'Coroner said there were no suspicious circumstances, if that's what you're inferring, sir. And he is His Lordship's cousin,' Dewar added indignantly, his tone implying that such an eminent member of the family could not be in question on points of law.
'Besides,' he continued, ‘I’d have never thought the family would need things like insurance, what with all their wealth. Death insurances seem to be only for common folk like us.' With a sigh, he added, 'Aye well, ye live and learn.'
'We do indeed. The site of the accident - is it far?'
'No, sir, but we can drive there.' Dewar stood up. 'If you'll follow me.'
* * *
The police vehicle turned out to be a pony trap. As they jogged up the hill at a leisurely pace, with an ancient horse who, Faro decided, would be as inept as the constable at pursuing a fleeing criminal, he used the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity regarding the Elrigg constabulary.
'Do you see a great deal of crime?'
Dewar laughed merrily at such a ridiculous idea. 'What - here? Not on your life. The local poacher keeps us busy and that's about all.'
'I should have imagined that an experienced constable like yourself would be all that was needed to keep order.'
'Indeed that was the case. Sergeant Yarrow came to us from the Metropolitan Police Force a few years back. Very badly shot up in one of their murder hunts. Cornered the villains, single-handed. Got an award for it,' he added proudly, 'but he was finished for active service.'
Dewar sighed. 'End of a promising career. Refused to retire. Asked for a quiet country posting up north, where he came from. His Lordship thought highly of him although he was appointed by the Northumberland Constabulary.'
'Isn't that the usual procedure?' Faro asked.
Dewar shook his head. 'His Lordship has the last word, makes the decisions. Only right and proper, since it is his property we are looking after. However, the Sergeant was personally recommended by the Chief Constable, who is kin to Sir Archie.'
Before Faro could comment, Dewar continued. 'Old wounds plague him a bit, poor fellow. But he's a good just man, well liked and respected by everyone.'
And a good man to have around, thought Faro, if it's a murder we're investigating. An experienced officer I can trust should an emergency arise.
They had reached the summit of the hill where the landscape was once more dominated by the weird stone circle.
Faro pointed to it. 'Interesting?'
'The headless women, sir,' said Dewar.
'I can see the reason for that. They look like sawn-off torsos.'
'Some say they were Celtic princesses, five sisters. Decapitated by the Romans and turned into stone.' Dewar chuckled. 'You should hear them crying, sir. When the wind's in the north, it echoes through the gulleys and channels. Makes your blood run cold to hear it.'
Faro looked back towards the village nestling peaceful and serene at the base of the hill. Smoke from its peat fires climbed wraithlike into the still air.
Constable Dewar smiled at him. 'Folk hereabouts believe the old superstition that the headless women are calling for vengeance.'
Between the standing stones and the road a line of trees marched sharply downwards to a grass-covered plateau.
'That's the old hillfort, sir,' said Dewar. 'Just below - see, there's the wild cattle.'
Distant white shapes grazed peacefully about three hundred yards and one substantial fence away as Faro descended from the pony trap whose ancient horse was being sympathetically patted by Dewar.
'Out of breath, old fellow? You take a good rest now.'
What would Superintendent Mcintosh make of the Elrigg Police and their archaic mode of transport, thought Faro, used to the swift well-trained horses of the Edinburgh City Police, drawing the police carriage as it rattled across the cobblestones of the High Street, striking fear into the hearts of its citizens as it carried the guilty to justice?
Following Dewar to the site of the accident, keeping a watchful eye on the empty, bleak pastureland that lay between the cattle and the safety of the road they had just left, he was relieved to set foot inside the only shelter offered, a tiny copse of birch trees and bushes.
'The Elrigg shooting parties go mainly for game birds, foxes and the like,' the constable explained. 'Occasionally the guests are allowed to kill some of the wild cattle, if numbers have to be kept down, that is.'
Safe within the copse, Faro breathed again.
'They look just like an ordinary herd of cows,' he said.
Dewar nodded. 'You don't see many all-white herds, sir. When you get closer you'll see they're very different, smaller than our beef and dairy cattle. And with those horns,' he laughed, 'a lot more dangerous.'
Suddenly sober, remembering their mission, he said quietly: 'This is where I found His Lordship. There's the gate that was left open. That's how the beast got in at him.'
'A moment, Constable. Can we back to the beginning, if you please? Two gentlemen out riding, one of them is thrown by his horse. His companion suspects he is badly injured, goes for help...'
As he spoke, Faro's brief examination of the gate revealed a sturdy heavy iron latch which could hardly have been left open accidentally. Except by someone leaving in too much of a panic to check that it was closed, he thought grimly.
'Am I correct, so far?'
Dewar grinned. 'You are, sir. As luck would have it Sergeant Yarrow and I were out riding on duty together that day. We need the horses when we have a lot of ground to cover during the shoot. We are expected to keep an eye on things. The Sergeant being lame and I'm not a young man any more, we both move fairly slowly on foot.'
'You usually accompany a shooting party?'
'That's correct, sir. Oversee it, in case of accidents.'
'But there wasn't a shooting party that day?'
Dewar looked uncomfortable. 'No, but there had been earlier that week. You see, at the Castle they were entertaining a very special guest, an important gentleman.' He went on hurriedly before Faro could ask if he knew this important gentleman's identity. 'We had also been warned to keep a lookout for those two valuable paintings that went missing.'
Faro had no wish to be diverted from the circumstances of Archie's death. He had already decided that there had been no burglary at the castle. And that the paintings had been conveniently stored away by the Elriggs themselves, safe from Her Majesty's acquisitiveness.
'Did you witness the accident by any chance?'
'No. But we were just a short distance away - over there, on the pastureland when the gentleman rode over to us. He was in a dreadful state. A real panic. Said he was going for help.'
'Were the cattle about?'
'Oh yes, they were grazing. Just like today.'
'And you rode among them?'
'Not quite among them, sir, that would be asking for trouble. We kept at a safe distance and if you're on horseback they don't attack. Seems as if they only see the horses and don't consider other four-footed creatures as their enemies. It's odd because they don't seem aware of the men on their backs.'
'And what happened then?'
'Sergeant Yarrow told me to ride like the devil for the doctor and bring back the pony trap from the station in case he needed it to carry Sir Archie back if he was badly injured. He'd stay with him, meantime, see if there was anything he could do to help.'
'How long did all this take?'
Dewar shook his head. 'I didn't take much notice of the time to tell truth, sir. I was a bit flustered - His Lordship injured and all that. We're not used to crises like that. I suppose we thought of Sir Archie as being immortal. A bit like God. And he wasn't the sort that accidents happen to, could ride like the wind, drunk or sober.'
He was silent for a moment. 'I had to tell Her Ladyship and get old Clarence ready for the pony trap.' He sucked his lip, calculating. 'I'd reckon I was nearly an hour at least. When I got back Dr Brand was already there with Sergeant Yarrow. And I knew, just by looking at their faces, that it was to
o late.'
Dewar stopped and glanced at Faro who was studying the ground curiously. 'Is there something wrong, sir?'
'Has there been much rain since the accident?'
Dewar clearly thought this an odd question. 'Not more than a few showers, sir. We're having a dry spell.'
Kneeling down, Faro examined the ground, ran the soil though his fingers, but any evidence had long since returned to dust. A few weeks was enough to obliterate the churned-up mud which might have preserved evidence of two riders side by side, and even of a charging animal.
Dewar watched, too polite to ask the burning questions brought about by such strange behaviour.
Faro straightened up, smiled at him. 'Footprints and horses' hoofs, sharp and clear, can tell us a lot. Did you notice anything unusual?'
And when Dewar looked merely puzzled, Faro pointed: 'About the ground, I mean.'
Dewar thought for a moment. 'Odd that you should ask, sir.' And rubbing his chin thoughtfully, 'When I came back with the others, I walked around -' He grinned. 'Just the policeman in me, sir. Can't help that. And when the doctor said that Sir Archie had been gored, I wondered about the bull's hoofprints.'
'There were some?'
'No, sir, that's what was odd. There weren't any. Nothing to indicate the churned-up ground a great heavy angry beast would make charging down on someone.'
'Did you point it out to Sergeant Yarrow?'
Dewar looked embarrassed. 'Yes, I did. But he wasn't impressed. I don't blame him,' he added hastily. 'He's a city policeman really, and they don't see things like country folk born and bred. Besides,' he added reluctantly, 'he does make a bit of fun of me, says I'm always on the lookout, hoping for a crime but that I'd never recognise one if it stared me in the face.'
His voice was sad, then he laughed. 'He's probably right, sir. Crimes are the last thing he wants. And you can understand that, after all he's been through, he values a peaceful life above all things. Not like me, I've never had much chance of real crime,' he added in tones of wistful regret.
Faro smiled. Such reaction fitted in with Yarrow's relaxed attitude to crime; however, if Dewar's observations were correct, the omission of hoofprints should have perturbed him considerably. He said consolingly: 'Well, you were quite right to bring it to Sergeant Yarrow's attention, even the smallest thing can be of importance.'
'I could have been wrong. I admit that. The rescue party from the castle with horses and the like would have covered up any other tracks.'
He paused, looking back towards the village, remembering. 'I told Her Ladyship. She was very upset and there was a great deal of bustle in the house. Maids rushing this way and that. The other gentleman, the one with the beard, that had been riding with His Lordship, he was leaving. He seemed to be in a great hurry.'
Dewar shook his head, at a loss to know how to continue but with condemnation in every line of his face. 'A very important guest, he was,' he said heavily. Again he hesitated, aware that Faro was a stranger, then he continued: 'As you maybe know, sir, His Lordship is - was - equerry to the Prince of Wales. You'd have thought in the circumstances he'd have waited...'
His lip curled scornfully, indicating more than any words, his contempt for this very important guest who did not even stay long enough to see Sir Archie carried home, to comfort his bereaved family and respectfully see him laid to rest.
Did Dewar know the identity of the bearded gentleman? It was quite outside the strict purpose of police procedure laid down for the protection of royalty for the local police not to be informed of the Prince's incognito. It indicated that the Northumberland Constabulary treated such visitors much more casually than the Edinburgh City Police, where royalty brought safety measures to a fever pitch of activity.
Presumably Sergeant Yarrow had been lulled into a false sense of security by the Chief Constable being kin to the laird and subscribed to the view that in this remote village outside time, where the Elriggs ruled supreme, assassins and murderers never lurked.
Chapter 8
As he followed Constable Dewar across the field, Faro noticed on the other side of the copse an area roped off on the raised plateau with evidence of an archaeological dig.
That's Mr Hector Elrigg's domain,' Dewar told him.
Faro looked at him. 'Another Elrigg?'
'Sir Archie's nephew,' said Dewar, and continued, 'the old hillfort was built long before the Romans came - or anyone else for that matter. Except the cattle, of course - they were roaming about long before men set foot in the Cheviots. Mr Hector's been digging there for years. I think he's hoping for buried treasure...
'Claims that all this is rightly his, that his father was tricked out of his inheritance. Not to put too fine a point on it, sir, it was all wine, women and gambling with Mr Malcolm, the young Master of Elrigg. He was not a good man,' said Dewar reluctantly, 'and he'd have gone to prison and the estate sold, if it hadn't been for Mr Archie, his younger brother.
'Mr Archie was completely different. As he didn't expect to inherit the title he'd gone off and built up a fine shipping line in Newcastle. He paid off all of his brother's debts, but Mr Archie was a keen businessman and the price was high - Elrigg was to be turned over to him - and his heirs.
'No one believed that Mr Malcolm would agree to such terms, but agree he did. He signed the document, took a boat out at Almouth and was never seen again. Mr Hector feels bitter about it. A man can understand that. Having to lose his rightful inheritance, in payment of his father's sins.'
As the village came in sight, Dewar asked: 'Where shall I set you down, sir?'
'I'll come back with you, if I may, and have a word with Sergeant Yarrow.'
'As you please, sir.'
'What can I do for you, Mr Faro?'
Sergeant Yarrow smiled, his greeting friendly and, as he indicated a seat opposite, Faro decided that their first meeting must have taken him at a bad moment, his calm ruffled by the stormy interview with Hector Elrigg.
'Has Dewar been helpful?'
'Indeed he has. We have just returned from the site of the accident.'
Yarrow nodded. 'And he gave you a report on what happened?'
'He did. There are just a few questions which you might be able to answer, sir.' Faro paused and Yarrow nodded agreement.
'Of course, I'll be glad to help, if I can.'
'Sir Archie was already dead when you reached him?'
'Alas, yes, I was too late.'
'What did you think when you examined the body, Sergeant?'
'That he hadn't been lying there very long. Perhaps half an hour. After sending Dewar off for help, I didn't reach the copse as fast as I intended. My damned horse went lame and I had to lead her the last part - very cautiously I can tell you, with the cattle roaming about.
'Fortunately I knew exactly where to find him. The copse is the only bit of shelter this side of the hill. But the gentleman's directions were very precise, considering the state he was in. White as a sheet and very upset he was. Almost in tears.'
He sighed. 'Alas, by the time I got there, it was too late. There was no sign of Sir Archie's horse. The cattle - they were grazing nearby - and someone, presumably the gentleman in his panic, had left the gate open.'
'And you think a bull had been attracted by the noise and had charged the man on the ground?'
Even as Faro said the words, he found such a statement most unlikely. The beast, he thought, was more likely to have been scared off.
'You see, sir, the old bull, the king bull, would be enraged by the blood, they smell blood - and fear, too, so I'm told.'
'Blood? I didn't know Sir Archie was bleeding.'
Yarrow shook his head. 'Not His Lordship's blood - his own. Dewar probably mentioned that there had been a shoot earlier in the week. It happens from time to time when guests who want a shoot come to the castle. It was the same procedure as in olden times, until lately. Like a hunt in the Middle Ages.'
'What do they use? Bows and arrows?' Faro asked in am
azement.
'That's right, sir. And crossbows. And everyone comes, a regular festival with a feast afterwards. A notice goes up that a wild bull will be killed on a certain day. The men - and some of the women too - come on horse and foot and then the horsemen ride off the bull that's the intended target.'
'Ride him off?'
'Yes, try and get him away from the rest of the herd. And when he stands at bay, the chief marksman, usually His Lordship or the most honoured guest, dismounts and fires the arrow. That goes on until the old bull succumbs. You can imagine that the old fellow gets wilder and wilder, in pain as he is.'
'I can imagine,' said Faro sourly.
Yarrow gave him a quick glance. 'I - see you don't approve, sir. No more than I do. I'm a town man myself but in the country these traditions are hard to break. Everyone comes along who is capable of shooting an arrow, even little bairns. The Elrigg family are born to it. Experts - Mr Hector and Mr Mark were trained from when they could first hold a bow.'
He paused and smiled proudly. 'Everyone is encouraged to take up the local sport and I'm now quite a good marksman myself, so is Dewar. But I prefer to stick to the archery field. We'll be having our annual contest - for the Golden Arrow - next week.'
'Really? With the castle in mourning?'
'Her Ladyship's decision. She said Sir Archie would have wanted everything to go on as normal. He would have wished to have the contest and not disappoint all the tenants.'
'That was very far seeing of her,' said Faro as he wondered at her motives.
'Come if you can. You'll be most welcome. The proceeds go to the Elriggs' favourite charities.'
'I doubt whether I'll be here then. With all these arrows flying about it might be a dangerous pastime for an observer.'
Yarrow frowned. 'The bull slaying was - for some. Not always fatal but like the ones used in the Spanish bullfights, they could turn very nasty. And that was when Sir Archie's grandfather decided most humanely that the beast should be finished off by rifle fire.'
'And that was what happened last week?'
'Yes. But some of them are not very good on the guns...'
[Inspector Faro 14] - Faro and the Royals Page 5
