The Heiress of Linn Hagh (2 page)

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. 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 Lavender 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 institution. She must have thought she’d struck it lucky when she ran into this drunken merchant. He’d just returned to London and 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 to match the number on the note with one of the numbers the merchant got from the bank. She’ll be headin’ 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 had been 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.

‘And in addition to that,’ Lavender continued, ‘an heiress has mysteriously disappeared in neighbouring Bellingham.’

‘An heiress, eh?’

‘Yes.’

‘Isn’t it usually the case, when these pretty young gals disappear, they have eloped with some spongin’ rake?’

‘Yes,’ Lavender confirmed. ‘However, I understand there are unusual circumstances surrounding this case—and I’ve been asked to travel to Northumberland to solve it.’

‘Requested by name?’

Lavender nodded.

‘It would seem the girl’s concerned uncle is a close friend of Mr Clennell, the magistrate, and that the uncle is also familiar with the particulars of the Kirkley Hall robbery. Despite the fact that we failed to secure the conviction of James Charlton, we’re still famous in Northumberland for recovering most of the missing rent money.’

Woods chuckled. ‘So this uncle thinks that because we found the rent money, we should be able to find his missin’ niece?’

‘Exactly. Are you willing to accompany me, Constable Woods?’

Woods glanced out of the carriage and seemed to be pondering for a moment. Lavender knew that Betsy, his constable’s wife, would play merry hell at another lengthy absence. Their oldest two sons were a handful and difficult for Betsy to cope with on her own. Lavender knew the family well, and if the truth were to be told, he was a little scared himself of the quick temper and sharp tongue of the tiny Mistress Woods. Yet he suspected that she wouldn’t complain about the extra money her husband would earn in expenses.

‘What’re these mysterious circumstances surroundin’ the gal’s disappearance?’

Lavender smiled and his face lit up like a mischievous schoolboy’s.

‘Oh, nothing I’m sure we can’t handle, Ned. Apparently, the girl vanished from a locked bedchamber.’

Woods’ greying eyebrows rose sharply, and a wide grin broke across his broad face.

‘Is that all? Shouldn’t take us long to fathom this one out, should it? We’ll be back in Bow Street within a fortnight . . .’

Chapter Two

Four weeks earlier . . .

D
o try harder to keep up, girl.’

Seventeen-year-old Anna Jones scowled and shivered beneath her thin cloak. It was her half-day off and she had not expected to be accompanied by her nagging mistress on her return to Linn Hagh. Miss Isobel had also insisted they leave the road and take the shortcut back to the house, through the woods. Anna hated this route, and Miss Isobel’s presence made an unpleasant journey even worse.

Anna’s fingers were frozen despite the knitted mittens her ma had given her. Stiffly, she adjusted her grip on the handles of the heavy bags and parcels she carried. Her shoulders ached from their weight. She tried to stifle the resentment she felt towards the woman striding next to her.

An unpleasant thought kept repeating itself through her mind. She had unexpectedly bumped into Miss Isobel in the marketplace in Bellingham. Had Miss Isobel been waiting for her to emerge from her ma’s tiny cottage? Had it always been her intention to make Anna carry home her blooming parcels?

The sunset spread like a flaming quilt across the tops of the trees of Hareshaw Woods. The sky above was icily clear—another bitter frost would descend over the landscape tonight. The daylight took on a reddish tinge as they meandered through the meadow, towards the entrance of the dark woods.

‘What on earth . . . ?’

Miss Isobel had stopped suddenly. Another two women had emerged from the entrance to the woods.

Anna smiled. She was pleased to see that one of the women was Miss Helen, the youngest Carnaby daughter. She recognised the other girl as one of the gypsies, the ‘faws,’ who haunted these forests. Her bright shawl and ragged dress stood out against the gloomy backdrop of the wood and were in sharp contrast to Miss Helen’s discreet, high-waisted mourning gown. Even from this distance, Anna could see the colourful band the faw wore around her black curls and the glint of her earrings.

As they approached, the gypsy girl glanced up, scowled and melted into the woodland behind.

‘Helen! What on earth do you think you’re doing talking to that trollop?’

Miss Helen sighed. ‘Good evening, Izzie. Have you had a pleasant afternoon in Bellingham?’

‘Yes—but now all is spoilt by the shock of seeing the kind of company my sister prefers to keep. I ask you again—what is your business with the gypsy?’

‘It was harmless enough; I chanced upon her during my walk, and she offered to read my palm.’

‘Superstitious nonsense. You would do well to avoid this tribe. Our brother doesn’t want them encouraged. They poach our salmon and deer and steal our livestock.’

Miss Helen looked surprised. ‘Our father thought highly enough of them to allow them to live on his land.’

Her sister snorted in contempt, then swept past her and marched towards the trees. Anna scurried to keep up.

‘Our father was a fool.’ Miss Isobel threw the comment back over her shoulder. ‘It’s a wonder we all have not been murdered in our beds.’

Miss Helen said nothing, but she fell into step beside Anna and smiled at the young girl. Anna instantly felt better. She hated it when the half-sisters bickered.

Anna leant towards her and whispered: ‘I hope the faw foretold a wonderful future for you.’

Miss Helen just smiled.

The trees now closed in around them and threatened to block out the light. Above their heads, the naked branches strained to touch each other with their bony fingers. The women were quiet as they trudged along the rocky path in single file. Ferns leant over and lashed their waists as they walked.

No birds sang; the wind was still and nothing else moved in the tangled undergrowth. In the far distance, Anna could hear the sound of the cold water as it thundered over the rocks of Hareshaw Linn. Closer still, she heard the laboured breathing of Isobel Carnaby and the occasional ominous creak of ancient timber. Miss Helen glided along like a ghost, her black woollen dress and cloak making barely a rustle.

Now the women began to climb the steep path that led up to the waterfall. Anna’s boots slithered on the ice, and she struggled to keep her footing.

‘Give me one of the bags,’ Miss Helen said.

‘Don’t fuss,’ Miss Isobel snapped. ‘The girl is fine.’

Miss Helen ignored her, fell behind and took one of the heavy bags from Anna. Her other hand rose to her lips and made the sign for silence. Miss Isobel strode on ahead, oblivious to the exchange behind her.

They reached the black rocks at the base of the waterfall. Thick icicles hung like knives from the trees and the sides of the gorge. The waterfall had frozen over at its sides, and so had the edge of the pool. A crescent of glittering ice spread out beneath their feet, enticing them to their doom. In sharp contrast to the whiteness of the crystallized water at the edge, ribbons of black swirled around the jagged rocks that rose like tombstones from the centre of the pool.

Anna shivered again. This was a place of death. Only last summer, some poor lass had thrown herself and her unborn bairn from the top of the waterfall onto the rocks below. Her broken and disfigured body had floated limply in the pool for days before it was found tangled in the reeds.

The path up to the top of the waterfall rose steeply; the slimy stone steps were treacherous beneath their boots. Gnarled roots reached out to trip them, and patches of scree sent them slithering back down the hill. The spray from the waterfall caught on the drooping boughs of menacing trees and dripped down upon their heads. Anna wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of rotting vegetation.

They stopped to rest when they finally reached the summit.

‘Perhaps we should have gone by the road,’ Miss Helen commented.

‘Perhaps when you come of age, you’ll use your inheritance and buy us a carriage and some horses,’ her sister snapped. ‘That will make the journey much easier.’

There was an awkward pause.

‘Perhaps.’

Suddenly, something crashed through the dense undergrowth beside them, and an unearthly howl rent the air. An ice-cold chill shot up Anna’s spine. A large creature thrashed its way towards them through the thicket of alder, hawthorn and bramble.

Miss Isobel squealed and clutched her sister’s arm. Anna’s ruddy cheeks turned pale beneath her freckles. She dropped her bags and covered her mouth with her hands, in terror.

‘Calm yourselves,’ Miss Helen said, laughing. ‘It’s only our Matty.’

Matthew Carnaby, her mistress’ lunatic brother, lurched out of the gloom onto the path in front of them. Oblivious to his bloody scratches and torn clothes, the ungainly man grunted with pleasure at the sight of Miss Helen and lolloped clumsily towards her.

Miss Isobel stepped forward and slapped him sharply across his face. The confused man wailed, fell back and clutched his cheek in shock.

‘Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you pathetic saphead!’

She raised her hand to strike again, but Miss Helen stepped in between her siblings.

‘Enough, Izzie—he doesn’t know what he does.’

Miss Isobel’s anger now turned onto her sister.

‘You’ve done nought but defy me and interfere with the running of this house and family ever since your return,’ she yelled.

‘Well, you won’t have to suffer me for much longer.’

After what seemed like an age to Anna, Miss Isobel finally ceased glaring, turned and stomped off down the path.

‘Come along, girl! Why do you dawdle so? Let’s get these parcels home.’

Silently, Anna fell into step behind her. Miss Helen stayed behind a moment to comfort Master Matthew.

Now they neared the edge of the woods, but it didn’t seem much lighter in the clearing that fronted Linn Hagh. The daylight had all but gone, and there was still no sign of the moon.

Anna could just about make out the solid oblong outline of the old pele tower with its distinctive castellated roof. Candlelight glimmered faintly behind the thin windows of Linn Hagh’s kitchen and the bigger windows of the Great Hall on the floor above. The top storey of the tower was in total freezing darkness. There, she shared a tiny bedroom with the cook. She shivered at the thought of the cold night that lay ahead.