1.5 The Mystery of the Skelton Diamonds

by Karen Charlton

  Woods gasped. Then his brow creased with doubt. ‘Are you sure about that? That lad seems a nasty piece of work.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt he is, but it wasn’t an awkward boy with a high-pitched voice who took those drawings to Barty Wilton, remember? Wilton said it was a man in disguise, an educated man. If it wasn’t Wharton – it was someone he’d hired.’

  In the falling gloom, Lavender could see Woods’ eyes widen as realisation dawned. Somewhere in the square a nightingale began its tremulous warble.

  ‘Why didn’t you arrest them both?’ Woods asked. His voice rose with indignation.

  ‘Why? Because Wharton would simply claim that it was a childish prank on the part of his nephew, and after ten minutes in Bow Street he would threaten to use his influence in Parliament to have our remuneration stopped.’

  He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. ‘We are entirely dependent on the goodwill of the landed gentry who dominate Parliament, Ned. They fund our legal system and hold the purse strings. Magistrate Read knows this – and so do I.’

  ‘But you said that the thieves behind this robbery were master criminals!’ Woods exploded.

  ‘There’s many believe that politicians are just that – master criminals,’ Lavender said wryly. ‘However, I made that statement before I found out that the thief had left the drawings of the box and key with Barty Wilton. That was a foolish thing to do; the act of an amateur. A real thief would have covered his tracks far better.’

  Woods anger abated and he thought for a moment before saying: ‘I guess Wharton never expected us to visit Barty Wilton.’

  ‘No, he didn’t. That was a piece of inspiration on your part, Ned. Wharton had to call us in from Bow Street of course, to make the theft look genuine for the insurers, but he was always confident that any investigation would come to a dead end – or conclude with the conviction of one of his servants.’

  Woods’ face flashed with anger again. ‘That’s cynical, that is. Wharton should be transported just for the misery he’s put them poor lackeys through – and that maid. I can’t believe that sodding earl suggested we tortured her for a confession. Thank God, we’re leaving that practice behind.’

  Lavender untied the reins of his horse from the railings. A cold breeze ruffled the animal’s mane and bit into the side of his face. Across the square he could see the lamplighter move steadily from one gaslight to another.

  ‘But he won’t, will he, Ned? Wharton and his kind will never be brought to book for their crimes.’ His voice rose with bitterness. ‘Our criminal justice system has been created by the landed aristocracy, like Wharton, to protect them from the likes of us. It’s run by them, paid for by them and not designed to be turned on them. Wharton knows that, and he knows that I know it too.’

  Woods stared at him in concern.

  Slightly embarrassed by his outburst, Lavender put his foot into the stirrup and swung himself up onto his horse. He missed the sense of satisfaction he normally felt at the end of a case. That was all. He would feel better tomorrow. And one day, one day in the future, British justice would be independent from the whim of politicians. It would happen in his lifetime; he could feel it.

  ‘Never mind, sir,’ Woods reassured him. ‘You’ve put a warning shot across his bows. We’ve proved better at our jobs than he imagined. I don’t think Wharton will try a trick like that again in a hurry.’

  ‘I hope not, Ned. I hope not.’

  ‘And I hope that we never have the misfortune to run into the Earl of Skelton again,’ said Woods. ‘Gawd’s teeth! That boy could be a real problem for us in the future. What’ll the lad be like when his balls have dropped?’

  The start of a smile twitched at the edge of Lavender’s mouth. ‘We did as well as we possibly could in the circumstances, Ned. We did well.’

  He wheeled round his horse and set off home through the dark, twisting labyrinth of the crime-ridden streets of the capital.

  One day it would be different.

  Author Note

  Thank you for reading my short story. I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer.

  Detective Stephen Lavender was a real historical figure, a principal officer with the Bow Street magistrates’ court in London during the Regency period. 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 whodunit 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. This first case takes them to Northumberland to investigate the strange disappearance of a beautiful heiress from her locked bedchamber. The first chapter of Heiress is available to read at the end of this short story. I hope you enjoy it. The eBook of the full novel is available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo etc.

  Best wishes,

  Karen Charlton,

  Marske-by-the Sea, North Yorkshire.

  14th June 2014

  Also by Karen Charlton

  THE HEIRESS OF LINN HAGH

  The First Detective Lavender Mystery

  Northumberland, November 1809: A menacing figure stalks women through Hareshaw Woods and a beautiful, young heiress disappears from her locked bedchamber at Linn Hagh.

  The townsfolk cry 'witchcraft' and the local constabulary are baffled.

  Fearing for her safety, Helen Carnaby's worried uncle sends out for help from Bow Street magistrates' court in London. Detective Stephen Lavender and Constable Woods now face their toughest and most dangerous case. The servants and the local gypsies won’t speak to them, Helen’s siblings are sly and uncooperative and the sullen local farmers are about to take the law into their own hands.

  Isolated in this beautiful but remote community, Lavender and Woods find themselves trapped in the middle of a simmering feud and are alarmed to discover a sinister world of madness and violence lurking behind the heavy oak door of the ancient pele tower at Linn Hagh. Helen Carnaby's disappearance is to prove one of the most perplexing mysteries of Lavender's career.

  Why did she flee on that wintry October night? How did she get out of her locked bed chamber? And where is she now?

  The Heiress of Linn Hagh is the first in a series of Regency mysteries featuring Detective Stephen Lavender and Constable Edward Woods.

  First published as The Missing Heiress, Knox Robinson Publishing (2012).

  'Worthy of Agatha Christie' - www.crimefictionlover.com

  'Fabulous, rollicking tale of intrigue and family secrets' - B.A. Morton, author of Mrs. Jones, Molly Brown, Wildewood & Bedlam

  'Atmospheric mystery' - Cathy G. Cole. Kittli
ng Books

  'A romp of a whodunit' - Moonyeen Blakey. Author of The Assassin's Wife.

  The Heiress of Linn Hagh is available on Amazon and from other reputable retailers.

  THE HEIRESS OF LINN HAGH

  Chapter One

  London - October, 1809

  The two-wheeled hackney carriage sped down Mile End Road towards Whitechapel, weaving in and out of more sedate vehicles, farm carts and barrow boys. It churned up the stinking waste and sprayed the startled pedestrians.

  Beneath the hackney's black hood, a dark-suited man gripped his walking cane and braced himself as the carriage lurched violently from side to side. His sharp eyes scanned the crowds, seeking out familiar faces.

  A never-ending tide of soot-blackened shops, brothels, dilapidated taverns and coffee houses flowed past the carriage as they raced through the crowded streets. He caught glimpses of shadowy figures lurking in the gloom of dank alleys between the buildings. The cries of the street vendors mingled with those of the drunks, rearing horses, and the constant rumble of wheels and clatter of hooves over the cobbles. For the man in the hackney carriage it was noisy, drunken and out of control.

  It’s good to be back, Detective Lavender decided.

  When they slowed for the Whitechapel toll gate, he caught a familiar flash of scarlet. He rapped on the hood above him with his cane.

  ‘Driver, stop here.’

  In the centre of a ragged crowd of onlookers were two members of the Bow Street horse patrol. Instantly recognisable in their blue greatcoats and scarlet waistcoats, they had dismounted from their horses. One of them was Constable Woods. The officers circled a curvaceous and extremely drunk, young woman, who appeared to be on the point of passing out. Lavender climbed down from the hackney and watched the developing scene from the edge of the crowd.

  Suddenly, the woman’s legs buckled beneath her and she lurched towards the older, stockily-built man. Constable Woods caught hold of her beneath her stained armpits and broke her fall. Now on her knees, she flopped forwards and vomited down his breeches.

  ‘Gawd’s teeth!’ he exclaimed. ‘The doxy’s gone and spewed down the leg of me damned boot.’

  The crowd roared with laughter.

  Woods frowned, lowered the rest of the limp woman onto the ground and whisked out his handkerchief to wipe his uniform. He glanced up sharply at his companion who hovered nervously above the prostrate female.

  ‘Get on with it, Officer Brown – search her – you know what you’re looking for.’

  The younger man dropped down onto one knee and tugged at the drawstring of the faded reticule which was half-trapped beneath her body. She let out a great snore before obligingly rolling away into the pool of her own vomit. Her skirts were halfway up her legs, revealing the gaping holes in her stockings and the flapping sole of her boot. Officer Brown retrieved the tatty cloth bag, yanked it open and held up six shillings, a few pennies and a half crown piece.

  ‘It’s not here, Constable Woods,’ he said. ‘I think the strumpet has already drunk it away.’

  ‘’Tis not very likely in a mere two days,’ Woods barked. ‘I said search her – not fool around with her purse, you saphead.’

  The crowd laughed again and some wag made a wisecrack about how the red, beaded bag matched the young officer’s pimply complexion.

  It was at this point that the man from the hackney carriage stepped forward and joined his colleagues.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help, Constable Woods?’ he asked. The bemused spectators regarded him curiously. One or two of them started with alarm and scurried away but few in the mob recognised him these days.

  Woods beamed in delight.

  ‘Detective Lavender!’ He shook his hand vigorously. ‘Well met, sir! It’s been too long.’

  ‘I agree. So, what do we have here?’

  ‘We have been searching for this thieving trollop since yesterday.’ Woods sighed. ‘It’s claimed she stole money from a rich merchant a few nights ago – while he slept in their bed in a bawdy house…’

  ‘I think I know where the money is, sir!’ the young officer interrupted, from his position on the ground. ‘I heard the paper rustle when she moved.’

  ‘Where, lad? Where?’

  Constable Brown pointed nervously to the woman’s ample breasts. ‘I believe it’s down there – between her habit-shirt and the bosom of her gown.’

  ‘Well, get it!’

  The young man blushed. His hand trembled above the two wobbling mounds of female flesh and the gaping cleavage.

  ‘Go on, son!’ someone jeered in the crowd. ‘Give her a good fumble!’

  There were howls of laughter.

  ‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake!’ Woods snapped. He stepped forward, stooped low and thrust his hand down the bodice of the unconscious girl. He had a good rummage around.

  The crowd loved it.

  ‘Whayy!’

  ‘Try the other end!’

  ‘Don’t forget her placket!’

  ‘I’m glad to see that you’ve not lost your touch with the ladies.’ Lavender grinned.

  Undeterred by the irony of his colleague or the raucous leering of the mob, Woods’ ruddy face was a picture of studied concentration. When he finally pulled back his hand from the woman’s stained underclothes, he held up a crisp one hundred pound banknote. The crowd around Lavender emitted a sharp, collective intake of breath and the laughter subsided.

  ‘That lush will get more than a whipping fer being drunk and disorderly,’ Lavender heard someone whisper.

  ‘Is the rest not there?’ Disappointment flashed across Officer Brown’s face.

  ‘No. The trollop must have given it over to someone else fer safe keeping.’ Woods straightened up. ‘Never mind – if the numbers match those retrieved from the bank, then this should be enough to convict her. Let’s get her back to Bow Street.’

  The problem of how to transport the inebriated thief now made the constables pause. Lavender knew that normally they would have clapped her in irons and made her trot behind the horses.

  ‘If I sling her over the front of me horse, she’ll probably slide off and crack open her skull on the cobbles,’ Woods commented.

  ‘Perhaps I can be of assistance,’ Lavender volunteered. ‘I’ve a hackney carriage standing by and I’m on my way to Bow Street myself. Place her in the foot well. Woods, tie up your horse at the back of the carriage, and travel with me – there’s a thing or two I want to discuss with you.’

  Woods nodded, lifted the woman and carried her towards the hackney.

  ‘Cor! She don’t half reek,’ he complained. His broad nose wrinkled in disgust.

  Woods had no difficulty with carrying the woman. He was as strong and as agile as a twenty year old. His large build and great strength were fed by a legendary appetite. However, Woods did have a bit of trouble manoeuvring the woman’s dead weight, to fit her into the tight space on the floor of the carriage, but he succeeded in the end.

  The trollop didn’t get any more attractive on closer acquaintance, Lavender decided. Her hair was dishevelled and matted at the back like a bird’s nest.

  Woods clambered into the vehicle beside the detective and the hackney swayed alarmingly with the extra weight. Lavender was squashed on the shallow seat, but despite this he was glad of Woods’ company. He enjoyed working with him and made a point of singling Woods out when a case needed an extra pair of hands. Woods was honest, humorous and had the common touch, a quality he lacked. Besides which, Lavender was not thrown about so much in the swaying hackney, now that he was wedged between Woods and the side of the hood.

  ‘She’s in for a shock when she wakes up in the cells at Bow Street,’ the constable commented.

  ‘What is the full story? Who is she?’

  Woods glanced down and Lavender saw pity flash across his weathered features.

  ‘She’s Hannah Taylor, a known prostitute and petty thief. She’s been up to the beak before and went to a correctional instituti
on. She must have thought she’d struck it lucky when she ran into this drunken merchant. He’d just returned to London, was flush with money and well in his cups. While he snored off the drink, Mistress Taylor, here, lightened his load to the tune of two hundred pounds. She took a one hundred pound note and two fifty pound notes from his pocket book and disappeared.’

  ‘It’s a shame that she doesn’t have the other two banknotes on her.’

  Woods nodded. ‘She’ll have to be questioned about their whereabouts. The merchant gave a good description of the woman who robbed him – I had an inkling the thief was her – he has also retrieved the numbers of the banknotes from Down, Thornton and Gill. Once we’re back at Bow Street, I should be able match the number on the note with one of the numbers the merchant got from the bank. She’ll be heading fer Botany Bay this time – at the very least.’

  ‘That’s good work,’ Lavender said. ‘However, you might have to let the blushing Constable Brown drag her to the gaoler back at Bow Street. I need your assistance on another case or two.’

  Woods’ eyes lit up.

  ‘Heaven and hell! Where are we off to this time?’

  ‘Back to Newcastle for a start. Magistrate Clennell has been in touch with Bow Street. Apparently, there is some more evidence come to light regarding the Kirkley Hall burglary.’

  Woods’ face fell with disappointment and Lavender understood why. That damned case had been the bane of their lives earlier in the year. Both of them were convinced they had found the thief, but the suspect, James Charlton, had been as slippery as a jellied eel and had avoided being sent to trial at the August Assizes. It was one of the few unsolved cases in his career as a principal officer. Their only consolation was that they had retrieved most of the stolen money – from beneath a redcurrant bush in the grounds of the Hall.