Continuing his inspection of the gravestones, which was proving singularly uneventful, he was once again seized by a fit of sneezing. Aware of being tired and hoping this was not the prelude to a fever, he sat down on a rustic seat sheltered by the church wall.
Taking out his handkerchief, he encountered the book Miss Crowe had dropped. The History of Civilisation by Henry Thomas Buckle. A curious choice, he thought, for a young woman whose main reading was of the sensational kind. Opening it at the bookmarked page he read:
* * *
Of all offences, it might well be supposed that the crime of murder is one of the most arbitrary and irregular. For when we consider that this, though generally the crowning act of a long career of vice, is often the immediate result of what seems a sudden impulse; that when premeditated, its committal, even with the least change of impunity, requires a rare combination of favourable circumstances, for which the criminal will frequently wait: that he has thus to bide his time and look for opportunities he cannot control, that when the time has come his heart may fail him, that the question whether or not he shall commit the crime may depend on a balance of conflicting motives, such as fear of the law, a dread of penalties held out by religion, the prickings of his own conscience, the apprehension of future remorse, the love of gain, jealousy, revenge, desperation; - when we put all these things together, there arises such a complication of causes, that we might reasonably despair of detecting any order or method in the result of those subtle and shifting agencies by which murder is either caused or prevented. But now, how stands the fact. The fact is, that murder is committed with as much regularity, and bears as uniform a relation to certain known circumstances, as do the movements of the tides, and the rotations of the seasons.
* * *
Faro re-read the lines heavily underscored and, turning back the pages, read the owner's name on the flyleaf, so unexpected and disturbing that it set at naught all his evidence. With a sickening feeling of dismay he realised he might well have been following the wrong track.
Chapter 15
Faro walked slowly down the main street, wrestling with the enormity of his new discovery. Constable Dewar had to hail him twice before he was aware of an interruption to his dismal thoughts.
The constable was off-duty, in his garden opposite the police station. With considerable effort Faro returned his greeting and paused to admire the neat array of daffodils.
Dewar smiled, indicating the rustic seat by the door.
'You're looking tired, sir. Rest yourself a while. Mrs Dewar'll bring us out a drink while we enjoy the sunshine.'
Faro needed no second invitation. As he sat down with a sigh of relief, Dewar said: 'Inquiries going well, sir?'
Faro shook his head. He didn't have McQuinn but in the circumstances Constable Dewar, who had lived in Elrigg for many years, might have convenient access to the kind of information he needed.
He sighed. 'Not very well, I'm afraid. I could do with your help, Constable.'
Dewar looked startled at the request. He regarded Faro indecisively, and then, squaring his shoulders, said firmly: 'I'll be straight with you, sir, although I don't think you're being straight with me.'
While Faro was thinking of a suitably evasive reply, he continued: 'I've been keeping an eye on your activities, sir.' He paused dramatically. 'You're a policeman yourself, aren't you?'
Taking Faro's silence as affirmation, he smiled triumphantly.
'You're either a policemen or you have been at some time in your life.'
At Faro's grudging admission, Dewar thumped his fists together with a crow of delight.
'Knew I was right all along, sir. Said so to Sergeant Yarrow. All he says is that if you wanted us to know that, then you'd tell us. And that I was to keep quiet about what I suspected.'
As Faro wondered anxiously how many others Dewar might have confided his suspicions to, the constable leaned forward and said earnestly: 'I am at your service, sir. You can rely on PC Dewar. Born and bred in the place, there's nothing I don't know about the ways of folk hereabouts. Elrigg's an open book to me,' he added proudly.
Faro smiled vaguely.
'What is it exactly your lot sent you down to investigate?'
There seemed little to lose and much to gain by being honest with Dewar and Faro decided to reveal his true identity.
Dewar's eyes boggled. He whistled. 'Not the Inspector Faro. From the Edinburgh Police. Well, I never,' he said with an admiring glance. 'Why, every policeman from here to London has heard of you.'
And when Faro bowed modestly, Dewar's expression changed to one of shrewd intelligence.
'Then it must be something very important indeed that's brought you here. Not a couple of missing paintings or a death insurance, I'll be bound.'
Faro frowned. 'I take it that you are aware of who Sir Archie's companion was on the day of the accident?'
Dewar beamed. 'Bless you, sir, everyone is. Although we all pretend to go along with their incognitos. "Mr Osborne" - a lot of nonsense.'
'Tell me, is there much security attached to these visits?'
'Security!' Dewar laughed. 'At Elrigg? Bless your heart, no, sir. Sergeant Yarrow and I are required to ride at a discreet distance. This isn't London or Edinburgh, not like any big city. Just a token presence of the law, you understand, where royal visitors are concerned.
'We know all the people here, you see, and if there was any villain coming in with bad intent, well, he'd stand out like a sore thumb, sir. We'd be on to him before he had time to know what hit him.'
Even as Faro doubted that, he remembered his aunt's similar reaction to the Deeside inhabitants in the vicinity of Balmoral Castle.
'People think they are just strangers passing through and won't be noticed. They'd think differently if they knew how newcomers are a fascinating topic of speculation. Of course,' Dewar continued, tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger, 'we all know the real reason for the royal gentleman's visit, but enough said.'
And he closed his mouth firmly, loyal to Queen or Prince and Country.
'Where do you get your information from?' Faro asked.
'Servants, sir,' said Dewar cheerfully. The way the gentleman in question has to have a room nearby his, er, interest, if you get my meaning. So that he can come and go without embarrassment to either of them...'
Faro's eyes widened to think that matters arranged with such delicacy by discreet aristocratic hosts were in fact common village gossip.
Dewar paused and then, in a tone purposely diffident, 'Her Ladyship's a rum 'un, mind you.' And again he regarded Faro nervously and closed his mouth firmly in the way of a man who fears he has already said more than enough.
'How so?' Faro prodded him gently.
Dewar took a deep breath. 'Well, sir, the class she comes from, actresses and such like. Can't see one of her kind settling down to be a proper wife to His Lordship. Stands to reason, his family's one of the oldest in the land, older than any royalty.' With a shake of his head he added pityingly, 'Her so young, five years married and not a bairn, much less an heir. Just ain't natural.'
'Presumably Sir Archie wasn't worried by this?'
'You can never tell with that class of people, sir.'
'He does have an heir, I gather.'
'Yes, Mark, his first wife's son. But it's not the same, is it, sir?'
'I understood that they were close kin.'
'Yes.' Dewar sounded doubtful. 'The first Lady Elrigg was Sir Archie's cousin, so the lad had a right by blood. I was one of the witnesses to the will, sir, I tell you that in confidence. That in the event of the laird dying without issue, it would all go to Mark.'
Dewar frowned for a moment, before saying in the manner of one choosing his words carefully: 'It seems to me that Lady Elrigg isn't as grieved as is natural in the circumstances. Not like the example Her Majesty has set for widowed ladies. She's ordered mourning to be set aside and I hear tell that she and her companion have been heard playing the piano
, singing comic songs. Now that's not nice.'
At Dewar's shocked expression Faro said gently: 'You mustn't forget that the two ladies are very young. At least having a companion who has known her for a long time must be a great help to Lady Elrigg at this time.'
'That's as maybe,' Dewar admitted grudgingly, 'But Miss Kent doesn't behave like a servant at all. Very grand with everyone in the village, too. Too good for the likes of us, you'd think. And it's time she was finding herself a man before it's too late...'
Faro felt a fleeting sympathy for Miss Kent at the village matchmaker's mercy as Dewar went on: 'Bowden tells me that one or two of his customers - young lads - have made, well, advances when she's been down on an errand. Nothing coarse or undesirable, you understand,' he added hastily, 'just friendly - a bit saucy like they are with the maids at the Castle. But this one just gives them a steely look, a frosty reply.
'What can you expect with stage folk?' He shook his head. 'Can't be doing with them. Mind you, I was sorry for that poor actor chap who had that nasty accident while staying at the Castle.'
'What kind of accident?' Faro asked innocently.
'Well, sir, it was all a bit mysterious, if you ask me. If it had happened anywhere else there would have been a full inquiry but here, well, it seemed to me that it was very hastily hushed up, the Chief Constable and the Coroner being close kin of Sir Archie -'
'Wait a moment,' Faro interrupted. 'You mean that there was something to hush up - like foul play?'
'Well,' said Dewar reluctantly, 'that's what I thought.'
'How so?'
Dewar shrugged. 'This actor arrives in the village and takes a room at the inn. He starts asking about Her Ladyship. Seems he was an old chum, they have been on the boards in London. Next thing we knew, he's cleared off in a carriage taking him to the Castle, to be the guest of the Elriggs, to entertain Mr Osbourne - on one of his visits. Must have been there for about a week, when he and Mr Osbourne went out riding together.'
He paused, frowning. 'Mr Osbourne came back alone, so we are told. They had parted company. No one took much notice of the fact that Mr Gray was missing at dinner that evening. It wasn't until next morning, when the maids discovered his bed hadn't been slept in, that the alarm was raised. The servants were a bit worried about that, especially the housekeeper, who thought he'd maybe gone off with the silver. You can never tell with that class of people, sir.
'We were alerted but we weren't permitted to question Mr Osbourne personally. All we had was what he told His Lordship, that he and Mr Gray had ridden as far as the pastureland at the edge of the estate and he, Mr Osbourne, was feeling tired and decided to return.
'That was all we had to go on. We set out and there he was, poor gentleman, lying dead in the copse beside the hillfort. He'd been gored by one of the wild cattle. There was no doubt about that. A dreadful accident. The Coroner and Sir Archie were all for having it cleared as quickly as possible. Didn't want it getting into the newspapers, with royalty involved.'
He looked at Faro. 'I've often thought that it was odd finding His Lordship in the same place. Died the same way too. A strange coincidence, don't you think?'
Faro made no comment, thinking that any other police than Elrigg would have thought it also suspicious enough to merit immediate investigation.
At that moment they were interrupted as Mrs Dewar came out of the house, drying her hands on her apron.
'Food's ready, Sandy.' And, seeing Faro, she smiled. 'Is this the gentleman you were telling me about?'
She bobbed a curtsy as they were introduced, looking very impressed. 'Won't you take a bite to eat with us, sir?'
'Aye, do that,' said Dewar. 'Jessie can beat the inn for anything they might produce. And it's steak pie -'
'Go on with you, Sandy,' said Mrs Dewar. 'Can't have Mr Faro expecting too much. It's all simple food.'
As they led the way into the house, he heard her murmur to her husband, 'He's younger than I thought he'd be. And my, isn't he handsome?'
Chapter 16
Faro ate at the Dewars' kitchen table with its welcoming fire and even more welcoming smell of freshly baked pies. The vacant place opposite him was set for Sergeant Yarrow, the constable explained: 'We don't have many meals together. I go on duty when he comes off so that the station is manned during the day. He boards with us, has the spare room upstairs. House is too big for Jessie and me since the lads left the nest.'
'Came to look for a place of his own. But somehow he just stayed on and we've got used to having him.' Mrs Dewar looked round from piling extra potatoes on their plates. 'He's such a nice kind thoughtful man. Just like one of the family. More pie, Mr Faro?'
Faro declined the offer and Mrs Dewar continued: 'He's not a bit of trouble. He'd make a grand husband for some lucky lady, I tell him.'
Dewar laughed. 'Jessie's always trying to marry him off. There's no such thing as single blessedness for her.'
'A crime against nature, that's what it is, God never meant his creatures to live solitary lives,' Mrs Dewar protested.
'A bachelor, is he?' said Faro.
'Not him, more's the pity. His wife died around the time of his accident.'
'Aye, and he misses her. I often see him looking at her photograph when I take him in his tea,' sighed Mrs Dewar. 'I think he was glad to start a new life here, away from all the memories.'
Pausing, she looked across the table at Faro. 'Are you a married man yourself?'
Faro shook his head. 'Like your Sergeant, I'm a widower. My wife died in childbirth eight years ago.'
'How sad,' tut-tutted Mrs Dewar. 'You're all alone too, sir?'
'Not quite. I have two little girls living with their granny up in Orkney.'
'Orkney?' Mrs Dewar frowned. 'That's a fair distance from Edinburgh, isn't it?'
Faro smiled. 'It is indeed. But my wife was married before and I have a stepson living with me. He's a doctor.'
'That's nice for you. You'll have another spoonful of dumpling?'
'Yes, thank you, Mrs Dewar. That was absolutely delicious.'
As Mrs Dewar beamed, very liberal with the jam sauce, they heard the back door open.
'Talk of the devil,' said Dewar. 'That's the Sergeant now. I'll need to take over, Jessie,' he added, scraping his plate.
Faro wished he could have had a moment in private with Dewar to stress the need for secrecy. He didn't want the news of his real identity spread around Elrigg. However, such a hurried exit was impossible with a second helping of pudding uneaten on his plate.
Sergeant Yarrow's greeting was friendly and politely interested as he enquired about the progress of Faro's investigations. As Mrs Dewar made a great deal of fuss over him, he seemed to enjoy her attentions.
Faro mentioned that he had been to the kirkyard and Yarrow said: 'If you're interested in the history of Elrigg and the cattle, I have a book upstairs. You can borrow it if you like. It won't take you long to read.'
'What about your food, Sergeant?' Mrs Dewar sounded alarmed.
Yarrow smiled at her. 'That can wait a wee while, Mrs Dewar. I had a pint of ale at the inn so I won't starve.'
'You should be careful. Drinking isn't good for you. I hope you're taking the medicine that Dr Brand gave you.'
'Faithfully, Mrs Dewar.'
Faro looked at him quickly. His colour was bad, he looked like a sick man. And he found himself remembering Imogen Crowe's gloomy pronouncement.
'The Sergeant has one of the best views over Elrigg. A lovely room, it is,' said Mrs Dewar.
'Yes. My window looks directly towards the standing stones and if I take out my telescope, I can watch the cattle grazing. From a safe distance.'
'Why don't you show Mr Faro?'
When Yarrow frowned, Mrs Dewar said, 'No need to worry, it's all neat and tidy, not like the way you left it.'
Yarrow's smile was a little long-suffering as he nodded to Faro. 'Come along then.'
Faro followed him upstairs. The room with its bay window was v
ery attractive, much lighter than the kitchen downstairs. He guessed that Yarrow strove to keep it as a man's domain despite his landlady's feminine touches of lace and vases of flowers.
Yarrow read his expression. They're very good to me. It's a relief to have a good working relationship with Dewar - makes life much easier.' He sighed. 'Too easy really. I didn't mean to stay with them year after year. Mrs Dewar spoils me, as you've probably observed.'
Faro was looking at the mantelpiece, dominated by three silver framed photographs. A wedding - a younger, handsome Yarrow in Metropolitan Police uniform with his pretty bride; a second photograph of the couple staring down at a baby and a third of Mrs Yarrow with a handsome curly-haired infant on her knee, smiling into the camera.
'What a beautiful child. Yours?' said Faro.
'Yes. But no more, alas.' Yarrow turned from the glass—fronted bookcase, his face expressionless. 'This is the book. No hurry, just leave it at the inn for me when you go -'
'Your food's getting cold, Sergeant!'
At Mrs Dewar's call upstairs, Faro smiled. 'I'll be on my way.' And he hurried downstairs through the kitchen, thanking Mrs Dewar for her kindness while she urged him to drop in any time.
'You'll be most welcome to share our little meal with us.'
* * *
He was not sorry to have missed eating at the Elrigg Arms in what would have been solitary splendour. A few farmers with their dogs occupied the bar and Bowden stopped him on his way up to his room. 'You've missed your visitor, sir.' At Faro's puzzled expression Bowden laughed. 'Aye, Jack Duffy. Called in to see you on the off-chance.'
'What did he want?'
'Wouldn't say. Just that he wanted a word with you. In a right old state he was, said it was urgent and where were you, and so forth. I told him I wasn't your keeper -'
'Did he leave a note?'
'A note, sir. Duffy can't write. There's nothing wrong with his sums though. He can certainly add up.' Bowden grinned. 'It was something important he wanted to get off his chest, that's for sure.' Bowden gave Faro a significant wink. 'And knowing Duffy, like I told you, I'd take any bet you like that it has to do with money.'
[Inspector Faro 14] - Faro and the Royals Page 10
