And at his stricken face, she showed her first compassion. 'Rose is perfectly all right Not a hair of her head has been harmed, so far. She is a very brave girl, your daughter. But that's to be expected.'
'Why Leith?' he asked knowing the answer perfectly well.
'It's too dangerous to remain in Scotland. Besides, they have other plans and some of the group have been already rounded up. They might still need Rose as a safe conduct.'
And Rose would never reach Ireland, Faro thought in grim despair. There would be a convenient accident. A woman lost overboard.
'And you are to be held responsible for their villainous plans—for my daughter's murder.'
In reply she looked at him. 'Believe what you will. I'm here to try to save her, if I can. It all depends on you, Inspector. All they want is the Queen's journal.'
'How are you so sure I have it?'
Imogen smiled. 'Maeve—May you called her—heard that constable who was courting her tell Mrs Brook to put it on your desk. You hid it pretty well.' Pausing, she glanced around the room.
'Maeve searched everywhere, your desk and cupboards, but she couldn't find it. I suppose you have a secret safe somewhere. I hope for Rose's sake that you have it with you this night—'
And as Faro touched his pocket in an involuntary gesture, she smiled. 'Ah, I see I was right. Now shall we go?'
As he followed her out towards the waiting carriage, reason told him to hate her, to destroy her. But as they sat together in the darkness her perfume, her beloved presence, reached out to him and mocked him again with the madness of desire never now to be fulfilled.
Chapter 24
'You are to come unarmed. You are to tell no one of your destination. If you disobey and alert your colleagues then our people will kill Rose.'
Faro did not doubt for a moment that Imogen's deadly warning was in earnest as he struggled to make excuses for her. She had every reason to hate the English and he recognized over and over again the declaration of her unswerving loyalty to the Fenians. Just two words proudly said: 'Our people.'
Emotions were too deep to allow conversation that would not fast deteriorate—on Faro's side—to reproach and recrimination and, as the carriage reached the quayside at Leith, he saw that the Erin Star, a ship with whose movements he was well acquainted, was preparing to leave for Rosslare on the evening tide. He guessed this was to be their escape route back to Ireland. They had taken few chances of their careful plan failing by sending Imogen for him as late as possible.
Then he noticed ahead of the Erin Star the yacht the Royal Solent bound for the Isle of Wight. And more significantly that the Queen was resident at Osborne House.
At Faro's side Imogen regarded the yacht anxiously from the carriage window. Her expression and the fact that there were few signs of departure evident on deck aroused Faro's suspicions that the Fenians had already overpowered the crew and that Osborne House with its unprotected shoreline would be the scene of the next assassination attempt.
He sat back. Time was running out. He had now less than half an hour, his wits and the precious package he carried, to save his daughter.
As they left the carriage, two men moved out of the shadows and took a firm grip on his arms. Unable to twist round and see their faces, for a moment he thought he was back in the hands of his attackers in the Mound, the killers of the McNairs who had also skilfully evaded him in Stirling Railway Station.
They had also tried to murder Imogen and automatically his fists bunched and he struggled violently to escape from their hold.
Then Imogen spoke to them in Gaelic, obviously telling them to release him.
'You are to be blindfolded,' she said. 'Don't be alarmed.'
'It is a safety measure only,' said one of the men and turning, Faro saw that the pair were little more than youths, slightly built, with the look of brothers. He could have felled the two of them with little trouble.
'Our work here is not finished,' said the taller of the two. 'And we may wish to return.'
Their heavily accented voices were cultured and as they led him across what was undoubtedly a cobbled yard, he should have felt heartened until he realized that educated fanatics can be equally deadly as ignorant villains.
A door creaked and opened, footsteps, another door and then a sound like a panel being slid along and he was guided into a room where the voices ceased as he entered.
'Rose? Where are you?'
‘Pa, oh Pa.' The dearest words in the world were followed by, 'What have they done to you?'
'We haven't harmed him,' said Imogen.
But he couldn't reach Rose, his captors held his arms. There were several people in the room speaking Gaelic. Again he recognized Imogen's voice. He remembered McQuinn saying he knew only that their leader was a woman, clever, intelligent.
That could only be Imogen Crowe. Fool that he was to love—to have loved—such a one.
Suddenly there was a buzz of activity around him, the scraping of heavy boxes across the floor. He was in some sort of a warehouse. He sniffed the air, the acrid smell he associated with ammunition. So this was the secret place where bombs were being made.
Bombs he did not doubt, that were destined for the Isle of wight and Osborne House. Guns too, for he heard the rattle of steel, the sound of nails being driven home.
A sudden stillness, then another woman's voice, speaking rapidly in Gaelic, then in English giving instructions: 'Get going. It will take you all your time to load these. They are ready to weigh anchor.'
He sniffed the air again, the smell of burning paper.
Footsteps approached, light ones this time, and the blindfold was pulled from his eyes. He blinked, searching for Rose, in the dim illumination from a couple of hanging lanterns.
She sat on an upturned box across the room, the woman bending over her removing the blindfold. Rose sat up, saw him, and with a delighted cry she pushed her captor roughly aside and a moment later she was close in his embrace.
But brave Rose gave way at last. She sobbed quietly, trembling against him.
Over her shoulder, Faro saw that the room had emptied of the gunmen taking their cargo to the ship. The smell of burning, no doubt of incriminating documents, came from the other side of the room where the two brothers were busily thrusting papers into a stove.
Imogen talked quietly to the woman who turned to face him. The woman who had called herself May Moray.
Faro was amazed as she approached. Amazed at the transformation from the shy, frightened maid to the confident terrorist. She seemed to have grown in stature as well as authority. She would never have beauty, but she had power. Her lack of distinctive features, which would not be remembered as would Imogen Crowe's, was an adequate disguise, a blessing for any criminal.
The door opened. A man peered round at them. We have to leave.' It was said in Gaelic but the urgency was unmistakable in any language.
Maeve held out her hand to Faro. 'You have the journal.'
Faro nodded and touched his pocket. She smiled. 'You are wise, Inspector Faro. Now give it to me, then you and your daughter are free to go. She—' Her head swivelled in Imogen's direction. 'She has guaranteed your safe conduct.'
Faro stared at Imogen's expressionless face.
She shrugged. 'A debt to be paid, that's all, Inspector Faro. Now I owe you nothing.'
'The journal,' said Maeve. 'We've wasted enough time.'
He took it out of his pocket. As she stretched out her hand, he seized her in a stranglehold. Powerless, she screamed.
'I can break her neck in one,' Faro said grimly. 'So let Rose go.'
The two brothers took a step forward, wavered. For a moment they were frozen in a tableau, a play from which the cues had been lost, the actors in confusion.
As for Faro, he had to rely on the slender hope that Imogen meant no harm to Rose and himself. Pushing Maeve before him as a shield while she cursed and struggled against him, powerless in his iron grip, he edged towards the brightly burning stove.
At that moment the panel slid open, the two men who were his old enemies exploded into the room. He saw the rifles raised pointing at him. He heard Maeve scream once, then she went limp in his arms.
She slid to the ground as he released her, frantically reaching out for Rose, her safety his chief concern. The two men rushed forward, hands outstretched, and Faro realized that he still held in one hand the journal that Maeve had died for.
As they approached he threw it, a neatly calculated throw, which he prayed would reach its target. They yelled abuse at him as it disappeared into the open stove. No longer interested in him, they rushed towards the flames, hoping to be in time to save it before it was consumed and changed into ashes.
Faro managed to trip the first one en route. Seizing his rifle he helped him to the floor by felling him with one blow to the back of the neck. As the second man rushed towards him protesting, he brought the rifle down with a resounding crack against the side of his head.
Savouring for a moment the sense of satisfaction as his two attackers lay senseless before him, he turned and saw Imogen, her arms outstretched, protecting Rose, whom she had thrust behind her.
There was no movement from Maeve, who lay motionless where she had fallen, a stream of blood oozing from her breast.
The sound of footsteps and Faro again raised the rifle.
The beggarman—
McQuinn rushed in. Ignoring Faro, he ran to Rose's side. He touched her hair briefly as if to reassure himself that she was unharmed.
Rose screamed, failing to recognize him, and Imogen thumped him with her fists. 'Leave her alone—leave her.'
McQuinn laughed as Rose cowered away from him, suspecting another terrorist. Holding Imogen at bay with one hand, he held out the other to Rose. 'Darlin'—it's me—your Danny.'
'Danny—you idiot!' Half laughing, half crying, she disentangled herself from Imogen and briefly kissed him.
Then with a shake of his head he ran over to where Maeve lay.
'She's dead. They killed her,' said Faro, standing with his rifle poised over the two men who groaned on the floor. 'And they'd have had me too.'
'It was her they wanted. Not you,' said McQuinn.
But Faro wasn't listening. Turning, he saw that Rose had disappeared with Imogen and the two brothers.
He rushed towards the open panel. 'Come along, McQuinn. You know the way. I was blindfolded. Come on—'
McQuinn led the way through the doors out of the old warehouse until they stood on the now empty quayside where the lights of the Erin Star and the Royal Solent moved swiftly towards the harbour bar.
Faro watched them helplessly.
The Fenians had escaped. But they had taken Rose with them.
'They won't get far,' said McQuinn.
'Dear God, man, why didn't you stop them!' he shouted angrily, as a figure emerged from the shadows.
It was Imogen.
'I put Rose into the police carriage. Over there. She's waiting for you.'
'What about the yacht?' Faro yelled and McQuinn shouted something that was lost as he ran to the carriage.
Faro watched as he took Rose in his arms. He heard her laughter. 'Danny McQuinn, you smell. When did you last have a bath?'
Rose was safe.
He turned to Imogen, standing silently at his side, and nodded towards the fast disappearing ships.
'They went without you.'
‘You sound surprised, Inspector.' She shrugged. 'I've served my purpose. I got you here, got the journal for them. And I wouldn't be much use to them on the Isle of Wight.'
'So I was right. That's where they're heading.'
'It's been planned for a long time. They are nothing if not meticulous, despite what the English pretend about the stupid Irish,' she said bitterly.
‘What are you going to do now? Those two men back there—' he added, indicating the black outline of the warehouse. 'If they survive, they'll kill you this time.'
She nodded. 'I know. I know.'
'I thought you were the leader,' he said apologetically.
'Me?' she laughed. 'Heavens, no. They enlisted me— reluctantly I have to add—as a go-between. I had little choice with Seamus's wife and bairn back in Ireland, waiting to be murdered if I didn't obey their instructions. They don't make idle threats; you should know that by now.'
'Tell me something, why did you come back to the hotel in Stirling that day and ask for me?'
She shrugged. 'An impulse. I was passing by, and I suddenly needed to say I was sorry—sorry that things had to end that way between us.' She looked up at him sadly. 'But you had gone, I was too late. Fate was never on our side. Perhaps it was just as well.'
There were other questions in the air, but survival left no time for explanations.
‘You'll be taken,' Faro said urgently. 'You'll go to prison and I won't be able to help you this time. You must get away.'
'You should care,' she said bitterly.
He looked at her, put his hand on her arm. 'I do care, Imogen.' And the words unspoken: Please God, you will never know how much.
The darkness across the water was pierced by a siren whistle. McQuinn rushed past them.
'That's the Solent. The Harbour Police have stopped her. Thank God my message got through in time.'
He looked at Imogen. 'And thank you, lady, for looking after my Rose.' And to Faro he shouted over his shoulder as he ran along the quayside, 'I leave it to you sir, to arrest her.'
Faro's mind was working rapidly. The distant lights and the commotion along the quayside told him that the yacht had been ahead of the passenger ship. Imogen had one chance.
'How good are you with a rowing boat?'
'Glory be, Inspector, you don't expect me to row all the way back to Ireland?'
'Don't argue. Come along, we haven't a minute to lose.' And, dragging her by the arm, he ran down the steps and thrust her into a small fishing boat. Turning it adrift they both took to the oars. He cut short Imogen's protests. 'The captain will stop for me. Being a policeman has its uses and we've had dealings before.'
There was no time for explanations or promises. All their energies were needed to row across to where the Erin Star would head out of harbour and into the North Sea, down around the English coast and to Rosslare where Imogen would be safe. Safe but out of his life for ever.
As Faro hailed the ship, they rocked unsteadily in the swell, the bows poised dangerously above them. The captain stared down from the bridge, then the searchlight picked out the rowing boat and Inspector Faro.
'Another passenger for you, Captain. Sling down the ladder, if you please.'
Reaching out his hand to seize it and to help Imogen as she transferred from the rowing boat, he asked, 'Have you money for your fare?'
She laughed. 'What a practical man you are, Inspector. We're snatched from the jaws of death and you ask whether I can pay for my passage.'
Smiling in return, he held her briefly for the last time.
'I wonder if I'll ever see you again,' she said softly.
'Promises, promises. Remember the last time—Berwick Station, it was.'
'You can always come to Ireland.'
'Who knows? Maybe I will,' said Faro as, leaning forward, she kissed him full on the mouth and began to climb the swaying ladder.
Chapter 25
McQuinn was waiting for him at the quayside as he moored the rowing boat and climbed the steps alone.
'I see you caught the Erin Star. Well done, sir. I sent Rose home to Sheridan Place. She'll be waiting for you there.'
As the two men fell into step and headed in the direction of the lights of Edinburgh, Faro, who was bone weary, would have given much for the sight of a carriage.
'What happened here?'
'The Harbour Police intercepted the Royal Solent, put the bad lads away and released a very frightened crew who have now continued their journey to the Isle of Wight.' He stopped and laughed. 'With those members of the Royal entourage who had imagined there were
fewer hazards by sea than land and were very badly scared—'
'Why wasn't I warned about all this?' Faro interrupted angrily.
'Because of Rose, sir. Central Office was afraid that with your daughter's safety involved you might do something— well, impulsive. Such as trying a single-handed rescue. It has been known, sir.'
Faro swore at him as with a grin he continued, 'I tried to reach you at Sheridan Place, to reassure you. But I was too late. Mrs Brook said you had left with Miss Crowe.'
He sighed. 'I was glad I was wrong about Miss Crowe. I didn't trust her and neither did the Fenians, but they had an effective weapon in using her family in Ireland as blackmail. Then Rose told me how she had protected her and even worked out a plan to help her escape at the risk of her own life.' McQuinn shrugged. 'Not that it would have made any difference, she would still have gone to prison. If things had worked out differently.' He laughed softly. 'She has a lot to thank you for this night, sir.'
'What about you, McQuinn. What now?'
'My job is finished.' And ruefully rubbing his chin, he added, 'Shave off the beard, have a much needed bath.' He sighed. 'And then America. As I intended. I need a change of air.'
'What about Rose? Are you considering her in these plans?'
A street lamp illuminated McQuinn's face briefly. He smiled. 'She has to decide. It's up to her. I want to marry her but it has to be on my terms. As one plain policeman to another, if you'll forgive me for once not acknowledging your illustrious rank and experience, you know that's the truth.'
'You mean that the job comes first.'
'You take my meaning exactly, sir.'
They walked slowly, silently, their footsteps echoing on the now empty pavements.
'Have you ever considered that Rose might find someone else while you are away?'
McQuinn frowned. 'Someone like Lachlan Brown, you mean.'
Conscious of Faro's startled glance, McQuinn laughed. 'I know all about Lachlan Brown, her letters were full of him. A dose of hero worship, I'd say.'
Another silence followed this revelation. 'Our two murderers back there in the warehouse, I presume they are safely under lock and key for me to interview in the morning. I'll have enough in my report to hang them both,' said Faro grimly.
Murder by Appointment: Inspector Faro No.10 Page 15
