Enter Second Murderer (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.1)

by Alanna Knight

  Faro considered and decided against revealing the scurrilous letter. "It came without any signature. Do you have an enemy, Mrs. Wishart?" he added gently.

  The old lady was unperturbed. "Perhaps everyone has, Inspector. Resentments, old slights, fester through the years in small villages. There were those who were jealous of Clara's good marriage."

  Faro worked on the well-worn principle that there is much to be gained from the element of surprise, namely, the unexpected visit. He knew from long experience that those first minutes are crucial, for it is then more than at any other time that, to the detective's shrewd and observant eye, guilt is revealed or innocence proclaimed without a word being exchanged.

  Clara Denbridge, née Burnleigh, lived but two miles away from her great-aunt, and Faro once again left the cab in a convenient lane at a discreet distance from the house. It was a pleasant sunny day and he enjoyed the walk with its prospect of Edinburgh Castle like a great grey ship sailing on the far horizon. Mellowed by distance, it became the castle from a fairy tale. Hard to believe that beyond those great trees and hidden villages lay a thriving bustling city of commerce, a city where every stone was steeped in a bloody history of battles and violence.

  Faro sighed. And it seemed to get worse rather than better as the centuries progressed. If there was a lesson to be taken from history, it was that men lived but never learned from the mistakes of the past.

  The Denbridge residence was in the modern baronial style, bristling with pepperpot turrets, in blatant imitation of the ruined old castle which frowned down upon it from the hillside. Set in an attractive garden, along an impressive drive with a coach-house, its air of opulence was completed by the trimly uniformed maid who opened the door.

  From her slightly flustered, anxious appearance, Faro deduced even before she opened her mouth that she was a local lass, bursting with pride at having a smart new uniform as she twitched at cap and pinafore. Her eagerness to be helpful suggested that she had not been long in her present employment, or, judging by her extreme youth, in any employment at all. It also suggested that the Denbridges had not been long established and had few visitors.

  To his question she said, "The mistress. Oh yes, she's at home—I mean, I'll see, if you'll just wait a wee minute." Then, turning in her tracks, she remembered the essential, "Who shall I say is calling?"

  Faro took a chance. "A friend of her great-aunt, Mrs. Wishart from Fairmilehead."

  Clara Denbridge appeared with the alacrity of one who had been lurking in the hall. She almost thrust the maid aside in her eagerness to confront Faro.

  "Mrs. Wishart? Is there something wrong—is she ill?"

  Her anxiety indicated the devotion that existed between them, and hastily he put her mind at rest.

  "No, Mrs. Denbridge. She was in excellent health and spirits when I left her a little while ago."

  Clara sighed. "Oh, that is good. I was afraid ..." Calm again, she waited, smiling politely.

  "Detective Inspector Faro."

  At the name, her hand flew to her lips. Dread filled her eyes as she whispered, "The Inspector who came to the convent. What—what is your business with me?"

  Indicating the servant, Faro said, "Your maid holds the letter from Mrs. Wishart which explains the reason for my visit."

  Hastily tearing open the envelope, Clara read the brief message. "You had better come in. Annie," she called in the direction of the kitchen. "Tea, if you please."

  The parlour into which he was ushered continued the opulence suggested by the exterior. There seemed to be not one possession in that room which was any older than the young bride herself. Everything spoke of proud new ownership. Paintings, ornaments, silver, a rich but not necessarily matching assortment and some half-unwrapped parcels suggested recently acquired wedding presents. From the room itself came the lingering smells of paint, and the upholstery, cushions, sofas and carpets added that indefinable but not unpleasant odour of new wool. Antimacassars and curtains were of fine linen and even the furniture smelt as if the wood from which it was constructed was within living memory of a pine forest.

  "Do please sit down, Inspector Faro."

  As he did so, Clara swept aside two of the parcels and apologised for the untidiness. "We have only been installed in the house since we returned from honeymoon a month ago and, alas, the promised bookcases have failed to put in an appearance. My—my husband," she continued, a pretty blush declaring that the title was not yet well used by her, "my husband and I are both great readers."

  Faro smiled. "Please don't apologise. I have just moved into my new home six months ago, and as both my stepson and I acquire a considerable number of books—he is a newly graduated doctor—we have similar problems. It is good of you to receive me, madam, at such a time, with such short notice."

  "I presume your business is urgent, or else my great-aunt would not have sent you. She is most reliable in such matters. Is there something I can do for you? Is it about poor Lily Goldie?"

  Faro explained that this was a routine visit on behalf of a relative of Lily Goldie. "After my first visit to Fairmilehead, I feared that there might have been some less agreeable reason for your disappearance."

  "I behaved foolishly," interrupted Mrs. Denbridge, "and I apologise for putting you to so much trouble and speculation, Inspector. It did not occur to me that I would be inconveniencing anyone by my story. As my great-aunt will have told you, I felt it necessary at the time. Thankfully, that is no longer the case."

  "I can only say that I am delighted for you."

  Clara smiled. "I fear I can say little that will help you, which is a great shame, you having come all this way. Lily and I had the merest acquaintance. She was a naturally secretive person and I'm afraid she had to do a great deal more listening to my troubles at the time—I was too preoccupied with my imminent marriage to pay a great deal of attention to her activities."

  "Our enquiries revealed that she had a sweetheart, a possible suitor," said Faro boldly, taking a chance. "Is that correct?"

  "Why, yes. Such a tragedy. Did you not know?" she added in a hushed voice. "The poor unfortunate gentleman fell" (the word was heavily emphasised) "under a train."

  Faro made sympathetic noises and handed her the photograph. "Do you recognise him?"

  "Of course. That is a very good likeness of Mr. Ferris."

  "You met him then?"

  "A fleeting acquaintance. Hardly that, even, for Lily seemed very anxious to avoid a formal introduction," she added, with a touch of pique.

  "For what reason, Mrs. Denbridge?"

  Clara shrugged delicately. "Many young women do not care to introduce their suitors. It is a disagreeable and very impolite trait and it implies that they are afraid of competition. I mean—"

  "I see exactly what you mean."

  "Let us be frank, Inspector. For all her bragging of her conquests, Lily was not at all certain of Mr. Ferris's intentions. I knew she wished to be married but I gathered there was some impediment to this marriage. I remember her saying that she would have to work on him. 'I shall have to use all my woman's wiles if I am to get him to the altar, Clara.' I remember, those were her very words. However, one cannot repeat confidences of this nature." She put her hands together primly. "I do not in the least wish to talk ill of the dead, of Lily or poor Mr. Ferris, but I felt that, er, they had misbehaved."

  "Misbehaved?"

  "Yes, Inspector." Clara blushed. "As a married woman, I can only suggest that they had been on—er, terms of intimacy."

  "For what reason?" Faro demanded sharply.

  Clara shook her head. "I cannot say more, except that females sharing rooms know certain things about each other rather by instinct than any conversation, which, of course, would be highly improper."

  "I do wish you had told me about this at the time."

  "I was unmarried myself, and somewhat embarrassed. Besides," she added righteously, "ladies do not readily cast aspersions upon a colleague's character, especially when s
he has been murdered, Inspector. And as it seemed that her murderer—the wicked man Hymes—had been apprehended, I guessed that he had been responsible and that was the reason why he had murdered her."

  "Responsible?"

  "Yes, indeed, Inspector. You see . . ." She took a deep breath and continued. "I knew—by certain things—female things, after he died—that she suspected she was—er—in trouble."

  "Do I take your meaning that Miss Goldie had reason to believe she was carrying a child?" said Faro bluntly.

  "Yes," whispered Clara. "'His parents—someone—will have to pay for this little indiscretion.' Those were her very words, Inspector. You can imagine how difficult it was for me. Had I announced my suspicions, it would have been a blow to the convent's reputation and I would have been merely blackening her character even further, if my suspicions were not correct. Having suffered deeply from the scurrilous slanders of heartless people—I saw my own mother destroyed by such slanders, remember that, Inspector—I could never have forgiven myself. And it appears I would have been wrong, for there was no mention of what I suspected at the trial. Perhaps you can tell me, Inspector, was I correct?"

  "The post-mortem on Lily Goldie revealed no such evidence that could besmirch her character."

  "Then I am greatly relieved."

  "You believe, then, that Hymes was responsible for her murder?"

  "I see no reason to doubt it. Perhaps she was desperate."

  "Desperate?"

  "Yes. She believed she had to find a father for the child. Anyone who would give it a name and save her reputation."

  "But Hymes was married already."

  "I don't suppose Lily knew that."

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Denbridge, but what you are suggesting simply does not make sense."

  "It makes good sense to me, or to any woman who finds herself in such a situation. You have my assurances on that, Inspector," she added sharply.

  "Surely you would think it strange that such a—lady—as Miss Goldie appeared to be, should have formed an attachment with Hymes in the first place?"

  "Not if she was desperate to find a husband in her unhappy circumstances. Besides, perhaps he had some fearful fascination for her, even mesmeric," she added, eyes gleaming. "This, I understand, can happen all too often when young ladies emerge from sheltered lives and allow themselves to be preyed upon by creatures from the lower classes."

  Clara's conclusions certainly threw some unusual light on Lily Goldie's activities, and on the ways of womankind in general, thought Faro cynically. As a detective used to dealing in facts, he found it almost impossible to give credence to such an imaginative explanation.

  As he was leaving, Faro glanced over the notes he had written. "When Miss Goldie expressed her fears of being pregnant, did I understand that she said to you: 'His parents—or someone—will have to pay dearly for this little indiscretion'?"

  "Yes, indeed. Those were her words. I am positive."

  "I merely put it to you that you might have been mistaken, because Ferris was an orphan."

  Clara laughed. "Now, Inspector, it is you who are mistaken. Tim had a young brother at St. Leonard's."

  "You are sure of that?"

  "Of course I am. I met him with Lily on two occasions. He's about fourteen or fifteen. Rather slightly built, but a handsome boy, with fine features, from what I could see, as he did not have the courtesy to raise his cap to me. Of course, I understood, it's an awkward age and he was obviously very shy and ill-at-ease."

  "What was his name?"

  Clara spread her hands wide. "Inspector, I have the most appalling memory for names—I even forget those of people to whom I'm introduced, which can be most embarrassing. And in this case, I doubt whether I would have considered Tim's young brother important enough to have it stick in my mind."

  "One more question, Mrs. Denbridge, if you will oblige. Did these meetings take place before or after Mr. Ferris died?"

  Clara bit her lip. "About the same time. Yes, I remember thinking it very appropriate, and hoping that Lily was a comfort to Tim's brother in his sad loss."

  As he said his farewells, Faro added, "If the boy's name should come to mind—or any other detail, however trivial it seems to you, I would be most obliged if you would drop me a note. Here is my private address."

  He rejoined the cab, whose driver was enjoying a quiet snooze in the sunshine. On the way back to Edinburgh, Faro decided that the meeting with Clara Burnleigh now presented him with what he most dreaded: a visit to St. Leonard's. First of all, he must explain his reasons to the Headmaster, who might not be kindly disposed towards having a detective inspector interview Ferris Minor.

  Faro sighed. For a dead man, Timothy Ferris was turning out to be persistently enigmatic. The only remaining hope was that his young brother would shed some light on a particularly baffling case. And one which he now regretted having reopened.

  If only he could believe in Clara Burnleigh's reasoning, absurd as it was, and accept that Lily Goldie had given Hymes good reason for murdering her.

  If only, to quote Superintendent McIntosh, he had "let hanged murderers lie".

  Chapter 11

  At the Central Office, there were no new cases for him, merely a routine check on Wormwoodhall to establish the whereabouts of the notorious Black Tam, whose re-entry into society had produced a spate of robberies with violence.

  As St. Leonard's School lay on the respectable area bordering Causewayside, he might be able to catch Black Tam and interview Ferris Minor in one visit. It was an appealing thought and, closing his door, Faro put up his feet on his desk, sent out for a pint of porter and, for the first time in months, a mutton pie. Then he sat down and, sharpening a pen, drew up a sheet of paper and compiled a complete report from his sketchy notes of his meeting with Clara Burnleigh.

  He wondered what Vince would make of his findings as he set off for St. Leonard's, a modern building despite its aggressively medieval castellations. The long drive, not yet decently shaded by trees, seemed oddly naked, the house deserted.

  "There's no one here," said a gardener. "The whole school is away on a founder's day picnic to Peebles."

  Faro thanked him for the information and left. Heading for Causeway side led him past the street where Alison Aird lodged with the other female members of Trelawney's Thespians.

  Why not call upon her? His excuse was feeble but irrestible, an apology for having missed her performance in Macbeth.

  Mrs. Penny, the landlady, eyed him sourly. "Mrs. Aird is not at home." And without any further question, she added, "I do not know where she has gone, and I do not know when she will return. And I am unable to take messages of any kind for my boarders. That is my rule. You may leave a note on the hall table, if you so desire."

  Faro regarded the formidable lady with awe. Large, florid, her face painted, and doubtless wearing a discarded theatrical wig of a suspiciously youthful gold. As she spoke, Mrs. Penny's appearance suggested the figurehead of a ship come to grotesque life.

  And one well able to repel boarders, thought Faro, making his apologies and his way to the gate, under her keen eye. A lady who would take no nonsense from anyone.

  He continued on his way into the warrens of Causewayside, with a certain caution and reluctance. He was already known to many of the inhabitants, for he had regularly appeared to run famous criminals to earth in this notorious area.

  The cobbled street was quite crowded, but as he walked down, trying to maintain an air of jaunty indifference, most of the inhabitants melted into the shadows of the grimy tenements and dingy hovels. By the time the Quaker Mission came into view, the street was almost deserted and he guessed that word of his coming had already spread like wildfire among the thieves and vagabonds whose presence had sorely tried him in the past.

  The mission was situated in a secluded court with a tiny garden. He had never set foot in it before, but Alison Aird's association with the Quakers made him curious, and as he looked inside he thought he saw her sit
ting under a tree, and reading from a book to an audience of small children.

  Could it be? She was against the sun, but yes, it was indeed Alison Aird. He stood in the shadows, for a moment enjoying the contrast between her gentle beauty, her muslin frock and neat hair, and the grimy poverty of the ragged urchins, bare-limbed, filthy, verminous. The sight struck his heart with new tenderness and an overwhelming desire to protect her.

  She was unaware of his presence until his shadow came between her and the sun. The children's reaction was immediate—"Scarper. Peelers."—and they melted into the distance before she had finished reading the sentence.

  "Children? Come back here—what on earth. . . ?"

  Turning, she saw his tall figure approaching across the grass. She stood up and held out her hand with a welcoming smile—but no more.

  "Good day, Inspector." She frowned. "This is very unexpected."

  "Not at all, Mrs. Aird.This is a neighbourhood which I unfortunately know very well indeed."

  "What brings you here? You have not come to arrest me, I hope?"

  Faro laughed at her bewilderment. "I have come in search of a gentleman known as Black Tam. But I suspect that news of my approach has already reached him."

  "Is he a dangerous character?"

  "Very."

  "Then are you wise to come alone?"

  Her anxious tone suggested concern. Did she really care? he thought. "What of yourself, Mrs. Aird? I see you have not heeded my advice."

  "Will you be reassured if I tell you that I come armed?"

  "Armed?"

  "Yes, Inspector, armed." Despite her solemn tones, he had an uneasy suspicion that she was laughing at him. From her reticule she withdrew a tiny dagger from a jewelled sheath. "I go nowhere without it." Handing it to Faro, she continued, "It was a present from an Indian holy man long ago who said that one day it would protect me from a terrible death."

  Returning it, Faro did not add that it would be useless against a strong assailant. "A pretty toy, Mrs. Aird, but you would be better not to tempt fate and stay away from this area. As I have told you, it is no place for a gentlewoman."