‘What is it that you think she can help you with?’ Geddes asked.
‘I believe she knows something about Miss Carnaby’s disappearance, her current whereabouts, what happened on the night she fled and the man she is with.’
Geddes laughed. A large wad of stringy tobacco bobbed on the saliva between his teeth. ‘Say she does know sommat, why should she help you? When did yer kind ever do owt to help ours?’
‘Can you see into the future, man?’ Lavender asked. ‘Do you have the “sight”?’
Geddes’ eyes widened. His rugged face contorted into a scowl.
‘I see you don’t,’ Lavender continued. ‘Well, fortunately for you, Geddes, I can predict the future—and it doesn’t look good for you and your kind right now.’
He pointed down the road towards Bellingham.
‘At any moment, a gang of angry farmers will appear on that road—intent on doing you harm. As representatives of the law, we’re the only people standing between you and them.’
‘Ye’ve set us up!’ Geddes spat out the accusation with his tobacco.
‘I didn’t have to,’ Lavender told him sharply. ‘You’ve managed to upset them all by yourselves—with your constant thievery from their farms. Petty theft is a matter for Constable Beddows. We’re here to find a missing girl—but right now we find ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. I would urge your people to arm themselves quickly. You may need to protect your homes and your families—I believe they intend to burn you out.’
A look of horror now flashed across Geddes’ face. He spun around and hollered out instructions in his alien tongue. Men and women appeared from nowhere, and the deserted camp filled with movement, screams and panic. Faces pale with fright, the gypsies scurried from tent to tent like a colony of beetles, scooping up possessions and herding children towards the safety of the forests. The elderly hobbled painfully after them.
When the panic had subsided and the area was cleared, eight men remained. They pulled out their knives with a flash of steel and ranged themselves silently in front of their ragged homes.
It would not be enough: the farmers would easily outnumber them. Despite the drizzle, the whole place would go up like a tinderbox if the farmers got near enough to the camp with their torches.
Lavender wondered how many gypsies remained in the flammable tents, too sick or too stubborn to flee.
‘We’re going to have to help them,’ he whispered to Woods.
The two officers moved away from the camp and positioned themselves halfway down the slope between the gypsies and the road. Woods glanced in the direction of Linn Hagh, where the smoking chimney stacks rose silently above the trees.
‘Should we go to Carnaby and ask for his help?’
‘I doubt we’d get any help from him.’ Lavender’s tone was bleak. ‘A lynch gang of farmers attacking the faws will play right into his hands. From what we’ve learnt of his cruelty, he’d probably just come out to watch.’
A crowd of twenty farmers appeared round the bend on the road. Angry and determined, they marched purposefully towards the gypsy camp. Brandishing pitchforks, scythes and flaming brush torches, they moved as one, the still air amplifying the thud of their boots. The once friendly men of The Rose and Crown and St Cuthbert’s Parish Church were now a seething mob and hard-faced as granite.
When they saw Lavender, Woods and the faws ranged against them, their pace faltered. They stopped about thirty yards below the encampment, pointing and murmuring amongst themselves.
‘Make sure your pistol is primed, Ned,’ Lavender said.
‘I’m ready.’
Lavender left Woods with their horses and walked down the slope towards the mob.
Jethro Hamilton scowled angrily as Lavender approached. His hair, heavy and wet from the ceaseless drizzle, was plastered against his head.
‘Whadd’ya want, Detective?’ he snapped. ‘This ain’t yer quarrel. I reckon ye’d best gan back to Bellingham and yer investigation.’
‘I’m afraid it is my quarrel, Mr Hamilton. You see, I’m an officer of the law, and I cannot stand by and watch you burn the homes of these people and put their lives at risk.’
‘What you tokkin aboot? They ain’t people—they’re bloody thievin’ scum who live like animals!’ The other men roared approval.
‘D’ya hear that, Geddes? You’re all parasites—leeches! Not one of you bastards has ever done a decent day’s work in yer damned life!’
‘You tell ’em, Jethro!’ Isaac shouted. The rest of the men growled and cheered encouragement. The menacing noise echoed back from the trunks of the ancient woodland, where the frightened women and children cowered in the undergrowth. The flames of the torches cast flickering demonic shadows across the contorted faces of the mob.
‘They do nowt but steal from those of us who work our backsides off from dawn till dusk—and we’ve had enough. We’ve had enough, I tell ye!’
‘Then take your grievances to the proper authorities,’ Lavender urged. ‘Complain to Beddows—get the magistrates to issue writs for arrests.’
‘D’ya think we haven’t tried? Beddows is useless—useless. Enough tokkin. Come on, men, let’s do what we set out to do!’
Hamilton stepped forward and the pack of farmers began to surge up the hill.
Woods fired his pistol into the air.
Startled by the blue powder flash and the sharp retort, the farmers stopped. A nervous horse whinnied, and a whole colony of rooks rose shrieking into the sky. Lavender sensed the faws stiffen behind him. In the short silence that followed, Woods lowered his gun and aimed it at the chests of the nearest group of farmers.
‘The next one of you joskins that moves gets the second barrel.’ Woods’ deep baritone voice had never sounded more threatening.
Lavender pulled his own pistol out of his pocket and made it visible to the farmers.
‘Listen to me!’ he yelled. ‘On Friday, I have a meeting with Magistrate Clennell in Morpeth. On Friday, I’ll take your complaints to him, and if you furnish me with evidence of the crimes committed, I’ll seek warrants for arrests on your behalf.’
The farmers jeered, unconvinced.
‘I’ll help you with the due process of the law, but I’ll not stand by and watch you burn innocent children and women to death.’
‘You’re on their bloody side!’
‘No,’ Lavender retorted. ‘I’m on the side of the law, and although you can’t see it, I’m on your side as well, Jethro Hamilton. Every one of you is a decent, law-abiding man. Not one of you wants to spend time in gaol for arson or hang for murder. None of you wants to bring terror and death to the innocent.’
‘You know nothin’ aboot us!’ Hamilton’s face glowed red with fury and frustration.
‘I know more than you think. I’ve watched you with your own children in church, Hamilton. How are you ever going to face your sons again if you terrorise or kill these faw children today? How long do you think they’ll survive out here without their homes in the middle of winter? And you, Isaac Daly—could you go back home and face your own family after this?’
‘You’ve no idea what we’ve had to put up with!’ Daly yelled.
‘Yes, I do know—and I also know that the faces of these terrified gypsies will haunt your dreams if you harm them.’
‘Bollocks!’ Daly snapped, but his voice had less force now.
‘You’ve all got kin that respect you,’ Lavender announced loudly, ‘and for good reason. There’s a woman in labour up there in one of the caravans. Harry Hurst—your wife is pregnant, isn’t she? And near her time?’
The farmer addressed as Harry Hurst looked startled, then nodded.
‘This faw woman can’t be moved, and her aged mother refuses to leave her. Are you going to burn these women out, Harry Hurst? Are you going to listen to their screams and think i
t’s a job well done to burn alive a pregnant woman?’
Hurst grimaced, turned pale and glanced down at his boots.
‘In another tent, an old woman lies dying; her terrified husband is beside her. Is this the end you’d like for your own parents, Fred Jamieson—to have them writhing in agony in the flames? Is this what the men of Bellingham do to their elders?’
The farmers shuffled uncomfortably beneath the rain of accusations. Lavender’s words hit home; he picked them out as individuals, not creatures of a senseless mob. His evenings of quiet observation in the taproom of The Rose and Crown now bore fruit. He knew them. One by one, he named them and re-humanised them. Gazes dropped before his fierce glare; arms holding torches and weapons were lowered.
‘Go home, the lot of you,’ Lavender said. ‘Gather the evidence you have, and bring it to me at The Rose and Crown. I give you my word as a principal officer with the Bow Street Magistrates Court that I’ll seek redress for your wrongs through the Northumbrian courts.’
‘Aye.’
‘He’s right.’
‘Let’s gan home, lads.’
‘There’s bugger all we can do while they’re standin’ there with pistols, anyhow.’
The farmers began to fall back.
Only Jethro Hamilton stood his ground. His face contorted with frustration, his stubborn jaw bones rigid beneath his tanned skin.
‘If you do come back wi’ a warrant,’ he complained, ‘them bastards will just tek off and disappear before you can serve it.’
Lavender dropped his voice and leant forward.
‘Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting for the last twenty years, Hamilton? For them to just go?’
The big farmer said nothing.
‘Do as I say, Hamilton, and you won’t regret it. You cannot lose out now. I’ll sort out your problem, and I’ll see you in church next Sunday—not as an arsonist and murderer, but as a proud man and a decent Christian. You’ll be able to hold your head up and look your wife, children and neighbours in the face.’
Hamilton stared at him. His blue eyes were like ice. Then he broke his gaze, turned and followed the others back down the road towards Bellingham.
Lavender breathed a huge sigh of relief. He pushed his damp hair off his face. His hands were frozen, but he dared not put away the pistol and retrieve his gloves just yet. Behind him, he heard the faws begin to shout amongst themselves and move around their camp. Woods joined him as he gazed at the retreating farmers.
‘Nicely done, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
Paul Faa Geddes appeared at their side.
‘D’ya think they’ll be back?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Lavender sighed. ‘That depends on how much you folks continue to harass them with your thievery.’
‘That’s falsehoods they’ve bin sayin’ agin us,’ Geddes whined. His insolence had vanished.
Lavender scowled. ‘We’re going down to the gorge to investigate those caves in the sandstone rocks. Tell us where they are—and send that Laurel girl down to speak with us when she turns up.’
‘All right,’ Geddes grovelled. ‘But you’ll have to come back and protect us. This ain’t right. We’ve a right to be left alone here. It’s yer job to protect us.’
Chapter Nineteen
They left the horses tied to a tree on the main path and scrambled up through the undergrowth towards the crumbling cliff face of the gorge. The vegetation petered out, and they struggled up a boulder-strewn scree slope towards the fissures in the rock. There was only one cave large enough and dry enough for human habitation. A trickle of green water leaked out from the edge and formed stagnant pools in the mud at the entrance. The officers approached cautiously. Lavender pushed aside a small bush at the entrance. They peered into the gloomy interior and waited until their eyes became accustomed to the darkness. It was deserted. A blackened stone circle in the centre of the uneven floor contained the ashes of a dead fire. A pile of mouldy rags lay heaped in one corner.
Carefully, Woods examined the jutting shadows at the back of the cave while Lavender dropped to his haunches and raked around amongst the ash and the debris at the edge of the fire.
Outside, the rain continued to fall softly onto the bushes. Woods stood for a moment and tried to imagine what it must be like to sleep here on this cold earth floor with only these stinking rags for bedding. Even with a fire for warmth and comfort, the place was desolate. The walls were slimy with damp; the silence and isolation oppressive.
‘Do you ever get the feelin’ in these here woods that you’re being watched?’ he asked.
Lavender glanced up. He never doubted Woods’ courage for a moment, but he knew that this brooding woodland had affected his constable in a way that the familiar, heaving streets of the capital never did.
‘Constantly,’ he said. ‘This forest is full of eyes—most of them fixed on us.’
Woods nodded with relief and moved across the uneven floor to the pile of rags in the corner. Lavender watched him lift each one carefully and shake it out. A flash of dull metal glinted and fell amongst the stones on the floor. Woods reached down and scooped up a rounded pewter button.
‘What have you found?’
Woods held out the button for inspection. A couple of black threads hung limply from the back.
‘From an old coat, I should think,’ Lavender said. ‘Black. Possibly military.’
‘Does this help us?’
‘I don’t know. Most of the market towns in England have secondhand clothes stalls that sell surplus army greatcoats. They’re warm and favoured by farmers and beggars alike. This might be of more interest, though.’
He rose stiffly to his feet and showed Woods a thin taper of blackened parchment. Burnt at one end, the tightly folded taper looked like it had been torn from a pocket book. Lavender took off his gloves and unfolded the flimsy material. The burnt end disintegrated in his hands as he did so.
He groaned with frustration and moved over towards the better light at the entrance of the cave. Woods joined him and craned his neck to peer down at the faint, spidery writing. The only two words that remained decipherable were ‘Redesdale Aarms.’
‘Redesdale: That’s the next valley along.’
‘I bow to your greater knowledge of the local geography,’ Lavender said. ‘I assume that “arms” refers to another tavern or inn—perhaps in Otterburn?’
‘I don’t know that much,’ Woods confessed.
Lavender continued to stare at the thin strip of parchment in his hand.
‘This is not a taper used to light a fire.’
‘Was it used to get a light from the fire for a pipe?’ Woods suggested.
Lavender knelt down on the floor and continued to feel along the uneven ground. His fingertips pushed through the soil and ash with meticulous care.
‘Ha!’ he said.
He lifted a few strands of stringy brown matter from the ground and sniffed them cautiously.
‘What is it? Tobacco?’
‘Yes.’
‘I were right about the clay pipe. We’ve got a mysterious beggar in a military greatcoat who smokes a clay pipe.’
Lavender nodded, searched again and lifted more matter to his nose.
‘There’s more—there’s snuff. This bit is snuff. Macouba snuff, to be precise.’
‘Ain’t that a bit pricey for a beggar?’
‘Yes—it’s the brand preferred by George Carnaby.’
‘So why is a penniless beggar, who sleeps in a cave, smokin’ George Carnaby’s snuff in his pipe?’
‘I don’t think he does. I think Master Carnaby paid a visit to the rogue who slept here. Carnaby takes his snuff everywhere; he even took it in church on Sunday.’
‘But why were George Carnaby here? Did he warn him off or encourage him?’
‘I
don’t know, but this is Carnaby’s land. He could have a thousand feasible explanations for being in this cave. However, I think the landlord at The Redesdale Arms in Otterburn is worth a visit.’
They went back out into the grey drizzle and slithered back down the scree slope to their horses. There was still no sign of the gypsy girl, so Lavender suggested that they bide their time and take a walk along the gorge. It was hard going with the animals.
Eventually, they reached the icy edge of the pool at the base of Hareshaw Linn and stared across the gleaming black rocks to where the water thundered and foamed down the waterfall. Their faces were soon wet with spray. Lavender could see the look of dislike on his constable’s features and sense his discomfort.
‘Be careful, Detective, or the grindylows will nab you!’ The young woman’s voice had a musical quality like the trilling of birdsong.
Lavender spun around. Laurel Faa Geddes stood behind them. She had appeared out of nowhere—as silent as a padding cat. One silver-ringed hand rested lightly on her hip. She grinned. Her vivid blue eyes sparkled mischievously.
‘I’m not familiar with the grindylows, Miss Geddes.’ Lavender smiled. ‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me?’
She pointed a grimy finger towards the reeds at the edge of the brackish pool. ‘They live down there, in the watter. They’ve long, sinewy arms and grab you to drown you, if you’re not careful.’
‘Sounds like a few of the trollops I’ve met down the London docks,’ Woods observed.
She ignored him and fixed her attention on Lavender who stared back at her, taking in every detail. The girl dropped her head to one side and grinned. Her teeth flashed like small white pearls in brilliant contrast to her dark skin. Luxurious black curls tumbled down from beneath her headscarf and the laurel wreath that adorned her head.
The Heiress of Linn Hagh (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 1) Page 15
