The Heiress of Linn Hagh by Karen Charlton

when they entered the room.
    ‘I had no idea you would be calling today. Armstrong told me he had employed Bow Street runners, of course, but he didn’t let me know you had arrived. You could have let me know, Beddows,’ he snapped at the constable.
    The local man flushed and shuffled uncomfortably beneath Carnaby’s glare.
    ‘Shall I fetch tea for yer guests?’ the serving woman asked.
    ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you,’ Lavender said. ‘I would prefer to get straight on with the investigation.’
    The elderly servant hovered for a moment, as if she preferred to get her instructions from Carnaby. But he remained silent, so she bobbed a curtsey and disappeared back down the stairwell.
    Carnaby indicated that the officers were to join him around the fire, but he didn’t offer them a seat. They stood and waited patiently while he groped in the pocket of his waistcoat for a silver snuffbox.
    ‘What do you want to know? No doubt Armstrong and my man Beddows have filled you in on the details of the night of the twenty-first.’
    My man Beddows? Lavender frowned.
    While Carnaby took his snuff, Lavender allowed himself a quick glance around. The vaulted wooden ceiling that towered over their heads was crumbling with woodworm. He could just make out the grimy rectangles on the bare stone walls where tapestries and oil paintings had once hung. This family was selling off their heirlooms. He smelt mould beneath the wood smoke.
    ‘Mr Armstrong and Constable Beddows have already given me their version of events, but perhaps you can tell me in your own words what happened?’
    ‘Nothing new to add, really. We rose late that day, and when we realised no one had seen my sister, I went to find out what had happened to her. She’d not been well the previous day, so naturally I was concerned. She’d barred her door, and when we couldn’t rouse her, I broke it down. But she’d gone—like a bloody spirit in the night. We’ve been searching high and low for the damned gal ever since.’
    He scowled, took another pinch of snuff, then wiped his nose with the back of his shirtsleeve. Lavender recognised the rich and expensive aroma of Macouba.
    ‘What do you think happened to Miss Carnaby?’
    ‘Damned if I know. That’s your job to find out, ain’t it, Lavender? The bloody minx has probably run off somewhere just to give us all the trouble of looking for her.’
    ‘Were you aware if she had a lover or an admirer?’
    Carnaby flushed and a muscle twitched in his neck. ‘If there is one and he’s part of this, I’ll thrash the bastard to within an inch of his life when I catch him. She’s been under my protection since our father died, and I’ll have no bloody fortune hunters seducing my baby sister.’
    ‘We’ve found no evidence of a man in her life,’ Beddows soothed. ‘I’m sure that our reward advert in the Hue & Cry will bring forward some information—with or without the help of these London detectives.’ His voice was high pitched. Lavender could not tell whether it was with nerves or affectation.
    ‘It might have been better if you’d included a full description of Miss Carnaby in the advert,’ Lavender observed wryly. ‘Fair hair, blue eyes, five foot two inches tall—or something like that—so the readers of The Newcastle Courant would recognise her if they saw her.’
    A stunned silence descended into the room, and Lavender could see Carnaby’s neck begin to twitch again.
    ‘You bloody saphead, Beddows,’ he growled. ‘You made me pay for an advert and didn’t write the damned thing properly?’
    ‘How was I to know?’ Beddows began to bluster beneath the glowering fury of the owner of Linn Hagh. ‘I’ve never dealt with a case of a missin’ lass before.’
    ‘You’re an addled-brained idiot, Beddows! If you fell in a barrel of women’s dugs, you’d climb out sucking your thumb.’
    Lavender had seen and heard enough.
    ‘Can you point us in the direction of Miss Carnaby’s