The Heiress of Linn Hagh (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 1) Page 2

  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.

  Anna’s young ears heard it again: the unmistakable sound of a large creature moving through the undergrowth in the woods beside th
eir path—but this one moved with stealth. She spun around, hoping to see that Master Matthew had left Miss Helen’s side. No. He still lurched like a drunk beside his sister.

  Whatever, or whoever, followed them now was not Master Matthew.

  Anna froze in fear, and her mistress stopped with her.

  ‘What is it, girl? What’s the matter?’

  The forest filled with a sound far more disturbing than anything Master Matthew could make.

  A cruel laugh echoed throughout the woods. It rebounded off the blackened trunks and rent the icy air around them.

  Master Matthew let out a chilling primeval wail of terror and fled past Anna towards the hall.

  ‘Run!’ Miss Helen yelled, her voice full of fear. ‘Run for your lives!’

  Anna needed no second bidding. As more of the terrifying laughter rang in their ears, the three women screamed and ran for the safety of Linn Hagh. They clattered across the cobbles, scrambled up the flight of stone steps and eventually fell through the studded oaken door. Miss Helen slammed it shut behind them and shot home the great iron bolts.

  Still trembling, Anna crossed the small vestibule to seek the warmth of the range and the comforting presence of Mistress Norris, the cook. Master Matthew was there before her, cowering in his favourite corner.

  ‘Gawd’s teeth! What in hell’s name is going on?’

  Master George Carnaby was also in the kitchen. He had risen hastily and knocked over his chair, alarmed at the dramatic reappearance of his family.

  ‘What devil’s business is this?’ he demanded of Anna.

  His two sisters followed Anna into the kitchen. Miss Isobel collapsed onto a chair at the table. She was shaking and dishevelled, and her eyes watered like an old woman’s. Miss Helen leant back against the kitchen wall and closed her own eyes. Her long lashes rested on cheeks now deathly pale. Both women breathed heavily.

  ‘I say again—what in God’s name is going on?’

  Miss Isobel found her voice and pointed an accusing finger towards Master Matthew.

  ‘That bacon-brained idiot scared us in the woods. He behaved like a fiend from hell.’

  Master George laughed, but the smile never reached his eyes.

  ‘I thought you had more sense than that, Izzie.’ He moved menacingly over towards his brother, his face contorted with cruelty. ‘Fancy letting yourself be scared by this idiot.’

  His boot lashed out. Master Matthew squealed, twisted and curled up into a ball on the floor. The vicious kick, which had aimed for his head, was deflected to his ribcage. Anna winced as she heard it thud into his flesh.

  Master Matthew screamed.

  Anna began to cry. The cook placed a comforting arm around her shoulders and held her steady. Miss Helen and the two helpless servants winced as Master George delivered one vicious kick after another into the defenceless body of his sobbing younger brother. Miss Isobel laughed in delight and threw a withering, triumphant glance back at her sister.

  Eventually, the two oldest Carnabys tired of their sport and left the kitchen to climb the stone staircase to the Great Hall above.

  ‘We’ll dine in half an hour,’ Master George informed the cook as he went.

  Miss Helen went immediately to comfort her wretched brother.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Matty,’ she whispered. ‘I cannot stand up to them both.’ Her cheeks were stained with the tracks of her own tears.

  Mistress Norris sighed and moved over to the range, where she unhooked the great iron kettle from the metal contraption above the fireplace.

  ‘Let’s have a drink of tea. They’s can wait fer their bloody supper.’

  Miss Helen persuaded her brother to move onto a chair by the table. The cook warmed the pot and counted out spoons full of tea from the caddy. The familiarity of the routine began to calm Anna. The scalding drink revitalised her.

  Eventually, Master Matthew’s sobs subsided. He took the saucer of tea in his large, filthy hands and gulped it down like an animal. Every now and then he would groan and wince.

  Anna looked away; she didn’t want to shame the young master further by staring at him.

  ‘I’ll call at Doctor Goddard’s in the morning and ask him to come and examine him,’ Miss Helen said.

  ‘Huh! They’ll not thank you fer runnin’ up a doctor’s bill,’ Mistress Norris commented. Her eyes rolled up to the high-beamed ceiling to indicate to whom she referred.

  ‘I’ll pay for it out of my own money.’

  ‘I’ll make him a poultice fer tonight, to tek away some of the pain. The Lord knows, I’ve had plenty of practice with that particular recipe,’ the cook added bitterly.

  At last, Anna found the confidence to speak.

  ‘Miss Helen, why did your sister not tell Master George about the other gadgie in the woods? The one that laughed at us.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Master George could have taken his man and his gun and searched fer him.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he could have done.’

  ‘The intruder will be long gone by now. Was it one of the faws, do you think? That laughter were creepy, weren’t it?’

  ‘I’ve heard that man before,’ Helen Carnaby said as she rose to leave. ‘He is stalking me like a poacher.’

  Chapter Three

  Dusk was falling as the stagecoach rumbled up the Great North Road towards Barnby Moor. Inside the cramped vehicle, which stank of damp body odour and burning oil wicks, the seven passengers drooped with weariness. The road was in good condition on this stretch. The drivers kept up a steady pace and veered less to avoid ruts. The regular motion and the constant rumble of the wheels lulled the tired passengers towards sleep. Even the constant drumming of the rain on the roof of the coach had a rhythmic quality to it. One by one, they closed their eyes and began to nod.

  Only Stephen Lavender and the shabby man who had joined the coach back in Newark remained awake. Another passenger, Mr Nathanial Finch, a retired bookseller from Sheffield, sagged in Lavender’s direction. His weight pressed into the detective’s shoulder. Lavender shuffled uncomfortably beneath the pressure. At the far end of their row of seats, the elderly Mistress Finch let out an unladylike snore.

  Lavender’s back ached with the long journey and the constant jolting of the carriage. He stretched his legs and tried to avoid kicking his dozing constable, who sat opposite him. He envied Woods’ ability to drop off to sleep in such an uncomfortable upright position; it was not a skill he had ever mastered. Beside Woods, the Newark man pulled out a battered pocket watch and checked the time again.

  It would be at least another hour, Lavender realised, before they arrived at the relative comfort of The Bell Inn. He glanced out of the mud-splattered window into the foul weather outside but could see little beyond the condensation and the rivulets of rain that streamed down the pane. He tried to picture the vast expanse of barren fields and the snatches of woodland that he knew lined the road between here and Barnby Moor. It was an isolated area.

  Still, sleep eluded him.

  He let his eyes feast for a while on the raven-haired Spanish beauty who sat next to the fidgeting man from Newark. Magdalena Morales was also trying to rest and leant against her maid, who was fast asleep in the far corner by the window. Shortly after leaving London yesterday, the young girl had asked her mistress if she could sit next to the window. Doña Magdalena had smiled and changed places. At supper last night, in the tavern in Peterborough, the señora had resumed the haughtiness of her class and her race; she had been distant and evasive when questioned by the other curious travellers. But in this one small gesture of kindness towards her servant, Lavender felt that he had a glimpse of the real woman behind those beautiful violet-black eyes.

  Despite her evasiveness, Lavender could tell from her frayed cloak, faded silk gown and elegant manner that she was probably another impoverished
Spanish aristocrat who had fled her country after Napoleon’s brutal invasion. Although her charming, deep voice was heavily accented, she spoke English well and clearly understood several of the idioms used by the other passengers. This indicated that she had been in England some time. The only question that remained unanswered in his mind was the whereabouts of her husband. Here, or back in Spain?

  He would not normally have cared, but an interesting magnetism had sprung up between them. Whenever he helped her down from the coach, her dark eyes smiled and her neck flushed slightly. She paused in her speech when their hands touched, as if savouring the strong grasp of a man. Last night at dinner, she had sought out his opinion on several occasions and had been noticeably less haughty with him than anyone else. Idly, he wondered how long it had been since the señora had lain with her man.

  Her sensuous mouth dropped open slightly, revealing a glimpse of her moist pink tongue. Her bosom began to rise and fall in the gentle rhythm of sleep. He leant back against the cushions of the coach, half-closed his own eyes and allowed himself a few pleasurable thoughts about what he would do to Magdalena Morales if he ever had her naked in his bed.

  He had nearly dozed off when the man from Newark reached out and gently eased the reticule from between the señora’s limp, gloved hands. Slowly and carefully, his expert fingers began to feel the shape of the coins in her bag before replacing it onto her lap. His actions took only a few seconds, but it was enough to tell Lavender exactly who and what he was; the man’s greed had given him away.

  Lavender forced himself to remain rigid and still in his corner of the coach. He continued to watch the man through half-veiled eyes and tried to slow his own quickening breath. He scanned the contours of the man’s shabby greatcoat, looking for the outline of a pistol. There was an ominous bulge by his right hip. It all made sense now: the uneasy fidgeting, the constant checking of the time. Lavender’s brain raced. He desperately tried to remember if there was any place between here and Barnby Moor that was more heavily wooded, more secluded and more notorious for highway robbery than any others. He realised grimly that there were several.