The Heiress of Linn Hagh (19 page)

The farmers jeered, unconvinced.

‘I’ll help you with the due process of the law, but I’ll
not
stand by and watch you burn innocent children and women to death.’

‘You’re on their bloody side!’

‘No,’ Lavender retorted. ‘I’m on the side of the
law
, and although you can’t see it, I’m on your side as well, Jethro Hamilton. Every one of you is a decent, law-abiding man. Not one of you wants to spend time in gaol for arson or hang for murder. None of you wants to bring terror and death to the innocent.’

‘You know nothin’ aboot us!’ Hamilton’s face glowed red with fury and frustration.

‘I know more than you think. I’ve watched you with your own children in church, Hamilton. How are you ever going to face your sons again if you terrorise or kill these faw children today? How long do you think they’ll survive out here without their homes in the middle of winter? And you, Isaac Daly—could you go back home and face your own family after this?’

‘You’ve no idea what we’ve had to put up with!’ Daly yelled.

‘Yes, I do know—and I also know that the faces of these terrified gypsies will haunt your dreams if you harm them.’

‘Bollocks!’ Daly snapped, but his voice had less force now.

‘You’ve all got kin that respect you,’ Lavender announced loudly, ‘and for good reason. There’s a woman in labour up there in one of the caravans. Harry Hurst—your wife is pregnant, isn’t she? And near her time?’

The farmer addressed as Harry Hurst looked startled, then nodded.

‘This faw woman can’t be moved, and her aged mother refuses to leave her. Are you going to burn these women out, Harry Hurst? Are you going to listen to their screams and think it’s a job well done to burn alive a pregnant woman?’

Hurst grimaced, turned pale and glanced down at his boots.

‘In another tent, an old woman lies dying; her terrified husband is beside her. Is this the end you’d like for your own parents, Fred Jamieson—to have them writhing in agony in the flames? Is this what the men of Bellingham do to their elders?’

The farmers shuffled uncomfortably beneath the rain of accusations. Lavender’s words hit home; he picked them out as individuals, not creatures of a senseless mob. His evenings of quiet observation in the taproom of The Rose and Crown now bore fruit. He knew them. One by one, he named them and re-humanised them. Gazes dropped before his fierce glare; arms holding torches and weapons were lowered.

‘Go home, the lot of you,’ Lavender said. ‘Gather the evidence you have, and bring it to me at The Rose and Crown. I give you my word as a principal officer with the Bow Street Magistrates Court that I’ll seek redress for your wrongs through the Northumbrian courts.’

‘Aye.’

‘He’s right.’

‘Let’s gan home, lads.’

‘There’s bugger all we can do while they’re standin’ there with pistols, anyhow.’

The farmers began to fall back.

Only Jethro Hamilton stood his ground. His face contorted with frustration, his stubborn jaw bones rigid beneath his tanned skin.

‘If you do come back wi’ a warrant,’ he complained, ‘them bastards will just tek off and disappear before you can serve it.’

Lavender dropped his voice and leant forward.

‘Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting for the last twenty years, Hamilton? For them to just go?’

The big farmer said nothing.

‘Do as I say, Hamilton, and you won’t regret it. You cannot lose out now. I’ll sort out your problem, and I’ll see you in church next Sunday—not as an arsonist and murderer, but as a proud man and a decent Christian. You’ll be able to hold your head up and look your wife, children and neighbours in the face.’

Hamilton stared at him. His blue eyes were like ice. Then he broke his gaze, turned and followed the others back down the road towards Bellingham.

Lavender breathed a huge sigh of relief. He pushed his damp hair off his face. His hands were frozen, but he dared not put away the pistol and retrieve his gloves just yet. Behind him, he heard the faws begin to shout amongst themselves and move around their camp. Woods joined him as he gazed at the retreating farmers.

‘Nicely done, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

Paul Faa Geddes appeared at their side.

‘D’ya think they’ll be back?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Lavender sighed. ‘That depends on how much you folks continue to harass them with your thievery.’

‘That’s falsehoods they’ve bin sayin’ agin us,’ Geddes whined. His insolence had vanished.

Lavender scowled. ‘We’re going down to the gorge to investigate those caves in the sandstone rocks. Tell us where they are—and send that Laurel girl down to speak with us when she turns up.’

‘All right,’ Geddes grovelled. ‘But you’ll have to come back and protect us. This ain’t right. We’ve a right to be left alone here. It’s yer job to protect us.’

Chapter Nineteen

T
hey left the horses tied to a tree on the main path and scrambled up through the undergrowth towards the crumbling cliff face of the gorge. The vegetation petered out, and they struggled up a boulder-strewn scree slope towards the fissures in the rock. There was only one cave large enough and dry enough for human habitation. A trickle of green water leaked out from the edge and formed stagnant pools in the mud at the entrance. The officers approached cautiously. Lavender pushed aside a small bush at the entrance. They peered into the gloomy interior and waited until their eyes became accustomed to the darkness. It was deserted. A blackened stone circle in the centre of the uneven floor contained the ashes of a dead fire. A pile of mouldy rags lay heaped in one corner.

Carefully, Woods examined the jutting shadows at the back of the cave while Lavender dropped to his haunches and raked around amongst the ash and the debris at the edge of the fire.

Outside, the rain continued to fall softly onto the bushes. Woods stood for a moment and tried to imagine what it must be like to sleep here on this cold earth floor with only these stinking rags for bedding. Even with a fire for warmth and comfort, the place was desolate. The walls were slimy with damp; the silence and isolation oppressive.

‘Do you ever get the feelin’ in these here woods that you’re being watched?’ he asked.

Lavender glanced up. He never doubted Woods’ courage for a moment, but he knew that this brooding woodland had affected his constable in a way that the familiar, heaving streets of the capital never did.

‘Constantly,’ he said. ‘This forest is full of eyes—most of them fixed on us.’

Woods nodded with relief and moved across the uneven floor to the pile of rags in the corner. Lavender watched him lift each one carefully and shake it out. A flash of dull metal glinted and fell amongst the stones on the floor. Woods reached down and scooped up a rounded pewter button.

‘What have you found?’

Woods held out the button for inspection. A couple of black threads hung limply from the back.

‘From an old coat, I should think,’ Lavender said. ‘Black. Possibly military.’

‘Does this help us?’

‘I don’t know. Most of the market towns in England have secondhand clothes stalls that sell surplus army greatcoats. They’re warm and favoured by farmers and beggars alike. This might be of more interest, though.’

He rose stiffly to his feet and showed Woods a thin taper of blackened parchment. Burnt at one end, the tightly folded taper looked like it had been torn from a pocket book. Lavender took off his gloves and unfolded the flimsy material. The burnt end disintegrated in his hands as he did so.

He groaned with frustration and moved over towards the better light at the entrance of the cave. Woods joined him and craned his neck to peer down at the faint, spidery writing. The only two words that remained decipherable were ‘Redesdale Aarms.’

‘Redesdale: That’s the next valley along.’

‘I bow to your greater knowledge of the local geography,’ Lavender said. ‘I assume that “arms” refers to another tavern or inn—perhaps in Otterburn?’

‘I don’t know that much,’ Woods confessed.

Lavender continued to stare at the thin strip of parchment in his hand.

‘This is not a taper used to light a fire.’

‘Was it used to get a light from the fire for a pipe?’ Woods suggested.

Lavender knelt down on the floor and continued to feel along the uneven ground. His fingertips pushed through the soil and ash with meticulous care.

‘Ha!’ he said.

He lifted a few strands of stringy brown matter from the ground and sniffed them cautiously.

‘What is it? Tobacco?’

‘Yes.’

‘I were right about the clay pipe. We’ve got a mysterious beggar in a military greatcoat who smokes a clay pipe.’

Lavender nodded, searched again and lifted more matter to his nose.

‘There’s more—there’s snuff. This bit is snuff. Macouba snuff, to be precise.’

‘Ain’t that a bit pricey for a beggar?’

‘Yes—it’s the brand preferred by George Carnaby.’

‘So why is a penniless beggar, who sleeps in a cave, smokin’ George Carnaby’s snuff in his pipe?’

‘I don’t think he does. I think Master Carnaby paid a visit to the rogue who slept here. Carnaby takes his snuff everywhere; he even took it in church on Sunday.’

‘But why were George Carnaby here? Did he warn him off or encourage him?’

‘I don’t know, but this is Carnaby’s land. He could have a thousand feasible explanations for being in this cave. However, I think the landlord at The Redesdale Arms in Otterburn is worth a visit.’

They went back out into the grey drizzle and slithered back down the scree slope to their horses. There was still no sign of the gypsy girl, so Lavender suggested that they bide their time and take a walk along the gorge. It was hard going with the animals.

Eventually, they reached the icy edge of the pool at the base of Hareshaw Linn and stared across the gleaming black rocks to where the water thundered and foamed down the waterfall. Their faces were soon wet with spray. Lavender could see the look of dislike on his constable’s features and sense his discomfort.

‘Be careful, Detective, or the grindylows will nab you!’ The young woman’s voice had a musical quality like the trilling of birdsong.

Lavender spun around. Laurel Faa Geddes stood behind them. She had appeared out of nowhere—as silent as a padding cat. One silver-ringed hand rested lightly on her hip. She grinned. Her vivid blue eyes sparkled mischievously.

‘I’m not familiar with the grindylows, Miss Geddes.’ Lavender smiled. ‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me?’

She pointed a grimy finger towards the reeds at the edge of the brackish pool. ‘They live down there, in the watter. They’ve long, sinewy arms and grab you to drown you, if you’re not careful.’

‘Sounds like a few of the trollops I’ve met down the London docks,’ Woods observed.

She ignored him and fixed her attention on Lavender who stared back at her, taking in every detail. The girl dropped her head to one side and grinned. Her teeth flashed like small white pearls in brilliant contrast to her dark skin. Luxurious black curls tumbled down from beneath her headscarf and the laurel wreath that adorned her head.

‘How old are you, Miss Geddes?’

She laughed lightly.

‘We don’t keep track of the years that come and go in my world. Where’s the point in that? There’s no cake with candles fer me at a year’s end. All I know is that I were born cursed.’

‘Cursed?’

Lavender left the dampness of the water’s edge and climbed a few steps up onto the path beside her. She edged away slightly. As she moved, he caught a fleeting glimpse of white circles of flesh through the holes in her stockings above her ancient boots. The ragged hem of her dress was only just a decent length. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to the dress Helen Carnaby had given her. No doubt she had sold or pawned it.

‘Aye, a bairn born at midnight before the Sabbath is allus born under a curse,’ she informed him.

‘For a young woman born under a curse, you seem very comfortable with it.’

‘What’s the point of fussin’?’ She shrugged and smiled again. ‘I keep a sprig of holly fer luck—and you cannot alter what’s written in the stars.’

‘Is that what your mother tells you?’

‘Me ma’s dead.’

‘And your father?’

‘So what is it you’re wantin’ from me, Detective?’

Her self-assurance suggested that she was in her twenties, he decided; it was difficult to judge. Her playful manner belied her years, but the harshness of her life had aged her prematurely. Already, fine lines had formed around her vivid blue eyes.

‘I need your help to find Miss Carnaby.’

‘What if she don’t want to be found?’

‘For her own safety, I would still like to know where she is,’ he said quietly. ‘I can protect her. I know her life is in danger, and she feels threatened. I need your help to eliminate that threat.’

‘Seems to me like you already know all there is to know then, Detective—but perhaps I can help you a bit more—if I can see the colour of yer silver.’

For a moment, Lavender was confused.

‘She wants money,’ Woods volunteered. He had come to join them up on the path.

‘Aye—and from you, too,’ the girl said.

Sighing, the constable reached into his pocket for some loose change. Then he turned over his large hand and the girl skimmed the silver coins from his palm. She held his hand in hers and traced her finger across the lines etched across his palm.

‘Why, I see you’re a big, round robin redbreast of a fellah, Constable Woods!’ she teased. ‘And there’s plenty of chicks in yer nest back in the old oak tree—I see four with yer jenny wren.’ Woods’ face erupted with surprise; then he froze. His hand still lay in hers.

‘Is this how you earn your living, Miss Geddes?’ Lavender interrupted. ‘Telling fortunes to the gullible?’

Woods flinched. Laurel turned away from Woods but kept hold of his hand. She was not laughing now.

‘I hev the sight. I can see things others can’t. I can help. I’m not a whore if that’s what you think.’ Her expression was sincere, if mildly irritated. She spoke with the voice of a parent trying to explain something to a wilful young child. Then she turned back to Woods.