BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery)

by D. M. Mitchell

  Strutt went to the door, hammered on it. The guard looked through the window and unlocked the door.

  ‘How long will I have to stay in here on those trumped up charges?’ demanded Blackdown angrily.

  ‘As long as I need you to be,’ said Strutt leaving the cell.

  ‘What gives you the right?’

  He blinked as if asked a stupid question. ‘I have the right, Mr Blackdown, you can depend upon that.’ He turned to the guard. ‘See that he is given food and water. But do not trust him. He is a sly devil. If he makes an attempt at escape, kill him. Do not hesitate.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Blackdown called as Strutt moved to walk away.

  ‘I am who I said I am.’

  Blackdown went to the door’s window. ‘I don’t believe that.’

  ‘What you believe is of no consequence to me, Mr Blackdown,’ and he waddled down the short passage and grunted his way up the steep steps.

  Blackdown thought there was nothing for it but to wait. He was handed a small mug of water, a chunk of cheese and a few husks of dried bread and he settled down to consider his situation, trying to work out how Strutt fitted into things. So far there were too many threads yet hanging loose, but in his mind some things were starting to come together.

  Eventually he lay on the bed and hoped the lice in the mattress would treat him with a little lenience. Presently there was the sound of voices outside his cell. Blackdown slipped off the bed. He thought he recognised the new visitor. Peering out of the door’s small barred window he saw Addison handing over a heavy purse to the guard, who immediately set about retrieving the key to the door. He pushed it open.

  ‘No more than a few minutes,’ he said gruffly, eyeing the stairs as if someone might come down at that moment and discover his actions.

  ‘Mr Addison, what are you doing?’ Blackdown asked. ‘Don’t tell me you paid good money to that scoundrel…’

  ‘It does not matter, sir. I had to see you,’ said Addison, waiting till the door was closed behind him. He bade Blackdown to the far end of his cell, to stand beneath the small window. ‘I am so sorry to see you in this position, sir. We never planned it thus.’

  ‘We?’

  Addison steepled his fingers and put the tips of them to his mouth. He glanced at the door. ‘Have they hurt you, Master Thomas?’

  ‘I’m in good health, Addison.’

  ‘She will be pleased,’ he breathed.

  Blackdown grabbed the man’s coat sleeve. ‘Tell me what’s going on, Addison. Who will be pleased? What’s this about not planning it so?’

  ‘Miss Tresham, sir…’

  ‘Julianne?’

  Addison nodded. ‘I must be fast, sir, because I sense time is running out and we have put you in a dangerous situation by bringing you home, but we did not know who to turn to.’ He lowered his eyes. ‘Master Thomas, I need to make a confession and I hope that you will not think too ill of me when I convey the reasons behind it.’

  ‘Go ahead, Mr Addison. You know I can never think ill of you.’

  He smiled weakly. ‘The letter you received from Master Jonathan…’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘It did not come from his hand.’

  Confused, Blackdown narrowed his eyes. ‘Of course it did.’

  Addison shook his head slowly. ‘Alas no, sir. It was penned and sent after his death.’

  ‘A forgery? By whom? Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘Me, Master Thomas. It was I that penned it.’

  Blackdown could feel his anger start to bubble up. ‘You? How could you? I thought it came from my dear brother! Is this some kind of cruel game set up by my father to drive home his hatred of me? It is something he is capable of doing.’

  ‘Oh no, sir! Believe me when I say it was in desperation that she made me send it…’

  ‘She? Julianne?’

  He nodded sharply. ‘Yes, sir, Miss Tresham. It was her desire to contact you and bring you to Blackdown again. I wrote the letter in your brother’s hand, though it would not fool anyone who knew him well. But you, you had not been in correspondence for many, many years.’

  ‘Why did she not simply write to me rather than invest in a cruel charade?’

  ‘Because she is afraid, Master Thomas. Afraid for her life. As indeed am I.’

  For the first time Blackdown read the fear in the old man’s pale eyes, something he had not perceived before. He looked frail, about to crumble into dust at a single touch.

  Blackdown asked Addison to sit down on the crude bed. ‘What are you afraid of? Tell me, I am here to protect you.’

  ‘You are locked in a prison and cannot even protect yourself, sir, and I am ashamed that I had a part in putting you here. I should never have agreed to Miss Tresham’s wishes. We should have found another solution other than the unforgivable dragging of an innocent into danger.’

  Blackdown’s expression softened. The old man had been so good to him in his younger days, and the shadow of those fond memories still lingered in the servant’s age-carved features. ‘I am here now. If you had been in trouble, you know you had but to ask and I would have come to help you. There is no need to go to the folly of sending me a false letter.’

  ‘But there is, sir!’ he said. ‘Julianne came to me. She confessed that she believed Jonathan was not killed by some beast but by a man’s hand. And what’s more, her father is somehow involved.’

  Blackdown was taken aback. ‘Lord Tresham?’

  He nodded. ‘Lord Tresham, sir.’

  ‘That is inconceivable!’

  ‘It is what Julianne believes. She knows that her father is embroiled in something more than a little sinister, but does not know what it is exactly. She believes it is something to do with the building of a canal…’

  Putting a finger to his temple, Blackdown screwed his eyes up in thought. ‘A canal? What is all this about, Addison? Julianne is naturally distraught over her loss of Jonathan and is clutching at straws. I fear for her health…’

  Addison grabbed Blackdown by the wrist. His eyes were sombre and imploring. ‘Please hear me out, sir. I admit we do not know everything that is going on, but that something dark and insidious is happening which is slowly withering our land is without doubt. It is true that following your father’s denouncement as a spy and his long-running court battles Lord Tresham has been buying up large swathes of Blackdown land. There was no reason to suspect his motives. He appeared sincere when explaining to Julianne his desire to preserve the land for the Blackdowns so that it would not be split up, and to sell it back at a later date. Your father and he were close friends for many years and Julianne fully believed her father’s motivations. After all, he has land a-plenty, not only here but in Ireland and in the South East of England. The Blackdown land is not rich in minerals, much of it suitable only for sheep, and it has never been easy to raise money off it, as you know. Lord Tresham paid well over the odds for some tracts of it.

  ‘Then Julianne stumbled across documents detailing the building of a canal that would link the Bridgwater Canal north of the Blackdown Hills to the rich quarries and mines deeper in the south west. The canal would have to cut through a large part of Lord Blackdown’s land to do so. She suspects her father is about to sell this vital land to the developer, The Pegasus Canal Company. Sir, I have done a little investigation into what the Pegasus Canal Company is, and it transpires Sir Peter Lansdowne is an investor in the venture. In fact, taken to its natural conclusion, the canal will provide a profitable link between the many tin mines and lime and stone quarries that sit in his estate, rather than his companies undergoing the expense and time taken in hauling it on carts by road. He would recoup his investment a thousandfold if this development went ahead.’

  ‘And you have evidence of Lord Tresham intending to sell the land?’

  Addison nodded. ‘It appears so, Master Thomas. I have seen letters, shown to me by Miss Tresham, that have passed between Lord Tresham and the owner of The Pegasus Canal Compa
ny, a Mr Ravenbard…’

  ‘Ravenbard, you say?’ said Blackdown.

  ‘Do you know of him?’

  ‘No, but that is the second time today I have heard the name. What do you know about this Ravenbard?’

  Addison slumped forward. ‘I cannot help you there, Master Thomas. I could not find out any more about Mr Ravenbard other than his name at the head of the company. But it appears Lord Tresham intends to sell. It is his land, after all, and he can now do with it what he likes. Yet Julianne is convinced he is being forced to sell it against his wishes.’

  ‘Forced, you say? Blackmailed by Lansdowne?’

  ‘Julianne does not know what is afoot, sir. But she says she has not seen her father so agitated and secretive. It is not like him. Nor is it like him to go against his word and resell the Blackdown land to Ravenbard’s canal company for the sake of making Lansdowne a profit. It does not make sense. But there is more. Shortly before his death, Jonathan confided in Julianne that he’d discovered something relating to his father’s spying accusations and the buying and selling of Blackdown land. She believes he was murdered because of his discoveries. She also knows the identity of the person Jonathan was going to see on the night he was killed.’

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘Her father. Lord Tresham.’

  ‘And she never said anything to anyone about that?’

  Addison sighed. ‘He is her father, after all, and in truth there is no evidence to indicate that he and Jonathan actually met on that fateful night. Who knows, perhaps Lord Tresham’s decision to release the land and sell to Ravenbard might only have come to him recently, a reaction to your father’s accusations and consequent refusal to acknowledge him or his daughter as a legitimate bride for Jonathan. Lord Blackdown has as much as given him a social slap in the face on many occasions and perhaps he has had enough and seeks to abandon his good intentions. We might have thought Lansdowne’s involvement purely coincidental, had it not been that Julianne’s suspicions were aroused and she has since secretly examined her father’s papers further. It seems Lord Tresham’s relationship with Lansdowne is deeper and more complicated than he’d have anyone believe.

  ‘Sir, Miss Tresham fears for her father’s life, as she now fears for her own. She came to me as a last resort, and it was she, hearing of your exploits in the army and as a successful thieftaker, who suggested we contact you. But she dared not reveal it was she that instigated the invitation. It had to look like you came at your brother’s request in order that any investigation would not appear to have been started by Miss Tresham or her father. She was confident that once here you would soon discover what was going on, take the lid off things and that would be an end to it, but we did not foresee this happening to you. It appears it is far more complicated a situation than we first imagined and as a result we have put your life in danger as well.’

  Blackdown regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Some things start to make sense now. The attack on Blackdown Manor was not aimed entirely at me, but at Lord Tresham and his daughter. A warning, perhaps?’

  ‘We believe so, Master Thomas.’

  ‘By Lansdowne?’

  He shrugged. ‘That is difficult to know, sir. It goes beyond Sir Peter – there are so many other people involved, it seems.’

  ‘And do you know who these others are exactly?’

  He shook his head. ‘Julianne overheard a conversation between her father and Sir Peter in which quiet mention of a club came to light, to which she thinks Sir Peter and her father are aligned. What the club is or what its purpose we do not know. But it appears members carry a black card embossed with a wolf’s likeness. Like the one Julianne discovered in Jonathan’s coat after his death and slipped into the trunk you inherited.’

  ‘The Lupercal Club,’ said Blackdown thoughtfully.

  ‘So it is not a figment of our imagination. You know of it, sir?’

  ‘I am learning fast, Addison. So it was Julianne who left the card in the trunk?’

  ‘She had no idea what it was but thought it significant enough for you to examine as part of your investigations.’ He stroked a shaking hand through his thin grey hair. ‘That’s another thing, Master Thomas – about the trunk of clothes and money left to you by Jonathan…’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘I don’t know where it came from. Being regularly consulted in matters of personal and household finance, I was asked to be present when Jonathan gathered signatories for his last will and testament. I remember it being read out before everyone, and then it was signed and sealed. On no occasion did I hear mention of any bequest to you. Neither clothes nor money nor horse were left you by your brother, at least, not in the version of the will I was witness to. I am not aware of another will being made.’

  ‘Cornelius Reeve, my father’s lawyer, insisted the trunks were left to me by Jonathan,’ said Blackdown, perplexed. ‘And I was bequeathed a tidy sum of money. Where did that come from if not from Jonathan?’ Blackdown thought about the meeting with Reeve that day. How Reeve had insisted his father must not hear of the bequest, that there was nothing for him here any more and he should leave immediately. Cornelius Reeve – or someone for whom he was acting – wanted him away from Blackdown Manor as fast as possible. It might have come from his father in an effort to get him out of his hair faster, but he doubted it. However he looked at it, he had obviously been complicating matters for someone simply by being there. And, it seemed, he was still doing so.

  ‘Ah, it is a damn puzzle, sir, make no mistake!’ sighed Addison. ‘Please forgive me, Master Thomas. I did not mean for you to end up locked away like this. But we did not know who to turn to. We find we cannot trust anyone around here. Whatever is going on reaches out and has many people in its hideous grasp.’

  They were disturbed by a scuffling outside the cell door, and the muffled barking of orders. The door was thrown open wide and suddenly the doorway was crowded with blue-uniformed men spewing through it. Addison rose from the bed, and Blackdown backed away instinctively. In a moment Blackdown was faced with four guns aimed squarely at his chest.

  Blackdown recognised the Horse Patrol officer who stepped inside the cell as being the same as quizzed him on the night of Harvey Grey’s death outside the barn. Addison had his hands in the air, his face nervous, his jowls shaking. The cell guard was dragged into the room, his hands also high over his head. He was whimpering loudly before the rank of guns.

  ‘So you have a visitor, eh, Blackdown?’ said the officer drawing his sabre and prodding Addison in the chest with its tip.

  Without another word the officer drove the blade deep into Addison’s chest. The man’s eyes widened incredulously, a gasp issuing from his throat as he crumpled to the floor, the blade coming out of his chest cavity with a distinct sucking sound.

  Blackdown lunged forward. ‘You bastard!’ he yelled, but was beaten on the head by the butt of a carbine and he staggered under the blow.

  The guard yelped as if kicked.

  The officer held out his hand to one of the Horse Patrol. ‘Your knife,’ he said, and was duly given an eight-inch-long blade. He watched as Blackdown received more blows from the men, driving the helpless man to his knees. ‘That’s enough. Do not cripple him. They won’t be best pleased if he arrives too beaten up.’ Calmly, the officer stepped up to the petrified guard. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he asked.

  The man nodded quickly. ‘Yes, sir. I recognise you from the times I have seen you in the street. You are Sir Peter Lansdowne’s man.’

  The officer sliced the blade through the air and slashed the man’s throat.

  ‘Wrong answer,’ he said.

  The stricken man grasped at his throat as if attempting to hold back the fountain of blood, but he was lying face down at the officer’s feet in a moment or two, his legs kicking out instinctively for a second before slithering to an agonised stop.

  The men dragged Blackdown to his feet at the officer’s command. The officer dropped the knife into the
pool of blood before the dead guard.

  He said, ‘Every picture tells a story, eh, Blackdown? From all accounts it looks like your servant smuggled in a knife for you. You used this to attack and overpower the guard, but not before the guard stabbed your servant with his bayonet. Having brutally killed the guard you made your escape. Ah, it would make a fine melodrama!’ He signalled with a flick of his head. ‘Take him to the coach.’

  Blackdown was dragged half-dazed out of the cell. Through a swelling eye he glanced back at Addison’s lifeless form lying on the stone flags.

  18

  Primitive Fury

  The ceremony was so old, so embedded in the collective memory, that no one questioned it. The proceedings began when Reverend Bole stepped up to the base of the effigy, lifted his chin and stared up at the towering wooden structure covered in painted sacking and rags, the beast’s dragon-like face with its parted jaws and rows of white wooden teeth appearing to stare right back at him. He turned to the assembled crowd, as custom dictated, and blessed them and their efforts and thanked God for a good harvest, the assembled masses then bending their heads in prayer for a good harvest and a mild winter. But, as always, Bole could sense their desire to get to the real thrill of the evening, which was the lighting of the bonfire, the scaring away of the demon-beast and the consumption of much ale and cider.

  It was at such times he feared for the souls of his parish, for this is when something primitive and ancient reared up in their breasts, the pagan ceremony – only half appropriated by the church – stirring up deep and disturbing excitements and barely suppressed beliefs. At such times he felt he could lose them altogether. Sometimes not even God offered an answer to the sufferings of their daily toil, to why they were forced to endure their often miserable, hard-worked lives punctuated only by disease and early death. Little wonder some of them were happy to grasp at anything that offered more. A little too happy, he thought, as they bundled him out of the way and set about their business. All he could do now was watch and pray.