The Northminster Mysteries Box Set 1: Books 1-3 Read online

  THE NORTHMINSTER MYSTERIES BOX SET 1

  BOOKS 1-3

  The Butchered Man

  The Dead Songbird

  The Shadowcutter

  by

  Harriet Smart

  Published by Anthemion

  Copyright © 2018 by Harriet Smart

  Made with Jutoh

  Second Edition

  www.harrietsmart.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  The Butchered Man

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Epilogue

  The Butchered Man: Dramatis Personae

  The Dead Songbird

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Epilogue

  The Dead Songbird: Dramatis Personae

  The Shadowcutter

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Epilogue

  The Shadowcutter: Dramatis Personae

  The Hanging Cage (Excerpt)

  Chapter One

  From Anthemion

  About the Author

  THE BUTCHERED MAN

  by

  Harriet Smart

  Published by Anthemion

  Copyright © 2011 by Harriet Smart

  www.harrietsmart.com

  THE BUTCHERED MAN

  Chapter One

  17th January, 1840

  Felix Carswell climbed down from the train at Northminster in a giddy, befuddled state brought on by the novel sensation of travelling at twenty miles an hour. It was raining heavily and he was wondering if he should be extravagant and hire a fly, or risk a long walk in the rain, when he noticed an elegant, low-slung travelling carriage, drawn by a pair of natty greys. It was painted a distinctive chocolate brown with cream-coloured trim and Felix did not need to look at the coat of arms on the door to know to whom it belonged.

  The many-caped footman standing by the carriage caught sight of Felix, opened the door and let down the steps. With the mixture of deference and insolence peculiar to flunkeys he indicated that Felix was to get in. Felix considered walking straight past him, but decided it was better to get the business over with sooner rather than later, so climbed in as he was bid.

  “These railways are wonderful things,” said Lord Rothborough, snapping shut the cover of his watch. “One can predict almost to the minute where a man will be.”

  There were times when Felix thought it would be better had Lord Rothborough left him to die in the back room of a Parisian bawdy-house. This morning was one such.

  “Good morning, my lord,” said Felix. He had no wish to sit down, but he had no choice. Lord Rothborough had him trapped. The footman had already closed the door behind him.

  With gloved fingers, Lord Rothborough plucked a paper from the pile of correspondence that was lying on the seat beside him next to his travelling writing slope and the bulging dispatch cases. His heart sinking, Felix recognised his own careless scrawl on it.

  “Now,” said Lord Rothborough, “I know young fellows don’t care much for the art of letter-writing, but this!” He let out an expressive sigh which would not have disgraced one of his famous amateur performances in the private theatre at Holbroke. “I wonder you took the trouble to write it at all.”

  “My lord, if I might expl–”

  “Explain? So you want to explain now, do you? And only when I have taken the trouble to be here to listen? That’s a little dilatory, to say the least. No, sir, you may not explain!”

  Felix decided he would get out of the carriage there and then, and moved as if to do so, but Rothborough reached out with his silver-topped stick and barred his exit.

  “Sit!” he said. He tugged the cord and they set off. “Let us recapitulate,” he went on, holding up the letter. He began to read: “‘My Lord, I write to inform you that I have taken a post as police surgeon to the Northminster Constabulary and will be commencing my duties there on 17th January. Your obedient servant, F.J. Carswell MD’. Such elegant economy! Is that the fashion amongst you young medical men? But of course this is not fashion. This is insolence! Nothing more, nothing less. How dare you, sir? I wonder you bothered to write at all. Why did you do that? To taunt me with it? Is that all this is?” Felix was fumbling for words to defend himself against this onslaught, but he did not get a chance to use them. Rothborough was just getting into his stride. “How could you take it into your head to apply for this post without consulting me? Here of all places! You did not think how it would look for me, I suppose. Or perhaps you did?”

  “No one knows me here. I thought...”

  “You are pretending to be naive. You know I am well known here. The connection will be made. What were you thinking of?”

  “A man in my position must take what he can get, and this is a good post. I had no doubts about it whatsoever,” Felix said with as much bravura as he co
uld manage. “The advantages far outweigh any disadvantages.”

  “You speak as if you were casting around for crumbs,” said Rothborough, “when that is scarcely the case. I understood that your prospects in Edinburgh were excellent. What has happened? Were you dismissed?” Felix did not answer, and of course his silence incriminated him. “That is what it smells of,” said Rothborough, tapping the letter. “What happened? Did Professor Logan dismiss you?”

  “I was forced to resign,” Felix said after a long moment. “My situation became very awkward.”

  “In what way?”

  “We found we were at cross-purposes,” Felix said.

  Rothborough narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?” he said.

  “I really would rather not go into this just now –”

  “I am sure you would not,” said Rothborough, “but I advise you to overcome your reticence and tell me. After all, you know that I will find out what happened sooner or later.”

  Felix looked away and out of the window, as the carriage shuddered along a narrow and winding cobbled street, past ancient half-timbered buildings that might once have been picturesque. But now they were defaced by dirt, neglect and a most extensive rash of paper bills, shrieking and spitting about everything from wild beast shows to quack medicines. “Parker’s Penny Pills. The Poor Man’s Friend.” More likely his poison, Felix thought.

  Northminster was certainly living up to its reputation for ugliness. He had some acquaintance with the filthier pockets of Edinburgh and was not unduly shocked by what he saw. Yet it depressed him that this was what he was condemned to by his folly. It would surely have been better to sign on as surgeon aboard that whaler. But to have done that would have meant hurting his mother even more than he had already done, and he had had enough of the reproachful, tear-stained faces of women to last him a lifetime.

  “So?” said Rothborough.

  Felix forced himself to begin. “There was a lady.”

  “Ah, now we have it,” said Rothborough, with a great sigh. “Who was she?”

  “Professor Logan’s daughter.”

  “And no doubt you were a prize puppy and made love to her. Of course! But her dear Papa objected and would not let you make a match of it, considering you to be an insolent whelp? If that is the case, he is not far wrong. And from the look of you, it is the case, I think. Yes?”

  Felix looked away. He wished it had been as simple as that. It would have been much easier to bear. To be thought merely insolent would have been something of a relief.

  “I take it she is a beauty,” Rothborough said after a long silence.

  “Yes,” Felix said with as little emotion as he could manage. “Yes, she is.”

  “You have had a lucky escape,” said Rothborough. “I am glad that Professor Logan had the sense to put a stop to it. It would not have been a good match. You are far too young to marry, and however charming the young person might be, it would have been beneath you, and too much of an elevation for her.”

  “There was no difference in rank,” Felix said, pointedly.

  “I hope to the heavens you are not nursing some brooding secret engagement or any such nonsense. If you are, and you dare to keep such a thing from me, you will live to regret it, my boy. I hope you understand that?”

  “You do not need to worry about that, my lord,” Felix said. “That is not my difficulty. The fact is...” He swallowed and decided he must tell the truth. “Her father did not object.”

  “What?”

  “He wanted me to take an interest. He saw me as a prospect. He thought my connections desirable. So he threw us together somewhat and at first, I scarcely knew what he meant by it. She was so charming and sweet, and I could not help but be flattered. What man would not?”

  “You did not engage yourself to her with his consent?” said Rothborough. “Tell me that is not so, for God’s sake, tell me you did not do that!”

  “I thought – I truly believed that...”

  “That you loved her?” said Rothborough. There was a silence. “And then you fell out of love.”

  “Yes,” said Felix, looking across at him. There was little more to be said. He could not improve on the accuracy of the diagnosis.

  “And so you asked to be released from your engagement,” Rothborough went on, in the same dry and devastating tone.

  “Yes,” Felix said.

  “He ought to have horsewhipped you,” said Rothborough. “Did he?”

  “No, but he got his pound of flesh,” Felix said.

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred guineas.”

  Rothborough gave a low whistle. “And yet you did not think to write one line to me about this, did you?”

  “No, my lord, of course not.”

  “Of course not?” said Rothborough. “What do you mean by that?”

  “How could I?” Felix said.

  “Did you not think I would help you?”

  “Yes, sir, and that is exactly why I did not write!” exclaimed Felix. “I did not require your help. You know how I feel about this. I will not be –”

  “What?” said Rothborough.

  “I must make my own way. That is what I mean.”

  “And a fine job you have done of that so far!” said Rothborough. He folded up the letter and laid it back with the others. “However, what is done is done. You are here now and we must make the best of it. In fact, I am beginning to think that there is no harm that you should become known here – and for doing something useful. Vernon, the Chief Constable, is by all accounts an excellent fellow. You will be in safe hands here. There will be no dangerous young ladies or ambitious fathers. In fact, I think the whole thing may be turned to our advantage.”

  This was the last thing Felix wanted to hear. It was as if he had escaped from one trap only to blunder into another, and he was certain that Rothborough’s expectations of him were much worse than Professor Logan’s. Rothborough did not want five hundred guineas to stop him suing the hide off him. He wanted his soul. It had always been so.

  “I trust that appalling item is just for travelling,” Rothborough said at length, giving Felix’s broad-brimmed wide-awake hat a savage poke with his stick.

  “As a matter of fact, no –” Felix began, but the carriage was now turning into what appeared to be the yard of an inn. They drew up, and the moment the footman had set down the step and opened the door, Lord Rothborough had jumped out of the carriage with his customary energy. Felix was spared having to defend his hat.

  “Major Vernon, I presume?” Felix heard him say. “Good to know you at last, sir.”

  “My Lord Rothborough?” came the reply. “This is an unexpected honour!”

  “I have Mr Carswell here for you,” said Lord Rothborough. “I found him at the railway station.” He made it sound as if Felix were a stray dog.

  Felix reached for his offensive hat and climbed out of the carriage.

  Waiting for him was a lean-faced man with close-cropped hair, who was dressed in a dark blue frock coat trimmed at the cuffs with silver. But the most striking thing about him was his sharp, cool blue eyes, and for a moment they flashed over towards Lord Rothborough and then back at Felix, noting, he felt sure, the close likeness.

  “How do you do, sir?” Felix said, putting out his hand, but avoiding that gaze. He glanced about him instead, taking in his new surroundings. The building struck Felix as a very curious one for its purpose – the headquarters of Northminster’s City Constabulary. It was clearly very ancient, and looked as if it had been assembled rather than constructed to any sort of plan. A hotch-potch of stone and wood, heavy with open galleries, jutting stories and mullioned windows, it looked to Felix as if it should be in some fanciful painting recreating the splendours of former days.

  “Thirty years ago this was one of the great inns of the town,” said Major Vernon, answering Felix’s unspoken question. “The Unicorn. You probably remember it, my lord?”

  “The landlord was a Tory and the food was execrable,” said Lord Rothborough.

  “This way, gentlemen, if you please,” said Major Vernon.

  Felix followed Lord Rothborough and Major Vernon across the courtyard and in through a low doorway. They began to climb up a broad but creaky staircase, the posts of which were topped by bare-breasted maidens whose almond-shaped eyes seemed to look slyly at Felix.

  “I am trying to persuade my masters on the Watch Committee to find the money to rebuild this place,” Vernon was saying. “For now, though, it does well enough. It’s very convenient for the castle and the law courts, and the beer cellars make good holding cells. Do come in, gentlemen. Will you have some wine?”

  They followed him into his office, a large, plainly-furnished room, purposefully hung with large maps of the city and the districts about it, and decorated only by the military flourish of a pair of crossed swords, with their scarlet cords, mounted above the fireplace. It was a room to make a man straighten his back.