‘That’s good,’ Woods said simply. ‘I’ve got two lads about the same age. Schoolin’ is important.’
Hamilton nodded and looked relieved. His wife placed three steaming mugs of sweet tea on the table, then hovered by the range. The farmer glanced over his shoulder.
‘You, too, hinny. It’s bad enough that one of us is gonna be plagued with nightmares fer months—get yerself out while I tell the detective the details.’
Reluctantly, the woman took off her apron and glided out of the room. Her reluctance to leave stemmed from genuine concern for her husband. She glared sternly at both Lavender and Woods before she left, as if daring the policemen to upset her husband further. Lavender envied them their bond.
‘I first saw the smoke from the quarry at dawn on Thursday,’ Hamilton said abruptly. He slumped down into a chair, placed his elbows on the table and ran his hand through his thatch of thick hair. ‘But I were out milkin’ and couldn’t get over there to check it out. It weren’t until midday—by which time the smoke had thinned to a faint wisp—that I thought I’d better gan and see. That quarry ain’t bin used fer years, and we rarely see other folks up here. I were uneasy all morning; I knew sommat were amiss. I just wish I’d gan sooner—I might hev bin able to—’
‘The girl died before she was cremated,’ Lavender interjected sharply. ‘Her throat was cut. There would have been nothing that you or anyone else could have done to save her.’
Hamilton sat up straighter. The relief in his face was obvious.
‘I . . . I didn’t know aboot that. It were clear that it had been a big fire,’ he continued. ‘The width of it, the length of time it burned.’
‘Yes, the murderer had been planning it for a while,’ Lavender said. ‘It would have taken some time to shift all that firewood to the place. These moors are not heavily wooded. It was a cold, premeditated act of murder.’
‘The embers were still burnin’ when I got there,’ Hamilton said. ‘I could see the body’—he swallowed hard—‘what was left of her—clear as day.’
‘I’ve already seen the remains,’ Lavender said kindly. ‘You don’t need to describe her.’
They waited for a moment; the farmer needed to compose himself before he carried on. ‘There weren’t nowt I could do fer her,’ he finally said. ‘I threw some watter from a pool on the last of the flames and went to fetch help.’ He stared down at the scratched wood of the table, his mind haunted by the memory.
‘When did you see Matthew Carnaby?’
Hamilton shook his head. ‘He weren’t there then. I never saw him until I came back with Beddows and the beadles. We found him sobbin’ at the side of the pyre.’
Lavender breathed out heavily. He had not realised he had been holding his breath. ‘What happened?’
‘Why, Beddows went mad and ordered the beadles to arrest him. The lad put up a helluva fight, but it were useless. The beadles had him trussed up like a chicken afore long.’
‘In all of this, did Matthew Carnaby ever give you any suspicion that he murdered the dead girl?’
‘No, Detective,’ Hamilton said. ‘In fact, I’m surprised by all of this. Many a time, me missus seen that lad out walkin’ with his sister last summer. They seemed to get along well. In fact, if truth be told, Matthew Carnaby has bin comin’ here to play with me lads since they were bairns. The missus and I hev never had a minute’s worry about the man; the lads like him. Yes, he is a nick-ninny—but he’s harmless with it . . .’ His voice trailed away and he glanced at the two policemen.
Harmless. That word again. Lavender felt relieved. The manservant Peter, Katherine Armstrong, Laurel Faa Geddes—and now Jethro Hamilton. Not one of them felt there was a shred of evil in Matthew Carnaby.
‘If truth be told, Mr Hamilton,’ Lavender said, ‘I don’t think that Matthew Carnaby murdered the girl either.’
Hamilton breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I knew it,’ he said.
‘But I do think he witnessed the murder—although I think he was probably cowering and hiding from view when it happened. I don’t know whether the murder took place in the quarry or closer to Hareshaw Woods—I suspect the former. Even in this remote corner of the world, to carry a dead body for several miles would have attracted attention.’
‘Unless it all happened at night,’ Woods interrupted.
‘Yes,’ Lavender said thoughtfully. ‘Unless it all happened at night, and as you said, the funeral pyre was not lit until dawn. I think that Matthew followed the murderer back to the quarry and hid, watching until the man cleared up and left the scene. I suspect the whole thing was planned down to the last detail, and even if he had a motive, which he doesn’t, this is far too complex for someone of Matthew Carnaby’s limited mental faculties.’
‘We need to catch the bastard that did this and hang him,’ Hamilton growled. His eyes narrowed. ‘Do you think it’s the same beggar gadgie you described to us before?’
‘I’m convinced of it. We’ve fetched the militia up to Bellingham to help us in our search.’
‘Well, ye’ll get plenty of help from me and the boys now, Detective. We need to catch this bastard—and quick—before the sod gets a taste fer it.’
‘I’m glad to know that you and the rest of the community are willing to help. Unfortunately, the murderer may already have a heightened taste for killing,’ Lavender said. ‘We also believe the man we seek has spent some years in the army. He is very dangerous.’
Hamilton frowned and shook his head slowly in shock and disbelief.
‘What I don’t get, Detective, is why burn her corpse to a frazzle? If her throat were already cut, what’s the point in that?’
‘I think that this was a deliberate ploy by the murderer to make identification of the corpse difficult, if not impossible, for the authorities.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the murderer wants us to believe that the dead girl is Helen Carnaby—but I don’t think it’s her.’
Hamilton and Woods stared at him.
‘What are you sayin’?’ the shocked farmer demanded. ‘That the dead lass is not the Carnaby girl? Who is she then? Who else is missin’?’
‘No one else has been reported missing,’ Lavender said slowly. ‘I cannot prove this—yet—but I suspect that the remains you found may be those of the young gypsy girl, Laurel Faa Geddes.’
Hamilton gasped. Woods shook his head sadly as realisation dawned.
‘We’ve found evidence at the scene of the crime—a bunch of laurel leaves—which suggests that Laurel Faa Geddes was there. She used to wear a laurel wreath around her head.’
‘What, the young witch?’ Hamilton’s voice rose with surprise.
‘She said she were born under a cursed moon, poor gal,’ Woods murmured quietly.
‘I cannot confirm it because the faws have now left Linn Hagh. Her people would not report her disappearance to the constables; they’ve their own ways of meting out justice. They’ll never come to us for help.’
Hamilton stared at him in disbelief, then shook his head.
‘I can’t tek all this in,’ he groaned. ‘The faws have gone? You think the murdered lass is the one we call the young witch?’
Lavender paused for a moment to let Hamilton absorb this latest shocking revelation.
‘Mr Hamilton,’ he eventually continued, ‘you and your neighbours need to make a decision. You say that you’ll help us by rousing the community to help us track down this murderer, but you need to be absolutely clear that it’s probably the body of one of those hated gypsies lying in the vaults of Linn Hagh—not Miss Helen Carnaby. Do you think you—and the rest of the men of Bellingham—will still care enough to help us?’
Hamilton opened his mouth to speak, but his wife spoke first.
‘They’ll do it,’ she said from the doorway. All the men turned around, surprised. None of them had hear
d her reappear. In fact, Lavender realised, she had probably been listening from the hallway throughout their conversation. She looked pale.
‘That murderer has got to be stopped,’ she said firmly and simply. ‘It could be me or one of the bairns he kills next.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
But I don’t understand, Detective,’ Katherine Armstrong complained. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.
‘Why would George and Isobel Carnaby kill Laurel Faa Geddes and pretend it’s our Helen? What do they hope to gain from that?’
Lavender stood uncomfortably in the centre of Armstrong’s study, conscious of the incredulity in Katherine’s voice and on the face of her father. Lavender and Woods had galloped back to Bellingham from Thrush Farm and immediately called on the Armstrongs. He was starving and mud-spattered, and his body ached with the hard riding—but the day was far from over.
Armstrong had been angry when they had first arrived. Both he and his daughter had believed what they had been told—that the dead girl was Helen Carnaby. They had felt let down by Lavender. He had promised them that Helen Carnaby remained safe in her lair. Now he had arrived and outlined yet another incredible theory. And yet again, he had no proof. They both stared at him, surprise and slight disbelief written on their pale, strained faces.
‘I can hardly take all this in, Lavender,’ John Armstrong said eventually.
Lavender spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. ‘I believe the Carnabys have now reached a crisis point in their evil plot to get their hands on their sister’s inheritance. They needed a body, a body that no one could identify, to claim the money for themselves. The gypsies were expendable to their mind. Who would care if one of the faws went missing?’
Katherine Armstrong shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘The poor girl,’ she muttered.
Her father continued to frown. His gnarled hands gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles gleaming white.
‘I believe that their hired assassin has provided the body by killing Laurel Faa Geddes. They intend to seek probate and claim her inheritance before her twenty-first birthday at the end of January.’
‘Can they do this?’ Miss Katherine swung around to face her father. ‘Can they claim Helen’s money that soon?’
The elderly lawyer nodded grimly.
‘These things do take time,’ he said, ‘but if Carnaby knows the right people, then he could just about make this work before the end of January. Helen would never get her inheritance back if he got his hands on it first.’
‘Carnaby has gone to Newcastle to fetch a Doctor Horrocks to identify the remains,’ Lavender informed them.
‘Ugh! Horrocks!’ Miss Katherine exclaimed. Her face wrinkled with disgust. ‘According to my brothers, Horrocks is one of George’s gambling friends—an unpleasant man.’
‘He will give George Carnaby the identification he seeks?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and sighed.
Silence fell in the room for a moment. The Armstrongs were still struggling to comprehend these latest developments. The fire crackled in the grate, and the clock ticked quietly on the mantel. Beside him, Woods’ empty stomach growled loudly.
‘But surely,’ Miss Katherine implored, ‘surely if Helen is still alive she must come out of hiding now. If she doesn’t, all will be lost, and these villains will get away with her fortune and the murder of Laurel Faa Geddes.’
‘If she reappears in Bellingham,’ Lavender said, ‘her delighted brother will claim her and take her home to Linn Hagh, where no doubt his assassin would soon organise some accident to befall her.’
Shock flashed across the faces of the Armstrongs.
‘I cannot believe that this is happening in Bellingham—and to us and Helen.’
‘This is why I want Captain Wentworth and his men to continue their search for the murderer. I believe the man is still in the neighbourhood. He has killed once and will kill again if he gets the chance.’
‘Where does that idiot Matthew Carnaby fit into this mess?’ Armstrong demanded angrily. ‘Beddows told us that he was the murderer.’
‘Poor Matthew! I had forgotten about him,’ Miss Katherine said.
‘He doesn’t fit into it,’ Lavender informed them. ‘Not at all. I’m convinced that this gentle young man was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I saw him last night in Hexham Gaol. He was a constant companion of the Geddes girl. I suspect that he witnessed her murder and ran away. He found her burning body later, and Beddows then found him at the scene of the crime and arrested him—probably to please George Carnaby. Now the Carnabys have a chance to claim their sister’s inheritance, and the family simpleton will be charged and hanged for the crime.’
Miss Katherine gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.
Lavender paused before continuing. His voice hardened.
‘I suspect that the Carnabys have congratulated themselves on how well this has all worked out. They can claim their sister’s inheritance, and they’ve rid themselves of their nuisance brother in a single act.’
‘And the faws,’ Woods said. ‘Don’t forget that they’ve gone as well.’
‘This is appalling,’ John Armstrong declared. ‘The Carnabys must be stopped.’
‘I still need more time to gather evidence,’ Lavender informed them. ‘But I’m confident that we’ll have it soon. I need to speak to the landlord of The Redesdale Arms in Otterburn.’
‘If this is true, then Carnaby is trying to pervert the course of justice and is an accomplice to murder. Is there anything we can do to help, Detective?’ Armstrong asked.
Lavender reached into his pocket and pulled out the ink-splattered piece of parchment on which Matthew Carnaby had written the words: Baxtr Carnby.
‘I need your help with this,’ he said, and proceeded to explain the events in Matthew Carnaby’s prison cell. He shared with them his belief that Helen Carnaby had taught her brother to write.
‘Has there ever been another man, besides Helen’s dead father, named Baxter Carnaby?’
‘No,’ John Armstrong said.
Lavender’s heart sank with disappointment.
‘Yes, there was. Papa—you forget.’
Katherine Armstrong frowned slightly as she stared at the writing. Her capped head bowed over the parchment, grey curls bobbing beside her cheeks. The men waited politely while she tried to remember.
‘There was another child at Linn Hagh—an older brother— called Baxter Carnaby after his father. I can remember Mama talking about him. I wish I had paid more attention, but we were not particularly bothered about the Carnabys back in those days.’
Relief surged through Lavender. He could have kissed Katherine Armstrong at that moment. ‘So George and Isobel Carnaby had an older brother?’ he asked. ‘What happened to him?’
‘He died young, I’m afraid.’
Lavender felt his heart sink again.
‘He is not buried in St Cuthbert’s graveyard.’ This was a statement, not a question.
‘No, he went away to school before he died.’ She paused and seemed to struggle with the memories churning around in her mind. ‘I believe he went down to Yorkshire somewhere. It was a military school for young gentlemen—near Halifax perhaps? Or Huddersfield?’
‘A military school, eh?’ Woods queried.
‘Yes, he was about ten years old, I think. Mama said he had been a difficult boy. I expect his father wanted to instil some discipline into him. Unfortunately, the boy died during his first winter at this school.’
‘Halifax is a long way from Bellingham,’ Lavender said. ‘Surely Carnaby could have found a suitable school closer to Bellingham for his “difficult” elder son?’
‘Perhaps he wanted to put some distance between them?’ Woods suggested.
‘Excuse me, but I don’t understand,’ Armstrong interrupted. ‘Why would Mat
thew Carnaby write down the name of his dead elder brother?’
Everyone looked expectantly at the detective.
‘He tried to tell me something,’ Lavender said slowly. ‘Perhaps—perhaps this elder brother is not dead after all. Maybe he is here in Bellingham and moves around amongst us all? Maybe Matthew Carnaby has seen him?’
Katherine Armstrong was the first to follow his line of thought.
‘Good grief !’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you think this murderer, this villain, could be the Carnaby’s long-lost sibling? Could George and Isobel be in league with him?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lavender confessed. ‘But this could explain why the faws felt that the murdering beggar knew Hareshaw Woods like he was born there. If it’s Baxter Carnaby, then they were right—he was born there.’
‘It also explains the problems with that portrait of the nippers up at Linn Hagh,’ said Woods. ‘We said the eye colours were all wrong and that the second nipper looked like a lad. It were a lad. The eldest child in the portrait were Baxter Carnaby, the second were George, and the babe in arms were Miss Isobel.’
‘You’re right, Woods,’ Lavender acknowledged.
‘That sly old tabby said it were her and her brothers—but she never said which brothers. We just assumed it were her, George and Matthew.’
‘The answer to part of this mysterious case was staring us in the face all the time.’ Lavender said. ‘This latest discovery has taken me by surprise. I need more time to think, and we need to find out if Baxter Carnaby, the brother, survived childhood.’
‘If he went into the army, then there will be records,’ John Armstrong announced firmly. ‘I’ll contact my sons and Cecily’s husband, Captain Derwent. Trust me, Lavender; if the rogue did survive and went on to join the army, then there will be records of him—somewhere.’
‘I need to go and speak with Doctor Goddard,’ Lavender said as they hurried down the main street in Bellingham. ‘We need to split up, Ned. I’ll visit Goddard, then go to The Redesdale Arms and speak to the landlord. You must go to Newcastle, find Mr Agar the lawyer and pursue my request for a copy of Baxter Carnaby’s last will and testament. I must see that document. The last master of Linn Hagh had far more secrets than I ever imagined.’
The Heiress of Linn Hagh (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 1) Page 24
