'Not at all, at least, not that I know of. No, this is a personal matter and in strictest confidence.' And Faro plunged into the extraordinary story of Vince's love affair and its disastrous ending.
'How astonishing that the young woman should have denied it all. Even that they had ever met.' And frowning, Tom asked the inevitable question.
Faro had his answer ready. 'No, old friend, there is not the remotest possibility that Vince was not speaking the truth. I trust his word absolutely. I was there too, when she denied it.'
And without revealing Rachel's identity, he described Deane Hall and the way she had received them.
When he had finished, Tom looked thoughtful. 'There is another reason, of course, that has doubtless occurred to you. The lass may have been under considerable pressure from her own family. This grand room, what was it like?'
'The size of a ballroom.'
'Ah,' said Tom significantly. 'Could her parents have been listening somewhere nearby, out of sight? Just to make sure she was speaking as she had been instructed.'
Faro looked up quickly. Taken aback by Rachel's denial he had allowed bafflement and concern over Vince's violent reaction to blind him to the obvious.
'Once a policeman, always a policeman, as you said, Tom. And by God, I think you have something there, something I never even considered. The drawing room was huge and more dimly lit than was comfortable. There were plenty of chandeliers, so it did strike me that they were being rather frugal.'
As he remembered that scene he thumped his fists together. 'Dammit, there was even a large screen behind the armchair.'
Tom gave a nod of satisfaction. 'And I would wager, someone behind it too. Listening to every word.'
Faro shook his head sadly. For once his own much vaunted powers of observation had failed him. Undeniable proof that even experienced, well-trained detectives are capable of not recognising what is staring them in the face.
Eagerly he seized upon this idea of Rachel Deane being coerced by her family. Tom had given him new hope.
'Rachel—did you say that was the girl's name?'
'Yes.' It had slipped out, but never mind.
'Could that be Rachel Deane?'
'The same. You know her?'
'Only vaguely. I wouldn't recognise her now, but I knew her when she was a wee lass.' Tom whistled. 'The Deane heiress. Well, well, now I'm not altogether surprised at what you've told me.'
'Indeed?'
'Yes. I've heard tales of her odd behaviour before. A constant stream of governesses. Went through them like pounds of bannocks, according to her old nurse.'
'You knew her nurse?'
'Not knew—know her. Amy is still very much alive and kicking.' With a shake of his head, he added, 'And the way Amy tells it, she was the only one who could do anything with Miss Rachel. Her mother was a Balfray, you know, and their estate bordered on this one, the other end of the wood. I'll take you across if you like. Dougie, the factor, is an old crony of mine.'
As they climbed the stile, Faro had a sudden feeling of triumph. There was Vince's cottage with its apple tree, the tiny stream.
'That's it, that's it. Just as the lad described it.'
As they went closer, excitement turned to alarm. The cottage was roofless, its timbers blackened, a burnt out ruin.
As Faro stood looking at it, Dougie approached. Greeted by Tom he was introduced with: 'Mr Faro was hoping to meet Amy.'
The factor pointed to the cottage. 'She's the luckiest woman alive, old chap. She's been living with her sister in Arbroath for more than a year now.'
Faro found it difficult making polite conversation after this further coincidence of another seemingly inexplicable accident.
'What happened?' he asked.
'Burnt down couple of nights ago. Thunderstorm. Reckon it must have been hit by lightning.'
'I hope there were no casualties.'
'No. It's stood empty since Amy went away. We were thinking of pulling it down. Storm saved us a job,' he added cheerfully.
Now he would never know if the interior had been as Vince described it, thought Faro. But having come this far, he decided to take a chance that Dougie had perhaps encountered the two young people.
Tom's eyes widened as he listened to his friend's bland explanation. 'Actually, I'm a detective, on the track of a pair of runaways. They were seen in this area, and it was thought they might be staying in an empty estate cottage. Tall young chap, curly fair hair, good-looking, early twenties. His companion is a slightly built girl with very distinctive raven black hair, twenty but looks younger.'
He paused to let the information sink in.
'You didn't happen to see them, by any chance?'
The factor shook his head. 'No, I didn't. But that's not surprising, seeing that my cottage is at the other end of the estate.' He tapped his chest. 'I had one of my bad bouts, bronchitis. I was in my bed for a week.'
Nudging Faro in the ribs, he chuckled. 'If they were elopers, I doubt they would be flaunting themselves, anyhow.'
'I just hoped someone might have spotted them.'
'If they were here, then they were in luck, with the laird away to Italy and the house deserted. Most of the servants are allowed home too.'
When they left him, Faro said: 'Damn. Vince called it being discreet but I was sure that in the country stone walls have eyes and ears and foreigners in the district are noted carefully.'
'In the normal way you'd be right,' Tom agreed. 'There's nothing much goes on in the vicinity without it being a talking point in the servants' hall. Hedgerows have ears and empty windows have eyes all right. The folk here are as alert to the passing of strangers as any guard on duty outside Holyrood Palace.'
Tom was silent for a moment. 'Even if you found someone, what good would all this do, Jeremy? As far as I can see, it wouldn't make one iota of difference to your lad.'
'I realise that. I suppose all I want to do is to prove him right.'
'You've done that. Even if you had a roomful of witnesses that would only prove the Deane girl was a liar. But in the long run, that wouldn't make her change her mind about marrying your lad. And one word of warning, tangling with the Deane family means trouble.'
'So I have heard.'
'Aye, they are powerful enough to do anything they want by bribes or threats—or maybe worse—to close mouths of folk who might be trying to damage their saintly reputation.'
'Are you implying there is something I ought to know, Tom?'
'Perhaps. When I was on the force we had plenty of problems with the family that never reached the public's ears. The lass's mother took her own life, drowned herself in the estate pond over yonder.'
He shrugged. 'I should say that's what was supposed to have happened. But no one was absolutely convinced that she hadn't been given a helping hand. There were other scandals quickly suppressed, pregnant servant girls and so forth, false accusations substantiated by bought witnesses. I shouldn't be telling you this, Jeremy, but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if a lot of money passed hands to buy silences that were really miscarriages of justice.
'If you really want to put the Deane family under the microscope Superintendent Johnston is your man. He wouldn't do it for just anyone but a senior detective has certain privileges.'
'I know him already. We have worked together on cases in the past.'
Then he knows anything he tells you will go no further. It's well worth a try, Jeremy.'
The two old friends spent the rest of the visit in happy recollection of the past and of the remarkable advances in police methods of detection over the last twenty years.
As Tom saw him on to the Dundee train, Faro thanked him for all his help.
Tom grinned. 'You know what? I'm glad I'm not young and vulnerable any more. At least we've proved that your lad isn't suffering from some delusion caused by overwork, undernourishment and chronic infatuation.'
As the train slid out of the station, Faro found himself remembering Tom's words w
hich again impinged on that other world, still closed to him. The workings of the human mind and its motives were becoming increasingly the concern of Vince's profession.
His own, the detection of crime, was somewhat more direct and based on tangible evidence and clues left at the scene of the crime or carried away by the criminal. A great deal easier to deal with, he decided, than sorting out the intricacies and vagaries of human behaviour.
Perhaps some day...
And he settled back to read the newspaper he had bought and had never had time to open.
'Man Falls under Dundee Train.'
With a sickened feeling of renewed horror, he saw the name Hamish McGowan staring up at him.
Chapter Nine
An elderly man, Mr Hamish McGowan of Groat Street, was fatally injured when he slipped and fell under the wheels of an oncoming train in Dundee Railway Station late last night. There were no witnesses to the accident but according to his widow, McGowan was well-known to suffer from dizzy spells.
When they reached Dundee, Faro called in at the station-master's office.
'Tragic, tragic, Inspector. But you were here yourself when we warned him.'
'Warned him?'
'Yes, indeed. About threatening Mr Wilfred Deane.'
'A moment please—what has this to do with Mr Deane? Was he expected off the train?'
The station-master looked vague. 'Oh, I don't know about that, Inspector. Actually it wasn't a passenger train, it was the ten o'clock goods train McGowan fell under, but I expect he was lying in wait as usual.'
'What makes you think that?' demanded Faro.
'Well, he was pacing up and down the platform as he always did and I was trying to keep an eye on him.'
That must have been difficult for you. Surely it was dark by then.'
'Oh, pitch black. But the platform is always lit by gas lamps.' The station-master frowned, 'Of course, it was very windy too. Perhaps he lost his balance,' he added hopefully.
'When was the next train due?'
'At ten thirty, the last one from Perth.'
It seemed unlikely that McGowan would be pacing the platform half an hour before the local passenger train arrived.
What had brought him to the station at that hour? Did he still intend to murder Wilfred Deane despite all his promises?
Faro frowned. He could have sworn that McGowan was a man of his word. So what happened that night to change his mind?
There was only one way to find out. He remembered the scrap of paper he had in his wallet. He would visit the grieving widow but first he must tell Vince the results of his investigations at Errol.
As he let himself into the dismal lodging, Jean McGonagall was waiting for him, her face glowing with suppressed excitement.
'There's been a constable here. Looking for you, Mr Faro.' She paused dramatically. 'You're to go to the police station directly.'
'Did you tell Dr Laurie?'
She shook her head. 'Couldn't, sir. He's not been in. Never came for his supper either. Probably an accident of some kind.'
Faro tried not to think of what that accident might have been or whether the victim in this case might be Vince himself. Cursing the brevity of the constable's message, which he felt had aged him several years, he hurried in the direction of the police station.
'Yes, Inspector Faro. The Superintendent is waiting for you, sir. He's in his office.'
Superintendent Johnston's smile was a trifle wan. He looked embarrassed as they shook hands.
'Sorry about all this, Faro.'
The Superintendent flourished a piece of paper. 'It seems that your stepson, Dr Laurie, has been in a bit of trouble. Taken into custody.'
'What?' If there was any sense of relief mingled with Faro's astonishment, it was that the lad was at least alive and unhurt.
'Here, read it for yourself,' said the Superintendent. With a sympathetic nod, he added: The young fellows these days. Impulsive they are.'
Faro quickly read the note signed by the constable on duty. He had been called to Deane Hall where Dr Vincent Beaumarcher Laurie had been restrained and subsequently put under arrest for 'violent behaviour and abusive language and threatening bodily harm to Mr Wilfred Deane'.
Faro cursed. 'My apologies, sir. This really is too bad. After all his promises of good behaviour too.'
'I gather the young man is enamoured of Miss Deane.' The Superintendent raised his eyes heavenward. 'We must make allowances for infatuations. We older folk have lived long enough to regard falling in love as a temporary state of insanity,' he added with a sigh.
Faro gave him a sharp glance. A married man with six children at the last count, Johnston no doubt spoke from a wealth of experience.
Leaning forward resting his elbows on the desk, the Superintendent said: 'Well, Faro, what are we to do? I am reluctant to have this go any further—the scandal and so forth. We don't want to bring this into the court and neither—to give them credit, for I gather this is not the first offence—do the Deane family.'
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he added: 'If you could possibly guarantee his behaviour in future, the weight of your reputation will be enough to placate them, I fancy.' And when Faro looked doubtful, 'They are showing considerable patience and forbearing, you know. So is this young lady who is being constantly harassed. Do you think you could talk some sense into the lad?'
He frowned over the constable's note again as if there was something he might have missed the first time. 'I gather the damage to property included the smashing of a window and a valuable vase in the hall. Chinese it was, cost a hundred pounds—'
Faro groaned. What on earth had possessed Vince to behave in this ridiculous manner? 'I will settle the account. And you have my word that I will do my very best to ensure that my stepson keeps well away from Deane Hall in future.'
As they shook hands, Johnston smiled. He looked relieved. 'It was good to see you again, Faro. Look, let's have dinner together. I'll consult the wife and see what we have on. Staying long?'
'Alas, no. I'm due back at the Central Office early next week.'
'In that case we had better make it lunch at my club tomorrow. Pity you're going so soon.'
It was indeed, thought Faro, just three days to sort out the mess Vince was making of his life. Almost certain that Vince would lose his job over this fiasco and, what was worse, would not be given a reference. Faro realised there was a distinct possibility that he would not be returning to Edinburgh alone.
The real tragedy was that Vince's reckless behaviour might have cost him his future as a doctor, for Faro could not imagine Sir Arnold, once he heard about this evening's events, ever letting the young madman set foot across his threshold to threaten his family and terrify his granddaughter.
Accompanying him to the door, the Superintendent said: 'Until tomorrow, then?' And with a final sympathetic smile, 'As I said before, it's a pity you can't stay around until this business blows over. We'd all be happier if you were keeping an eye on the lad.'
'And so would I, but I can't be keeper to a grown man. He has to lead his own life. For better or for worse.'
'Caution him as best you can, Faro. If he does it again or makes a nuisance of himself in any way we'll have to put him inside. And if it comes to fisticuffs, as you well know, the scandal could finish him. Impress that upon him and for God's sake tell him to grow up. He'll soon meet someone else. There's better fish in the sea...'
But the time-worn cliché didn't console Faro or Vince, or put either of them in a better frame of mind.
Vince was pathetically eager to see him, a study in relief when he saw his stepfather walking down towards the cell where he was under guard.
Faro's hopes, however, sank to zero when his stepson emerged. Always so spruce and elegant, now unkempt, unshaven, and looking as if he hadn't slept for several days, he had obviously been drinking heavily.
Taking him firmly by the arm and saying, 'We'll talk later,' Faro marched him out of the police station. Once
outside, he could restrain himself no longer. 'For God's sake, Vince, you look terrible.'
'And disgusting, don't I? Frankly I don't care what I look like, I don't care about anything any more. Particularly at this moment, whether I live or die—'
'That's your decision,' said Faro coldly, momentarily lacking his usual compassion and understanding. 'I've just come from a harrowing interview with the Superintendent.'
'So you know all about my shocking behaviour.'
He didn't sound contrite in the least. However, the expression on Faro's face as he looked in his direction halted him. As of old, he knew when he had gone too far.
'I'm sorry, Stepfather, really I am. Getting you involved like this.'
'And so you should be. You haven't given me a red face before anyone since your schooldays. And now I find myself having to guarantee your good behaviour. It really isn't good enough, after all your promises.'
'I've said I'm sorry—'
'Then I'd like to see you act like it, instead of being an impulsive young fool and getting the police into all this. If you hadn't had me on hand, you'd be cooling your heels in that prison cell with the door locked until your case came up before the court. Don't you realise what you're doing?'
Vince was silent and Faro stopped in his tracks, pulled him roughly by the shoulders to face him. 'Look, lad, before we go any further I want your word, your solemn promise, now, before I leave Dundee, that you will stay away from Rachel Deane.'
Faro hadn't spoken so severely to his stepson since the latter was nine years old and had played truant from school. He might have grown up but that look of mutinous hostility carried Faro right back through the years. To the early days of his marriage to Vince's mother Lizzie when he had been faced by the implacable hatred of her illegitimate son.
Now almost as soon as he had noticed it, it was gone, replaced by Vince's most charming smile, albeit apologetic and a trifle wan. 'All right. Stepfather. I give you my word. Here's my hand on it. No more assaults upon Deane Hall. Although I'd like to kill Wilfred Deane. Smug smiling bastard. Oh, I'm sorry, Stepfather.'
'Being sorry is not enough. Did you ever look ahead for one moment and consider the fact that your infantile behaviour might cost you your post here with Deane's and seriously jeopardise any future one you might consider applying for? Can you in all honesty see them giving you a reference after such atrocious behaviour?'
A Quiet Death (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.5) Page 8
