The Sculthorpe Murder

by Karen Charlton

  When the first shots rang out, the horse reared and neighed in terror, then bolted the last few yards under the bridge. Behind it, the strong rope connecting the frightened animal to the barge snapped taut and yanked it back to the edge of the canal. The horse’s hooves jerked out from beneath it and the terrified animal fell into the canal with an almighty splash. Now rudderless and horseless, the boat drifted helplessly towards the bridge with its bow swung out sideways across the entrance.

  Davy George was still on his feet and running. One of the soldiers broke cover and raced down the towing path after him.

  ‘Come back, you idiot!’ Rushperry yelled. ‘Hold your fire!’

  There was a sudden flash of blue powder from the drifting barge – and a single shot rang out. The soldier on the towing path screamed, clutched his shoulder and fell to the ground.

  ‘They’re firing back!’ Rushperry yelled. ‘Take cover and reload!’ Lavender and Rushperry lowered themselves behind the brick parapet of the bridge. Lavender peered cautiously over the edge at the scene below, his pistol ready in his hand.

  ‘Davy George is escapin’!’ one of the soldiers yelled up from the bank.

  Lavender heard the clatter of hooves on cobbles. Leaning low over the neck of his horse, Woods thundered over the bridge behind them. He turned her sharply into the field, then ran beside the canal and spurred her forward.

  ‘He’ll get himself shot!’ Rushperry yelled.

  ‘Give him some cover!’ Lavender shouted and fired his pistol at the point where he’d seen the blue flash of powder.

  ‘Fire at the barge!’ Rushperry yelled.

  Another volley of musket and pistol shot rang out, shattering the wooden boat below them. Splinters flew everywhere. The horse in the canal thrashed against the water and screamed again in fear. The rudderless barge drifted closer to the narrow bridge arch. Through the cloud of musket smoke, Lavender saw Woods, still mounted and bearing down on George. He let himself breathe again.

  The barge hit the side of the bridge with a dull thud and a shudder. The bow swung back but drifted forward again and jammed into the narrow arch of the bridge. It wedged tight with a sickening crunch of splintering wood.

  Silence fell as everyone listened, watched and waited.

  ‘It’s jammed, sir!’ shouted up one of the soldiers.

  Rushperry raised his head a few inches higher over the parapet. ‘Throw your pistols into the canal and come out with your hands held up!’

  A single pistol shot whizzed past his ear in reply. Rushperry stepped back hastily, readjusted his hat and swore. ‘This is ridiculous!’ he snapped. ‘They’re stuck and they know they’re surrounded.’

  ‘How do we get them out, Captain?’ asked the young soldier to his left.

  Rushperry hesitated, unsure what to do.

  ‘Is this what they call a stand-off, sir?’

  Lavender’s eyes fell on the glass lantern by the lad’s side. It was still alight. ‘What do you normally do, son, when you’ve got rats trapped in a hole?’ he asked.

  The crouching young soldier looked blank. Rushperry frowned. ‘Do you have a plan, Detective?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lavender grabbed the lantern, stood up and hurled it hard and fast over the parapet down onto the tarpaulin of the barge. ‘Let’s burn them out!’

  The glass lantern shattered on the taut, oiled cloth stretched over the timber cargo. Blue flames danced across the surface of the tarpaulin, igniting everything they touched.

  ‘For God’s sake, Lavender! We want them alive. Stand fast, men! Prepare to take prisoners!’

  It didn’t take long for the dry timber to burst into flames. Above the crackle of burning wood they heard shouts and frantic movement aboard the barge. Choking grey smoke and flaming embers billowed up out of the mouth of the bridge arch.

  Lavender and Rushperry left the bridge and moved to the top of the bank that led down to the towing path, but the smoke made visibility difficult. The burning timber snapped and roared as the blaze spread. They heard loud coughing and panic-stricken voices raised in argument.

  ‘They’ll have to come off soon,’ Lavender said.

  The heat intensified and the vaulted arch of the bridge magnified the roar and crackle of the inferno.

  ‘Look!’

  The dirty smoke cleared for a moment. A man balanced precariously on the far gunnels of the boat with the fire at his back. His frantic eyes scanned the far bank.

  ‘He’s trying to jump,’ Lavender said.

  ‘It’s Minards!’ Rushperry yelled.

  Minards hesitated too long. The flames set fire to his shirt. For a moment he danced on the gunnels, writhing and screaming. Then he hurled himself into the water to douse the flames. They heard him yell, ‘Help me!’

  ‘Throw him a rope!’ Rushperry shouted across the water.

  The fire had burnt through the tarpaulin and the ropes holding the cargo in place. The barge listed as its flaming load shifted. Planks of charred and burning timber slithered into the canal and floated away in the slight breeze.

  Suddenly, two of the gang burst out from a corner of the tarpaulin, threw themselves overboard and swam beneath the bridge. Their bid for freedom was short-lived. When they surfaced by the bank on the other side, the muzzles of several muskets pointed down into their faces.

  ‘There’s just two left now,’ Rushperry said.

  Lavender coughed and blinked. The smoke stung his lungs and eyes. ‘Look there!’

  The hatch of the cabin at the back of the barge slid back. A pair of pistols flew up into the air and landed with a plop in the water.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ yelled a gruff and terrified voice. ‘We’re comin’ out!’ Two smoke-blackened and choking figures scrambled out onto the towing path – straight into the custody of the militia.

  Lavender and Rushperry strode down towards them. Rushperry grabbed the hair of one of the prisoners, yanked up his bowed head and peered into his scowling, blackened face. ‘It’s Benjamin Panther,’ he announced. ‘Make sure this fellow has extra weight on his manacles.’

  Panther spat at Rushperry’s feet and earned a sharp cuff around the back of his head with the butt of a musket for his contempt.

  Across the canal, one of the soldiers waded up the bank dragging the semi-drowned Minards behind him. The other two soaking wet gang members were surrounded by militia at the far side of the bridge. Davy George was the only one unaccounted for. Lavender heard the steady clop of hooves behind him on the towing path. He turned. Woods rode towards them, dragging a manacled George on the end of a chain behind his horse. ‘We’ve got all of them now,’ he said with a surge of satisfaction.

  Woods stopped, leant forward in his saddle and grinned at the chaos before him. ‘Decided to give them a pagan funeral, did you, sir?’ he asked.

  It was another half an hour before they were ready to march the prisoners back to Market Harborough for questioning. The injured soldier had been their first priority and he’d been dispatched to the surgeon in Bowden for treatment. They expected him to recover. Rushperry and the militia were in an ebullient mood. They intended to parade their cowed prisoners through the town before they incarcerated them.

  Personally, all Lavender wanted to do was have a good wash and return to bed for a few hours’ sleep before he picked up the pieces of the case he had been hired to solve. He was filthy and stank of smoke.

  Beneath the smoke-blackened bridge, the burnt-out wreckage of The Swan floated aimlessly. Charred wood and debris littered a vast area of the water’s surface. The wreck completely blocked the entrance to the bridge and the heat of the fire had cracked many of the bricks.

  He leant on the parapet on top of the bridge and watched Woods and Kilby down on the towing path about thirty yards away. The fire had quickly burnt through the strong rope attaching the terrified horse to the barge and it had been able to break free and swim away from the carnage. Unfortunately, it had been unable to climb up the steep banks and was still floundering
around in the canal.

  Kilby and Woods lassoed it with ropes, pulled it to a section where the bank was less steep and tried to haul it out onto the towing path. They’d taken off their coats and rolled up their sleeves. Their shoulder muscles were taut beneath their filthy shirts and sweat glistened on their faces as they heaved. He heard their deep voices murmuring encouragement to the animal.

  For a fleeting second, Lavender felt a pang of jealousy as he watched the two brothers work side by side to save the animal. He and Woods had been like . . . well, like brothers for the last ten years. He had a sudden irrational fear that Kilby would supplant him and his relationship with Woods would never be the same again. There were three of them now, an awkward number.

  He shook his head to chase away such a ridiculous thought and chided himself for his meanness. He had no intention of arresting Kilby but the man couldn’t set foot in London again. Brother or not, Woods would rarely see him.

  Captain Rushperry appeared at his side. ‘Well, the canal company won’t be pleased about this,’ he said. ‘It will take days to remove the wreckage of The Swan and open up this arm of the canal again for business.’

  Lavender managed a grim smile. ‘It was the quickest and simplest way to resolve the stand-off, sir, and it involved far less risk for your militia.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Rushperry conceded. ‘But who’d have thought it, eh? We’ve scoured two counties looking for these devils. Who would have thought we’d find them here, hiding on the English canals?’

  Lavender’s gaze fell on Alby Kilby and he smiled.

  A loud cheer went up along the canal bank when the poor horse finally scrambled up out of the canal. Several of the militia whistled. Woods threw a blanket over the animal’s quivering body and turned to shake Kilby’s hand for a job well done.

  ‘I’m impressed how this has turned out,’ Rushperry said. ‘Although I was worried for Constable Woods. He could have been killed.’

  ‘It’s his job,’ Lavender said simply. ‘He’s a horse patrol officer – the best we’ve got. You should see him chase highway men and footpads across Hampstead Heath.’

  ‘Well, there’ll be a good reward in this for you. Constable Woods and Alby Kilby will benefit from it too.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Ted Porter is already talking. He wants to claim King’s Evidence and be an informer on the rest.’

  ‘Will you let him?’

  A broad smile broke over Rushperry’s smoke-smutted face and he shook his head. ‘I’ll happily let him tell me anything he wants to tell me – and I’ll write it down too. But the crimes of these men go back too far. Not one of them will escape the hangman’s noose this time.’

  Lavender nodded.

  ‘In fact,’ Rushperry continued, ‘I’ve no doubt they’ll confess to the murder of poor William Sculthorpe before the end of the day.’

  ‘They won’t,’ Lavender said sharply. ‘They didn’t do it.’

  Rushperry frowned. ‘Are you sure about that, Lavender? After all, it turns out they were in this area.’

  ‘I’m sure. I know who murdered Sculthorpe – and it wasn’t the Panther Gang.’

  Rushperry’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘Good grief, man! You never said. This is excellent news, excellent!’

  ‘I’m waiting for one more piece of information to arrive – a letter in reply to the one I sent to London last week. When I receive it, hopefully all the pieces of the mystery will finally fall into place.’

  Rushperry patted down the pockets of his greatcoat. ‘A letter, did you say?’

  Lavender glanced at him curiously. ‘Yes.’

  Rushperry took off his glove and pulled a sealed letter out from his left pocket. ‘With all the excitement of catching this gang, I almost forgot to give you this,’ he said apologetically. ‘It arrived for you at the courthouse while you were away in London. Is it the reply you wanted? It has a military seal.’

  Lavender nodded, took the letter, pulled out his pocketknife and slit the seal. Despite his exhaustion, he felt the excitement mounting within him. He smiled with satisfaction as he read. His hunch had been correct. He was right about the identity of J.W. and now he had the proof he needed.

  He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. It was just after nine o’clock. ‘Your militia have had an early start this morning, Captain Rushperry,’ he said, ‘but the day is yet young. Once we’ve returned to Market Harborough and locked up this gang of villains, do you think you and your soldiers would be able to accompany us to Middleton?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rushperry said. ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I think it’s about time we arrested the murderers of William Sculthorpe.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Wednesday 7th March, 1810

  Middleton, Northamptonshire

  The drab taproom of The Woolpack tavern was packed with men. Apart from Captain Rushperry’s militia and the two constables, Clancy and Sawyer, there were several other ‘guests’ whom Lavender had invited to call in to the tavern at six o’clock, including Old Pete Jarman and the schoolmaster, Mr Howard. All of them had been promised they might ‘learn something of interest about the dreadful murder of William Sculthorpe, late of this parish’. The majority of these ‘guests’ were now squashed around the low tables in The Woolpack or leaning back against the scuffed walls with a tankard of ale in their hand.

  Captain Rushperry raised an eyebrow when he learnt what Lavender planned but he had agreed to humour his desire for a public showdown with the murderers. The magistrate squashed his bulk onto a hard-backed chair next to the fire and struck up a conversation with Old Pete. Mr Howard lit his pipe and tobacco smoke billowed across the room.

  Lavender took up position in the central area in front of the unlit fireplace, feeling self-conscious in his burgundy cravat and coat and his gold-striped silk waistcoat. The black coat and waistcoat he preferred to wear for work now stank of smoke and desperately needed the attention of a laundress. To add to his discomfort, Susie Dicken sidled up to him in her trailing gown and whispered lasciviously, ‘Now who’s a handsome swell?’

  The juddering hands of the glassless longcase clock in the corner of the room said five past the hour when Caleb Liquorish walked through the door. His scowl turned into surprise at the size of the crowd in the tavern. The low hum of conversation stopped and everyone turned to look at the churchwarden.

  ‘We don’t often see you in here, Mr Liquorish,’ Constable Sawyer said.

  ‘No.’ Liquorish glanced around the room with distaste as he removed his gloves. ‘It’s not my custom to frequent places that sell strong liquor. What is this all about, Lavender? I have a church meeting at seven.’ He nodded politely at Captain Rushperry.

  ‘Thank you for sparing us the time,’ Lavender said. ‘As I have explained to everyone else, we have had some momentous news about the murder of poor William Sculthorpe.’ This pronouncement was received with a low murmur of approval from most of the Middleton inhabitants. ‘As all of you helped us, in one way or another, with our inquiries, I thought it only fair you should all hear about the conclusion of the case together.’

  ‘Very well,’ Liquorish said, ‘but please get on with it, Lavender.’

  ‘I will – as soon as Constable Woods appears with our last guest.’

  Frank Bunning approached him. The bald landlord looked strained, and his pate gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat. ‘Shall I get Susie to light us a fire in the grate?’ he asked. The woman had been quietly moving around the room filling up the men’s flagons. She looked up when she heard them mention her name.

  Lavender shook his head. ‘No, thank you. I expect it will become quite hot in here soon.’

  The schoolmaster laughed. ‘Are you speaking literally or metaphorically there, Detective?’ he asked.

  Suddenly, the door flew open and the lanky, long-haired farm labourer Harry Goode was propelled forcefully into the room by Constable Woods. ‘You’ll never gue
ss what, Detective Lavender,’ Woods said, ‘but this here gentleman had a mind to refuse your invitation! I’ve had a rare time persuadin’ him not to be so rude.’

  ‘I ain’t done nuthin’!’ the pockmarked labourer protested.

  ‘No one said you had,’ Lavender said. ‘Take a seat, Goode.’ The labourer slid onto a vacant stool next to Bunning’s baby-faced nephew Isaac.

  ‘Right, before we discuss the murder of William Sculthorpe, Captain Rushperry has an announcement to make.’

  Rushperry cleared his throat, stood up and put his podgy thumbs under the lapels of his coat. Everyone turned towards him. ‘This morning, thanks to information received from Detective Lavender and Constable Woods of Bow Street Police Office, myself and the militia were able to apprehend all five members of the notorious Panther Gang – plus a canal boatman who had helped them to evade justice.’

  ‘I say, well done!’

  ‘Good work.’

  ‘That’s excellent news.’

  Everyone started talking at once but Captain Rushperry held up his hand for silence. ‘The prisoners have already been transported to Northampton gaol, whence they’ll be sent for trial at the Lent Assizes.’

  Constable Sawyer banged his fist down hard on the table in delight. ‘I always said it were them bastards that did for Old Sculthorpe. Bang up, sir!’

  ‘Well, actually,’ said Lavender, ‘it wasn’t them.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s right,’ Captain Rushperry continued. ‘After extensive questioning of the prisoners this afternoon, I firmly believe they had nothing whatsoever to do with this crime.’ He sat back down.

  ‘But I allus thought . . .’ Sawyer said.

  ‘So did a lot of people,’ Lavender interrupted. ‘This was the obvious conclusion to come to in this case, but murderers are often the men – or women – we’d least expect to be the perpetrators of heinous crimes. And the most obvious motives are not always the right ones.’