The Heiress of Linn Hagh (34 page)

‘They’re still inside. I reckon that vicar is probably goin’ on a bit. Do you intend to interrupt the service to make the arrests?’

Mock alarm flashed across the detective’s face.

‘I don’t think so, Ned. I’d rather face a gang of silk-snatchers on a moonless night in Covent Garden than the wrath of St Cuthbert’s vicar.’

Woods laughed, and the two men waited in companionable silence.

Eventually, the church doors opened, and the pallbearers carried out the plain wood coffin that contained the body of Laurel Faa Geddes. Behind them walked a large crowd of mourners that included the Carnabys and the Armstrongs as well as Jethro Hamilton, Isaac Daly and their wives. Everyone cast curious glances at the policemen and the militia gathered on the lane beside the low wall of the graveyard.

George and Isobel Carnaby scowled.

Lavender wondered what was going through their minds. He had no doubt that the sudden appearance of Captain Wentworth with their brother’s body would have alarmed them. The realisation that Lavender had uncovered one of Linn Hagh’s darkest, best-kept secrets—the truth about Baxter Carnaby—must have unnerved them. Nonetheless, they were still determined to continue with their charade, it seemed; even now they relentlessly pursued their sister’s fortune.

‘Now?’ Woods asked.

‘Wait until they put down the coffin,’ Lavender cautioned. ‘We don’t want them to drop it in shock.’

He was amused to see Hamilton and Daly here and wondered how much they had neglected their farms over the last week. They, along with the Armstrongs, knew the truth about his intentions and the identity of the poor gypsy girl who lay in the coffin. He’d never seen a funeral like this, where so many of the congregation knew the vicar was about to bury the wrong body. Their discretion impressed him; this community could be closed-mouthed and work together when required.

Hamilton was the last of the mourners to disappear around the buttressed corner of the church. He threw a worried backward glance in their direction.

‘Let’s go,’ Lavender said.

With the militia following, they marched down the snow-dusted path and turned the corner.

‘Stop this funeral!’ Lavender instructed the vicar. ‘That is
not
the body of Helen Carnaby in that coffin.’

The mourners, gathered around the open grave of Esther Carnaby, looked up in surprise.

‘This is scandalous! How dare you interrupt my sister’s funeral?’ Isobel Carnaby screamed. ‘Have you no respect?’ Her face contorted with anger.

‘Explain yourself, man!’ the vicar blustered.

‘The body in that coffin is the body of the gypsy girl, Laurel Faa Geddes, who was brutally murdered by the man known as Baxter Carnaby.’

‘Who?’

‘This is ridiculous—you’re a blethering idiot, Lavender,’ said Carnaby. Everyone else fell silent. ‘I’ve had this corpse identified by a leading Newcastle doctor,’ he continued. ‘This is—was—my sister Helen.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Lavender said firmly. ‘It’s the body of Laurel Faa Geddes. I know this because I drank a cup of tea with your sister Helen yesterday afternoon.’

‘What!’

Gasps escaped some of the mourners. Isobel Carnaby turned white, but her brother’s features flashed with vicious anger.

‘You’re a lying, incompetent bastard, Lavender! I’ll have you thrown into Hexham Gaol for this gross impertinence!’

‘I don’t think so, brother. I think it is you who is destined for Hexham Gaol.’

The soft voice came from behind him. The stunned mourners gazed, wide-eyed, over his shoulder. Lavender spun around.

Helen Carnaby stood defiantly on the path behind him, a slight figure in a black bonnet and cloak. She glared at her siblings with anger.

‘Helen!’ Katherine Armstrong’s voice was shrill with amazement.

The congregation gasped and murmured in surprise. Some threw their hands over their mouths in alarm, as if a ghost had just risen from one of the ancient tombs.

‘Helen,
darling
!’ Isobel Carnaby had recovered quickly from the shock and began to move slyly towards her sister. Helen shrank back from her outstretched claw.

Suddenly, Katherine Armstrong elbowed Isobel out of the way. The elder Carnaby sister stumbled and fell back in surprise as the portly Miss Armstrong raced, with surprising speed, to the side of her pale cousin and flung a protective arm around Helen’s shoulders.

‘Keep back, you murderous trollop!’ she yelled at Isobel Carnaby. ‘You keep away from Helen, do you hear me?’

Lavender turned quickly to the landlord of The Redesdale Arms.

‘Do you recognise anyone here?’

‘Aye,’ Charlie Peters said. He pointed at the master of Linn Hagh. ‘He were the one who paid fer the room and visited that Baxter Carnaby.’

Lavender pulled out a warrant.

‘George Carnaby, by the power vested in me by his Royal Highness, The Prince Regent, in the name and on the behalf of His Majesty, King George III, I arrest you on suspicion of perverting the course of justice . . .’ The authority in his voice echoed around the graveyard and cut through Carnaby’s protestations.

The militia moved forward and seized Carnaby by the arms.

‘. . . and conspiring with your brother Baxter Carnaby to murder your sister Helen Carnaby and the gypsy girl Laurel Faa Geddes.’

Isobel Carnaby screamed.

George, in the grip of the two soldiers, struggled and cursed. ‘It’s a lie!’ he yelled. ‘Damned calumny!’

Lavender hadn’t finished. He held up the second warrant.

‘Isobel Carnaby, by the power vested in me by his Royal Highness, The Prince Regent, in the name and on the behalf of His Majesty, King George III, I arrest you on suspicion of perverting the course of justice and conspiring with your brothers Baxter and George Carnaby to murder your sister Helen Carnaby and Laurel Faa Geddes.’

Isobel Carnaby squealed again. Her hands flew to cover her horrified face. As the militia surrounded the woman, Lavender added:

‘In addition to this, Isobel Carnaby, I also arrest you on the suspicion of the murder of your stepmother, Esther Carnaby, earlier this year.’

A sudden silence fell over the shocked crowd. Even George Carnaby paused in his struggle against the grip of the guards.

‘Oh, yes,’ Lavender said calmly. ‘Vicar? I’d be grateful if you would ask the sexton to leave Mistress Esther Carnaby’s grave uncovered. We intend to exhume her body later and examine the remains for evidence of digitalis poisoning.’ He took out a small silver casket from his coat pocket and waved it at Isobel Carnaby. ‘The same digitalis my constable found in a drawer in
your
bedchamber.’

Isobel Carnaby went limp and collapsed, half-fainting, into the arms of the soldiers.

‘Lies! All lies!’ George Carnaby yelled. ‘I’ll have you for this, Lavender—you’ll see if I don’t! You incompetent bastard!’

Now Jethro Hamilton stepped forward. ‘I’ve had enough!’ he yelled.

The crowd fell silent again as the big farmer advanced menacingly towards the prisoner.

‘Carnaby—you’re a bastard. Is there anyone in yer family you didn’t try to hurt?’

‘Step away, Hamilton,’ Lavender warned quickly.

‘Damned if I will. By the power vested in me by the excellent ale in The Rose and Crown—I give you
this
fer what you did to yer younger brother!’

Hamilton threw a punch at Carnaby, smashing his nose and splattering blood across his face. Carnaby howled in pain. The soldiers looked at Lavender for instruction, but the detective gave them none.

‘And I give you this fer what you did to that poor faw lass!’

The soldiers loosened their grip on Carnaby as Hamilton’s second blow hit home. Swept off his feet by the ferocity of Hamilton’s fist, the master of Linn Hagh stumbled and fell backwards. The horrified mourners screamed and leapt out of the way. Carnaby landed with a sickening crash in the open grave behind him, his boots poking helplessly out of the hole.

Isaac Daly tutted with mock irritation. ‘Damn yer ruddy temper, Jethro,’ he said. ‘Now we’ll hev to gan down there and pull the bugger out.’

It took Lavender and Woods and the militia the rest of the day to transport George and Isobel Carnaby to Hexham Gaol. Once there, they had paperwork to complete, and Lavender went through Baxter Carnaby’s possessions and documents, which had been retrieved by the landlord of The Redesdale Arms. He found several more incriminating documents in which the brothers openly discussed the campaign of terror they were to wage against their sister Helen, but nothing about the plot to murder Laurel Faa Geddes and pretend that her corpse was that of Helen. Lavender began to suspect that Baxter Carnaby had acted independently in this instance. This would weaken the case against his brother.

But he needn’t have worried.

The moment the gaoler pushed Isobel Carnaby into the private cell at Hexham Gaol, so recently occupied by her younger brother, she baulked and began to squeal.

‘George made me do it! He was in league with Baxter to murder our Helen! Drop that ridiculous charge against me that claims I tried to murder my stepmother, and I’ll tell you what went on. He forced me to help. I swear I’m innocent . . .’

With a growing sense of satisfaction, Lavender told the gaoler to slam the door shut.

‘Let her stew for a few days in here,’ he said. ‘This is one for Magistrate Clennell to sort out.’

‘You always said that the case against her for poisoning her stepmother was a weak one,’ Woods whispered as they descended the gloomy stairs of the gaol.

‘Yes,’ Lavender confirmed, ‘but she doesn’t know this. The threat of the charge has been enough to make her confess
and
implicate her brother. He’ll have a hard time wriggling out of a murder charge with the testimony of
both
his sisters against him.’

They were on their way back to Bellingham when Woods asked about Helen Carnaby. ‘Where did she come from? It were spooky that—the way she just appeared out of the snow and began to throw accusations at her brother.’

‘She returned from Morpeth in the carriage with me,’ Lavender told him. ‘When I left Goddard’s house last night, she ran after me and asked to travel back to Bellingham under my protection. She and Anna were in the carriage all the time. I told them to stay there, but Miss Carnaby ignored me. Quite frankly, I’m glad that she did. It removed the necessity for further explanations once she appeared.’

‘I wonder what story she has told her uncle about her whereabouts over the last six weeks.’

Lavender smiled. ‘During the journey back to Bellingham, Anna came up with the idea that I had discovered Helen Carnaby with an unknown friend in Whitby and sent for her to return.’

‘She’s a smart gal, that Anna.’

Lavender smiled again.

‘I’m not sure if they’ll be able to pull the wool over John Armstrong’s eyes for long, especially when she marries Robert Goddard later this week, but I wish the ladies the best of luck with this ploy.’

‘Do you want to go and see the Armstrongs tonight?’ Woods asked when they finally returned to the quiet, snow-covered streets of Bellingham.

‘No, let the family celebrate Helen’s safe return,’ Lavender replied. ‘I’m hoping that Jethro Hamilton is at The Rose and Crown tonight. I want to see him.’

‘He might not be there.’

‘Oh, he’ll be there,’ Lavender said with a smile. ‘His wife scolded him for assaulting George Carnaby when we left St Cuthbert’s. I suspect he’ll have sought refuge in the tavern. I want to buy Jethro Hamilton a drink. That was the most impressive right hook I’ve seen in a long time.’

‘The first jab or the second?’ Woods asked, smiling.

‘Both.’

‘He gave George Carnaby exactly what he deserved, in my opinion.’

‘And mine, although I’ve no doubt the vicar will have something to say in the pulpit next Sunday about the cursing and fighting that occurred on holy ground this morning.’

‘Hmmph!’ Woods snorted as they trudged across the cobbles. ‘The man was resisting arrest. Hamilton were right to lay him out.’

‘As I see it,’ Lavender concluded, ‘The Rose and Crown is Hamilton’s last refuge at the moment, after upsetting both his wife and the vicar. I’m sure he’ll be there. It’s the one place where he won’t get nagged for his behaviour. Besides which, Mistress McMullen has told me that she has never known her tavern to be so popular.’

‘What d’ya mean?’ Woods asked.

‘I think, my friend, that we’ve been the main attraction in this sleepy market town for the whole of the last ten days.’

‘What? Like Charles Dignum down in the Vauxhall Gardens?’

‘Yes, exactly like Charles Dignum.’

‘We should have charged them all a shilling apiece.’ Woods observed ruefully. He thought for a moment and then added, ‘We’ve given them a good show, though, haven’t we?’ There was satisfaction in his voice.

‘Yes, Ned.’ Lavender smiled. ‘We’ve given them a good show.’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

W
hen their coach neared Barnby Moor on the return journey to London, Woods decided to bring up the question of the large brown-paper parcel in the luggage rack above Lavender’s head. Tied securely with coloured string, its label bore the following address and message: ‘Miss Mary Ann Elliot, Pilgrim Street, Newcastle. For a fashionable assortment of millinery, dresses, straw, leghorn, chip and willow bonnets. Imported seasonally from London’.

Before they left Bellingham, Woods had overheard Lavender ask Helen Carnaby for the name of a good dressmaker in Newcastle. He assumed that the detective planned to buy a small present for his mother or one of his sisters. However, the sheer size of the parcel bothered him; whatever it contained was large and expensive.

In addition to this mystery, Lavender had also returned from the shops in Newcastle with a selection of brand new shirts, a cravat and a fashionable, gold-striped, silk waistcoat. Doctor Goddard, it turned out, had also recommended a tailor.

For Constable Woods, a trained police officer with the Bow Street Magistrates Court, this was a suspicious development.

Lavender sat opposite him in the swaying coach, reading a news-sheet and frowning at reports of the Luddite disturbances in Nottinghamshire. Woods appreciated that the burgundy cravat suited the detective’s dark colouring, and the gold waistcoat gave him a look of affluence and class. But to see the detective wearing any colour at all was a new and very worrying occurrence. Lavender had always been a smart dresser, but he usually favoured a black waistcoat, either striped with grey or a patterned damask, with a crisp, white cravat.