She gave him a brilliant smile.
‘I’ve been rude,’ she said. ‘I’ve not enquired after the success of your most recent case. Did you find your missing heiress, Stephen?’
He fought back the disappointment that rose within him and pushed against the hard back of the chair, making himself as comfortable as possible. He had hoped his revelations would draw her out, encourage her to tell him more about her own life. But if she wasn’t ready yet to talk about herself, then he could wait. He was resigned to playing this game her way.
He told her the story of the Carnabys and the recent events at Bellingham.
She listened attentively as he related the details of the case. Cooped up in this gloomy house with only an old woman for company, he could see she’d been deprived of stimulation for weeks. She leant forward towards him; her eyes never left his face. The light grew dim. Servants arrived to stoke up the fire, light the candles and bring him a decanter of Madeira. He felt himself relax.
When he had finished his tale, she frowned.
‘What I don’t understand, Stephen, is how did that Matthew Carnaby, the brother without a voice, know that the murderer was his older brother Baxter? You say that Matthew was only a tiny child when they sent Baxter Carnaby away and that Matthew had been told his elder brother had died. So how did he know?’
‘That’s a good question, Magdalena,’ he replied. Her intelligence impressed him. ‘Constable Woods thinks that Matthew Carnaby recognised the man’s hideous laugh, but I believe the answer is far simpler than that. I think everyone underestimated that young man. There’s nothing wrong with his hearing. I suspect that George and Isobel Carnaby grew careless in his presence and that he simply overheard them talk about their brother Baxter.’
‘And this boy with no voice, will he be happy now?’
‘Yes. He is to live with Helen Carnaby and her husband, Robert Goddard.’
‘And that poor, poor girl—the gypsy girl.’ The soft candlelight emphasised the sadness in the deep pools of her dark eyes.
Lavender grimaced.
‘I wish I had been able to do something to prevent her death.’
Magdalena leant over and patted his thigh reassuringly. Her light touch set him on fire, and he struggled to keep his hands down.
‘There was nothing you could have done to prevent her murder, Stephen. Of that I’m sure.’
Her confidence in his ability made him feel better and distracted him from his ungentlemanly urge to seduce her. He knew that this intimate companionship with a woman by the fireside, on a dark winter’s night, was something that men like Woods and Jethro Hamilton took for granted. He had never experienced it before, but now he yearned for it. He wanted the love and companionship of the gorgeous woman before him—and her body in his bed. He was prepared to wait for her, no matter how long it took.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
‘And you say that this gypsy girl read your palm—and foretold your future?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did she foretell?’ Her head dropped coquettishly to one side. A smile flickered at the corner of her red lips, and her tongue flicked briefly into view.
‘She said that I was to drink coffee and take afternoon tea with a hot-tempered but beautiful woman from the continent.’
‘She said all that?’ Magdalena smiled.
‘Oh yes, and more. She also foretold that I would leave this feisty lady a present and then come back again to drink more coffee.’
She laughed. Her eyes strayed towards the parcel.
He rose and fetched it over.
‘It’s a Christmas present—and a thank-you present—for the woman who saved my life.’
She nodded. He could tell that her hands itched to undo the string.
‘And it is not, under any circumstances, to be thrown back at me, Magdalena.’
Her eyes shone with amusement.
‘I understand. Can I open it now?’
He nodded.
She tore off the wrapping paper and reached for the silk and lace of the black gown he had picked out at the dressmakers’ shop in Newcastle.
‘I trust that it’s appropriate,’ he said awkwardly as she held it up to the candlelight. The dressmaker had assured him that it would be a suitable gown for a woman in mourning. The intricate beading glimmered in the glow from the fire.
Magdalena looked delighted. ‘It is beautiful, Stephen. Thank you. You have exquisite taste.’
He rose self-consciously. It was time to leave. He reached down, picked up the discarded bag of coins and held it out towards her.
‘Take this money, Magdalena. It will help you. Let your son go back to his school after Christmas; you don’t need to have his school fees returned.’
She nodded.
‘Thank you, Stephen. You can’t imagine how relieved I feel.’
Her hand brushed against his as she took the moneybag, and he grasped it. For a moment, they stood there, relishing the contact, the warmth of each other. Then he raised her hand to his lips.
‘You must visit me in London when I return,’ she said simply. ‘To drink more coffee as the gypsy girl foretold.’
‘I’ll visit you as soon as you return to London,’ he promised.
‘I know you will, Stephen.’ She smiled. ‘You are a gentleman—a man of your word.’
Bibliography
Cox, David J. A Certain Share of Low Cunning: A History of the Bow Street Runners, 1792–1839. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006.
Macritchie, David. Scottish Gypsies under the Stewarts. Edinburgh: D. Douglas, 1894.
Author’s Notes
I would like to tell you that the plot of The Heiress of Linn Hagh is completely original and fictional. However, those of you familiar with the genealogy pages on my website may have already noticed that the contents of Baxter Carnaby’s Last Will and Testament were lifted virtually word for word from the will of one of my own ancestors. Yes, that dysfunctional family was mine. Although there is no evidence that the ten Charlton children of North Carter Moor Farm were violent or murderous, they were obviously a bad lot. Poor James Charlton (1700–1770) felt it necessary to admonish his children and lay down a stack of ground rules in the will he wrote two days before his death. Finding his will inspired me to create the Carnabys of Linn Hagh.
I would also like to say that all the characters were entirely fictional—but of course they weren’t. Detective Stephen Lavender really was one of the Principal Officers with the Bow Street Magistrates Court in London. Following the formation of the police force by Sir Robert Peel in 1821, Lavender became the highly respected Deputy Chief Constable of Manchester until 1833.
I first came across Stephen Lavender when researching my first novel, Catching the Eagle. This is the true story of how one of my late husband’s ancestors was controversially convicted of Northumberland’s biggest robbery back in 1809. Lavender was the detective called up from London to solve the mystery of the Kirkley Hall Robbery. Ultimately, Lavender was the man who put our ancestor in the dock, but I don’t hold this against him. In fact, when creating his character for Eagle, I began to like the serious, intelligent and slightly melancholic Detective Stephen Lavender. I also grew very fond of his fictional sidekick, Constable Woods.
The wonderful History of the Bow Street Runners by David J. Cox tells us that when London-based principal officers, like Lavender, went out to solve difficult mysteries in the provinces, they usually worked alone. However, successful crime fiction novels usually have a pair of heroes—or heroines—resolving the mysteries. So in my books, I decided to break with historical fact and stick with literary convention. I gave Stephen Lavender a partner: Constable Edward Woods.
By the time I had finished writing Eagle, I knew that I didn’t want to let either of these guys go, and by then the first seeds of a plot for a new wh
odunit had begun to germinate in my head. Before I knew it, I had a Regency mystery to solve, and as far as I was concerned, there were only two policemen in England who could crack this case: Lavender and Woods. I sat down at the computer, and The Heiress of Linn Hagh was born.
I particularly enjoyed creating the female characters in this book. My first novel was dominated by men because the historical records decreed it so; they dominated the crime, the investigation and the ensuing court cases. In Heiress, I was able to create a diverse range of women, from the delightful Anna to the tragic and mysterious Laurel Faa Geddes and the intelligent Katherine Armstrong. I loved breathing life into these women and giving them a significant voice in this book.
Last but not least, I would just like to acknowledge the help I’ve had with writing The Heiress of Linn Hagh. My grateful thanks go to Sam Blain (locally known as His Excellency the Cultural Attaché for Boosbeck); June Thompson; Kristin Gleeson, author of Selkie Dreams; my sister-in-law, Yvette James, and fellow author, J. G. Harlond, author of The Empress Emerald.
I would also like to thank the people of Bellingham themselves, who have repeatedly welcomed Chris and me back into their lovely town with warmth, good humour and consideration during our many wonderful holidays there. This book is a tribute to you all. I hope that I’ve done you—and Bellingham—proud.
Finally, to you, the reader. Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer. Thanks!
Karen Charlton
6th January 2015
www.karencharlton.com
About the Author
Photo © 2014 Jean Gill
Karen Charlton writes historical mystery and is also the author of a nonfiction genealogy book, Seeking Our Eagle. She has published short stories and numerous articles and reviews in newspapers and magazines. An English graduate and ex-teacher, Karen has led writing workshops and has spoken at a series of literary events across the North of England, where she lives.
A stalwart of the village pub quiz and a member of a winning team on the BBC quiz show ‘Eggheads’, Karen also enjoys the theatre, and she won a Yorkshire Tourist Board award for her Murder Mystery Weekends. Find out more about Karen’s work at http://karencharlton.com.
The Heiress of Linn Hagh (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 1) Page 29
