The Heiress of Linn Hagh (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 1)

by Karen Charlton

Lavender frowned. ‘Either way, I think it’s time for you to take some action, man.’

  Beddows scowled and scratched the stubble on his chin. His fat jowls wobbled as he started to protest.

  ‘I only have a couple of beadles—and we’re needed in Bellingham today at the market.’

  Lavender turned around now and faced the local man squarely. His eyes narrowed and in a voice heavy with irony, he asked, ‘Why? Are you expecting the sheep to organise a riot?’

  The local man blinked at Lavender’s tone but continued to doggedly argue his case. ‘The stallholders expect us to be on hand—like, in case there’s trouble. There’s a lot of drinkin’ goes on market day in a town like this, and petty theft.’

  ‘And no doubt these stallholders palm you a dawb or two to keep you here and watch over them,’ Woods observed cynically. ‘We have the same thing with the constables all the time down at the Smithfield meat market.’

  ‘What are you accusin’ me of ?’ Beddows’ small eyes flashed angrily beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘I’ve never tekken no dawb!’ His colour rose in his cheeks.

  Lavender cut him short. ‘Your parish seethes with crime and violence, man. I’m visiting Magistrate Clennell tomorrow and will make sure that I report to him the level of lawlessness I’ve uncovered in Bellingham, and your inability and reluctance to deal with it.’

  Beddows shuffled and looked away. ‘There ain’t that many of us,’ he whined.

  ‘There’s enough to restrain one villain. I want you to take your men to the gorge and see if the rogue has returned to the cave. Afterwards, I want you to stop, question and search every man at the market today who answers the description I’ve just given you.’

  ‘This were a quiet town afore you two arrived and began to stir things up,’ Beddows complained.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Lavender retorted. ‘Things were already stirred up before we got here. You’ve got a missing girl, remember? The one you couldn’t find. I’ve been shocked to discover the extent of sin and depravity in Bellingham: Couples copulate on consecrated ground; farmers take the law into their own hands. Now this—attempted murder in broad daylight. And in all this, there is no sign that you, the beadles or the night watchmen do your jobs. I’m sure that Magistrate Clennell will be as disappointed as I am with this report.’

  Beddows pulled out his gloves and slunk away towards the door.

  ‘Alright, alright,’ he growled. ‘I’ll get the beadles, and we’ll search the gorge.’

  ‘I don’t want a word of this to George Carnaby, do you understand me? This is nothing to do with him.’

  Beddows stopped on his way to the door and stared back at Lavender in surprise. Then he turned to Woods.

  ‘So who were the lass that were nearly stabbed?’ he asked. ‘If it weren’t Carnaby’s sister?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Woods lied. ‘Just some village girl—she fled terrified after I scared off the cove.’ He had given this story to the incandescent vicar but had managed to whisper the truth to Lavender when they returned to the tavern. Baxter Carnaby’s grave had never been mentioned.

  After Beddows left, Lavender sighed and sat down beside Woods on the fireside settle. He lowered his voice and ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘Are you sure it was she—Helen Carnaby?’

  Woods nodded and described the girl and the hellebores she carried.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Woods asked. ‘The foxgloves were one thing—but this murdering bravo is another. That girl is in great danger. Who do you suppose he is?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lavender sighed. ‘But I’ve no doubt that George and Isobel Carnaby are behind this latest attempt on their sister’s life.’

  ‘How did they know she would be there?’

  Lavender grimaced.

  ‘I fear I may have given them the idea of someone staking out the graveyard. Isobel Carnaby is sharp-witted. When I asked her if she had visited the graves of her parents, I could see an idea forming in her mind.’

  ‘Oh,’ murmured Woods.

  ‘Yes, I think it may have been my fault. I made a mistake. The trouble is, I’ve no evidence yet to prove the older Carnabys are connected to this. We need to find this cove and question him. I also doubt that Clennell will give me a warrant on Friday to arrest the Carnabys. Despite the stain of madness, they’re an old family, and respected landowners hereabouts.’

  ‘They’re cunning buggers, that’s fer sure. What shall we do?’

  ‘For a start,’ Lavender said decisively, ‘you’ll get some sleep. In the meantime, I shall try to track down Abel Knowles, the sheep drover, and I shall pay a visit to The Redesdale Arms in Otterburn.’

  ‘I can come with you.’

  ‘No, you get some sleep, Ned. Tomorrow we shall go to Linn Hagh and demonstrate to the impatient Mr Armstrong how his great-niece got out of a locked bedchamber.’

  ‘I still think it’s shocking,’ Woods commented. ‘We expect the scum and tagrag of the Seven Dials and the rookery of St Giles down in London to murder their grandmothers for their last shillin’—but out here? Amongst the gentry?’

  ‘Ten thousand pounds is a lot of money to a lazy man with no other income,’ Lavender observed cynically. ‘The Carnabys are desperate. All that stands between them and the money is a sister they barely know—a girl they’ve disliked since she was born.’

  ‘I still think it’s harsh—and difficult to believe.’ Woods fought back a yawn.

  ‘I agree. But God knows what depravity George and Isobel Carnaby witnessed when they were children, growing up as they did with an insane mother. Who knows what example they were set—or what is “normal” for them?’

  Lavender rose to his feet and picked up his gloves and cane.

  ‘Ideally, I would like George and Isobel Carnaby and their hired assassin behind bars at Hexham Gaol by the Sabbath. Only then will I feel it’s safe for Miss Helen to come out of hiding.’

  Something about the way Lavender looked made the exhausted Woods start with surprise. He raised his eyebrows, and a large smile spread across his broad face.

  ‘That gypsy gal were right—you know where Helen Carnaby is, don’t you?’

  Lavender smiled.

  ‘I’ve a fair idea. She’s safe—well, from murder anyway.’

  Woods gasped, pushed off the blanket and started to rise.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Lavender held up his hand and shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think so, my friend. You need to get some sleep.’

  Reluctantly, Woods fell back into his seat.

  As Lavender reached the door, he turned back and grinned.

  ‘By the way, Ned, make sure you stay out of sight of the vicar for a while; otherwise, you could find yourself denounced from the pulpit.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘It turns out the man was rather partial to his stained glass windows.’

  ‘Hmmph!’

  ‘Don’t dismiss him lightly.’ Lavender winked as he turned to go. ‘You’ve fallen from grace. One letter to the bishop—and you could be in great danger of excommunication.’

  Bellingham Market Square heaved with people. The racket made by the lowing cattle, barking dogs and shouting drovers and auctioneers was a shock to Lavender’s ears. The rank smell of animal excrement filled his nose when he left The Rose and Crown. As the crowds surged around him, he surveyed the chaos with dismay. It would be impossible to find Abel Knowles, the mysterious sheep drover, in that writhing pack. Carefully, he wove a path between the steaming piles of manure that littered the cobbles, past patient flocks of tethered sheep, and enquired of every farmer he met the whereabouts of ‘Knowles, the sheep drover.’ Most of the farmers just shrugged or else pretended not to understand his accent.

  Beddows had been right. There was a good deal of excessive drinking associ
ated with market day in Bellingham. Drunken beggars sat mournfully at the edge of the crowds, empty bottles by their side, hands outstretched, and their voices whining. Gaudily dressed whores hovered in groups outside the public houses. Here and there, he caught the flash of dirty scarlet as discharged soldiers hobbled on their crutches through the crowd.

  What he didn’t see—and he was grateful for this—was any sign of Constable Beddows and his men. Good. That meant Beddows had gone to search Hareshaw Woods for the man who had tried to murder Helen Carnaby. Lavender examined every face, but there was no sign in the market of any man who answered the description of the murdering cove. No doubt he was lying low somewhere today. Could he possibly be at Linn Hagh, being sheltered by the Carnabys? Lavender dismissed the idea. George Carnaby would not associate himself directly with this would-be assassin.

  ‘Have you lost sommat, Detective?’ A familiar voice cut through the babble of the crowds and halted him in his tracks.

  ‘Aye, he’s lost his constable.’

  A ripple of laughter.

  ‘And his pistol.’

  ‘Aye.’

  Jethro Hamilton, Isaac Daly and a third older, rugged and scowling farmer leant over the wooden gate at the entrance to one of the sheep pens, eyeing him coldly. He noted again how powerfully built and hard-featured these men were. Despite their prejudice against the faws, they were the kind of allies he needed, not idiots like Beddows. Lavender’s brain raced as he tried to calculate how much damage his stance against them yesterday had done. Beneath the growling, they were decent men. There was still a chance that this situation could be turned to his advantage.

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘What’s this, then?’ Hamilton snorted ironically. ‘Have ye come to tell us that you can’t manage to deal with them faws without us?’

  The other men sniggered.

  Lavender moved closer. He could smell the body odour and the stench of farm animals that emanated from their thick, dirty jackets.

  ‘I seek two men. One of them is innocent and has information that could help me. The other is dangerous and could be a threat to your wives and daughters.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ Hamilton pushed his thick blond hair back out of his eyes.

  ‘Firstly, I need to find Abel Knowles, the sheep drover. He is not in any trouble, but I think he has information about the missing woman, Helen Carnaby.’

  ‘And the other?’

  The farmers’ faces were hard and expressionless, but he had their attention.

  Lavender described the mysterious beggar who had tried to murder the ‘young woman’ in the churchyard. He gave them just enough detail to understand that the man he sought was a dangerous threat.

  ‘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

  Lavender 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.
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  ‘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.