To Kill a Queen (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.6)

by Alanna Knight

  'Precisely. But in this case there wasn't much to be gained in the monetary way. She had no family but her Aunt Nessie—'

  'And I don't think by any stretch of imagination could that dear kind soul, God rest her, be a suspect.'

  Purdie's expression was suddenly bleak. 'So where else do we look, Faro? Who have we left? There are not many contestants and Morag Brodie was known to have rejected Lachlan for James Lessing, a footman at the Castle, who subsequently drowned in a tragic accident. Logically then, our suspects are down to one,' he added grimly.

  'But Lachlan did save her from drowning—'

  Purdie held up his hand. 'I know your argument, Faro. Why save her just to murder her? I think we have worked that one out. He saves her, believing gratitude will restore her love for him. But she refuses him. He goes berserk.'

  Pausing he regarded Faro's doubtful expression. 'For heaven's sake, this is the standard crime passionel. Happens all the time. You of all people should know that.'

  'Let us say I have some reservations about the nature of the killing. In my experience, one stab to the heart rarely indicates a frenzied attack.'

  'Is that so?' Purdie sounded exasperated. 'From the evidence so far, I don't think there is the slightest doubt that Lachlan Brown is guilty. Everything so far points to him. But this case must be handled carefully. We are on delicate ground here, the lad being kin to John Brown, and John Brown close to the Queen.'

  Faro thought cynically about those in authority trying to keep the facts of life and death from the Queen, desperate in their anxiety that her 'dear Paradise' should remain unsullied. On the other hand, he was not at all sure that Her Majesty's somewhat morbid preoccupation with death could not deal with a local murder. She might even relish it.

  Opening the carriage door, Purdie regarded him intently. 'You get my drift, I think, without any further elaboration.'

  Faro hesitated before replying. 'There is one further point, sir. My mysterious visitor whose carriage you observed yesterday was Superintendent McIntosh of the Edinburgh City Police.'

  'I know the Superintendent—'

  Faro finished his brief account of McIntosh's visit and his fears for the Queen's safety with, 'He thought you should be told. If you don't know already.'

  His searching glance of his companion's face told him the worst.

  'I do know, Faro. And now that the cat is well and truly out of the bag, if you hadn't deduced it already, you will understand the real reason for Scotland Yard putting me on to this case. As I told you when we first met, your presence here was an almighty stroke of good fortune.

  'And even before your disclosures regarding our old adversary Lord Nob, where you have the advantage over me, in a personal encounter, I was considering enlisting your help. Ah, here is Craig now,' he added, putting a finger to his lips. 'We will keep this information to ourselves, if you please.'

  'If you are intent on making an arrest, you would have more chance of finding Lachlan at the Castle with Brown at this time of day.'

  'Ah, we are ahead of you there, Faro,' said Purdie with a mysterious smile. 'At precisely this moment he should be on the hill with the Queen's picnic party. I thought we might seize the opportunity of his absence to search his cottage.'

  Craig approached them, his face bright with triumph. He held up a knife, its long blade worn with constant use and sharpening, and in the horn handle a cairngorm stone.

  'Here is your evidence, sir. Look what I've found.'

  Purdie took it gingerly.

  'That looks like blood to me, sir,' said Craig excitedly pointing to dark stains on the blade.

  Purdie nodded, a little non-committally, thought Faro. 'Show us exactly where you found it.'

  Craig led the way to a woodpile at the side of the bothy. 'It was hidden, sir. Down at the back. I nearly missed it.'

  'May I?' Faro examined the knife briefly.

  'What do you think, Faro?' asked Purdie.

  'Surely you recognise the skean dhu, sir, the all-purpose knife every Highlander prides himself on wearing in his hose? I would suggest that its murderous appearance is perfectly in keeping with its normal function.'

  'And that is?'

  'It's used by ghillies for disembowelling deer, skinning rabbits and the like. In a society less preoccupied with etiquette it was used as table cutlery. To cut meat and the throats of its owner's enemies.'

  'So this could be the murder weapon?' said Purdie eagerly.

  'It could. Except that one would expect to find one identical in every Scots household from here to the Canadian Rockies and beyond.'

  Craig was not to be outdone. 'But look at the stains, sir,' he insisted.

  'I hate to disappoint you, but I suspect they are of animals' blood,' said Faro.

  'Why should he hide it then?'

  'I think it was less likely to have been hidden than accidentally mislaid.'

  Craig looked mutinous, clearly disappointed. He turned to Purdie for support. 'What do you think, sir?'

  'I think Inspector Faro may have a point. But there again, the knife might have been used for a more macabre task. So we must retain it as possible evidence, until we make further enquiries.'

  And watching Craig rewrap the skean dhu in a piece of sacking, he continued, 'Well, Faro, are you still willing to accompany us?' And observing his reluctance, 'I would feel happier if you could overcome your scruples on this occasion. It may be of crucial importance to our enquiry.'

  'Very well.' As they walked towards the bothy Faro asked, 'What else do you expect to find besides a knife that may or may not be the murder weapon?'

  Purdie shrugged aside the question. 'When the Queen leaves Balmoral she sometimes takes with her members of her staff especially recommended. There is a rumour that Brown is anxious for the lad to go to London to continue his studies. A fact not without some significance.'

  'Get him away from past indiscretions, is that what you mean?'

  'And particularly the scene of the crime.'

  'If he is guilty.'

  'I am more inclined to "as" he is guilty, Faro. I shouldn't put too much credence on that word "if". You surely realise that we cannot risk a possible murderer leaving under cover of Her Majesty's entourage.'

  'How do you propose to stop him?'

  'Let's say we won't make it public. We will simply restrain him under lock and key until the Queen leaves.'

  'What if John Brown protests? I can't imagine him taking that lightly.'

  'John Brown or no John Brown, I shall formally charge Lachlan with the murder and have him escorted to prison in Aberdeen. Craig is ready to take care of such arrangements.'

  Purdie smiled. 'Once Brown is convinced of Lachlan's guilt, he will accept the implications of allowing freedom to a murderer who, having got away with it once, might be considered excellent material for recruitment by some sinister organisation.'

  'The Prince's Party, for example?'

  'The same, not to put too fine a point on it.'

  Perhaps Purdie was right, thought Faro. The game was too big and too dangerous to take chances.

  Lachlan Brown's bothy stood in the annexe to the main farm building, a barn before its more recent conversion into a labourer's cottage.

  As was the country custom, the door's only fastening was a latch. There would be little to search, two rooms where Faro expected the only evidence to be of a young bachelor's indifference to tidiness.

  Instead, he was startled by the presence of a piano occupying a large portion of the living-room. Obviously it was not for show amid such simple white-washed walls. Music sheets of Schubert, Brahms and Bach indicated that it was in constant use.

  The rest of the bothy was similarly surprising. Lachlan seemed to have exercised considerable care in choosing one or two small pieces which, like the piano, might be equally at home in Balmoral Castle.

  The bookshelves displayed a variety of books which testified to Lachlan's taste in literature and suggested to Faro that their young owne
r deserved a better life than that of a Balmoral ghillie.

  At his side Craig was examining the books curiously.

  'See all this crime stuff, sir,' he said to Purdie.

  'That our suspect is interested in reading about crimes doesn't mean that he also commits them.'

  'But here—this is an axe murder case.'

  'Craig, come away,' said Purdie patiently. 'I read such material regularly, as I am sure Inspector Faro does,' he added and when Faro smiled, he said, 'There now, be assured, Craig. It has given neither of us an overwhelming desire to murder anyone. Other than recalcitrant constables, that is. Now, come along.'

  As Craig joined them in the bedroom, there were more surprises in store. A postered bed with a patchwork quilt took the place of the usual straw pallet; other refinements comprised a press for clothes, a wash-stand with toilet articles and an escritoire. On the white-washed walls, the paintings included a small Landseer.

  Good taste abounded and, over all, a surprising air of opulence. Had this not been a farm bothy, its furnishings would not have shamed the lodging of a young man of quality.

  One thing was becoming abundantly clear: John Brown's protégé was no simple village lad. And Faro stood by, ill at ease, suppressing a natural distaste for searching through even a murder suspect's personal possessions.

  As Purdie and Craig showed more enthusiasm for the task which they conducted with police thoroughness, he noticed with dismay that neither had been schooled in the same methods as himself. By Faro's rules, the search completed, all items should be carefully replaced to give an appearance of never having been disturbed.

  Craig suddenly turned from the escritoire and said, 'What's this, now?'

  He held up a thick wad of banknotes. Faro and Purdie watched him thumbing through them. 'Four hundred—five hundred pounds.'

  'And where do you think he might have got such a sum?' Purdie said to Faro.

  Craig whistled. 'A small fortune, sir.'

  'A fortune it might be,' said Faro. 'But one I see little reason to link with Morag Brodie's murder. Unless—'

  'Exactly, Faro,' said Purdie slowly, as Craig replaced the banknotes in the drawer. 'Unless. And I think we might conclude from this particular evidence that we're on the track of something much bigger than a rustic murder.'

  And for once Faro had to agree with him.

  As they were leaving the bothy, Purdie swore.

  There was John Brown coming along the lane. He was alone and as he approached his greeting was tinged more with alarm than curiosity.

  'Ye're wanting to see me?' he asked Purdie. Then he noticed Craig with the sackcloth bundle under his arm.

  'Well, what's that ye've got there?'

  Purdie disregarded his pointing finger and pretended to misunderstand the question. 'It is Lachlan we have business with.'

  'What sort of business would that be?' Brown demanded suspiciously.

  'When can we expect to find him at home?'

  Brown shrugged. 'He's awa' visiting. Ballater way. That's all I can tell you.'

  Purdie's usually bland face registered the dismay of a hunter thwarted of his prey. 'When do you expect his return?'

  'Late tonight. Mebbe not. I canna tell ye.' He grinned. 'The lad is mebbe courtin', ye ken. But I'll let him know ye called. Ye can depend on that.'

  And touching his bonnet, he opened the gate, his eyes sliding anxiously towards the sackcloth bundle. Then to Faro he said, 'Have ye any information yet for Her Majesty?'

  'I'm afraid not. These things take time.'

  Brown's shrug was disbelieving. 'Her Majesty is getting gey anxious. She's wishful to have the criminal apprehended afore she leaves.'

  Watching Brown's retreating figure, Craig said, 'Shall we go into Ballater, sir?'

  'For what reason?'

  'To apprehend Lachlan Brown, of course. I'm sure the proximity of a railway station has not escaped you, sir.'

  'Come, come, Craig. You can do better than that. He would hardly disappear without taking his belongings. Or more important, his five hundred pounds.'

  'But we have the knife.'

  Purdie shook his head. 'We have, but he doesn't know that yet, does he?' And at Craig's anxious expression he went on, 'I don't think we need worry about him eluding us. He will be back. You can bank on it.'

  On the way back to Crathie, Faro recounted to Purdie his quest for the Queen's dog-slayer and his suspicions that Morag Brodie had been murdered in the ruined mill and her body then transported over to Crathie.

  Purdie looked very thoughtful and as Bella's cottage came in sight Faro rapidly added his account of his meeting with the dog-walking footmen and of his subsequent encounter with Peter Noble.

  'Very interesting, very interesting indeed,' said Purdie. 'Especially that connection with Lessing. I think you might have stumbled on to something very significant indeed. And I must confess it does alarm me. I am more than ever certain there is not a moment to be lost.'

  With a promise to meet later that day, they parted.

  Inside the cottage, the tiny parlour was already crowded with well-wishers and neighbours.

  Bella greeted him excitedly and gave the answer he had expected.

  'Jeremy, that wasna' Inspector Purdie.'

  'I assure you it was.'

  'Then that wasna' the man who came in to see Nessie.' And shaking his head, she added firmly, 'He didna' look a bit like that.'

  Chapter Eight

  Faro was finishing his third cup of tea and resisting a profusion of pies, scones, bannocks and Dundee cake, made by Tibbie and the neighbours to mark the grand occasion of Bella's birthday and welcome home.

  Loosening the two lower buttons of his waistcoat he realised that he was out of practice in the marathon eating stakes. A week of this particular good life and he would be unable to get into his clothes, and as the latch was raised heralding a fresh influx of well-wishers into the already overflowing parlour, he decided on retreat.

  Looking down over the stairhead, he saw the new arrival was Lachlan Brown. Greeting Bella he handed her a delicate china figurine which also looked as if it might have had its origins in Balmoral Castle.

  'It has a tiny hair crack—here,' he said apologetically at Bella's pleasurable exclamations. 'I'm afraid the Queen threw it out—'

  'Oh, laddie, laddie. It's lovely. Ye're that kind.' She hugged him delightedly.

  'It is no better than you deserve. We're all glad to have you back with us, Mistress MacVae.'

  'Ye'll have some tea. Or a dram.'

  Faro hovered indecisively, watched him carry cup and plate towards the door. A moment later Tibbie climbed the stairs.

  'So that's where ye are, Jeremy. Lachlan wants a wee chat wi' ye. He's in the garden,' she added concealing her curiosity with utmost difficulty.

  He found Lachlan on the wooden seat, staring out across the hill, looking if possible even more sullen and remote than he had at their first meeting.

  Turning round he made no attempt to shake hands. 'I'll not beat about the bush, Inspector. I am here only because Johnnie insisted that I should see you. It's about Morag Brodie,' he said abruptly. 'I didn't kill her, whatever they are trying to prove. Yes, sit down, if you please.'

  Faro regarded him narrowly. Black-haired, white-skinned, the lad was handsome enough on a good day to turn any lass's head; rebellious, with an arrogance that stemmed, Faro suspected, from being kin to the Queen's favourite.

  'The point is, can you prove your innocence?'

  Lachlan shrugged. 'She said she loved me. Then she met this other fellow. I don't see why they think that gave me good reason for murdering her.'

  Suddenly the rain that had been threatening since morning began. Lachlan gave an exasperated gesture towards the drops that fell around them, heavy as coins. 'Is there somewhere we can talk?'

  'Of course.' Faro led the way indoors to his room.

  Lachlan sat down on the edge of the bed, considered his clasped hands. 'I did not kill Morag,'
he repeated dully. 'I happened to be passing by when the accident happened. I jumped in and saved her—or haven't they told you that?' Without waiting for Faro's reply, he said, 'As soon as I got her on to the bank, I dived in again and tried to get Lessing. But I was too late.'

  Lachlan sighed. 'Even if I had hated Lessing—and I didn't—I wouldn't stand by and watch any man drown.'

  Faro was almost inclined to believe him, bearing in mind the surprising character of the bothy. From his vast experience of violent men, Lachlan Brown seemed too finely drawn and sensitive to have stabbed Morag Brodie in a blind and brutal fit of jealousy. Especially as the lad might have had the pick of a much wider range of elegant young ladies than the servants' hall at Balmoral could offer.

  Suddenly he was curious to hear more of his background.

  As if interpreting his thoughts Lachlan said, 'All right, Inspector. You had better have the truth. I expect it will come out sooner or later. I was only marrying Morag because she was having a child.'

  So Bella had surmised, thought Faro, as Lachlan continued, 'Oh, it wasn't mine. But I was being paid handsomely for my trouble, a pension of two hundred and fifty pounds per year to give her child a name.'

  Two hundred and fifty pounds a year was five pounds a week. The salary of an upper servant at Balmoral was the same, which might also mean that if Lachlan lived carefully he could exist in comfort for the rest of his life.

  'And who was this generous benefactor?' Faro interrupted.

  'Ah, that is a question I cannot answer.'

  'Cannot or will not?' asked Faro softly.

  Lachlan smiled. 'No, not from any delicacy or discretion. Just because I don't know either. The offer came from "A Well-Wisher" on Balmoral notepaper.'

  'You have the letter in your possession?' asked Faro eagerly.

  'Not even that. I was told to destroy it and that the bank in Ballater had been given instructions.'

  'You were not in any doubt? You did not think that, for instance, it might be a hoax?'

  'Not after I checked with the bank and found it correct in every detail.'