The Heiress of Linn Hagh (32 page)

‘He was right to be frightened,’ Lavender commented dryly. ‘George Carnaby flayed the younger ones with his whip, Isobel tried to poison her stepmother; and now the two of them have ganged up with the family outcast to commit murder.’

‘Why didn’t he appoint someone closer to keep an eye on his wife and young nippers, though? A Newcastle lawyer is a long way from Linn Hagh.’

Lavender sighed. ‘Baxter Carnaby spent most of his adult life hiding the truth about his family from his neighbours in Bellingham,’ he said. ‘He had a lot to hide, including the extent of his first wife’s insanity, his eldest son’s brutality and his youngest son’s disability. In order to avoid difficult questions and scandal, he even spread the lie that his eldest son was dead. When it came time to write his will, there was no one left in Bellingham in whom he felt he could confide. No one else knew the truth. He had to tell his lawyer the truth to write his son Baxter out of the will, but he must have died a very desperate and worried man.’

‘Why did he cast off the eldest lad?’

Lavender told Woods what he had learned from Doctor Goddard.

Horror and outrage replaced the smile on Woods’ face.

‘Who would do that to a little nipper?’ he demanded angrily. ‘What sort of evil bastard are we dealin’ with here?’

The sudden appearance of Mistress McMullen with a message from Katherine Armstrong saved him from replying. Lavender read the note and gulped down the last of his ale.

‘We’ll have to move fast. George Carnaby has returned from Newcastle with his pet doctor. Horrocks has identified the body as that of Helen Carnaby . . .’

‘But it’s not Helen Carnaby—it’s the gypsy girl!’

‘They plan to bury the corpse in Esther Carnaby’s grave in St Cuthbert’s churchyard on Monday at ten.’

‘What can we do?’

Lavender reached for his gloves. ‘We’ll ride out to The Redesdale Arms and try to get more information about our murderer. Then we’ll travel back to Morpeth and get a warrant from Magistrate Clennell for the arrest of George and Isobel Carnaby.’

‘Do we have enough evidence now?’ asked Woods as the two men pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet. Lavender began to gather up the documents scattered across the table.

‘I’m sure of it. If we can’t arrest them for being accomplices to murder, then at least we can arrest them for trying to pervert the course of justice. That should be enough to hold them until we track down their big brother. They may know that Helen Carnaby gave that dress to Laurel Faa Geddes—or they may not. Either way, by the time I’ve presented the case to Magistrate Clennell, they’ll sound like the guiltiest pair in England. And once I’ve warrants for their arrest . . . it’s time for Miss Carnaby to come out of hiding . . .’

The door of the tavern burst open, and Isaac Daly staggered into the taproom. The lanky farmer had been running. He was sweating, red-faced and breathless. He pointed at Lavender and Woods and gestured frantically for them to follow him.

‘It’s that gadgie you’re after,’ he gasped.

‘What? The murderer?’

‘Aye,’ Daly nodded and breathed heavily. ‘Jethro and I’ve bin searchin’ fer him. We’ve jest seen him—he’s headed back into Hareshaw Woods . . .’

‘Mistress McMullen! Where are Captain Wentworth and his men?’

The landlady looked up from the glass she was wiping in alarm. ‘Last I heard, they’re on the other side of the toon,’ she said.

Daly shook his head.

‘There’s no time. Jethro’s gan after him himself. He sent me to fetch you to help him.’

‘We’re coming,’ Lavender said grimly. ‘Mistress McMullen, send a potboy to Captain Wentworth immediately. Tell him to follow us into Hareshaw Woods!’

Chapter Thirty-Four

I
t was impossible to run through Hareshaw Woods. The light had begun to fade, and the recent freezing rain had made the path treacherous underfoot as it rose and fell, following the contours of the gorge. The three men slithered along the side of the river and headed towards the waterfall. They shouted over and over again for Hamilton. Their voices bounced back from the overhanging Jurassic rock face and echoed down the gorge.

Lavender estimated that Carnaby and the unarmed farmer were about ten, maybe fifteen minutes ahead of them. He had no doubt that the burly Hamilton could look after himself in a tavern brawl, but these were not ordinary circumstances. The man Jethro Hamilton pursued was a vicious, knife-wielding murderer.

Lavender was also aware that Baxter Carnaby could have left the path and doubled back. He could be squatting behind a bush higher in the gorge, laughing down at them as they meandered along the bank of the river. He glanced up at the tangled undergrowth and gravity-defying trees that leant and creaked towards them. Fungi erupted like obscene cancers from cracks in the wood. Fallen ash and sycamores gaped like huge, twisted, moss-coated serpents around them.

Ahead of them, the waterfall roared. They neared the hidden path shown to them by Laurel Faa Geddes, and Lavender knew they would have to split up. Following Hamilton and Carnaby alone in the dark was not a welcome thought, but at least he and Woods were armed, and the militia were not far behind.

Suddenly, Woods spotted Hamilton sitting hunched and dazed on rocks by the water’s edge. Blood dripped from a head wound onto the big farmer’s sheepskin coat. The three other men slithered down the bank and across the treacherous boulders towards him.

‘The bastard laid in wait and jumped out on me,’ Hamilton explained ruefully. ‘He bashed me over me head with a branch.’

‘Thank the Lord ye’ve got such a thick skull,’ Daly said, ‘or he mighta hurt you.’

‘You were lucky,’ Lavender snapped. ‘He’s a killer with a knife. He could have stuck you like a pig and spilt out your guts. Which way did he go?’ His mind raced. Lying in wait for Hamilton and the subsequent attack would have delayed Baxter Carnaby. He couldn’t be far ahead now.

‘That way—towards the waterfall!’

‘Let’s move,’ Lavender urged. ‘You stay here, Hamilton. Captain Wentworth and his men will be along soon. They’ll help you back to Bellingham.’

‘Bugger that! I’ve come this far, and I’ll see this through to the end.’ Hamilton scooped up a hatful of the peat-black water and threw it over his head, then jammed his hat firmly back down on his drenched hair. Lavender grimaced as the icy water ran down Hamilton’s thick neck in pink rivulets. The farmer merely scowled. With grim determination etched across his pale face, he now rose unsteadily to his feet.

‘We can’t slow down for you,’ Lavender warned.

‘You won’t hev to.’

They didn’t go far. As they rounded the next bend, the sides of the gorge widened, and the trees fell away to give an open view of the thundering waterfall ahead and the dark red sky beyond.

Silhouetted against the sunset, a lone man stood at the top of Hareshaw Linn, balanced precariously on the slippery rocks, calf deep in the formidable current.

‘It’s him!’ Woods shouted above the thunderous roar. Carnaby’s military greatcoat and hat identified him even at that distance.

‘What the hell is he doing?’ Lavender asked.

They hurried closer. Carnaby glanced nervously over his shoulder. He wobbled. The men below gasped as he fought to keep his balance. Daly cried out.

Carnaby steadied himself, then caught sight of the police officers and the farmers forty feet below. In the fading light, they could just see the lunatic grin spread across his face. He opened his mouth, threw back his head and laughed. The noise bounced off the black rocks and echoed round the narrow gorge, chilling the men to their bones.

‘He’s bloody mad!’ Daly shouted.

‘He’ll fall to his death,’ Hamilton pronounced. ‘What’s he waitin’ fer? Why doesn’t he back off and run fer it?’

Four other figures appeared out of the gloom at the top of the waterfall. They moved stealthily towards Carnaby and encircled him. The dying rays of the sun glinted on their knives and their silver earrings. Lavender could just make out the powerful build and profiled features of Paul Faa Geddes.

The four men at the bottom of the waterfall watched in horrified silence as the gypsies moved towards their quarry. Carnaby was hemmed up against the dangerous edge of the cascade, with the surging water pressing against his thighs.

Suddenly, Geddes lashed out with his knife, but its glistening point fell short of its target. Carnaby stepped away quickly and stumbled. He lost his balance on the slimy rocks. He threw out his arms to steady himself, but his fingers grasped helplessly at nothing but frigid air.

Carnaby fell headfirst, limbs flailing, onto the jagged rocks below. He landed silently. The noise of the waterfall drowned out the crack of his shattering bones. For a moment, he lay still, a grotesque, lifeless lump amidst the roaring water of the living stream. Then the current took hold of the edges of his greatcoat and his legs and tugged him gently into the pool. He slipped off the rocks and floated face down towards the reeds.

Above them, the faws melted away into the darkness.

Lavender, Woods and the two stunned farmers moved silently towards the body and waded into the stream. It took all four of them to haul the sodden corpse out of the icy water. Lavender searched him but found nothing except a broken clay pipe and his gully knife. His weapon had been useless in the end, against the vengeance of the faws.

‘Now I see him again, close up, like,’ Woods said, ‘I can see that he is George and Isobel Carnaby’s brother.’ He reached down with wet fingers and shut the dead man’s blank, staring eyes. ‘He’s fairer of course, but he’s still a Carnaby. I don’t know how I missed that afore—in the graveyard.’

‘You weren’t to know,’ Lavender said. ‘Old man Carnaby kept his secrets well.’

‘George Carnaby had
another
brother?’ Daly asked.

‘And he were in league with him to murder their rich little sister?’ Hamilton sounded stunned.

‘His name is—was—Baxter Carnaby. He was the elder brother of George and Isobel Carnaby.’ Lavender said. ‘I need your discretion, gentlemen, because I must seek warrants for their arrest. Constable Woods will wait a while until the militia arrives, and he will explain everything to you, but then he must go to The Redesdale Arms.’

‘Alone?’ Woods asked. ‘They were tight-lipped buggers the last time I were there.’

‘You’ll have to make them talk,’ Lavender said firmly. ‘Take my tipstaff and rap them over their heads with it if they refuse to cooperate. I must go straight to Morpeth and get warrants for the arrest of George and Isobel Carnaby. Their assassin is dead now. It’s time to bring this case to a conclusion.’

‘What can we do?’ Hamilton asked.

‘Wait here with the body for Wentworth and the militia,’ Lavender said. ‘When they arrive, tell them to take it to Linn Hagh. The Carnabys are responsible for the burial of this corpse.’

‘What if they refuse or deny any knowledge of him?’

‘I’ve never known anyone to refuse Captain Wentworth.’ Lavender smiled in the dark. He would have liked to have been there to see George Carnaby’s face. Never mind. His moment would come later.

‘What about them gypsies?’ Woods’ question came suddenly. An awkward silence descended on the four men.

‘They as good as drove Carnaby over the cliff edge to his death,’ Woods continued. ‘Do we get Captain Wentworth and his men to try to round them up? They can’t have gone far.’

No, but they’ll have melted into the landscape like deer,
Lavender thought.

‘I think that this decision rests entirely on Mr Hamilton and Mr Daly,’ he said.

‘What, us? Why?’ Hamilton’s voice registered surprise.

‘You see, I’m not sure that I
did
see anyone else with Carnaby at the top of the waterfall,’ Lavender continued slowly. ‘The light was too dim.’

He waited. For a moment, he thought that Woods was about to protest, but his constable remained silent. He could no longer see the expressions on the faces of any of the other men, but he could tell by their still black outlines that the two farmers were thinking hard as they weighed up the recent dramatic events against their long-held prejudice against the faws.

‘Well, I see it this way,’ Hamilton eventually said. ‘There’s a dead gypsy girl lying in the vaults of Linn Hagh and the bastard that murdered her is now dead at our feet. I’m thinkin’ that justice has already bin served, so there’s no need to make a fuss about wood sprites glimpsed at dusk in a haunted glade.’

‘Aye,’ Daly agreed. ‘I’m with you, Jethro.’

‘And I’m with you, Detective,’ Hamilton added quietly. ‘It’s time to bring this case to a conclusion. I never saw no faws.’

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sunday, 28th November 1809

L
avender rapped on the door of the house in Castle Square, Morpeth. On either side of the entrance, the drapes were still drawn on the inside of the large, rectangular windows. Appropriate for a house in mourning, he thought—or for a house with a secret.

It was the startled doctor himself who answered the door. The maid must have been left behind in Bellingham.

‘Detective! What a surprise.’ Above his white cravat, Goddard’s face assumed the frown he usually wore when he laid eyes on Lavender.

‘Magistrate Clennell gave me your mother’s address. I won’t take up much of your time, Doctor. I’ve two requests to make and some information to give you. May I enter?’

Goddard stood back, and Lavender walked into a spacious entrance hallway. An elaborate staircase with wrought metal banisters led up to the first floor. Rectangular patches of darker plaster dotted the empty walls where the paintings had been removed. Packing cases stood near the entrance, and he glimpsed more through the half-open doorway of the parlour. Dust sheets shrouded the furniture.

Goddard followed his gaze.

‘You must excuse me if I don’t invite you into the parlour to sit. I’m still sorting out my mother’s affairs before I close up her house.’

‘Of course,’ Lavender said. ‘In fact, I would prefer to remain here.’ His eyes glanced up the staircase to the floor above.