Death Comes to Dartmoor Read online

  “That does seem illogical and unwise, but if he’s truly out of his wits …” Raven sighed. “Bowsprit, you and I are going out on horseback to look for Charles. Merula and Lamb must stay here.”

  He met Merula’s gaze. “I can’t guarantee it will be safe. The villagers might come back. But you can’t ride a horse, and …”

  “Who says I can’t?” Merula protested. “You never even asked me whether I could.”

  Raven waved impatiently. “Perhaps you rode once or twice on a quiet sunny day, down the driveway of your uncle’s country home. That’s not the same thing as a ride across rough terrain on a horse you don’t know. I’m not risking an injury. Bowsprit …”

  “Coming.” The valet shot one last warning glance at the sniffling Lamb before leaving the room after his determined master.

  “I want to leave,” Lamb said again.

  Merula shook her head. “We can’t.”

  “Just look at all of those horrible things.” Lamb gestured around her at the glass containers with the dead animals. “They might all come alive and try to devour us.”

  “They are dead and locked up in jars. They can’t get out.”

  “And why is that one empty, then?” Lamb pointed at a huge container in a separate alcove high in the wall.

  Merula squinted. Indeed, the container seemed to be empty, but the lid was on and there was a label on it, designating the contents.

  She grabbed a small stool, dragged it over to the appropriate spot, and clambered onto it to see the jar better.

  Lamb cried out for her to be careful or she would get hurt.

  The container was indeed empty save for the clear liquid inside.

  The label read TASMANIAN DEVIL and a Latin designation containing the words meat and eating. So it was a creature that devoured flesh …

  Merula had no idea what a Tasmanian devil was exactly, but she didn’t think it would help Lamb’s current mood to tell her what the label said or suggest that the unknown creature could indeed be on the loose, looking for a bite to eat.

  She stepped down and realized she was still in her dressing gown. “We have to get dressed and find some breakfast,” she decided. “With hot food in our stomachs, we’ll see things in a different light.”

  “I’m not moving even two feet away from you,” Lamb whispered right behind her. “Or one of us might get strangled.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Doing purposeful things always made Merula feel better, and today was no different. She dressed, explored the kitchens, found biscuits, bread, and cheese, had Lamb prepare coffee, and then they sat together in the large dining room, eating their morning meal.

  The sun streamed in through the windows’ colored glass, turning the plain carpet into a pattern of red, blue, and yellow. Dust danced on the rays, and wherever the light drove away the gloom, Merula detected cobwebs and signs of silent decay eating its way into the furniture and the wallpaper. The house needed servants and a lot of them too, to preserve everything that was here. But with the rumors about the murderous creature coming from here, no one would want to come work there.

  “I hope they find this strange Mr. Oaks and bring him back here and then we can leave. It’s none of our business whether he’s innocent or not.” Lamb nodded firmly. “I don’t think Lord Raven knows him very well. Else he would have realized the man was somehow not right in his head.”

  “We don’t know whether he is right in his head or not,” Merula rebuked gently.

  “He has to be peculiar, living here all alone with all of these creatures in jars. I even saw a calf among them with two heads. That isn’t natural.”

  “Animals can be born with deformities. Natural historians study those to learn more about the animal kingdom. It’s just for the purpose of scientific progress.”

  Lamb pushed her plate away. “I can’t eat thinking about it. Those eyes looking at you through the glass. Wherever you stand in the room, they seem to be looking at you. As if they can follow you around. And the girl being strangled. A cold wet tentacle grabbing your neck.” She shuddered, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “I won’t sleep another wink in this place.”

  “I’m sorry you don’t feel well here. But in London there is crime as well. Killers on the streets.”

  Merula wasn’t really convinced by her own argument and also pushed her plate aside. “Let’s put together what we know. A girl was killed. If we ignore that she might have been killed by some sea monster, we must accept that she was killed by another human being. Most likely a local. Why would he kill that girl? Just because he’s a madman? Or because he has a reason for wanting her out of the way? Motives for murder can be revenge, greed, or jealousy.”

  Merula wondered briefly if the killer could have been a woman who disliked the girl for being young and pretty. She was simply assuming it had been a man because strangulation seemed like a man’s action. So physical and violent, forcing direct confrontation with the victim. Would a woman be cold-blooded enough to go through with it as, under her very hands, the victim struggled for survival? Wouldn’t she resort to other, more indirect means, such as poison?

  Then again, a terrible rage might drive a person to act out of character, not caring for the consequences. She had to keep an open mind and consider all the possibilities. “We should know more about the victim. Who was she, where did she live, what did she do? I guess that in a small village, people know things about each other. Too bad there is no housekeeper here who might prove garrulous.”

  “I did see a boy,” Lamb said.

  Merula blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

  “A boy. At the stables. I think he cares for the horses. Brushes and feeds them and takes care of the saddles and the carriages if Mr. Oaks has some. He might know things.”

  “Excellent.” Merula rose. “We’ll go to the stables to see what he might tell us.”

  Lamb followed her like a shadow as she strode out of the dining room, through the hallway, then out of the damaged front door.

  Just seeing the splintered wood made Merula’s throat constrict again and her heart pound violently. They had escaped disaster because of Bixby’s timely arrival.

  Perhaps they should have expressed more gratitude? He did seem to have a way of convincing the villagers to listen to him, which had not just saved them now but might also prove useful in the future. They couldn’t afford to alienate someone whose help they might need later on.

  At the stables they found the door open and sounds of shoveling coming from the inside. As Merula walked in, she had to halt a moment to allow her eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine outside to the dimness within. Vaguely she detected movement to her right. A figure was raking the straw on the floor. As she began to see more, she spotted a wheelbarrow by his side stacked with dirty straw. The sharp scent of dung was in the air.

  Wrinkling her nose, Merula approached two more paces. “Good morning.”

  The boy dropped the shovel, which clanged to the floor. He stood looking at her, his eyes wide. Then he exhaled. “For a moment I thought you were Tillie.”

  Merula recognized the name as the same one their host had mentioned the previous night when he had heard a female scream. “Does she work here?”

  The boy nodded. “She cleans and cooks. She vanished two nights ago.”

  “Vanished?” Merula asked.

  “Yes, she went to the inn to give her wages to her father. She always does that on the night he plays cards with the other men. Ever since her mother died, it’s just the two of them. She didn’t want to go into service at first, leaving him alone. But she couldn’t help him at the smithy either. It’s not a girl’s work.”

  “The local blacksmith is her father?” Merula asked. She remembered having seen the man among the locals with the torches. He seemed to have some influence over them, as he had gestured at them after Bixby’s orders to retreat and they had obeyed him.

  The boy nodded. “She made it to the inn, for she did give her wages to h
im. But she never came back here. They looked for her everywhere. On the moors and the beach.”

  “The beach?” Merula echoed. “We saw a huge party on the beach of the estuary yesterday. We assumed they were combing the beach after a sea disaster.”

  The boy shook his head. “They were looking for Tillie. The wreckmaster promised her father he’d find her.”

  Merula tilted her head. “But the beach is miles from here. Why would they assume she had gone there? Was she running away from someone?” Had she agreed to meet someone there? Who could take her further away? Across the water? Or by railway?

  The boy shrugged. “The wreckmaster and his henchmen never say what they are going to do. It’s a man’s job, they say, nothing for boys. I can’t help them. I have to stay here and care for the horses.”

  He lifted his head and looked at them from under his wild brown hair. “Tillie has to come back. It’s her birthday soon. I got her a present. Something she’ll like.”

  Merula felt a shiver go down her spine. Bixby had told them about a dead girl, found only that morning. Was that the girl who had worked here? The one this boy was obviously so fond of? Might even be a little enamored of?

  Dead? Murdered?

  “Were there other servants here beside you two?” she asked. She needed to form an opinion of the household and its workings.

  He shrugged. “In the beginning. A housekeeper and a coachman. But they left. I don’t mind working here. I wanted to keep an eye on Tillie. I did a good job too, I did.”

  He sounded a bit overemphatic, as if to convince himself that he had not failed now that his charge was gone without a trace.

  “Of course you did.” Merula forced a smile. “Is there someone we can talk to? About Mr. Oaks? Do you know who lived here before? Or who arranged for Mr. Oaks to buy this house when he came to live here?”

  Perhaps the former owner or a legal person who had taken care of the house’s sale could throw light on Oaks’s reasons for moving here, to a remote area where the people were wary of strangers?

  The boy’s expression changed. “Mr. Oaks is gone,” he said in a tone as if this was the best news in ages. “He won’t be back. He didn’t deserve her. He never did.”

  Merula narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge the sentiment behind the boy’s words. “Do you know where Mr. Oaks went? Did he tell you?”

  Had he run? Afraid of what people might say after the girl’s death?

  But how had Oaks even known there had been a death? Unless, of course, he himself was the killer …

  “He told me nothing.” The boy looked distant now, unaccommodating.

  Lamb suddenly spoke up. “Come now, of course he told you something. You care for his horses; he trusts you.”

  The boy stared at her as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to believe her.

  Lamb continued, “Horses are valuable and they can be nervous. Only special people can work with them. Mr. Oaks recognized you as such a special person. You have a way with horses. I saw you this morning from the window, with the chestnut stallion. You could master him. Not many can, I bet.”

  “Nobody but me.” The boy stuck out his chest.

  “There. I thought so.” Lamb leaned over and assumed a confidential tone. “Mr. Oaks lets no one handle his horses but you. He trusts you. He must have told you where he was going.”

  “He was in an awful rush. Breathing fast. ‘They are after me,’ he said, ‘they are after me.’ He didn’t give me time to saddle the horse properly. He pulled the reins from my hand before I was even done. He was sweating, and his face was pale. He kept looking about him as if he was afraid of someone jumping him. But there was no one here but the two of us.”

  The boy frowned, apparently considering the strangeness of his master’s hurried departure, then shook himself. “I just want Tillie to come back. I can take care of her. I know where the master’s money chest is. I can pay her her wages even if the master doesn’t come back.”

  Lamb glanced at Merula with a disappointed expression. She had tried her best to get him talking, to find some major clue to Mr. Oaks’s whereabouts, but he didn’t seem to know anything.

  “Did Mr. Oaks have a favorite place he liked to go?” Merula asked. “Some hideout on the moors? Or farther away toward the coast? Or did he have a second house nearby?”

  The boy shook his head. “I don’t know if he has any house beside this.”

  “But he was friends with Mr. Bixby, wasn’t he? They visited each other. Might he have gone to Mr. Bixby?”

  The boy shook his head with determination. “I don’t think so. Not after they fought.”

  “They fought?” Merula echoed. Strife between the men would be at odds with Bixby’s affirmation that he and Oaks had been friends. That he had even taken care of Oaks in his way, visiting him and expressing concerns about his health.

  “And when was this fight?” she asked the stable boy.

  “Last week, I think. Mr. Bixby dined here and the master saw him off and I heard him saying, ‘You have to stop mentioning it to me. I won’t be pressured into it. I won’t.’ ”

  Merula chewed on her lower lip. Had Bixby discussed his concerns about Oaks’s mental state, and had Oaks refused to listen to it again?

  Had Bixby advised him to consult a specialist, a psychiatrist, for instance, and had Oaks refused, claiming he wouldn’t be ‘pressured into it’?

  That seemed most likely, given the things Bixby had told them that morning.

  So Oaks wouldn’t turn to Bixby if he believed he was being hunted. But to whom would he turn?

  “Did he have any other friends here?” she pressed. “Who came to visit him?”

  “No one really. The villagers didn’t like him. There was a gentleman once with a very nice carriage. But he didn’t stay long. Tillie had to announce him and then Mr. Oaks said he didn’t want to see him, and he left again.”

  A doctor from the city? Sent by Bixby, dismissed by Oaks? “Did Tillie tell you what that gentleman’s name was?”

  “He gave her his card to take up to Mr. Oaks. Tillie can’t read, so she didn’t know what it said. She just took up the card, and Mr. Oaks looked at it and said he wouldn’t see the gentleman. Then Tillie had to tell him so. She said it was terribly rude. Turning away a fine city gentleman like that.”

  “A city gentleman? So it was no local man?”

  The boy shook his head. “We had never seen him before.”

  Merula wondered if the card presented to Oaks might still be in the house so she could go and look at what it said, but Lamb poked her with an elbow. “I hear horses’ hooves outside. Lord Raven must be returning.”

  Merula couldn’t deny that a rush of relief flooded through her upon hearing this news. The place was rather eerie in its loneliness and with the strange events that had taken place. She’d feel better with Raven around and Bowsprit, two able men who weren’t influenced by talk of creatures slithering around in the night.

  They walked out of the stables and saw Raven and Bowsprit approaching, each on a horse. Raven had something in front of him, a large dark mass. As horse and rider came closer, Merula determined it was another man slumped against Raven.

  “Mr. Oaks!” she called to them as they drew even nearer. “What happened to him?”

  “We found him under the trees near the river. He was unconscious.” Raven reined in the horse beside them. His expression was grim. “His heartbeat is very erratic, and he mutters as if he’s in a delirium. I can’t find wounds on him or bruises, so it doesn’t seem like the villagers have beaten him.”

  “And his horse?” Merula asked. “He left here on horseback, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but we didn’t see his horse anywhere around. We’ll have to look for it later. First he needs to be put to bed.”

  Bowsprit had jumped down from his horse and was now standing beside Raven to help him lower Oaks to the ground. Raven then dismounted, and between them, Oaks’s arms slung over their shoulders, they half c
arried, half dragged the man to the house.

  Inside they labored to get him up the stairs. Merula opened the door to the sitting room, urging them to put Oaks on the sofa for the time being, but Raven insisted it was better to put him into bed where he could properly rest.

  Merula wondered if Raven was also worried that Oaks would try to flee again and hoped that by putting him in his bedroom upstairs, they would make that a little more difficult. Did the bedroom door also have a lock so that Raven could trap the man inside?

  She sent Lamb into the kitchens to make more coffee and to look for brandy or another strong liquor. She herself followed the men. “How far away from the house had he got? And why would he go to the river? I just talked to a stable boy who was certain he was on the run. Oaks would have ridden fast then, away from the area, trying to reach a railway station.”

  Raven didn’t respond. He grunted under the weight of their uncooperative charge.

  Bowsprit halted a moment to hoist the man’s limp form better onto his shoulder, and then they continued, their shapes oddly reflected in the huge brass samovar that stood against the wall. It was flanked by two mounted animals that looked like fluffy little deer but had vicious fangs sticking out from under their upper lips, giving them a vampiric appearance. Merula wondered if they were a real species or the invention of a creative taxidermist. Combinations of skin, ears, tails, and teeth could lead to creatures from the realm of nightmares sooner than from the real natural world.

  At last Raven and Bowsprit had wrestled Oaks into the bedroom and onto the bed. Heavy green curtains hung from the four posters, echoing the colors used in the wallpaper and the painted windowsill, which also served as a seat with a view of the garden. A stack of leather-bound books suggested Oaks liked to sit there and read.

  Bowsprit tried to pull off Oaks’s boots while Raven wiped the sweat off his own face. Looking at Merula, he said softly, “Oaks might have ridden to the river to throw himself into it.”