Murders Most Foul

by Alanna Knight

  ‘Wait!’ Faro and Lizzie held out restraining hands. For what was in store, Faro wanted the boy out of the way, out of danger. ‘Vince, can you do something for me – can you take an urgent message to the beat constable?’

  ‘PC Craig, you mean?’ Vince was mystified but guessed that there was something urgent going on that the grown-ups hadn’t told him about. A surprise perhaps as Faro added:

  ‘Without being seen, Vince.’

  That gave the boy an idea. He went to the window. ‘Open this, please.’ Faro did so.

  Vince leant out. ‘There’s a ledge and see, that tree! I’ve always wanted to climb it.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Lizzie groaned and ignoring her protests Faro scribbled the message while Vince looked on delighted.

  ‘Is it very important?’

  Handing it to him Faro said: ‘Very important. Our lives, your mother and Mrs Lumbleigh, all of us depend on it.’

  Vince was already astride the window sill.

  ‘Off you go, and take care.’

  ‘Oh, I will. This is super – just like one of those adventure stories in the boys’ annual,’ he grinned happily.

  Lizzie was scared, reproachful even, as at Faro’s side she watched Vince edge along and then swing himself on to the overhanging tree branch. The carriage had moved out of range. There was no sign of the coachman. Vince’s exit had been just in time.

  Footsteps on the stairs. Their waiting was over.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The door opened and Bodvale entered. Apart from his usual cloak, bonnet and muffler, gone too were the whiskers and moustache.

  He was now clean-shaven; Faro realised this transformation was to aid his escape.

  Clara’s cry, her sharp intake of breath, identified the man she knew and feared. In one hand a revolver, with the other he touched his face ruefully, looked across at her and said:

  ‘Come closer and you will see the scars left by the fire, a painful blessing.’ And rubbing his chin, ‘What better disguise for my purpose than a fashionable beard and moustache?’ Pausing he said to her: ‘You broke your promise to me, my own true love. You never looked the coachman in the eye. Oh, I know about that, the master’s rules were to avoid eye contact with the servants, just like the Queen at Balmoral.’ He laughed harshly. ‘All to the good, couldn’t have been better for me.’

  He looked round. ‘And I see you have company.’ The gun upraised, he motioned them towards the door. ‘The rest of the company are downstairs, so if you’d care to join them, we need delay no longer.’

  And looking at Faro, he smiled mockingly. ‘You have been a thorn in my flesh for too long, Constable, so you might as well consider yourself deserving of what is in store for the rest of this family.’ Sounding almost genial he said: ‘I’m surprised we have not had a confrontation earlier, considering your reputation.’

  Faro signalled the women to stay put and well aware of the diabolical criminal he was dealing with he said calmly: ‘No time like the present, and before we follow you I’m sure you would like to take this chance of enlightening us about what you have in store – and why?’

  Bodvale needed no second bidding. Scowling at Faro, he said: ‘All right, I’ll tell you all – you might as well take this to the grave with you. Archie Lumbleigh ruined my father, cheated him out of his fortune on the turn of a card.’ He added slowly, ‘And he murdered him. Suicide, they said, but I knew better. It was as if he held the gun at my father’s head when he pulled the trigger that left us penniless, my mother dying and me forced to leave university and take a menial, ill-paid job labouring. I swore then I would avenge his death—’

  Pausing he looked at Clara, smiled. ‘But when I tracked him down to Edinburgh I never expected to find that my own true love was his wife. Another excellent reason to hate him, if I hadn’t enough cause already.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh, it was easy to become his coachman. One or two excellent references, good forgeries I admit, and Lumbleigh was so impressed at the titles of my previous employers he never had the temerity to enquire further and check them. He needed a discreet coachman for some of his activities, and the same sort of carriage as half the well-off residents, one that nobody would recognise or look at twice.

  ‘As for Paul, I soon knew there was bad blood between them; I guessed from servants’ talk that he hated him as much as I did. Revenge for his mother’s death in an insane asylum, so that Archie could marry the love of my life, fitted perfectly into what I had planned.’

  Suddenly impatient, he waved the gun and shouted: ‘That’s enough – downstairs all of you. We mustn’t keep them waiting.’ And putting an arm around Clara, ‘We haven’t much time, my own true love. I hope you did as I told you,’ he added sternly.

  Trembling, terrified, warned earlier by Faro that she must pretend to go along with him, she managed a nod of agreement.

  He looked at Faro then at Lizzie with pity. ‘Afraid your presence has made it inevitable that you are included in what is to come. Such a shame my lady will have to do without her maid.’

  He moved so that Lizzie was in front of him, the gun to her head. Faro instinctively stepped forward and as Clara cried out in protest, Bodvale said: ‘Don’t be afraid. Your ordeal will soon be over. Tomorrow at this hour we will be safe, in another country, and I will be your lady’s maid. I’ll brush your lovely hair every night just as I did when you were a wee girl. Remember the old days?’ he added softly.

  Lizzie stumbled on the stairs and he gave her an angry glance. ‘Do that again and you’re dead, miss.’

  The dining-room door was open, Mrs Brown waiting for them, just inside, grim and silent. Looking at her expressionless face, Faro would have given much to read her thoughts. Bodvale’s ally, she had helped him to this evil hour, but seeing the expression on her face as she watched him reunited with his true love he wondered what was to be her reward.

  In two armchairs facing each other across the fireside, sprawled motionless, were Archie and Paul.

  Clara gave a little cry.

  Bodvale seized her arm. ‘Not yet. You can save that for later.’ Faro looked at the two glasses on the tray and guessed that once again Mrs Brown’s assistance had been indispensable. They had been drugged.

  ‘A pretty scene, eh?’ Bodvale chuckled. ‘So peaceful, do admire it in the little time you have left to you.’

  ‘You will never get away with it, you know,’ Faro said sharply.

  Bodvale smiled. ‘A pity you won’t be around to know whether I did or not, Constable. But having come this far, I will have to take that chance. Just look at the two of them; surely it is obvious what I have in mind. The perfect crime. Paul, who hated his stepfather, shoots him and then’ – he glanced round, grinning as he studied the faces of Lizzie and Faro – ‘unfortunately two people who heard the shot and tried to intervene also became his victims.’

  Faro heard Lizzie’s sharp intake of breath. Bodvale had released her and she ran to Faro’s side.

  He looked at them both and sighed. ‘Yes, they had to go. He was quite insane, having already killed twice, so he shoots himself. He will be found with a gun in his hand. Archie’s wife, my own true love …’ Pausing he looked at her. ‘She will be the only survivor, but by the time the bodies are found we will have vanished. A train to London and a ship out of the country.’

  Faro said: ‘I wouldn’t bank on it. The police will track you both down and Clara will also be implicated in the murders, an accessory.’

  Bodvale regarded him, still smiling. ‘I am sure she will be set free, but,’ he shrugged, ‘I don’t really care. I would rather she went to the gallows with me. If I can’t have her, I took an oath long ago that no other man would.’

  ‘First you have to kill four people in this room. How many bullets are there in that gun? You will never get away with it,’ Faro repeated.

  ‘Oh yes, we will. We will.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ This from Mrs Brown who had been the silent observer of the scene. She came forward.


  They turned and looked at her. ‘I have stuck by you all these years, Jabez, while you plotted your ultimate revenge.’ And staring at Clara, her eyes full of loathing, she added: ‘This is not how we planned it.’

  And this was no longer the efficient obedient housekeeper but a very different woman. What they were witnessing was a wife about to be abandoned. Dowdy, plain, middle-aged, she was no match for the beautiful, elegant Clara.

  And Faro felt almost a shaft of pity as she went on: ‘Do you think I am going to sit back and watch quietly while you take her …’ She jabbed a finger towards Clara. Her voice raised. ‘And leave me – without a thought for my future. Not only a deserted wife but as an accessory to your murders.’

  Bodvale did not even look at her, but said coldly: ‘You can make your own arrangements. You have served your purpose and, incidentally, we were never married. That was a fraud too, that ceremony, I needed a partner for my plan to succeed.’

  It was too much for the housekeeper. The plain woman had become a screaming virago as she launched herself at him, clawing at his face. The attack took him by surprise, and trying to fight her off, he dropped the gun.

  It slid across the floor, Faro in pursuit seized it and as Bodvale struggled to be free, there was another sound – hammering on the front door.

  Lizzie rushed to it and let in Gosse followed by a batch of policemen, behind them Vince, who she took in her arms with a cry of relief.

  Gosse took in the scene and without waiting for any explanations, watching the constables disentangle the struggling couple, he arrested Bodvale for the murder of Doris Page and Ida Watts.

  Handcuffs were produced and as they were leading him away, Faro went forward: ‘Wait a moment. Where is Fr Burren? What have you done with him?’

  Bodvale turned and stared at him, scowling. ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘The Catholic priest!’

  ‘Still never heard of him.’

  Was that the truth or was the priest lying dead?

  Gosse pointed to the housekeeper. ‘Take the woman too, for questioning,’ and to Faro he added grudgingly, ‘Well done.’ Explanations would come later while he thought of a means to divert praise for this captured murderer to his own ends.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The full story came out at Bodvale’s trial when the abandoned Matilda Brown turned Queen’s evidence. The plan was always to kill Archie Lumbleigh and throw suspicion on Paul.

  He believed that his plan for the perfect murder was infallible when the housekeeper told him that Paul blamed his stepfather for his mother’s death, and his hatred included Clara, despite all her attempts to be a kind, understanding stepmother. Bodvale began to make his plans accordingly. A first murder to lead the police on a false trail and incriminate Paul.

  He got his chance, provided by Paul himself. In his role of the discreet coachman, no questions asked, he regularly drove Paul, usually drunk, and usually unsuccessful, to pick up one of the dancers after the evening performance at the Vaudeville.

  One of those attempts had been frustrated by a passing policeman, namely, DC Faro. For Bodvale’s cruel purpose any of the girls would have served equally well; it just happened to be Doris Page who was not too choosy about being picked up by strange men, young or old, as long as they were prepared to spend money on her.

  She had been disappointed to find the waiting carriage empty, but Brown leant down, handed her a sovereign and said: ‘The master wishes for your company, I am to take you to him. You will find a bottle of champagne inside.’ The rest was easy. He drove around for a while, then in the Queen’s Park he strangled her and deposited her body in Fleshers Close.

  Would one murder be enough to incriminate Paul? He thought not. He needed another victim and preferably nearer Lumbleigh Green. Then he learnt that Paul had been sleeping with the maid Ida and the sharp-eyed housekeeper, seeing evidence of morning sickness which hinted at pregnancy, had laughed: ‘And she’ll think he’ll marry her, more fool her.’ Bodvale rubbed his hands with glee. This created a perfect situation for the next murder.

  ‘The young master wishes you to meet him on the North Bridge at ten this evening. He has tickets for a train journey.’ Ida’s eyes had gleamed. An elopement, of course! Mrs Brown had continued: ‘Do not bring any luggage’ (not that Ida had much in that nature apart from her uniform) ‘he will provide you with a wardrobe.’

  That was enough. Brown strangled her in the carriage and dropped her body off the North Bridge, in keeping with the suicide tradition of many unfortunate pregnant girls. It suited his plan to further incriminate Paul in her death, since the housekeeper suspected that he was Ida’s lover. Unfortunately the post-mortem discovery that this was not so in Ida’s case led to suspicions that she had been murdered.

  As for Jock Webb, Bodvale had lost a considerable amount of money betting on a sure fight in Glasgow. A long time ago, but he had never forgiven him. A chance encounter in a local pub with the ex-boxer boasting about his early successes in the ring aroused bitter memories and Bodvale’s ire. His murder would help satisfy what was a growing taste for killing. That final moment when his victim’s life expired, the feeling of power over the whole universe. But he hadn’t bargained for the still-strong ex-boxer.

  As for Mavis Rayne. He drove Archie there regularly and decided that the murder of his hated enemy’s mistress fitted neatly into his revenge plan. However, Mavis had grappled with many men in her time as a madam and his attempts to strangle her were frustrated by the approach of a policeman.

  As for the playing card – the nine of diamonds left at the scene of each crime. That too was the final touch, Bodvale’s vanity, the idea that this would add a touch of the macabre. The nine of diamonds, which his mother called ‘the curse of Scotland’, she believed was the card Lumbleigh played when cheating Arthur Bodvale of his fortune, causing his suicide and the subsequent ruin of their lives.

  There was one missing factor. He still denied that he had murdered the young priest. Mrs Brown too shook her head over this. And suddenly the mystery was solved.

  Fr Burren staggered into the rectory he had left two weeks ago. He was dishevelled, his head bandaged, his arm in a sling. Two weeks ago after seeing the verger he had walked towards Musselburgh where he believed there were men, vagrants, waiting to be shown the light and be converted. He had been knocked down, perhaps by one of them, and pushed into the hedgerow.

  An elderly spinster, something of a recluse and just a little this side of madness, turned out to be the Good Samaritan. Passing by in her pony carriage, she had spotted this young man. He was unconscious, bleeding and she thought about to die. So she took him home. Shabbily dressed in ordinary clothes, without the customary dog collar, she had no idea he was a priest. It did not take more than a day or two for her to fall in love with this handsome stranger, like someone from a fairy tale. She had rescued him and decided that until he came to himself again, finders were also keepers.

  She had no idea that he was in a coma and might die without treatment. Miraculously he had survived with her care and two weeks later, just after Bodvale’s arrest, he had sat up, genuflected and said the Lord’s Prayer. She was shocked. He did not know where he was or what happened; utterly confused he wished only to return to his church and his people. He would pray for her, with that she had to be content, and he refused to give the police her name or address.

  In the Central Office, Gosse basked in the success of two murders solved while striving vainly to divert Chief Inspector McIvor’s approval for his detective constable’s invaluable contribution. Meanwhile Faro was enjoying a congratulatory dram with Macfie on his forthcoming marriage to Lizzie Laurie, an announcement further reminding Gosse of his dismal failure to put an end to Faro’s hopes in that direction.

  ‘You did well, lad,’ said Macfie. ‘You were on to it, from the beginning – that hunch about the scarlet dress.’

  ‘I can’t claim success about finding out who she was, though. When
I came back from Glasgow with that information, her husband had been in touch with Gosse.’

  He paused and Macfie said: ‘But by then the first threads were already falling into place.’

  Faro nodded. ‘And who would have ever imagined that we would have Edinburgh’s abominable weather to thank? All those constant drenchings, the smell of wet tweed drying and Brown’s Inverness cape, a cast off by Mr Lumbleigh and its significance that day when I was given a lift in the driving rain to Jock Webb’s house. But most of all, we owe a debt to Mrs Rayne.’

  ‘Mrs Rayne?’ queried Macfie.

  ‘Yes, indeed, the perfumer’s extraordinary sense of smell was an invaluable clue. Her description of her attacker, stinking like a wet dog, the woolly smell of her pet poodle. Then there was this constant smell of drying outer-garments, threads here and there touching what seemed an impossible solution. Until Mrs Lumbleigh’s stepfather’s visit. Then it became clear when I asked myself, how did Bodvale get into the house, through locked gates in the dark, past the guard dogs and find his way upstairs to her bedroom?

  ‘There was only one answer. The killer had to be someone familiar with the house and he must have had an accomplice. The truth could only be that the coachman Brown must also be Mrs Lumbleigh’s villainous stepfather. A callous, ruthless killer and worst of all, the motive for the murders of those two innocent women was merely part of his long-planned revenge on Archie Lumbleigh by also incriminating Paul.’

  Leaving Macfie, Faro promised to bring Lizzie to meet him when they got back from honeymoon in Orkney. He guessed that his mother would be delighted to see him settled down at last although he wasn’t sure how she would react to meeting Vince, whose courage had saved several lives that terrible night of Bodvale’s arrest.

  By the time the newlyweds were moving into their first home, order had been restored in Lumbleigh Green with the installation of another coachman and housekeeper, their references carefully checked by Clara, whose marriage had not, as she had imagined, been shattered by her early life with Bodvale.