'I gather he was involved in some scandal.' Mace's tone expressed contempt and disapproval. 'Why do you ask?'
'As he was in charge of the Castle restorations, I just wondered if there might be some possible connection.'
Mace laughed out loud. 'Good heavens, Inspector, it was nothing to do with a practical joke on some ignorant workmen that drove Lazenby to such dire straits.'
'You think falling off a scaffolding was a practical joke?'
'Of course not, Inspector.' Mace's countenance flushed red with indignation as he added stiffly, 'You are deliberately misunderstanding me. I was referring to our earlier discussion.'
'What about Lazenby then?'
'I understand it was a sordid matter, hushed up by the regiment. Lazenby was involved with a married woman, the wife of a fellow officer. Disgrace to his colours...'
'Oh indeed,' Faro interrupted. 'I understood from his obituary that he had been recently married.'
Mace had recovered. He raised one eyebrow mockingly. 'Since when, Inspector, did such peccadillos influence a man's reasons for making a suitable marriage? When he was challenged by the woman's husband, suicide was the only decent thing left to him to avoid a scandal.' He stood up. 'And now, is there anything else I can do for you?'
Faro sensed by the way he gathered his papers together that Mace's co-operation had been replaced by a somewhat chilly impatience.
'There is one more thing, Lieutenant. My history book contains only one chapter on Queen Mary's reign. I wonder if you have a more comprehensive volume in your library.'
Mace seemed relieved by the request, his good humour restored. 'Of course, Inspector. Over here.' He went to the shelves. 'An excellent account based on contemporary records. The only copy in existence. It's very valuable and I'm afraid it cannot be removed from the building. However, you may consult it here at your leisure.'
Seeing the Inspector settled at a table by the window, Mace shook hands, wished him good day, saying what a pleasure it had been, and promising to be in communication as soon as Mr Forster revealed the present whereabouts of the missing inventory.
Through a regular study of lengthy documents, Faro had acquired of necessity an ability to read fast. He also possessed a remarkable visual memory and, although the prose of the book was stiff and awesome to a modern reader, he knew exactly what he was looking for.
Two hours later, he heard the one o'clock gun fired from the battlements. Armed with copious notes copied from the volume, he was leaving the building when he caught a glimpse of Lucille Haston alighting from a carriage in the quadrangle outside Sir Eric's apartments. As he drew nearer, he saw that she was in the process of upbraiding her maid.
'And stop being so sullen - remember you're getting all my old clothes, so do try to look happy and grateful for once.' Catching sight of the Inspector, Lucille giggled apologetically. 'I am quite exhausted. So much shopping.'
'So I see.' And Faro limped forward gallantly to offer the dour Bet a sympathetic hand as she staggered out of the carriage buried in an assortment of boxes bearing the names of Edinburgh's mantle and millinery shops.
'For heaven's sake, she can manage,' said Lucille, watching him indignantly. 'Men look so ridiculous carrying hat boxes.'
'It seems that you find our shops to your taste,' he said.
'I do indeed. Such rapturous clothes. Quite on a par with London and Paris fashions, I understand. Uncle Eric is away to Balmoral Castle, if you please. At the command of Her Majesty, who didn't see fit to invite his poor niece.'
Bet opened the door for her mistress and as Faro deposited the two large boxes in her charge, Lucille removed her bonnet, fluffed out her hair and sighed. 'Really, Inspector, it is too bad. Here I am positively dying of boredom. If only one had friends of one's own age, it would be bearable.'
And, he thought, regarding him very intently, she added, 'I'm starved. Have you had luncheon? No? Good. Then Bet will find us something.'
'Thank you, but I'm afraid you must excuse me. I am expected home to Sheridan Place. My daughters . . . ' he ended somewhat lamely.
'Oh, I had forgotten. The two little girls.' And wistfully, 'Tell me their names again.'
'Rose and Emily.'
'Rose and Emily,' she repeated slowly. 'I would so love to meet them. I wonder - I wonder, if I might take them to the Botanic Gardens this afternoon. I have the carriage at my disposal.' And laying a hand on his arm, she said, 'Please say yes, I really am quite desperate for company and I have no idea how long Uncle Eric will be absent.'
There was, Faro knew, only one answer. 'Then permit me to invite you to luncheon with us. I am sure Rose and Emily - and my mother - will be delighted to receive you.'
Lucille clasped her hands, jumping up and down with excitement and truth to tell, he thought, looked so ingenuous and charming that she seemed little older than his own daughters at that moment.
'Oh, do you mean it? Really? Oh, I would so love that. Such paradise. I can't tell you how this dreary old Castle gets on my nerves. It isn't a bit as I imagined it. Artists always make it look so romantic - and I suppose it is on the outside. But inside, its exactly like living in a barracks. I so long for female society.' And indicating the carriage. 'Shall we go?'
'Hadn't you better tell your maid?'
She frowned. 'Oh yes, I suppose so. But you had better come with me. Tell her that you are an old and trusted friend of Uncle Eric, and so on.'
Confronted by the stony-faced Bet, Faro was astonished at his young companion's elaborations. Not only was he a family friend of Sir Eric, and a policeman, but Uncle Eric had especially entrusted her into his keeping while he was visiting the Queen.
At the end of this glowing testimony, with only the vaguest indication of when to expect her return, Lucille hurried him out of the door, down the stone steps and into Sir Eric's private carriage, which he soon discovered was a vast improvement on the police vehicle in the matter of interior furnishings. As they trotted briskly down the High Street he was amazed to find that the well-upholstered red plush seats with their buttoned padded backs left passengers quite impervious to the normal jolts and discomfort of travelling over the cobbles.
All the way to Sheridan Place, hardly stopping to draw breath, Lucille prattled happily on a vast assortment of topics, with such speed and diversity that Faro soon lost the thread.
He felt his concentration glazing over, but soon discovered that his silence went unnoticed. A pleasant smile, a nod of approval and an interested expression were enough. When Lucille asked a question she never waited for nor, he suspected, did she even expect an answer.
Handing her down from the carriage and opening his front door, he tried not to observe that his mother's jaw had dropped open at the sight of the pretty young girl at her son's side. A look that was swiftly replaced, he noted with some amusement, by one he knew well. His mother was already hearing the distant chime of wedding bells.
Nor was his mother alone. The same thoughts were obviously running through Mrs Brook's mind.
'No, Inspector sir, of course I can lay another place for luncheon. No, it isn't in the least inconvenient,' she added to his whispered aside. 'Delighted, I'm sure.' The latter was accompanied by an approving though markedly sly look in Lucille's direction.
By the time luncheon was at an end. Mary Faro had summed up Lucille Haston. She had all her case history and was clearly weighing the evidence. Was this a just case for a verdict of marriage? What an admirable detective his mother would have made, thought Faro.
On the other side of the table, Rose and Emily, with Lucille between them, chatted happily.
'Just look at that, son,' said Mary Faro. 'How they've taken to Miss Haston. Why, anyone would think they had known her all their lives,' she added in a tone laden with significance, as the two little girls were sent upstairs to wash hands and faces before the promised outing to the Botanic Gardens.
'You must come too, Miss Haston,' said Emily.
'Yes, Papa has an insi
de closet, you must use it,' said Rose, always practical.
'Girls - really,' said Mrs Faro in a shocked voice. 'We don't boast about such things.'
Lucille beamed upon her. 'I'm delighted by the information, Mrs Faro. We haven't anything so modern in the backwoods where I come from.'
Faro was waiting when they came downstairs. 'May I beg a lift in your splendid carriage as far as the High Street?'
'Delighted, I'm sure.'
He sat between Rose and Emily, who held his hands with a distinct air of possession and occasionally leaned over to kiss his check while Miss Haston, seated opposite, gave him her undivided attention. The glances in his direction were so unmistakably admiring that Faro felt idiotically happy, out of all proportion to the occasion.
'Why do you smile, Papa?' asked the observant Rose.
'I was just thinking that this is a perfect day for a visit to the Botanic Gardens. I do envy you.'
'Come with us, Papa.'
'Yes, please, Papa.'
'Such a waste to remain indoors on a beautiful day,' was Lucille's reproachful comment.
Faro shook his head. Criminals did not cease from crime because of fine summer weather.
'How lovely the hills look, all shimmering and mysterious,' Lucille continued, opening the window so that a pleasant breeze wafted into the carriage. 'They remind me so of home - I must go there and walk one day before I leave.'
Faro was tempted to make the offer which he felt that this remark with its accompanying glance blatantly invited. However, he remembered that other occasion not so very long ago when he had taken pity on a lonely lady, a stranger to Edinburgh, and how their first excursion together had been to the Pentlands. To think how that had ended . . .
No. He must not remember. He had trained himself in forgetfulness and he would not allow Miss Haston to open that storehouse of bitter memories.
As he left them in the High Street, his daughters bestowed their ritual of smacking kisses while Miss Haston watched wistfully, as if she would have liked to be included.
Faro felt quite confused as he walked towards the Central Office. Perhaps he had hurt her feelings, perhaps he should have kissed her gently and innocently on the cheek, indicating that he regarded her in the same light as Rose and Emily. To kiss or not to kiss. Oh dear, what was a man to do?
Once inside his office, all such domestic problems were instantly forgotten. His presence was being eagerly sought by the Superintendent, who had just been alerted to yet another hiding place of the elusive Clavers, recently sighted at Leith.
The police carriage with its reinforcement of constables set out at a brisk pace for the harbour. They were too late. There was no evidence of Clavers and his gang in the now deserted shipping warehouse where they had allegedly gone to earth.
At this stage, Faro began to have serious doubts as to the integrity of the Superintendent's informant. He had a strong suspicion that his superior officer was being extremely gullible, deliberately misled by one of the gang or even one of Clavers's doxies (of which he was reported to have a considerable number, along with a remarkable capacity for keeping them all happy).
Retracing his steps to the police carriage waiting in the shade offered by the nearby church for the hot dusty ride back into Edinburgh, he read, 'St Patrick's Roman Catholic Church. Reverend Father James O'Rourke.'
Faro remembered his father's casebook. The John Femister who had died in 1837 had been from Leith. His fellow labourers were believed to be from Ireland in which case they were most likely Catholics. So there was always the remote possibility that they might have been interred in the one burial ground of that denomination in Leith.
Instructing the driver to wait, he wandered round the kirkyard inspecting the graves. As the church bore the date '1820' carved in stone, most of them were relatively modern.
There was no Matthew O'Hara or Peter Dowie and he was ready to give up when he came upon a headstone half-hidden by weeds, 'Jean Femister, died 1832, aged 29 years, beloved wife of John Femister, died 1837 aged 35 years. R.I.P.'
Returning once more to the grave of the sadly young couple, he suddenly realised the significance of its neglect. The Femisters had left no close and caring relatives. Yet, according to the newspaper, Femister had left a daughter. Was she the reason for her mother's early death? He did a rapid calculation. She would be about his own age, and with luck, she might have survived.
There was one way to find out. He set off along the gravel path leading to the church, where his further investigations were thwarted by a locked door. Disconsolately, he walked around the building and was about to leave when a priest hurried across the grass, his eager expression suggesting that Faro's attention to the gravestones had not gone unnoticed.
'Is there someone in particular you are seeking, sir?'
As Faro explained, his hopes of success faded. This rosy-faced cherubic priest was considerably less than forty.
'Alas, I cannot help you. I am new to this area. Father Bruce would have known. He was here for fifty years.'
'Perhaps I could talk to him?'
The priest shook his head and pointed solemnly to a new grave with a shining monument of a hovering angel. 'There he lies, sir. Buried three months past. Your best hope now is the parish records. If you'll come with me.'
Inside five minutes Faro had all the information he needed: John Femister's marriage in 1831 and a year later, the birth of a daughter, Griselda, and the death of his wife, Jean.
He found Father O'Rourke in the dim, cool interior with its odours of incense and the smell of old Bibles peculiar to stone-walled churches.
'Griselda Femister? No, I am certain there is no one of that name in our congregation. If she was only five when her father died then it is most likely that relatives took care of her - if she had any.'
And perhaps took her many miles from Leith. Without knowing their names it would be a hopeless task to trace her. Besides a child of five might have only the vaguest memories of her father and remember even less about the circumstances surrounding his death.
'If she had no relatives,' the priest continued, 'then she would have been placed in one of our orphanages, either in Edinburgh or in the Lothians. However, if she remained in the district and eventually married, then of course, she would most likely have been married at our church.' And when Faro looked hopeful, 'Perhaps you would like to consult the marriage register?'
Back in the vestry, Faro ignored all entries before 1848 as it was unlikely that Griselda Femister would have married before she was sixteen. It was not until March 1853 that he found the entry he sought, 'Griselda Femister, daughter of the late John and Jean Femister of this parish, and Malcolm Penfold, baron, of Heriot Row, Edinburgh.' Neither of the witnesses, alas, were Femisters.
Lord Penfold was well known to every member of the Edinburgh City Police. A High Court judge, a respected member of Edinburgh society, he was also a pillar of the Church of Scotland. What of his wife? Had she changed her religion?
Thanking the young priest, Faro made his way back to the police carriage, eminently satisfied with his afternoon's work and delighted by the discovery of a lead, however tenuous, to those events of 1837.
There was always the chance that Lady Penfold might produce foster parents, relatives or friends with long memories. And it was by painstakingly following such minor clues that a detective whose character was strong in patience and persistence might discover a path through the labyrinth. At the end of it, such a man might be rewarded by the revelation of many long forgotten - and often dangerous - secrets.
Chapter Seven
Faro returned home to find Vince alone in the drawing room studying Magnus Faro's notes.
'Fascinating stuff, Stepfather.'
'Where's the family?'
'Long past their bedtime. Haven't you noticed the time?'
'Did they enjoy the Botanic Gardens?'
'Positively wild with delight. By the way, I had a tantalisingly brief meeting with the del
ectable Miss Haston as she was leaving.'
'Did she stay to supper?'
'She did indeed. After putting the girls to bed and reading them a story. Even then she was disposed to linger. Anxiously enquiring for your welfare. Did they always keep such late hours at the Central Office?'
With a teasing glance, Vince added, 'You know, I had the distinct feeling she was most reluctant to take her departure before you returned. Wished to thank you for - I quote - introducing her to two such delightful little girls. Tell him I have had a marvellous time and that, with Mrs Faro's permission, I shall call on them tomorrow.'
And clearing his throat gently, Vince said, 'I think, seeing this is my day off, that I shall make myself quite indispensable.'
'You will enjoy riding in Sir Eric's splendid carriage.'
'That is not all I hope to enjoy, Stepfather.'
'Then I wish you joy of the lady, but do bear in mind that she is Sir Eric's niece.'
'And what do you mean by that?'
'You know what I mean, Vince lad. She is not to be regarded as one of your easy young women.'
'Easy young women? Somehow I didn't get the impression that she would be difficult or inexperienced in the ways of the world.'
'Come now, Vince, if you are intending to make a conquest . .'
'A conquest, Stepfather? Seduce that delightful creature? Nothing is further from my mind.'
'So be it. If any harm comes to her while she is under my roof, you'll have me - and Sir Eric, who is even more formidable - to answer to.'
'You are losing your sense of humour, Stepfather. Or could it be that you have a fancy for the lady yourself?'
'You talk nonsense.' And irritably shrugging off the hand Vince had placed on his arm, he added, 'If I had, then I should certainly not have missed an opportunity of spending a pleasant summer afternoon in the Botanic Gardens.'
Seeing Vince's puzzlement at his rather violent response, he sighed apologetically. 'I've seen them many a time, lad, that you know, in peace and in the pursuit of criminals...'
Blood Line: An Inspector Faro Mystery Page 7
