfast, saying he had urgent business just come up that needed his immediate attention. He cast Thomas Blackdown a meaningful glance from the window of a handsome post-chaise pulled by four horses and driven by two liveried postilions.

  ‘I shall return as soon as I can,’ Lord Tresham called to Blackdown, Julianne and Reverend Bole. ‘Pray your father’s strength holds up until then,’ he said, waving. ‘And look after Julianne for me!’

  ‘I will be perfectly fine, father!’ she said, waving him off.

  Blackdown watched the coach pull away and rattle down the drive, heading for the gates. He signalled for his horse to be saddled and brought to the front of the house.

  ‘I hope you will not be too rash when confronting Sir Peter,’ Bole warned when Julianne had returned to the house.

  ‘Rash?’ he replied. ‘I am never rash.’

  ‘Or too free with your words… Choose them carefully.’

  ‘You speak as if you fear him,’ he said as the horse was brought round and he took the reins. The horse was fast becoming used to him, he noticed.

  Bole didn’t have time to answer, for they heard the clatter of many hooves rattling up the drive towards them. They saw the red uniforms and brass buttons of the six riders looking quite resplendent in the morning light.

  ‘The local militia,’ said Bole. ‘Perhaps they have heard about the attack on the house last night and come to investigate.’

  Lansdowne’s Horse Patrol aside, the local militia was the only means of keeping law and order in the area, though Thomas Blackdown was not immediately impressed by them. Their number was made up of volunteers from the wealthier inhabitants of the Blackdown Hills, smaller landowners and their sons chiefly, the odd-retired cavalryman or officer. Their horses were of varying quality and sizes, their armaments the same, indicative of what they could afford, and their ages varied considerably. Their uniforms more or less followed the same pattern – red with yellow facings, white breeches and black boots – but one or two riders couldn’t help but embellish them with ribbons, piping and medals. Their numbers were too few, however, to be of any real benefit as far as keeping general law and order over the vast tracks of countryside, and their services were largely at the beck and call of the monied inhabitants of Blackdown and environs, protecting their land and property. The common man could expect no such favours. They were too quick with their arms and their loyalties were far too one-sided. Thomas Blackdown had little time for such part-time soldiers.

  A smart, middle-aged officer dismounted and saluted Blackdown and Bole.

  ‘Colonel Gardiner,’ said Bole warmly. ‘What brings you to Blackdown Manor?’

  Gardiner’s face was serious as he took out a piece of paper from his coat. ‘I have a warrant signed by the magistrates for the arrest of Thomas Blackdown.’ He glanced meaningfully at the man in question.

  ‘What?’ said Blackdown. He had been poised to mount his horse.

  ‘You are mistaken,’ said Bole. ‘Arrest Thomas? Whatever for?’

  ‘In connection with the murder of Harvey Grey, late of Commodore Pettigrew’s company.’

  ‘That’s absurd!’ said Thomas. ‘I had nothing to do with that!’

  ‘There has to be a mistake,’ said Bole.

  With a peremptory flick, Colonel Gardiner showed them the paper. ‘No mistake. You are Captain Thomas Blackdown?’ he asked.

  Blackdown nodded. ‘Who is behind the warrant?’ he demanded.

  Gardiner shook his head. ‘Of that I have no idea. My duty is to take you into custody and escort you to the gaol in Blackdown, where you will be held until further notice.’ He held out his hand. ‘Your firearms, please, Captain Blackdown.’

  Blackdown eyed the five mounted riders. One or two of them had their hands poised over their carbines and pistols. A sword or two had been drawn in case of trouble. The horses fidgeted, as if aware of the growing tension. But Blackdown calmly handed the two loaded pistols over. Gardiner discharged them both into the air, the horses flinching at the sudden noise. He handed the guns over to Bole.

  ‘The reverend will keep them safe for you,’ said the officer. ‘And now your sword…’

  Blackdown drew in a breath. ‘I wear no sword. What reason do I have to kill Harvey Grey?’

  ‘That is not for me to determine. But murder is a very serious charge, sir. If you’d care to mount we can be on our way,’ Gardiner said insistently.

  As Blackdown took to his saddle, Bole came up and patted his boot. ‘Worry not, Thomas; there has been some mistake here and I will do all I can to put it right. I will notify Lord Tresham at once and he’ll soon have you out of this scrape.’

  Silently, Blackdown turned his horse’s head, and with three men at his back and another three at his front the small troop of militia led him away.

  17

  A Damn Puzzle

  The town gaol was a small affair, located at the back of the magistrates’ court in Blackdown. It consisted of four stone-walled cells that were reputedly three hundred years old, and used frequently to house drunks, breakers-of-the-peace, and the occasional horse or cattle thief. A large oak door slammed shut with the sound of dull finality on Thomas Blackdown. His many questions going unanswered.

  ‘I want to speak to someone in charge!’ he insisted at the barred window of the door as Colonel Gardiner walked away. But the officer did not reply. Blackdown thumped the ancient door. ‘Damn you, Gardiner! Did you hear me?’

  ‘Keep your voice down, Captain,’ said Gardiner coolly, and ascended the worn stone steps to street level.

  ‘Keep it down,’ echoed the guard posted at the door, who waited till Gardiner had disappeared before taking his musket off his shoulders and leaning it against the wall.

  Blackdown gave an irritated snort and sat on the filthy straw-filled mattress that rested on a metal frame. He looked up to the small slit-like window high in the wall. He heard the clatter of footsteps outside. If he could reach up and peer through the window he knew he would be looking out onto, and level with, the cobbles of a back alley, but there was no way he could reach that high.

  He surmised he’d waited about an hour or so, but it may have been much shorter, when he heard voices from beyond the door. Then a key in the lock. Blackdown rose from the mattress at the sound, and the door swung open. A large, round man entered the cell, holding a candle in a holder. The door closed behind him and the key turned again.

  ‘John Strutt!’ said Blackdown, taken aback. He hadn’t expected to see the newest member of The Lupercal Club.

  ‘The very same,’ said the man, holding his candle aloft. His slit-like eyes surveyed the cramped room. ‘You will have to forgive me putting you somewhere like this,’ he said, ‘but it is all that is available at such short notice.’

  ‘So it was your doing?’ said Blackdown. ‘You had the warrant signed?’

  ‘What are you up to, Mr Blackdown?’

  ‘Let me out of here, Strutt!’

  ‘Where did you get the black card, Mr Blackdown?’

  ‘Sir Peter will not be pleased!’ Blackdown tried to bluff.

  But Strutt merely smiled. ‘Come, come – we both know that is but your little game. You are not a member of the Lupercal Club, nor are you close friends with Sir Peter Lansdowne. Where did you come across your black card? How came you to know about the club?’

  ‘You’ll pay for this, Strutt!’ he said, taking a step forward.

  Strutt pulled a small pistol from his pocket. ‘Don’t do anything foolish. Sit down.’ He waved the pistol. ‘I insist.’

  Reluctantly, Blackdown sat on the matt
ress. ‘Do you mean to kill me?’ he asked.

  ‘Kill you? If I’d wanted that you would have been dead a few hours ago. No, I do not wish you dead, but I wish you kept out of my hair for a certain period of time. You threaten everything with your guns blazing and the dead bodies starting to pile up. No, Mr Blackdown, here is the safest place for you. Until I decide what to do with you.’ He wandered over to the wall and leant against it. ‘I see your brother in you.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  Strutt sighed. ‘He came to my attention a number of years ago. He was under observation.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘With regret I have to tell you that I am not here to talk about him. I am going to mention a name, Mr Blackdown, and I want you to give me the simple answer of yes or no. Do you recognise the name Ravenbard?’

  ‘Should I recognise the name?’

  ‘Yes or no, Mr Blackdown?’

  ‘No.’

  Strutt studied Blackdown carefully, as if trying to peel away his mind to reach into his thoughts. He pursed his lips. ‘Dig deep. Think carefully on it. Ravenbard. Does it not mean anything to you?’

  ‘It means nothing to me.’

  Strutt smiled thinly. ‘I have done some checking on you, and for all your past transgressions there is no evidence that you are in league with Ravenbard. Though that is by its very nature difficult to prove. However, the crude manner in which you draw attention to yourself seals my opinion. I believe you when you say you do not know Ravenbard. After a fashion.’

  ‘Am I supposed to feel grateful?’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion. Some would say not to know is a blessing.’

  ‘Who or what is Ravenbard?’

  ‘I cannot disclose that, Mr Blackdown.’

  ‘All right, tell me this - what happens at the Meet, Strutt?’

  ‘Do you seriously think I am going to tell someone like you something like that?’ He laughed, his fat chins shivering. ‘You see, you know nothing about what is going on. You come across your card by accident and you claw about in the dark trying to fathom what is going on. That is a dangerous thing to do. That is why you are here, put out of harm’s way so you can do no more damage to others and to yourself.’