[Inspector Faro 14] - Faro and the Royals

by Alanna Knight

  Almost roughly, Yarrow pushed him aside and also bent over the body. 'You can smell the drink on him.'

  Faro leaned over and sniffed. 'You can that, Sergeant.'

  'As if it had been poured over him,' sighed the vicar.

  Yarrow gave him a sharp look, asked: 'Has he been moved?'

  Faro indicated the Cairncross brothers. 'They found him. While they went for help, naturally I examined him to see if there were any signs of life.'

  'Naturally,' echoed Yarrow sourly and turned to Dewar who was ready with the stretcher carried in the pony cart for emergencies, its use seldom required apart from farming accidents.

  Reverend Cairncross said: 'I can do nothing here.'

  'Has he any family?' Faro asked.

  Yarrow answered, 'Not in these parts. There's a woman looks after his cottage.' And to Dewar, 'Best take him there till we make the proper arrangements. I'll walk back with Mr Faro.'

  It wasn't a great distance, but Yarrow was slow on his feet and insisted on leading his horse. Faro's silence (related to whether this was an opportune moment to hand over the notes in his pocket) was presumed by Yarrow to be the layman's first sight of a drowned man or a corpse.

  'You get used to it in time,' he said sympathetically.

  Faro could think of no suitable reply and Yarrow continued: 'Are you to be staying long in Elrigg?'

  'Not much longer. My investigations are complete and my stepson is arriving today. We will probably take a few days' holiday before returning to Edinburgh.'

  'That is awkward.'

  Faro was conscious of Yarrow's intense gaze. 'Indeed?'

  Yarrow cleared his throat apologetically. 'I might have to call on you to give evidence as you were the first on the scene, the first to touch the body. A passer-by, of course, nothing to worry about,' he added hastily as if Faro's silence was an indication of guilt.

  'I hope it won't take too long.'

  Yarrow shook his head. 'Just routine, Mr Faro. Paperwork, that's all.' In a voice elaborately casual, he added, 'When did you last see Duffy alive, by the way?'

  'A couple of days ago.'

  'Oh! I thought you had a meeting arranged with him last night. At the inn. Heard Bowden discussing it with you.'

  True. But he failed to appear. As you know,' he reminded him gently.

  Yarrow considered that for a moment, nodded. 'Have you any idea what it was he wanted to talk to you about?'

  'None at all.'

  'You've talked to him before? Privately, I mean.'

  'Never. Bowden suggested that he probably wanted to borrow money.'

  There was a slight pause. 'Can you think of any reason why he should imagine that a stranger to the district would be willing to give him money?'

  'I haven't the least idea, Sergeant.'

  Yarrow stared ahead, frowning. 'May I ask your whereabouts yesterday evening?'

  'Certainly. I was at the inn. As you know.' Faro's laugh held a note of exasperation. What was Yarrow getting at?

  Yarrow did not share his amusement. He continued to eye him sternly. 'You were seen in the vicinity near where Duffy was found.'

  'I might well have been. I had an evening stroll.' And Faro turned to him, his laughter now disbelieving. He was being cross-examined. Detective Inspector Faro was a suspect.

  His mirth faded at Yarrow's expression.

  'It was the earlier part of the evening I was considering - before we met.'

  'Oh, I have an alibi for that too, if that's what you're asking, I was visiting Miss Halliday. She will vouch for me. We had tea together and she was most informative on the history of the village - and her clever pupils. We talked about Sir Walter Scott and I admired some of her paintings. She's very good.'

  Yarrow nodded. 'So I've heard. Could have made a name for herself.'

  Relieved at this change of subject and return to normal conversation, Faro said: That I can believe. There was one portrait - of a young lad, one of her pupils, a brilliant lad by all accounts - killed in a shooting accident. He looked ready to speak - it was remarkably lifelike...'

  Yarrow frowned. 'That would be one of the beaters. They still talk about him. Before my time, but memories are long in places like this.' As they approached the inn, he added: 'Thank you for your help, Mr Faro. Perhaps you'll let me know when you're leaving in case I need to talk to you again.'

  Faro watched him go. Yarrow obviously suspected that Duffy's death might not have been an accident. Having overheard the poacher asking for Faro at the inn was enough to alert any policeman worthy of the name of detective when a man is subsequently found dead.

  Faro was not quite as amused as he might have been to find himself in the classic situation of the stranger, the newcomer to the district, immediately under suspicion and the first to be questioned.

  As he awaited Vince's arrival, he thought about the tiny piece of evidence resting in his pocket beside his notes on the two deaths at Elrigg. As he wrestled with his conscience he decided that Duffy's death could not have come at a worse time. Another twenty-four hours and he would have been clear of Elrigg.

  Clear of suspicion!

  Chapter 21

  'You could tell Yarrow who you are, of course,' said Vince as he unpacked and hung an array of shirts and cravats in the capacious wardrobe. He sounded irritable and with good reason.

  Within their first few moments of conversation on his arrival at the inn, he had seen fast disappearing all hopes of that splendid walking holiday he was looking forward to. His stepfather had got himself hopelessly involved in yet another crime.

  'You're impossible, Stepfather, too conscientious by far. These murders, if murders they are, have nothing to do with you. This isn't your province. You know that perfectly well. The Northumberland Constabulary will tell you sharp enough that you are out of order, Inspector Faro.'

  He shrugged. 'And as for this latest happening, it isn't unknown for a poacher who's fond of drink to accidentally drown while under the influence.'

  'Perhaps you're right, Vince,' said Faro weakly, almost eager to be persuaded.

  'Of course I am.' Vince closed the wardrobe door, thrust his valise under the bed and said: 'Let's join the others.' He led the way downstairs to where Owen and Olivia were already enjoying afternoon tea in front of the large fire.

  'Two more places, Mr Bowden, if you please,' said Faro.

  Approaching the Gilchrists, he saw that an adjoining side table was solely occupied by Imogen Crowe, awaiting her order. She looked up and smiled a friendly greeting.

  Faro, somewhat taken aback, suspected that the recipient of this transformed Miss Crowe was his handsome stepson. Vince, with his fair curls, his deceptively angelic countenance, had that effect upon young women.

  'Two places, did you say, sir?' said Bowden.

  Olivia looked at Faro, smiled encouragingly and said quite loudly, 'Why don't you ask your friend to join us, sir?'

  'Heavens, no.' whispered Faro, assiduously turning his back on Miss Crowe.

  Olivia considered that lady for a moment and gave him a reproachful look. 'A pity to have her sitting on her own, is it not?' she murmured.

  'Yes, indeed,' responded her brother with an admiring glance at Miss Crowe. The more the merrier, I always say.'

  Vince turned, joined in his friend's enthusiasm, bowed in her direction and was rewarded by even more smiling Irish eyes, a pretty inclination of dark red curls.

  Turning sharply to Faro he said enthusiastically, 'Yes, Stepfather, why not?'

  'No,' said Faro firmly, almost too loudly for politeness. While he studied his empty plate with tightly closed lips, the others looked across at Miss Crowe, were pleased by what they saw and stared back at Faro reproachfully.

  Their expressions made him angry. Mrs Dewar's weakness it seemed was shared not only by most womankind, but had spread to his own family and friends.

  Matchmaking. He grimaced, he was sick and tired of it. He had thought Olivia Gilchrist might have more sense.


  But as the tea was poured and the scones eaten at a leisurely pace, Miss Crowe was forgotten. Out of the corner of his eye Faro thankfully watched her depart. Grateful that the jarring incident created by her presence was over, he joined in the laughter as the two young men reminisced about college days, meanwhile keeping a sharp eye on Olivia's reaction to his stepson.

  He would have been shocked indeed had someone told him that he was indulging in exactly the same behaviour as poor Mrs Dewar and that this pairing off was endemic in the human race.

  The young couple seemed so fond of each other, laughing, teasing. Almost like brother and sister. He groaned. That was what he feared, that they had been dear friends too long for romance to blossom.

  'Delightful place, this, sir,' said Owen. 'You were lucky to find it. Full of atmosphere.'

  'It wasn't difficult to find,' Faro laughed. 'It's the only place.'

  'My bedroom floor squeaks abominably,' said Vince.

  'Quite right,' said Olivia solemnly. 'That will keep you from straying.' Then to Faro: 'Great-Aunt is so sorry she couldn't accommodate Vince too. Her cottage is just too tiny. Have you told your stepfather the arrangements, Vince?'

  'I haven't. We've had other matters to discuss.'

  'Nothing as important as the party.' And leaning over, she said: 'You mean he hasn't told you that we have been invited to the Castle here for Great-Aunt's birthday celebration?'

  When Faro shook his head, she looked at Vince.

  'Dash it all, Olivia. I've been keeping it a secret - a surprise, as you told me,' was the reproachful response.

  'Honestly - men!' Olivia gave a despairing sigh and turned to her brother. 'You tell him, Owen. This is so exciting - you being here already, sir,' she added to Faro.

  'Hold on, Livvy,' said Owen. 'We've just heard ourselves, when we called in to see Great-Aunt. She was governess to Mark Elrigg long ago. They have always been very close. When Mark's mother died, he didn't even as a child get on very well with his stepfather -' He looked at Vince and Faro. 'Not like some I could name. Anyway, he turned to Great-Aunt for love and comfort. He's never forgotten her kindness and he's kept in touch with her by letter and frequent visits to Branxton.'

  'The really exciting part is that we've been asked to stay the night at the Castle after the party. I'm so looking forward to that,' Olivia put in. 'Apparently Mark wouldn't hear of his dear Miss Gilchrist travelling all that way back home.'

  'Great-Aunt says he has a very special surprise for her...'

  Anything concerning the Elriggs was of great interest and this indeed might prove a rewarding turn of events, thought Faro. As Vince's glum expression betrayed a certain lack of enthusiasm, he realised that any change of plans, or possible new evidence of mayhem at the Castle, upset his own wish to get Faro away from Elrigg as speedily as possible.

  At the moment, however, Faro's chief concern was how he could escape the embarrassing situation whereby his real identity would have to be revealed and explained to Mark and Lady Elrigg.

  Suddenly he became aware of a figure hovering behind him.

  'Excuse me, sir.'

  It was Dewar. 'Could I have a word, sir?'

  As the constable strode purposefully in the direction of the bar, Faro followed him with a sinking sense of disaster. Long ago he had realised the truth of the maxim that murders, like troubles, seldom come singly.

  He was not to be disappointed.

  'Miss Halliday's cottage has been broken into, sir. She's been badly hurt. Sergeant Yarrow found her lying at the bottom of the staircase when he went to collect his quarantine papers for the authorities. He reckons she probably disturbed the burglar.'

  'Have you any idea who...?'

  Dewar shrugged. 'Sergeant reckons it might have been Duffy.'

  'Duffy? But how could -'

  'Well, Dr Brand says it might have happened late last night, before the accident.' Dewar shook his head. 'I don't agree, sir. Duffy was ready to lift anything that ain't nailed down, but I've never known him resort to breaking and entering.'

  'Was there a motive?'

  'What kind of motive would that be, sir?'

  'Did she have anything of value?' Faro said impatiently, remembering a few nice pieces of furniture, antiques but hardly things with an immediate resale value for a poacher. 'And how did he get in?'

  Dewar looked astonished at this remark. 'Bless you, sir, no one round here ever locks their doors. We don't live in that kind of society. We all trust one another.'

  In Miss Halliday's case badly misplaced, thought Faro, as Dewar's naivety confirmed his original assessment that the constable's reaction to real crime would be shocked disbelief. Such things were unthinkable in Elrigg.

  'Where is Miss Halliday now?'

  'Dr Brand says she's concussed, got a nasty shock, that's for sure. The minister's wife will look after her till she's better. We're a caring society, here, sir,' he added defensively in case Faro should be in any danger of thinking otherwise.

  He had indeed read Faro's thoughts. Very caring indeed, especially when some person hit her on the head and left her for dead.

  'Did she have any difficult pupils?' he asked.

  Dewar's eyes widened in horror at such implication.

  'I get your drift, sir. But you're wrong. The children are all obedient and law abiding, sir. Things might be different in big cities like where you come from,' he added stiffly. 'But here the bairns are brought up from their earliest days to be God-fearing and to respect their parents and other people. Besides, Miss Halliday's loved by everyone; she's taught several decades their three Rs. Now if you'll excuse me, sir.'

  With an air of silent reprimand, Dewar saluted him gravely and marched out of the inn.

  At the table he had just left, the twins were preparing to return to Branxton. Waving them off, the air heavy with instructions for the following day's festivities, Vince smiled: 'Well, that's that. What shall we do now?'

  'A walk, perhaps.'

  'A good idea. What did your local constable want?'

  Faro told him about Miss Halliday and the breakin.

  Vince, adept at reading his stepfather's mind, sighed deeply. 'So that's where we are going?'

  Faro nodded eagerly. 'Bearing in mind that doors are never locked in this law-abiding community, I thought we might avail ourselves of a little private investigation.'

  Vince's sigh was despairing this time. 'You never give up, do you, Stepfather?'

  'She was very kind to me. I owe her that much. And I'm very curious. I'd like you to see her paintings too. They're very impressive.'

  'How far is it?' Vince demanded, in a voice notable for a lack of enthusiasm, Faro having temporarily overlooked the fact that his stepson felt the same way about amateur painters as he did about amateur thespians.

  'We'll do it in about forty minutes, there and back,' he said encouragingly.

  Vince thought about it and yawned. 'Forgive me, Stepfather, if I don't come with you. Truth is, I'm devilish tired. Out till the wee sma' hours delivering a baby.'

  Faro smiled sympathetically. 'I've noticed that they always seem to choose times when it's least convenient for your social life.'

  Vince nodded, stretching his arms above his head. 'Must be on form for the long day tomorrow. I think, if you'll excuse me, I'll take a bath. Bowden assures me hip baths are readily available. He even has a special room put aside for such ablutions. See you at dinner, eh?'

  Setting off for Miss Halliday's cottage alone, Faro felt a little lonely, his spirits cast down. When he got too close to a case and became enmeshed and thoroughly baffled, it was almost always Vince who could be relied upon to stand back and view it coolly from a different and often enlightened angle.

  If only Vince had been free of other obligations this time. He shouldn't really feel like this, he told himself sternly, he had guessed that his stepson would not be a great deal of use on this occasion, involved with the Gilchrists and their great-aunt's birthday celebrations.


  He sighed. The sooner he got used to the new regime, the better for everyone. It was what he had always wanted for Vince, to see him happy with a girl like Olivia. What he was experiencing, this sudden bitter shaft of loneliness, was no more than the normal pattern of parenthood, a glimpse into the future when he would no longer enjoy the comradeship they had shared since Vince's boyhood.

  * * *

  Opening the door of Miss Halliday's cottage cautiously, he noted that it was remarkably tidy inside. In the kitchen, a few papers lay scattered on the floor, a broken ornament, a shattered cup, but there was a gold watch on the sideboard and a purse full of sovereigns.

  Money had not been the burglar's object.

  Turning back again to the kitchen table, he noticed that it was set for two people, one each side of the table; one cup was almost full, the other empty.

  He stood back and regarded the scene carefully. The clues were all there.

  Miss Halliday had been attacked by someone she knew well enough to take out her best china. He looked at the mantelpiece and visualised the scene indicated by two broken ornaments and a framed photograph on the floor, swept off by her arm no doubt as she fought off her attacker.

  Picking them up and returning them to their rightful places with the complete recall that was one of his remarkable assets, he saw that Sir Walter Scott's letter was missing. Walking round the table again, he stood beside the cup of tea that had been abandoned. Opposite it, the painting of the boy Eric was missing.

  As he closed the door, he had no longer the least doubt that the killer of Sir Archie and the poacher Duffy had also attacked Miss Halliday. His experience indicated that the three people were linked in a murderous chain of events.

  Or could it be that the presence of Detective Inspector Faro upset someone with a guilty conscience?

  Going over his conversation with Miss Halliday, he decided to cross the road to the Castle lodge and call upon Miss Imogen Crowe.

  * * *

  There was no response and, trying the door, he found it unlocked. He was not as surprised as he should have been to see Scott's letter lying on her kitchen table.