Death Comes to Dartmoor Read online

  “Bathers?” Raven echoed. “In the depth of night? You mean to say that the girl who died was bathing in the river when she was strangled?”

  “The body lay upon the riverbank, they say. Half in the water. That must mean she tried to flee from the monster, but it grabbed her from behind.”

  Merula listened intently. If the girl had been strangled from behind and she had fallen forward onto the riverbank, did that mean the killer had indeed come from the water?

  Raven asked, “But were you there when the dead body was found? Were you part of the search party for it?”

  Ben’s expression tightened. “The wreckmaster only wanted his own men present. I wasn’t allowed to help.”

  “But the wreckmaster’s business is miles from here. He doesn’t control the river, does he?”

  “Oh, he’d want to. He is friendly with everyone who has some influence around these parts. The millers, the farmers, even the workers up at Powder Mills. Sometimes I think he believes himself to be master of the whole of Dartmoor.”

  Merula resisted the urge to poke Raven, as this seemed highly significant. If the wreckmaster was involved in smuggling, as Lamb had suggested, he would of course need to have people who helped him move the smuggled goods. What was more innocent than a farmer taking a cart full of what looked like sacks of grain to a mill and the miller then taking the flour farther? In reality, they might be moving smuggled goods!

  “We should have been allowed to look for her as well,” Ben Webber said. “I’ve known Tillie since we were both children. But that wreckmaster guards the beaches of the estuary like they contain a treasure.”

  Ben Webber made a disparaging movement with his hand. “He thinks he’s something, but his days are past. The railway is coming, and the tourists want to be entertained. We need to start tearooms and souvenir shops where we can sell toby jugs and tin ornaments. The village should be ruled by merchants like me.”

  “You seem like a very intelligent young man. Please tell me more about the kraken and the murdered girl.”

  Ben Webber reddened with pleasure at the compliment from the alleged London newspaperman, and he made a sweeping hand gesture. “I haven’t seen the body myself, as I wasn’t allowed to look for her. But I’ve heard it looked really odd. That you could see on the neck exactly where the kraken had gripped her and cut off her air. They have these things on their tentacles that leave traces.”

  “Indeed.” Raven studied Ben Webber closer. “It’s a shame you live in such a small village and have a shop to tend. You’d make an excellent reporter. You know all the interesting tidbits. I’m glad we came here. Aren’t you, my dear?”

  Merula smiled languidly. “If it pleases you, my dear.”

  Raven had already turned back to Webber. “This owner of the house the kraken steals away from at night, can you tell me more about him? I think his name is Oaks?”

  Webber’s eyes betrayed a moment’s panic, as if he had just become aware, so soon after the flattering compliment that he knew all the right details, that he could hardly confess he knew next to nothing about this man. He drew breath slowly. “Well, I’ve always heard that it’s not right to tell tales about people, but then again, once there are deaths …”

  Raven nodded encouragingly.

  Merula felt as if her loud heartbeat could be heard in the silence. People from this very village had been to the house that morning, had seen them, might recognize them sitting here with the talkative greengrocer’s son. What if they came out and threatened them again? Drove them out of the village?

  Ben Webber continued, “Tillie was always a wild one. Her father didn’t have the time to look after her, and her mother died years ago. She was always determined to become something special. I guess that’s why she had to go and work for him. A stranger who had traveled wide and far. She told all kinds of fancy tales about her work there. That she was allowed to clean the silverware, which was very valuable, or that she had seen cups and saucers that came all the way from China. She even claimed that Mr. Oaks had asked her to marry him. We never believed her. She was a poor deluded girl.”

  His hands in his lap clenched into fists. “Her death is on his head. He drove the creature to kill her. He had to cover it up.”

  “Cover up what?” Raven asked. “Their affair? The fact that he didn’t want to marry her at all?”

  Ben’s hands relaxed. “Something like that, yes, I suppose. He had money, and when they do, they think they can cover up anything. He must think the police will not come after him now. Besides, if the kraken did the killing, what can they charge him with?”

  “But Ben …” Raven smiled kindly at the young man. “You’re such an intelligent young man that I can’t accept you’d believe in a murderous sea creature. You have your theory who did the killing. You know. Please tell me what you think. I highly value your opinion.”

  Ben hesitated a moment. It seemed he was considering something, weighing his options. Then he said, “It was Oaks.”

  Merula narrowed her eyes. The young man’s tone didn’t convince her. It was as if he had been thinking about someone else. Had he then decided it wasn’t safe to mention that particular name? Whom could he be suspecting?

  Raven shook his head as well. “But if Oaks wanted to kill the girl who served in his own house, why not kill her and bury her somewhere and lie to the villagers that she had left? She might never have been found. Why leave her body along the river and contrive this farce with the kraken that points straight back to him and his collection? Wouldn’t a smart man do it differently?”

  “Who said he was a smart man?” Ben’s voice was low and menacing. “He was stupid. A coward, too.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Ben rose from the bench. “I have to get back to the shop. The staff can’t do without me. I trust you will keep your word and pay me for what I told you.” He suddenly sounded agitated and distrustful.

  “Of course. But I don’t have the money on me now. And I think you owe me just a little bit more about the circumstances of the death. Find out for me via the local coroner, or the morgue, or the doctor—whoever handles the dead bodies here—what the cause of death was, how the body looked when found, and other peculiarities. Then report back to me and you will be handsomely rewarded.”

  Ben Webber looked doubtful. “How may I reach you?”

  “I’ll stop by again. I don’t want you showing up at my hotel. I’m supposedly here to rest.” With a superior gesture, Raven waved the young man off.

  Ben Webber went, but not before he smiled at Lamb.

  Merula glanced up at the girl, seeing the redness in her cheeks and the glow in her eyes. “I think you made a conquest,” she joked lightly.

  Lamb flushed deeper. “Such a man would never look at me. He’s dashing, has a shop, and …”

  “He doesn’t have a shop,” Raven corrected. “It’s his mother’s until he turns thirty, and judging by his youthful features, that’ll take at least another five years, more likely seven. He’s trying to make more of himself, and that can be dangerous. I wonder how much he really knows. He has been inside the house, near the kraken. Did that give him the idea? What if he wanted to get rid of Tillie …?”

  “Why would he?” Merula objected at once. “Bowsprit told us it was Fern who Ben Webber was interested in, not Tillie. But before Tillie came to work for Oaks, she was at the inn. What if things are going on there, criminal things? Webber just told us Tillie liked to make herself special. Perhaps she witnessed something and spoke about it.”

  “You mean her talkativeness became her undoing?” Raven mused. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  “Smuggling!” Lamb cried triumphantly. “I said it before. An inn is a meeting place for many people. You can exchange things, make plans while looking innocent sitting over ale and cards.”

  Raven hushed her high-pitched tones. “If there are criminal activities going on, we must tread lightly and not make anyone suspicious of us.”


  Lamb hung her head, but her expression stayed lively and excited, as if she was working on a grand theory.

  Raven said, “We have to talk to Fern right away. She works at the inn and she used to be Tillie’s friend. If Tillie saw something, she might have mentioned it to Fern. Not exactly what she saw, perhaps, but that she knew something that might prove advantageous to her. Wait a moment.” He got to his feet and rushed after Ben Webber.

  After a few minutes, he came back. “We needn’t go far. Webber told me Fern should be at the church cleaning and refreshing the flowers. That way, then.” He pointed in the direction of the church’s square, sturdy tower. The sunlight reflected off the golden-colored weathercock on top.

  In the small square beside the church, several weathered oak trees threw shade across a few children playing with clay marbles. The sharp ticks of the marbles hitting each other were still audible as they walked through the invitingly open door into the church.

  Inside, all sounds were blocked out by the thick walls, and solemn shades hung between the pews.

  A blonde girl sat on her knees, scrubbing the tiles to their left. She used so much pressure that Merula thought she was either remarkably thorough or upset about something.

  When she noticed them, she jumped to her feet with a cry, raising a hand to her throat. “You’d drive me into death sneaking up on me like that. Are you here for the vicar? He had to go see a dying old man, won’t be back for hours. I know old Thompson. He claimed to be dying last spring and then in October before that. He just needs a bit of attention, I wager.”

  She dried her soggy hands on her apron. “I can tell you a thing or two about this church, if that’s what you’re interested in. The vicar has told it often to visitors while I’ve been here, so I know it all.”

  Her mouth pulled tight a moment as if she remembered something unpleasant. But she smiled again almost immediately, gesturing accommodatingly down the aisle.

  “That’s very kind of you,” Raven said, “but we’re not here to learn about the church. We’re here to talk about your friend Tillie.”

  Fern’s eyes widened a moment, in surprise or shock. She dug in her apron’s pocket and produced a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “That’s something terrible, sir. I can’t believe it happened. Not here in our village. You hear of killings in the city, but not here.”

  “Not even when a monster from the water does it?” Raven asked softly.

  Fern looked at him, again taken aback, it seemed. “You believe in such things?”

  “Don’t you? I thought Dartmoor folk were superstitious.”

  “Some may be, but I’m not. I’m sure someone human killed Tillie.”

  “There was a reason she had to die?”

  Fern sniffed in the handkerchief. “I suppose it’s hard to believe. She was always kind to everyone, wouldn’t hear a bad word about anyone. You’d never think she’d have an enemy in the world.”

  “But she did?”

  “Well, I never believed her, sir. I wish now that I had. Then I might have helped her so that she didn’t get killed.” Fern burst into tears. She sank into a pew and sobbed in her hands.

  Raven looked at Merula as if to goad her into action. Merula stood next to the girl and looked down on her narrow, shivering shoulders. “What did she tell you that you didn’t believe?”

  “That she would be rich soon. I thought she was just lying to make herself seem important. To show me she had gone up in the world now that she worked at a fine house. She never liked the inn, the men grabbing at her. She felt herself too good for that.”

  Fern wiped her eyes. “You have to slap at them when they get a little too persuasive. But she never did. She didn’t dare. She was really a skittish little thing. Which is why I didn’t believe she’d be rich. How?”

  How indeed? Merula asked herself. Out loud, she said, “Did she not say any more about how she’d get rich? Didn’t you ask her questions about it? If you were so surprised and didn’t believe her at all, you must have—”

  “Of course. I asked her how she’d ever get rich and if a man was involved. She blushed terribly. She told me not to breathe a word of it to a soul. It was a surprise for her father. She always wanted to help him get on the right track again. He wasn’t well after her mother died. Not well at all.”

  “You mean he was ill?”

  “He was drinking. He came to the inn every night. He made trouble sometimes. Tillie begged the innkeeper to send him away, but the innkeeper said he’d just go elsewhere. Wanted his money, the greedy old bastard.”

  “You don’t seem to like your employer,” Raven observed dryly.

  Fern scoffed at him, “He may be my employer, as you call it, but I know what he’s like. Taking money out of the till when he goes to market so he can bet on the horses. His wife is not to know. Well, she has to be blind as a bat not to know that. But then she’s so busy collecting money for the tapestry.”

  She gestured to the far wall. “There was a tapestry there depicting the miracle of Moses producing water from the rocks. It was old and moldy, falling apart. She wants to have it repaired by a master artist. Someone from London, I think. It costs a lot of money and she’s taking donations for it. We have nothing to spend here, so she’s smiling up at wealthy people who vacation here.”

  “Or new residents, like Mr. Bixby and Mr. Oaks?” Raven asked.

  “I don’t think Mr. Bixby has money to spend. He put it all in his house. They say he spent a fortune to change Gorse Manor. It wasn’t grand enough for him.”

  “And Mr. Oaks? Tillie must have told you a thing or two about him.”

  “Just that he was kind and that he had shown his books to her. I didn’t believe her. She can’t read or write, so why would he show his books to her?” Fern dabbed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Tillie was such a silly goose, believing everyone wanted the best for her. But she was just being used.”

  Her lips wobbled. “If I had believed her and pressed her harder to tell me what it was all about, I might have saved her life.”

  “Tillie didn’t drop any kind of hint, however small, as to how she’d get rich?” Raven pressed.

  Fern shook her head. “She just said it was a perfect plan. That it couldn’t go wrong.” She laughed softly, a strange little high-pitched laugh. “Couldn’t go wrong, huh? She’s dead!”

  Raven gestured at Merula that they should leave.

  Merula smiled at the girl. “Thank you for speaking with us. We’re really very sorry for your friend’s death.”

  Fern nodded and sniffled.

  Outside, Merula narrowed her eyes against the light, which seemed piercingly bright after the dimness inside.

  Raven rubbed his arms. “Those places are always cold like dungeons.”

  Merula eyed him. “I think it was a lovely little church with that one colored glass window. Didn’t you see it?”

  Raven stared at the ground. He spoke so soft she could barely hear him. “It was always chilled in the chapel at Raven Manor. But never as chilled as during those days when my mother’s body was laid out there. High summer, and still it was cold as the grave itself. I wasn’t supposed to go there, see her after she died, but I went anyway. I hated them all for keeping me away from her. Especially my father. I sneaked down one night and went to the chapel, all alone. How I wish I hadn’t.”

  Merula swallowed. She didn’t know quite what to say.

  Raven continued, still staring with eyes that seemed to look back into the past. “The coffin stood in the center on two benches. It was too high for me to look into. I guess that was good. I never saw her face. I suppose it must have been contorted after the fear she suffered. I just remember the coffin and the light of the candles playing across the wood. Of feeling that terrible cold invade my body until I was like a lump of ice. I couldn’t move anymore. Still I wanted to run away.”

  “Did your father ever find out you had gone there?”

  “I don’t know. I never told him.” Raven
clenched his hands into fists, then relaxed them again. Jerking his head up, he met her eyes. “Do you believe Fern that Tillie never hinted at how she was going to get rich?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure.” Raven pursed his lips. “They were friends, allegedly. They worked together at the inn, had to face the leering men night after night. They must have had some kind of bond. A bond that lasted after Tillie left to work for Oaks. They still lived in the same village, must have seen each other when Tillie came to the inn to give her wages to her father. Isn’t it logical that Tillie would confide in Fern? Perhaps even engage Fern in her plans to get rich? Supposedly they had an argument; well, perhaps it was about these alleged riches. I didn’t want to ask her explicitly about the argument, as it might have made her suspicious of us. It’s better if she believes for the moment that we’re sympathizing with her loss. We might have to speak with her again later. Once we know more, we might be able to corner her.”

  “It sounds like you suspect her of knowing something vital she won’t reveal.” Merula studied Raven’s demeanor. “Something relating directly to Tillie’s death? She seemed forthcoming enough, sharing her knowledge readily, of her employer’s gambling, his wife’s charitable work, and Tillie’s plans to get rich.”

  “Indeed.” Raven stamped his foot. “But she wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details on the latter. Perhaps she really doesn’t know them, but on the other hand, I couldn’t help but think about the books Oaks had in his bedroom, referring to the old graves on the moors. Fern just told us Tillie claimed that Oaks showed his books to her. Perhaps Oaks told her about the kistvaens, and Tillie believed that she knew the location of such a grave. She grew up around these parts and must have heard all the old tales. However, it would be rather scary for a girl to locate a grave on her own.”

  Merula tilted her head. “You mean that Fern knows what Tillie was up to and is keeping her mouth shut because …”