The Heiress of Linn Hagh
Read The Heiress of Linn Hagh Online
Authors: Karen Charlton
PRAISE FOR THE AUTHOR
‘Worthy of Agatha Christie’
‘Forget the wham, bam, slash you ma’am of modern-day crime thrillers and return to a more sedate era in ‘The Heiress of Linn Hagh’, an engaging novel set in a time when ladies wore bonnets, highwaymen terrorised coach travellers and the Bow Street Runners were still, well, running.
Detective Lavender has no time for superstitious nonsense and is soon demonstrating a Sherlock Holmes-like determination in his pursuit of the truth. He’s a well-conceived character, and in Constable Woods the author has created a perfect foil. Where Lavender broods and thinks, Woods is a man who would rather deal in practicalities. In short, they’re a double act made in crime fiction heaven.
The plot has more than a touch of the old fashioned whodunit about it, and, in particular, the scene where Lavender reveals to an incredulous audience how the heiress got out of the locked room is worthy of Agatha Christie.
There’s plenty of historical detail to give the story an authentic feel, and the wide-ranging cast of characters are well drawn and highly believable. Charlton is a skilled writer . . . It takes a lightness of touch to keep the reader intrigued without making them feel bombarded with historical context, and the author achieves this with aplomb.’
—Sandra Mangan,
www.crimefictionlover.com
‘Fabulous, rollicking tale of intrigue and family secrets’
‘Karen Charlton’s latest offering is a fabulous, rollicking tale of intrigue and family secrets. From the first page we are thrown headlong into Regency England with the introduction of Detective Lavender and his loyal sidekick Woods, amid the raucous and humorous arrest of a lady of dubious repute. The author’s unique ability to envelop the reader in the scene, to invoke the sights, sounds and smells of the Regency underbelly ensure an experience second to none. Wonderful language evokes the period and adds humour to characters that fairly leap from the page with their energy and eccentricities. Lavender’s wry, intelligent approach to adversity is a perfect foil for the scheming and skulduggery he subsequently unearths.
Considerable, historical research blends seamlessly into this fascinating Northumbrian tale. The author plots the story expertly, with twists that will keep readers intrigued until the last page. Add to that a very mysterious and sensual senora, and you have a recipe for a fabulous historical mystery that you won’t want to end.
I, for one, am looking forward with great relish, to the next Lavender and Woods case.’
—B. A. Morton, author of
Wildewood, Mrs. Jones, Molly Brown, Bedlam
and
Twisted.
ALSO BY KAREN CHARLTON
Seeking Our Eagle
Catching the Eagle
The Mystery of the Skelton Diamonds
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Karen Charlton
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477830086
ISBN-10: 1477830081
Cover design by Lisa Horton
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014958626
For my mother,
Carol James,
who introduced me to the delights of historical fiction.
The bookcase in our family dining room overflowed with Georgette Heyer, Victoria Holt, Jean Plaidy, Catherine Cookson and some rather saucy novels featuring a lively wench called Marianna who had a thing for pirates.
This is where the story really began.
Thanks, Mum.
XXX
Contents
Chapter One
London, October 1809
T
he 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 it raced through the crowded streets. The man 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 tollgate, 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 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 a 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 whippin’ 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 keepin’ .’ 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.’
