He frowned. ‘So why all the delay? From what Rose tells me, there hasn’t been any activity from the direction of Kirkwall. And that small boat isn’t a fishing vessel; there would be a name, district of origin initials and number. No Kirkwall lifeboat either. In fact,’ he added triumphantly, ‘they are keeping the whole thing very quiet and what we’ve seen is their lifeboat, useful if some of the crew have to go ashore for supplies and the like.’
‘Or if some royal personage has private business in mind,’ Rose added significantly, remembering stepbrother Dr Vince’s tales of goings-on in the royal household to which Imogen could have doubtless added a few from rumours about the Victoria and Albert III during its visit to County Cork.
There was one possible solution to the mystery: find out for themselves.
CHAPTER SIX
Breakfast over, Faro said to Emily, ‘It is a decent sort of day and I feel like some strenuous activity. Thought I might row the children out for a closer look at the yacht, if that boat on the beach is seaworthy.’
‘It is indeed. Sven and Erland did a bit of fishing and Sven goes out every night since they got ambitious enough to put down some lobster creels. He’s a good fisherman and does a nightly inspection. Sells them with a bit of profit to the hotels. Would you like him to go with you?’
Faro had been hoping she might suggest something of the sort, as an additional rower who knew what he was doing would be useful when they got near the yacht.
The two children were delighted at the prospect and regarded a row on the sea with the same enthusiasm and disregard for danger as they would have regarded a rowing boat on a village pond. Magnus was eager to offer his services as a steersman. Faro hoped Rose would come too, but she shuddered away from that idea. A martyr to seasickness she had her own reasons for preferring to remain on dry land.
She did, however, wave them off with warnings to keep an eye on Meg, who was utterly fearless and already had stationed herself on the prow, begging Magnus to let her steer.
Pushing out the well-used boat, Faro asked Sven: ‘Did you by any chance notice anything going on aboard the yacht over there last night?’
‘I don’t get too close to big ships, sir. The swell, you know, can be dangerous if they are moving.’ He thought for a moment. ‘No, I didn’t see anything when I was collecting my creels, but it seemed they were having a party – a lot of loud music and noise drifted over.’
Faro said: ‘We are all a little curious. Perhaps we might go and ask them if they need any assistance.’
Sven frowned. He did not seem very keen on that idea and not just for the safety of his boat, but he said politely: ‘Very well, sir, if that is what you wish.’
Faro had not even rowed a boat on a pond for many years and was heartily glad of the presence of an accomplished oarsman, as regardless of a slightly choppy sea they made good progress and were soon reasonably close to the yacht. Whatever Faro had hoped for, he was to be disappointed, being met with the tall white sides extending high above them, a blank wall with a few faces from portholes and sailors on the deck peering down. He had a much better vantage point than this from the telescope.
From all those faces, all Faro could observe was that they did not respond to his friendly greeting or to the children waving to them. They were as expressionless as the marble heads of Roman emperors and classical scholars in a museum, and equally as forbidding.
Obviously, their presence was not welcome. Someone, a member of the crew, leant over the rail to shout down a warning: ‘These are dangerous waters. I would advise you to steer clear, especially with children aboard.’
‘We have heard that you had an accident, someone overboard,’ Faro shouted back boldly. ‘Is he making good headway?’
The heads hastily withdrew. That remark had been greeted by silence, then one head, wearing an officer’s cap, appeared. ‘I would advise you again to leave at once, sir.’ A voice of authority this time and no mistaking a warning note.
Faro was not to be sent off like a schoolboy in disgrace. ‘We will continue our progress,’ he shouted back, picking up his oars again and indicating to Sven that they resume.
When they reached the shore again, Faro felt that the main object had not been touched upon, much less achieved. He had learnt nothing to throw any light on the mystery but at least the children had been delighted with the morning’s activity.
As they stepped ashore, Sven said: ‘There were Norwegians on that yacht, sir.’
‘How on earth do you know that?’ Faro was taken aback and Sven said: ‘I heard some of the sailors. I am from Bergen, sir.’
They were interrupted as the two children rushed to Sven’s side, impressed by his abilities as an oarsman. Abilities which, they had observed, were somewhat superior to Grandpa’s, and they were now begging him to take them fishing.
Back in Yesnaby, Faro was curious to learn more about the handsome young Norwegian. He said to Emily, ‘I presumed he was the gardener, a local lad.’
She seemed surprised. ‘Sven isn’t an Orcadian name.’
‘But it is Viking enough to be misleading. Tell me about him.’
‘He’s been with us a while now. Erland brought him back from Bergen on one of his trips, must be about two years ago. He had met him through old friends who confided that he was no orphan but the love child of a well-off woman, who had to abandon him when she married a widower who had children of his own. Anyway, he knew nothing of his early days and had been brought up to believe he had been adopted and educated by this nice middle-class couple.
‘Having supper with them one evening, Erland talked to Sven and discovered that he was intrigued by the Viking connection with Orkney. He had studied archaeology but was finding life without any kind of interesting dig forthcoming very dull in Bergen. Erland found him very likeable and on the spur of the moment invited him over to join the dig at Hopescarth.’
She paused and said sadly, ‘Erland was like that; anyone in need and he was always ready to help. Well, when summer was over it seemed decided that Sven should stay and help with the garden – it was getting a bit too much for Erland – and Sven was to have an independent existence with a little cottage of his own on the estate. I thought that was a mistake and that he should have found him somewhere in Hopescarth.’
She smiled. ‘Erland always talked as if he hoped that this nice-looking lad would find a wife easier if he wasn’t living with us out here in Yesnaby. It hasn’t happened so far – well, not as far as we know – although the Stromness girls run after him. You should have seen them at that fair.’
Mary bustled into the kitchen with a basket of raspberries, and as the rest of the morning passed, the family went about their own activities. Meg and Magnus stayed indoors as there was now another complication: the weather had worsened, pushing summer out of its schedule with heavy grey clouds tumbling across the sky accompanied by a bitter wind and sharp showers of hail.
Emily and Mary were jam-making with fruit from the estate while at the top of the house Faro continued his letter to Imogen, which Jack would post in Kirkwall. Resuming his vigil by the telescope, he thought of Sven, who he had presumed was a good-looking young Orcadian. As Faro prided himself on his excellent hearing detecting the faintest of accents, he wondered if he was perhaps just getting a mite deaf.
Meanwhile, Jack prepared to take his departure, sorry not only to leave Meg and Rose but also a family holiday more than usually exciting, with a lot still to be revealed about that mysterious royal yacht anchored nearby, especially when Faro told him about their aborted ‘fishing’ trip and how Sven had recognised that some of the sailors were Norwegian.
‘That’s very interesting, especially as their Queen Maud is our king’s youngest daughter.’
Faro remembered having read in the newspapers about the Norwegian coronation that had taken place in Trondheim that summer, when Rose came in asking Jack how he was to get into Kirkwall. He could take the car, of course, but how about getting it back
again? There was the motor bus from Stromness, but its timetable was variable.
Emily had the perfect solution. Walking to the great south-facing window she pointed down into Erland’s garden where Sven was kneeling down attending to some plants.
‘Down there,’ she said. ‘There’s your answer.’
And to Faro, who had reappeared clutching his letter to Imogen, ‘Sven will post that for you and gather anything Ma’s needing from the shops. Sven is our Mr Do Everything,’ she added proudly as they went out and down the steep steps into the sheltered sunken garden, with its blaze of colour so dramatic and exotic behind an ancient stone wall in that barren landscape. Explaining to Jack about Sven being Erland’s protégé, she added: ‘He’s an archaeologist, really. Most of his work with a trowel, however, is done in the garden here, taking care of Erland’s rare orchids.’
At their approach, Sven stood up and bowed. As Jack was introduced, he said: ‘I apologise for not shaking your hand, sir’ – and now Faro detected the merest hint of an accent – ‘but please look at mine.’ They were covered in soil and he made a face.
‘You should wear the gloves I gave you,’ Emily said.
He shook his head. ‘No, you are kind and I thank you but that is not possible. The orchids are so small and fragile, they need gentle handling – only fingers.’ He looked round and added sadly to Emily. ‘This whole garden, he loved it so. It will be his memorial. Would they like to see the orchids?’ The question was directed at the newcomers to the house. ‘They were his most treasured possession.’
‘Another time, Sven. I am sure they would love that. But at this moment, Mr Macmerry here needs you to drive him into Kirkwall to catch his ship.’
Sven immediately sprang to attention. ‘I will be delighted. I merely need to clean up a little, wash my hands.’ Another bow to Jack. ‘If you are ready, come with me, sir. We will leave immediately.’
He followed them into the house, and taking the towel Emily handed him, went through to the kitchen while Jack said his farewells.
‘I can hardly believe you are going this time,’ Rose said, kissing him.
‘I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay for ever,’ cried Meg with a hug. ‘Look after Thane and tell him I miss him and I’ll be home soon.’
Jack duly promised and climbed into the car beside Sven, their departure watched sadly by Faro and Emily, both with the same unspoken thought: when might their paths cross again? This sadly unexpected call to Orkney had offered a solitary bonus, brief days for a family reunited – including Meg’s delight at having found a cousin – death’s consolation for bitter grief and loss. Already hopeful plans were being made, Emily hinting to Rose and Jack that they might see Magnus and herself in Edinburgh.
Faro had no such reassurances.
Life with Imogen Crowe, once persona non grata with no legal right to set foot in Britain, had turned him into a nomad. A pleasant enough existence, since during his long years with the police his greatest ambition had been to travel the world, to have all the romantic cities that were only places read about in books suddenly available at his behest.
He shook his head. He had seen most of Europe with Imogen as well as the east coast of America and small bodily twinges warned him that he could not escape time’s relentless march. He was getting older and aware that in a year or two, bearing in mind the years between them, Imogen would still be a relatively young woman with himself unable to conceal that he was finding this life of travelling more difficult, his wearying bones telling him that it was time to settle down in a proper home.
Following Emily into the house, she was saying: ‘Erland was very fond of Sven, he felt fortune had smiled on him, so lucky he said, finding a lad who was reliable, could drive and turn his hand to anything, even to be trusted with care of the garden and those precious orchids.’
‘Seems like a nice fellow.’ Very good-looking, indeed, with the Nordic fair hair and a refining of the Viking warrior image.
‘Too good for a gardener,’ Emily said to Faro. ‘You might have noticed the archaeology site.’
‘What were they looking for?’ Faro asked. ‘Are they still dreaming about making fortunes from Armada ships?’ He had observed a boat with divers on their drive up the coast road.
Emily laughed. ‘Not this time. It is an even older treasure they have in mind. The ship that went down bringing Princess Margaret, the Maid of Norway to Scotland and carrying her dowry – chests of gold and jewels.’
‘Buried treasure, Aunty Emily!’ Meg was listening eagerly. ‘How exciting!’
‘A lot more exciting than a silly royal yacht,’ was Magnus’s comment.
‘Maybe we should be out looking for that treasure,’ Meg said to him.
‘You would be wasting your time, although you wouldn’t be the first – or the last,’ said Emily.
‘Tell me about it, Aunty,’ exclaimed Meg. ‘This princess, what happened? Why did she die and where is her grave?’
‘She was the granddaughter of King Alexander the Third and when his only son died without any children, this Princess of Norway, born in 1283, was the heiress to the Scottish throne,’ said Emily as Magnus sighed and listened politely in the manner of one hearing an oft-told school tale. ‘The Scots didn’t care for a three-year-old girl as queen and being ruled by a regent. There was always trouble with England, so it was decided that she should marry King Edward’s son, a year younger than herself, and unite the two kingdoms. After a lot of negotiations and false starts she set sail in the autumn of 1290.’
Emily paused for breath and went on: ‘All history tells us is that they landed and carried her ashore after she died from the effects of a terrible sea crossing, and of course there were the usual rumours that the English didn’t want a Scots queen and that she was poisoned.’
‘What about the treasure ship?’
‘It never returned to Norway. After she died, it vanished without trace.’
Meg had listened wide-eyed and Faro said: ‘Of course there is a perfectly logical explanation. It was very easy in those days for ships to do just that and go down with all crew lost in storms in uncharted seas.’
‘What about pirates?’ Magnus put in eagerly. ‘I’ve always thought that could be the answer. There would be a few of them about, maybe some had trailed the ship from Bergen.’
Meg frowned. ‘They must have buried her somewhere, Aunty? If not at sea, when they carried her ashore. So does anyone know what happened?’
Emily laughed. ‘That’s the question that’s been troubling generations of folk in Orkney. The theory has even been that it might be somewhere near Yesnaby: one reason for the archaeological dig.’
‘Have they ever found anything?’
‘No. Not a thing.’
Faro was watching Rose as she stood by the window. Although she had contributed no opinion, she must have heard the story before from Erland. She was very silent, thoughtful even. Perhaps she had nothing to contribute, but that was not like her; maybe she was bored, but that wasn’t like her either. This was the sort of romantic history she found irresistible.
Conscious of his eyes on her, she turned and her expression was not one of boredom. As the conversation turned to the absent Sven again, he was aware that she knew something she could have added to that conversation.
Rose did know something. But she had given her word, and promises are not changed even when death takes a hand in dealing out the cards.
Emily was saying: ‘I don’t think Sven is disappointed that they never found anything at the dig. Yes, it would have been a special discovery for him, a link with Norway. He would have been very proud.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Meg, he has no family or friends back in Bergen and regards this as his home now.’
Meg looked sad as Emily shook her head. ‘When you folk go away, I can’t think what it will be like in this great empty house alone. Sven is going to miss Erland too. More than a generation apart, that didn’t seem to matter. Erland taught him chess—
’ she stopped, caught her breath, remembering. ‘Sven had been with him before John arrived that afternoon.’ Her voice choked on a stifled sigh. ‘I think Erland would have wanted that, to have one of those closest to him there.’
They began setting the table. ‘Nice lad,’ Rose said. ‘I’m surprised he’s not married.’
Emily said: ‘Doesn’t seem all that interested. There have been occasional sightings of lady friends. But he keeps himself to himself, never confides anything about his private life. Perhaps he confided in Erland, man to man, that sort of thing.’ Smiling, she shrugged. ‘Erland never told me everything, either. He said once he only told me the interesting things, that his ordinary business activities, that sort of thing, would be too boring.’
A short silence, then Rose looked at her and said: ‘You’re lucky to have a treasure like Sven. Useful, too, being able to drive these days, although I could see that Jack wanted to take over that himself.’ She sighed. ‘Such a lovely car, the Hammer Tourer, compared to the police ones.’
‘What we will do with it now, I don’t know,’ said Emily.
‘I do,’ said Rose excitedly. ‘He can teach me to drive. I’ve watched him. There’s nothing to it, I’m sure I can pick it up.’
Mary and Emily regarded her in astonishment. ‘I’m used to traffic in Edinburgh,’ she added apologetically. ‘After years of riding a bicycle, it will be an exciting new adventure.’
She loved all things modern, eager to move ahead with this new century, to be a woman of the calibre of Imogen Crowe, aware that she had already set her footsteps firmly on that role when she first became a lady investigator, discretion guaranteed, in a horrified male-dominated, middle-class Edinburgh.
The Darkness Within Page 6
