Free The Heiress of Linn Hagh by Karen Charlton Page B

you employ to try to find Miss Carnaby?’ Lavender asked.
    ‘Well, George Carnaby and his guests searched the outbuildings of Linn Hagh and the surrounding area on the morning of her disappearance.’ He pointed at the single-storey buildings just visible behind the pele tower. ‘Later, us constables undertook a lengthy search of these here woods. We gave her description to the local tollgate keepers and the landlords of the coaching inns. Everyone was questioned to see if they remembered the lass passing through on the night of the twenty-first or the morning of the twenty-second. But damn me, she has disappeared without a bloody trace.’
    ‘And this Saturday you posted a reward notice for her, in the Hue & Cry section of the local newspaper?’
    Constable Beddows bristled with pride.
    ‘Aye, that were my idea. I had a rum job persuading George Carnaby to pay fer it at first, but eventually he agreed.’
    They rode up an overgrown, meandering path through meadows, where a few scattered sheep bleated mournfully. As they drew closer to the hall, they could see the dead moss clinging to the side of the stone building. Rusty farm equipment lay scattered around the entrance amongst the weeds. Window frames were rotten and warped. The whole place looked neglected and reeked of decay.
    ‘I can see someone’s got a fire blazin’ in the forest, o’er yonder,’ Woods commented.
    The other two men paused and glanced to their right. A thin spiral of black smoke swirled and disappeared into the leaden sky above the treetops.
    Constable Beddows spat onto the ground.
    ‘It’ll be them damned faws.’
    ‘Ah, the famous gypsies,’ Lavender said. ‘So that’s where they camp. I think we’ll have to pay them a visit at some point, Woods.’
    ‘Ye’ll not find owt,’ Beddows informed them sharply. ‘We’ve already searched their camp.’
    ‘Is there another way to Bellingham besides the road?’ Lavender asked.
    ‘Aye, there’s a path through the woods, but it ain’t no good fer horses. Damned woods are full of beggars and faws.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Bellingham is a market town, Detective. Every week we’re swamped with beggars come to tap the crowds. They doss in the woods on a night. There are caves along the side of the gorge.’
    To enter Linn Hagh, they had to climb a narrow flight of worn sandstone steps to a studded oak door. Grains of silica glistened in the sandstone staircase and the weathered walls around them. The frail wooden banister swayed dangerously beneath their grasp. Lavender hammered on the door with his cane, then used it to point upwards to a lip of stone above their heads. He turned to his constable.
    ‘That is where they poured out faeces and boiling water onto anyone trying to break their way in.’
    ‘Charmin’ ,’ said Woods.
    They were greeted by an elderly serving woman with frizzy grey hair and wearing a scowl. She wiped her hands on her dirty apron and informed them that everyone was out except the master. She let them into a small, paved vestibule and swayed arthritically up the stairs to announce their arrival.
    Lavender noted that only one room led off from the vestibule—a large, gloomy kitchen.
    Eventually, the woman returned and told them that the master would see them now.
    ‘Thank you, my good woman,’ Woods said with a charming grin.
    The cook seemed taken aback at his politeness. Lavender smiled to himself as they mounted the staircase. It was Woods’ job to ingratiate himself with the servants whenever they investigated a crime. His constable had made a start.
    George Carnaby sprawled inelegantly across a faded armchair in front of the huge stone fireplace that dominated the back room of the Great Hall. A large grey cat sat purring in his lap. He was a plain man with a tanned, rugged face and close-set brown eyes. His unkempt dark hair was rapidly greying and loosely tied back with a black ribbon. His slack mouth drooped at the corners. He didn’t get up to greet them