Death Comes to Dartmoor Read online

  DEATH COMES TO DARTMOOR

  A MERRIWEATHER AND ROYSTON MYSTERY

  Vivian Conroy

  CHAPTER 1

  “What on earth are you so busy with, Merula?”

  Merula Merriweather shocked upright, her pencil scratching across the paper she had been completely engrossed in. She blinked as she stared at the dark chiseled features of Lord Raven Royston sitting opposite her in the coach that rattled its way along a country dirt road.

  Raven’s expression was cynical as usual, but a genuine interest sparked in his eyes, and his slightly provocative look reminded her of the first time they had met, at a zoological lecture where Merula’s uncle was to present the novelty he had been toiling on, which had in reality been Merula’s work. Raven had at once seen through the ruse of letting Uncle Rupert take credit for her achievements, challenging her to prove to him what her work was really about.

  “Are you making notes about the journey?” Raven asked, nodding at her notebook that she had rested against her small case of personal belongings so he could not see what she was writing, no matter how he craned his neck.

  “The only thing I’ve observed about it so far,” Raven continued, “is that it is taking far too long.”

  Bowsprit cleared his throat. He was seated beside his master and displaying, as usual, an odd combination of impeccable manners and a total freedom that betrayed he had not been born into service or trained to obey orders and fade into the background. In his quiet but emphatic tone he declared, “A few decades ago it would have taken much longer, as the railway didn’t reach Paignton yet, my lord. I heard there are plans to create more routes, also inland. All the villages are vying to be along a route and have their own station. The railway brings the tourists and the money they might spend here during their stay.”

  “Don’t people object to the arrival of the railway?” Merula frowned. “A lady in my aunt’s acquaintance is certain that railway travel leads to moral decay and even causes illnesses. She claims the human body wasn’t created to move at the speed a steam engine can reach.”

  Bowsprit nodded with a serious expression. “The illustrated news magazines bring the most lurid stories of fights breaking out among passengers and decent ladies being attacked by men who are driven to insanity by the train’s movement.”

  “Really, Bowsprit …” Raven shook a reproving finger at his valet.

  Bowsprit pulled an innocent expression. “There are several recorded cases of perfectly respectable gentlemen behaving in a less than appropriate fashion as soon as they are on a moving train. What else could have caused their lapse but the train’s motions, the magazines argue.”

  “You should stop reading these sensationalist accounts. They try to convince one that even the most common things make people mad.” Raven shifted his weight. “Sometimes I wonder what people are more afraid of: death or madness. Judging by all these reports, one would think the latter.”

  Merula studied his expression more closely, as she was aware that the subject touched upon a sore spot in Raven’s own past: his mother’s death after she had been sent off into the countryside to recuperate from nervous strain.

  She knew the unsolved mystery surrounding her death—a drowning in a pond behind the family country estate that had been deemed “accidental” by the investigating authorities—weighed heavily on Raven’s mind, as he wasn’t certain whether his mother had really been unbalanced or, in fact, had been driven to distraction by a malignant person who had consciously persecuted her.

  “I could have sat on the train forever,” an excited voice spoke up from beside Merula.

  Simply called Lamb in Merula’s family’s household, where several maids had the first name Anne, she had recently been promoted from mere maid to Merula’s personal attendant, an impromptu solution to give Merula’s journey—as an unmarried young woman with a likewise unmarried, and unfortunately somewhat ill-reputed, lord—a veneer of propriety.

  Merula guessed that most of their acquaintances would still have gossiped about it, had they known, but Aunt Emma, ever eager to avert any possible damage to the family name, would no doubt have told them merely that Merula had left London to recuperate in the countryside with some obscure family member no one had ever heard of. After Uncle Rupert’s arrest for murder and the relentless campaign in the newspapers to accuse him of being the key figure in a huge “butterfly conspiracy,” the acquaintances could understand that Merula was in need of rest and a carefree time away from the city where it had all played out.

  Although Aunt Emma despised lying and considered it a sign of a sloppy upbringing with low morals, she didn’t hesitate to revert to a little white lie herself whenever she deemed that it served a greater good. And restoring the family name after the intense scrutiny it had recently been under because of the murder accusation was, in her eyes, the greatest good there could possibly be.

  Lamb sat with her nose pressed against the cold glass pane of the coach and stared with wide eyes at everything outside. Her narrow shoulders were tight with excitement in her new deep-red traveling ensemble, which had once belonged to Merula but had now been given to Lamb to make her look the part of a lady’s companion.

  Poor Lamb had been divided between bliss that she’d been chosen to accompany Miss Merula outside of London and pure terror that she’d have to perform the duties of a servant far above her usual station. Merula had reassured Lamb that she’d do fine, as she knew the girl to be both eager to please and intelligent, a combination that ensured she’d adjust to her new role quickly.

  “Everything is gray here,” Raven complained, only half hiding his yawn behind a politely raised hand. “I should have remembered this is a land of endless rocks and moors. Nothing to excite or cause wonder. Perhaps this meteorite shower Oaks mentioned to me in his last letter could be of some interest. The Perseids may only recently have been named as such, but I’m certain that these showers have been observed for many centuries.”

  He added with a grimace, “Probably as some omen of impending doom. It’s beyond me why people always view natural phenomena as signs of destruction. Why can’t they simply be part of the grand workings of the universe? In the same manner as the seasons come and go, we see phenomena in the skies such as these meteorites or lunar and solar eclipses. They tell us everything has a course, they are evidence of structure and design. Not of chaos and disaster.”

  “I’d like to see a solar eclipse sometime,” Merula said. “I’ve read that everything changes when it happens: the shadows, the light, and that even the animals know that something strange is afoot, as the birds keep quiet and the deer and foxes hide deep in the forest.”

  Raven peered at Merula with tilted head. “You still haven’t told me what you’re so engrossed in.”

  Merula held her hand over the notebook, even though she knew Raven couldn’t see what she was doing. “I’m drawing some scenes of what we see on the way. Just a little exercise.”

  “You draw as well?” Raven pursed his lips. “There seems to be no end to your talents.”

  Merula tried to determine whether he genuinely meant this or was pulling her leg and decided that she wasn’t sure. As was often the case with this strange man.

  Knowing of his bad relationship with his sister-in-law and his disregard for women in general, Merula had difficulty believing that Raven would truly value her, and yet it seemed so, if only because he was a rational man who accepted facts when they were laid before him. And he had been able to see with his own eyes how Merula had borne herself in the murder case in which her uncle had sat in the shadow of the gallows. How she had gathered information, observed, deduced, and in the end, even risked her own life to unmask the true killer.

&n
bsp; Whatever Raven thought of her, he’d have to admit her brain was as astute as his and her courage never lacking. Yes, she had been afraid and about to give up, but she had pushed through. He had come to know her in the best possible way you could ever come to know someone: by being in trouble with them and seeing how they respond.

  Raven knew her in a different way than anybody else in the world, and it had given her a strange thrill of pleasure, of accomplishment and self-confidence, to be singled out by him to accompany him to Dartmoor, where he had an acquaintance. And not just any acquaintance, but a man living on his own with a house full of zoological specimens that he kept under close guard, as he seemed to be quite the hermit who disliked human company and spent his days among his animals and his books. That Raven was allowed to come and bring her with him was a treat.

  “I don’t pretend that I can draw well,” Merula said, “but to get better I must practice. I’m not using any colors, just my pencil to make little sketches of the land.”

  Raven smiled, that slow sardonic smile that merely turned the corners of his mouth up a little. “Two women and two men on a journey. The men are bored out of their minds, and the women find fascination in every little thing. Lamb is looking as if she’s in the heart of Paris seeing fashionable ladies walk by on the boulevard in their pretty dresses with their hats full of feathers and pearls, and Merula is drawing the sights as if they are not all the same, just rocks and moors devoid of life.”

  “If you call them devoid of life, you haven’t been paying attention,” Merula protested. “I’ve seen countless birds and a man on horseback.” As she said it, she realized that such trivialities probably didn’t interest Raven, who spoke of Paris as if he had been there many times.

  Did he miss it? The grandeur of the city, the liveliness, the nights out with acquaintances, the company of admiring women?

  Raven always acted like he didn’t care what people thought of him and the string of failed business investments that had left his purse empty and his reputation in tatters. But Merula firmly believed it had to be gratifying to be admired and smiled at and spoken to with deference instead of scorn. For herself, though, she wasn’t quite sure what people should admire and respect: as an orphan with a shady past, having been abandoned and left in her uncle’s care, she didn’t have a family name to lean on, something so important in the circles in which her uncle and aunt moved. Her looks were tolerable, she supposed, but nowhere near the great beauty that could attract a well-positioned husband.

  And Merula wasn’t even certain that having a well-positioned husband and receiving invitations from the most influential families would satisfy the need inside of her to do something meaningful and be someone in her own right.

  “And have you drawn all of these scintillating sights?” Raven’s eyes dared her to affirm it. For some reason he seemed eager to argue, restless, as she could see by his lean, suntanned fingers constantly moving to rub a stain on the hat he had put in his lap or trail along the edge of it.

  “To me they are new and interesting.” Merula held his gaze. “And besides, I’m just looking for objects to draw, whatever they are. They need not be fashionable or charming, as long as I can capture them and make them look true to life.”

  “Show them to me.” Raven extended his hand.

  Merula tightened her grip on the notebook. She knew Raven wouldn’t just look at the current page she was working on, outlining the landscape they traveled along with its cliffs that plunged sharply to the restless sea. No, he would leaf through it, going backward through time, and then he’d also find the drawing she had made of him, during their train journey as he had sat staring out the window, his face relaxed but for a slight tension around his mouth, the hint of a frown over his eyes. He had a great face for any artist to try to capture, but she was uncertain whether he would see her effort as mere artistic practice.

  Before Raven could ask again and make things awkward, they heard a voice yell something, and the coach came to a jerking halt. Sitting up, Raven reached for the door and opened it a crack, allowing a stream of furious words to rush in: “… out of your mind! Jumping into the middle of the road in front of my horses. They might have reared and kicked in your head. Not that you don’t deserve it for being such a fool.”

  A voice about as agitated and ferocious replied, “You’re not allowed to pass here. Turn back.”

  “Are you mad? Turn back? We’re on our way to Cranley. Now out of my path!”

  “This road is blocked. You must turn back. You can drive to Cranley by another way.”

  “That roundabout way? That will take hours. Get out of my way, man, or I’ll drive right across you.”

  Raven threw the door wide open and leaned out, resting his leg on the coach’s step so he could maintain an upright posture. “What is the matter, coachman?”

  “This idiot here is telling me to turn back.”

  “It’s not my orders,” the voice called out. “The wreckmaster decided it.”

  “Who is the wreckmaster?” Raven asked.

  The coachman, in a begrudging tone, said, “He sees to the coastline, the beaches, and the estuary, that what ships lose and is found is divided fairly among the beachcombers. He goes out on stormy nights and saves people in danger. He has a flock of helpers and he believes he about owns the area.”

  “You better believe it,” the man in the road called. “If the wreckmaster says you can’t pass, you can’t pass. Now turn back.”

  Raven asked, “How long is this road obstruction going to last?”

  “Until dusk. Then they will stop searching.”

  Raven pulled himself back into the carriage and said to Bowsprit, “You have a little conversation with the coachman to draw him out about this wreckmaster. I’m curious as to what exactly they are searching for. Ply him with these cigars.” He took a beautiful silver case from his pocket and handed it to Bowsprit. “Divert him so he doesn’t notice or mind what we’re doing.”

  “And what will you be doing?” Bowsprit asked with a dubious expression.

  “Nothing much,” Raven assured him. “My legs are stiff from sitting for far too long. I need to stretch them. Merula, you come with me. Lamb can stay in the coach and mind our belongings.”

  Merula closed her notebook and clutched it, with the pencil, as Raven helped her out of the coach. Her legs were also stiff, and it took her a moment to steady herself, lock her knees, and roll back her shoulders.

  A strong wind blew the scent of the sea into her nostrils. The dull drone of the waves was ever present like a hum in the distance, a vibration on the air, a warning signal almost that the ear strained to detect and tune in to. The landscape had a wild and untamed character, like the man who had blocked their way. He was now striding off, dressed in dark clothes, a woolen cap pulled over his head. He was a giant of a man, at least six feet tall, with thick arms dangling by his side and huge reddish hands.

  “Is he a fisherman? What are they searching for?” she asked Raven softly.

  Bowsprit had turned to the coachman and was offering him a cigar from Raven’s case. The coachman seemed pleasantly surprised by the offer, or perhaps by the good quality of the cigars and the expensive case they came from, because he was studying Bowsprit with a new respect, oblivious to his surroundings.

  Raven nodded in satisfaction and drew Merula along. She was glad she was wearing sturdy shoes, as they left the road immediately and beat their own path across sandy patches to where they could see more of the estuary below. Something dark slithered into a clump of grass. A lizard, perhaps? Or even a snake?

  A chill went down Merula’s back. Had she not heard once it was unwise to just charge through grassy land, as there might be adders hiding there? Disturbed, especially almost trodden on, they could get vicious and bite. They were venomous, she recalled.

  Raven didn’t seem to think of snakes or poison as he strode on, his eyes on where the rocks began. “That should give us an admirable view of the estuary,�
�� he muttered. “I wonder what they are doing there. Did the hard wind drive a ship onto the rocks? Are they recovering the cargo?”

  Or dead bodies. Merula swallowed as she pictured a gruesome sight marring the first day of her exciting vacation with Raven. But she didn’t want to appear timid in his eyes and walked on beside him, ignoring the twinge in her ankle as she misstepped.

  The wind drove tears into her eyes, and the roar of the sea became more powerful. The notebook’s pages flapped as the gusts tried to get at it and tear it from her hand. She clutched it so hard she could hear her pencil creak in protest.

  Then they stood on the edge of the rocks and could see the full expanse of water and beach below. Broad and sandy, the beach stretched ahead of them, not deserted and forlorn as you’d expect on a day like this, but full of men in dark attire. Some were searching in the sand, overturning it with shovels, while others were checking piles of driftwood that lay scattered.

  “See.” Raven pinched her arm. “There must have been a sea disaster this night. They are looking for valuables that were washed ashore on the tide.”

  Merula took in all the details of the little scene, determined to draw it as soon as she was away from the hard wind that might tear apart her notebook. The men looked completely in their element here as they worked, strong and silent, each knowing what to do.

  Despite her fear of dead bodies, she didn’t see anything of that kind to trouble her. Maybe the people aboard the vessel had been saved?

  Hadn’t the coachman mentioned to them that the wreckmaster also went out to save people? A courageous man. The sea had awesome powers, and no mere mortal could withstand it. Still, if the story was true, he went and snatched people about to die from its grasp. She wondered if he was down there now helping the men.

  “What are you doing there?”

  They both turned to face the harsh, accusing voice. The man who had stopped them in the road had apparently not gone straight back to his mates but had lingered, watching them. His icy blue eyes flashed across them.