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

by Alanna Knight

  The men, more soberly attired, lolled beside them, some daring Royal displeasure by lighting pipes and cigars. For once this activity failed to arouse the Queen's disapproval. Turning a blind eye on the wreaths of smoke ascending, she was prepared to be indulgent, persuaded by Brown that this kept the midges at bay.

  Today she too abandoned formality to the extent of sitting in a comfortable chair at a little distance and a little higher up the slope. She had chosen a position of vantage in keeping with her Royal image, from which she could look down approvingly upon the activities of her loyal subjects at play.

  It does make her look just a little like one of her many statues on a plinth,' murmured Purdie. And taking out a cigar, 'We might as well join the gentlemen. Care to?'

  'Thank you, no.'

  'Not even with a Royal dispensation?'

  Purdie smiled and then, noticing the two Captains, went on, 'If you will excuse me, Faro. I must have a word.'

  A few moments later Faro observed him talking earnestly and found all three men staring fixedly in his direction.

  Was Purdie telling them of his 'accident', warning them of the dangers now close at hand?

  And scrutinising the faces in that merry carefree throng, were they what they seemed? Was this to be their only blood-letting, the massacre of game birds, their trophies spread out proudly before them on the grass?

  And what troubled Faro most, where was Craig who up to now had been the shadow of the man from Scotland Yard? Why wasn't he here? Why hadn't he arrived to deliver Purdie's warning?

  Who else was missing? He looked around. Noble. Where was he?

  Somewhat unnerved still by his narrow escape, he would have enjoyed a pipe but decided instead to try out the cigars he had bought at the Crathie Inn. Taking Uncle Ben's silver case from the top pocket of his tweed jacket, he had just opened it when two footmen in liveried jackets but without wigs emerged from the house carrying drams on silver trays.

  One was Peter Noble. As he approached Faro was about to ask him for a light when the footman whispered: 'If you would be so good, sir.'

  And turning, Faro observed the ponderous face of the Prime Minister staring fixedly in his direction, his imperious beckoning action indicating that Inspector Faro was to advance rapidly to where Her Majesty now engaged him in conversation.

  Guiltily Faro snapped shut the cigar case, made his way up the slope and bowed to his sovereign. He had rather hoped his presence might not be noticed by the Queen on this occasion, for he was well aware that ahead now lay the interview he most dreaded.

  He was right. The Prime Minister was dismissed with a chilly 'You may leave us.'

  Mr Gladstone left dejectedly and the Queen gave Faro her full attention. 'And what have you to report to us? Have you been successful in your quest?'

  'I am afraid not, ma'am. One can only conclude that Your Majesty's dogs were the victims of some person out shooting—rabbits,' he added lamely.

  'We presume you have explored every avenue with your usual expertise, Inspector?'

  'That is so, ma'am.'

  'Then we are very disappointed, very. As you are aware, we are about to leave Balmoral. And we are not pleased that we must do so without the guilty man being apprehended and severely punished. Very severely indeed.' A thin smile, as she added, 'We have been led to understand that Inspector Faro is quite infallible. And indeed, so it has seemed. You have always been quite reliable in our service at Holyrood.' Her accompanying glance showed more of sorrow than of anger.

  'Forgive me, ma'am, but the task was unusual and the animals—'

  'Dash and Flash,' she provided sternly.

  'Indeed, ma'am, as Dash and Flash had, er—passed on—some time before my arrival, I am afraid that whatever trail and clues might have existed, they had gone quite cold.'

  Suddenly the Queen smiled, patted his hand. 'We forgive you Inspector. Brown has explained to us the difficulties involved.'

  'Thank you, ma'am.'

  'After all, Brown has given us to understand that this search for clues is quite a different matter to the work usually undertaken by detectives.'

  Faro, grateful to Brown for his intercession, bowed. He refrained from adding that the Royal task was, in actual fact, just one stage removed from rescuing old ladies' cats stranded in the top branches of trees. A humble duty that was most often the unhappy lot of the junior police constable.

  A shadow fell across the path. It was General Ponsonby.

  'Ma'am, it is now time for the salmon leistering to begin.'

  The Queen clapped her plump hands delightedly, her giggle of pleasure transforming reigning monarch momentarily into serving wench.

  'We trust you will join us. Inspector.'

  'I shall be honoured, ma'am.'

  The assembled company rose, bowing as the Queen went into the house followed by her ladies to attend to their toilette.

  As soon as they disappeared, an undignified scramble ensued among the men. Drams had been lavishly refreshed throughout the picnic and although half of the day's activity lay ahead, Faro could see that the whisky flasks much in evidence during every shoot 'to keep the cold out' had also been replenished. Now every half-empty whisky bottle was seized upon.

  Several of the party including one or two of the ladies were in higher spirits than was reasonable for the time of day, already in that condition the Queen was pleased to describe as 'bashful'.

  Faro guessed that once the sun sank behind the mountains and the leistering began not only the salmon would be ready to succumb. As the men with bursting bladders hastily sought relief in the little wood nearby, some had to be supported by their comrades.

  Watching the exuberant groups emerge again, he wondered, was there hidden in their midst a murderer who behind a smiling mask coldly awaited his opportunity to kill the Queen?

  And himself.

  Chapter Twelve

  The salmon leistering was traditionally an autumn activity when the salmon were red and almost unfit for eating, or so Faro remembered from reading Sir Walter Scott's account in Guy Mannering.

  At the Linn of Muick, a crowd had already gathered to greet the Queen and her party in their conveyances.

  Riding Steady alongside the fast-flowing river, Faro saw that the floor of the glen was in deep gloom, the sun dipping behind the tops of the mountains. The air was suddenly chilly.

  Cheers rose from the tenants drawn either by the activity ahead or by the proximity of the Queen. They lined the banks, the men bowing, removing bonnets, the women curtseying as the Queen rode past, her daughter at her side in her favourite open carriage, the 'sociable', with Brown on the box.

  When she had descended, a hand on his arm, he led her to a vantage point from which she could have an uninterrupted view of the proceedings.

  The fishermen were already positioned awaiting the signal.

  The shout went up: 'Let the leistering begin.'

  The word was passed along the river bank. The assembled tenants and fishermen waded into the water, poking under the stones to dislodge lurking salmon, while others waved torches back and forth to attract the fish to the surface.

  As they leaped, the men struck out with the leister, a three-pronged implement reminiscent of Neptune's trident.

  A flash of silver, a flash of iron and the salmon struggled once and was laid on the bank. Soon they were piled high, for those who escaped the tridents swam into a net.

  Faro had positioned himself near the Queen. As the fever of the chase took over, he heard her deep laugh and once again remembered her taste for circus displays and wild animals.

  In the gloaming, the weird long-lasting twilight of the Highlands, he dimly recognised Brown, Grant and Lachlan. Kilts tucked between their legs, they were walking the river, leisters upraised.

  Perhaps encouraged by Her Majesty's cries, 'Oh, excellent. Well done,' some of the guests had joined them; rolling up trouser legs, they plunged laughing into the water. The sudden icy chill had its effect. Some wer
e quickly sobered, while others, less steady, toppled from stones, took a drenching for their pains and came out shivering, much to their comrades' amusement.

  Faro, seeing that Mr Gladstone and the two Captains had stationed themselves at the Queen's side, rushed down to lend a hand hauling out the inebriates.

  And then tragedy threatened.

  Further up water where the nets prevented the salmon leaping on to the higher reaches, the river became a rushing boulder-strewn tumult.

  A small girl hovering on a rock, in her excitement, slipped and fell. Her screams were echoed by her mother. Hands were outstretched but, small and light, her clothes drenched, she was swept down towards the falls where she must be hideously broken and drowned.

  Faro was never conscious of doing anything heroic. Acting instinctively, he threw off his jacket and leaped into the water.

  As the child hurtled past him to the very edge of the falls, he managed to seize her skirts. A moment later, realising from her screams that she was terrified but otherwise unhurt, he handed her over to hands reaching out from the bank.

  With danger over and everyone's attention diverted to the child now safely restored to her sobbing mother's arms, Faro was wading out of the shallows when something struck him hard in the small of his back.

  The sudden pain shocked him, knocking the breath out of his body. He staggered backwards, backwards into the river where the raging waters, swiftly descending, seized him. His lungs full of water, blinded, he caught at an overhanging branch of a tree and clung on grimly. Shaking the water out of his eyes, he looked up, saw shocked faces above him.

  The branch snapped and swirled towards the edge carrying him helpless with it. Faces mouthing words of warning lost in the deafening roar looked down at him.

  Lachlan, Noble stretching out hands to him—but Purdie, older and stronger, was nearest. Faro held out his free hand desperately. Purdie had thrown himself face down, Faro grasped at his hand, missed, reached out again. This time he encountered two hands. Strong and firm, they held him.

  Others followed and a moment later he was hauled on to the bank, panting, half-drowned.

  Purdie bent over him. 'That was a near thing.'

  'Too near, sir. You saved my life. Thank you.' Faro looked down at the boiling torrent. Another minute and if he hadn't drowned he would have been dashed to pieces on the rocks below.

  'Think nothing of it,' said Purdie. 'But we had better get you home. I didn't save you from drowning to have you die of a fever.'

  John Brown came running over with a blanket in Balmoral tartan. 'From the Queen, sir. Put it around you.'

  Faro took it gratefully.

  'Lachlan's away for your horse.'

  As he waited whisky flasks were proffered, but he was already shaking like a man with an ague when Lachlan handed over the reins of Steady to him.

  'Would you not rather have the carriage?' asked Purdie.

  'No. No.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'I will be fine. I'm just cold. And one of us must stay with the Queen.'

  By the time Steady had trotted briskly into Easter Balmoral and, unsaddled, was bedded down for the night, Faro was chilled to the bone.

  But inside the cottage, the best sight in the world awaited him. Vince had called in only to find that Bella and Tibbie were out visiting neighbours.

  Vince took one look at him, brought out the hip-bath, put it before the glowing peat fire, and while he boiled buckets and kettles of water, Faro gasped out the details of the child's rescue.

  'And completely forgetting, of course, that you cannot swim.'

  'It never occurred to me, lad. It didn't seem important.'

  'You make me furious, sometimes,' said Vince angrily. 'Never did a man take less regard of his own skin. It's a mercy you weren't both drowned. Even a good swimmer would have been weighed down by the weight of those tweed trousers. And boots.'

  He looked at the sodden heap, steaming by the fire.

  'I'm afraid they'll never be the same again. But we hope you will.' Then he smiled, pouring another pan of boiling water into the hip-bath. 'A charmed life, that's what they say you have. I'm beginning to believe it.'

  Half an hour later Faro, restored from his ordeal, was grimacing over a hot, strictly medicinal toddy as he related the events at Glen Muick. For Vince's benefit, he carefully omitted any sinister implications.

  But Vince was not to be put off. 'How did you come by that very nasty bruise on your back?'

  Vince had noticed it while he was sitting in the bath.

  'When I fell down in the heather, I expect.'

  'I thought you fell face forward?'

  And when he didn't reply Vince continued with a look of triumph, 'Someone tried to kill you, Stepfather. Am I right?'

  When Faro described what had happened, Vince said, 'Don't you think this has gone far enough? A daring rescue for a man who cannot swim is one hazard too many, when he has narrowly escaped death by walking in front of a shooting party.'

  Vince shook his head. 'You are getting either very careless or remarkably absent-minded, neither of which are luxuries you can afford in your profession.'

  It was scant consolation to realise that Inspector Purdie was not alone in failing to pick up obvious clues.

  'Very well, but as you know, lad, I am the last to call "Wolf". There were a great many people milling about. Something hit me in the back, but it was over in an instant. I doubt if anyone noticed, all attention was on the wee lass. Besides, the gloaming can play tricks. Makes it damned difficult to see anything distinctly.'

  'Sergeant Craig wasn't in the vicinity?'

  'I didn't see him. I realise what you're thinking, but surely it cannot be Craig. After all, he is Purdie's right hand man. He must have had an arm's length of references to be trusted by the Yard.'

  'And yet he did succumb to the money from Lachlan's bothy. Now that I would call irredeemable misconduct in a police officer. At the moment, Stepfather, I'd be prepared to lay odds on Craig and Lachlan, as prime suspects.'

  Faro, beginning to feel the effects of the day's travail, grew weary of the conversation, the cut and thrust of speculation. Normally relishing such discussion he now saw it as a great tide that led nowhere, sweeping him helplessly along unable to divert the disaster awaiting in the wings.

  There was one direction he did not want it to lead. To Lachlan Brown.

  'What do you think of Lachlan, by the way?' he asked trying to sound casual.

  'Pleasant enough. Yes, very pleasant when he chooses to be so, I imagine.' Vince shrugged. 'I did not feel that we had a great deal in common. Except, of course, for fathers who had abandoned our mothers,' he added bitterly.

  Faro suppressed a groan. Little did Vince know that the link of illegitimacy they shared was more intimate than he could ever have imagined. That there might exist an even stronger reason for Lachlan's resenting Vince, who had usurped his rightful position by becoming Jeremy Faro's son in every way but the accident of birth.

  Faro closed his eyes before the awful prospect looming ahead of him. Vince's bitterness and hatred were unrelenting towards the unknown man who had fathered him. How would he react to the knowledge that his stepfather had similarly abandoned Inga St Ola and left her shamed in her Orkney home, forced to have their child fostered?

  If the lad ever found out, whatever excuses he made, Vince would never really forgive him. Their whole future relationship could be blighted, put in jeopardy by a truth coming home to roost after more than twenty years.

  Bella's clock melodiously struck nine, reminding him that he was to have had tea with Inga five hours ago—a momentous five hours in which he had twice escaped death.

  He swore with some feeling.

  'What's wrong, Stepfather?'

  'I had an engagement with a lady this afternoon. I forgot.'

  'Inga?'

  'The same. I had to go to Glen Muick instead, urgently. And it was too late to get a message to her.'

  'N
ever mind, I suppose the Queen has precedence over all other ladies, including Inga St Ola.'

  At Faro's faint smile, Vince said, 'How curious that she should come back into your life again. I mean, this connection with Lachlan Brown and so forth.'

  'A strange coincidence indeed.'

  'Do you know what I think, Stepfather?'

  Although Faro knew perfectly well the pronouncement Vince was about to make, he shook his head obligingly.

  'I think Inga and Lachlan are in this together.'

  'Indeed. What evidence have you for that?'

  'The evidence of my two eyes. You just have to look at them. Thick as thieves, they are.' He paused. 'I'm disappointed in you, Stepfather.'

  'In what way?' Faro felt panic rising.

  'Candidly, where are your powers of observation? They seem to be failing you badly of late.'

  When Faro made no protest, Vince said, 'Obviously he wasn't born in Orkney or you would have heard all about him from Grandma. So it follows that the birth was kept secret. That some wretched man seduced her and left her. Just like my poor mother. But poor Inga did not have you-'

  The wretched man in question wriggled uncomfortably, bit his lip. Listening to Vince's tirade, wanting to protest, No, it wasn't like that at all. He had not seduced Inga, although he was too much of a gentleman to say that it might well have been the other way round. Inga had loved him and his first experience of sex had not warned him of the consequences that might follow.

  He wanted to protest that he never knew she was pregnant. If so, he would have married her.

  Dammit, he had offered to do so.

  'You knew her in those days, Stepfather.' Vince on the track of truth was relentless. 'You were a friend of hers, a cousin—'

  'Much removed,' Faro interposed hastily.

  'Could you not have advised her?'

  'Vince, I was nineteen years old when I—when I knew her. She was twenty-one. Hardly the sort of thing she would seek to confide in me.'

  'Did she never give any hint, I mean, about the man?'

  'No,' said Faro shortly.

  'Yet it must have been about the time you left for Edinburgh.'