The Heiress of linn hagh
by Karen Charlton
The First Detective Lavender Mystery
The First Detective Lavender Mystery
Northumberland, November 1809: A menacing figure stalks women through Hareshaw Woods and a beautiful, young heiress disappears from her locked bedchamber at Linn Hagh.
The townsfolk cry 'witchcraft' and the local constabulary are baffled.
Fearing for her safety, Helen Carnaby's worried uncle sends out for help from Bow Street magistrates' court in London. Detective Stephen Lavender and Constable Woods now face their toughest and most dangerous case. The servants and the local gypsies won’t speak to them, Helen’s siblings are sly and uncooperative and the sullen local farmers are about to take the law into their own hands. Isolated in this beautiful but remote community, Lavender and Woods find themselves trapped in the middle of a simmering feud and are alarmed to discover a sinister world of madness and violence lurking behind the heavy oak door of the ancient pele tower at Linn Hagh. Helen Carnaby's disappearance is to prove one of the most perplexing mysteries of Lavender's career. |
Why did she flee on that wintry October night? How did she get out of her locked bed chamber? And where is she now?
|
REVIEW
"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.
Set in Northumberland in 1809, The Heiress of Linn Hagh is a spin-off novel from Charlton’s first book, Catching the Eagle, and features two of the minor characters from that tale – Detective Stephen Lavender and his good-natured sidekick, Constable Woods. This time, the pair take centre stage as they leave London and travel to Northumberland in search of a woman who has mysteriously vanished from a room locked from the inside. The lady in question, Helen Carnaby, is just weeks away from inheriting a fortune. Has she been kidnapped, or are there more nefarious reasons for her mysterious disappearance?
Locals are convinced she’s been spirited away, but Lavender has no time for such 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 – and I’m sure we’ll be hearing more of them in the future.
Charlton used to write murder mystery weekends – and even won an award for her work at a country house hotel. It is a grounding which has served her well here; 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 believeable. Charlton is a skilled writer, and her female characters in particular do her great credit. My favourites were the mysterious gypsy girl Laura Faa Geddes, and housemaid Anna.
Charlton must have done a great deal of research in order to keep the narrative true to its period, and it is fascinating to see how times have changed. Our heroes travel up north from London to take on an investigation at the behest of a local bigwig. No county boundaries to worry about here, both carry guns – and have few qualms about using them, and there’s no such thing as forensics to help them solve the case, just a healthy dose of good old fashioned sleuthing.
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. I’m more used to reading full-on, gory, gutsy, up-to-date crime thrillers, but it was refreshing to take things at a slower pace and immerse myself in the Regency period for a change. A most enjoyable experience.
- Crime Fiction Lover
18th December 2012
18th December 2012
The Heiress of linn hagh
By
Karen Charlton
CHAPTER ONE
London - October, 1809
The 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 they raced through the crowded streets. He 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 toll gate, 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 rest of 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 their 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 whipping 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 keeping.’ 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.’
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. However, 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 he 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 he 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, 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 match the number on the note with one of the numbers the merchant got from the bank. She’ll be heading 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 were 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 sponging 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 missing 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 surrounding the gal’s disappearance?’
Lavender smiled and his face lit up like a mischievous school boy’s.
‘Oh nothing I’m sure we can’t handle, Ned. Apparently, the girl vanished from a locked bedchamber.’
Wood’s 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…’
The 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 they raced through the crowded streets. He 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 toll gate, 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 rest of 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 their 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 whipping 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 keeping.’ 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.’
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. However, 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 he 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 he 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, 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 match the number on the note with one of the numbers the merchant got from the bank. She’ll be heading 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 were 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 sponging 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 missing 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 surrounding the gal’s disappearance?’
Lavender smiled and his face lit up like a mischievous school boy’s.
‘Oh nothing I’m sure we can’t handle, Ned. Apparently, the girl vanished from a locked bedchamber.’
Wood’s 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…’
Published in paperback and eBook by Famelton Publishing in
February 2014.
The Heiress of Linn Hagh is available on amazon
February 2014.
The Heiress of Linn Hagh is available on amazon