The Missing Duchess

by Alanna Knight

  Pausing, he regarded Faro triumphantly. 'A man, Faro,' he said heavily. 'There's undoubtedly a man in this somewhere. I decided that right at the beginning,' he added carelessly. 'Knowing the circumstances of her unhappy marriage - and various rumours - it's quite obvious that the whole disappearance was a ruse, prearranged very carefully to get her and this man together.'

  Faro sat back in his chair. Not for the first time, he wondered what kind of literature the Superintendent read in his leisure time. Here he was talking like a lady's novel and providing a rather superficial and improbable, but highly romantic, solution for a sinister disappearance.

  Bewilderment was followed by relief. Although Faro couldn't yet believe that he had been wrong all the way along the line and that the man in St Anthony's Chapel and the beggar-woman in the West Bow were purely coincidental and unrelated deaths.

  The Grand Duchess, whom he thought had died in mysterious and inexplicable circumstances, her body disposed of by medical students, was not only alive and well, but sitting happily with her royal godmother in Balmoral Castle.

  And Faro was suddenly angry. 'They might have kept us informed, sir. We've been wasting time searching for a missing duchess, thinking the worst -'

  McIntosh cut short this tide of justifiable resentment. 'Ours not to reason why, Inspector,' he said smoothly. 'The ways of royalty are not for us to question. Ours but to obey their command, however unreasonable it seems -'

  'What about the woman in the West Bow - ?' Faro began.

  Mcintosh held up his hand, regarding him as if he had taken leave of his senses. 'A beggar-woman, Faro,' he emphasised. 'Are you seriously suggesting - ? Good Lord, what absolute nonsense.' And with a barking laugh of derision. 'How could you ever have entertained such a notion for one moment?'

  Mcintosh wagged a finger in Faro's face. He smiled, a happy man from whose shoulders all responsibility had been removed.

  'After all, Her Majesty hasn't been in the best of health Perthshire seems a suitable halfway meeting place. She and the late Prince Consort enjoyed many happy days at Errol Towers, you will doubtless recall. It no doubt has sentimental connections for their god-daughter too, more pleasantly informal than Holyrood. And takes far less heating.'

  Pausing, he regarded Faro's sober expression. 'Come along, man. You should be glad, too, far less work involved for you.' And producing a map, he unrolled it carefully. 'Here, see. And as the railway goes right across a corner of the estate, there is a halt.'

  This arrangement had become popular as well as desirable since the increase in train travel had opened up the length and breadth of Scotland. Now landowners were eager and most agreeable to allow this arrangement of a special halt, in return for permission to take the railway line directly across their estates, thus saving the cost of many extra miles of new track. A new era had begun, hitherto undreamed of, offering travel from their very back doors, so to speak, instead of the slow, tortuous travel by carriage over often unmade roads with attendant inconvenience and discomfort.

  'I don't need to tell you that you are to go alone, make this look as informal as possible. Travel by train as a couple can be done very discreetly. Besides, it is safer that way than by carriage.'

  Faro looked at him quickly. 'You are suggesting by "safer" that some attempt might be made to stop Miss Fortescue joining her mistress?'

  'Not at all,' was the smooth response. 'Merely in accordance with the desire of Her Majesty and the Grand Duchess for complete informality.'

  McIntosh considered Faro's sombre expression. 'Come along, you are showing too much imagination.'

  But it seemed that the Superintendent's laugh had a hollow sound and Faro could not shake off a sense of looming disaster.

  The word 'safer' continued to haunt him and he left an urgent message for McQuinn on his way out of the office before returning briefly to Sheridan Place to thrust toilet articles, nightshirt and change of linen into a travelling bag.

  As he closed his front door, he would have been happier with a more plausible explanation than the romantic supposition provided by Superintendent McIntosh of how the Grand Duchess of Luxoria had escaped presumably quite unhurt from an overturned carriage approaching Edinburgh one stormy night on the North Berwick road.

  And, more important, what kind of woman was this, who would disappear with her lover without a second thought to the fate of a coachman as well as her closest friend and companion?

  If McIntosh were wrong, and Faro was certain that there was no lover involved, it was even more baffling. The Duchess had to have an accomplice, otherwise how had she got herself, a lone woman from a foreign country, with no experience of travel in Scotland, to the remote Royal residence of Balmoral Castle, two hundred miles away in Aberdeenshire? To complete such a journey, to arrive safely and thereupon to have access, unchallenged, to the royal drawing-room, would have presented a daunting prospect for any British national. For a foreign duchess who was used to having all arrangements planned in elaborate detail, to make such a journey unaided was beyond belief.

  Beyond belief. Faro sighed, for that summed it up exactly. And instead of becoming clearer, the whole bizarre situation aroused every instinct for caution. In his vast experience of intrigue and crime, the pointers indicated a great deal of misinformation still to be unravelled. The signs also suggested that he was running out of time. He had better discover the truth quickly.

  If he wished to stay healthy - and alive.

  Chapter 18

  Faro met Vince on the doorstep.

  'Good! I left a note for you. I haven't much time, lad. A train to catch -' And drawing Vince inside he told him of the Queen's letter and his growing suspicions. This time he omitted nothing.

  'But this is incredible. It can't be -' Vince protested.

  'It is, I assure you. At the same time and with so much at stake, I'd give anything in the world to be proved wrong,' he added sadly.

  Vince looked at him. 'You're going to need some help. And I'm committed to our damned Perth golf tournament.'

  'You can't let down the team, lad.'

  Faro listened carefully as Vince outlined his arrangements.

  'At least we'll be heading in the same direction.'

  'Damn the golf, Stepfather. Lives are at stake. Actually, it will fit in very well if I appear to be going there - I'll think of some last-minute excuse. In fact, I have a plan -'

  Faro listened and shook his head. 'I don't want you involved in this,' he protested. 'I only want you to be in full possession of the facts - you know where to find them in my study - in case,' he added grimly, 'anything goes wrong -'

  As he left the train at Aberlethie halt and walked through the grounds to Lethie Castle, Faro reflected on the fleeting interview with Vince, when he had had little time to do more than confide his suspicions. What if they were wrong and he had set in motion a tide of what was merely superstition?

  He was shown into the drawing-room, where the Lethies appeared to be expecting him. Miss Fortescue was nowhere to be seen. He was glad of her absence so that he could test carefully the reactions of Sir Terence to the Prime Minister's summons.

  When he produced the letter the Lethies could not conceal their relief. No one could blame them for being glad that someone was going to take the responsibility of their visitor off their hands. No matter how welcoming they had been, her presence would be an embarrassment as they prepared to depart for France.

  As Lady Lethie rang the bell and a maid was sent for Miss Fortescue, Faro said: 'I understand your housekeeper had quite a scare. Thought there had been a burglary.'

  'Burglary?' Sir Terence, still preoccupied with the contents of the letter Faro had produced, looked at him blankly. Then as realisation dawned, he laughed. 'Oh, the Luck o' Lethie, you mean. All a mistake, as your sergeant has no doubt told you. Come with me.'

  Sir Terence led the way across the hall to the library, eager to show Faro that all was well. There on the wall in its glass cabinet was the Luck o' Lethie
. 'See for yourself. No harm done, that should put your mind at rest.'

  'You mean it was never stolen?'

  'No. Mislaid.' And Sir Terence closed his lips firmly in the manner of one prepared to say no more on that particular subject.

  Faro examined the cabinet and, turning, regarded him sternly. 'I understand that this is a very valuable object of great historical importance. May I suggest that in future you keep it under lock and key as a deterrent to thieves?'

  That idea had clearly never occurred to its owner. 'My dear Inspector,' Sir Terence pointed to the ancient case. 'It has hung there for, well, hundreds of years, and it has never been in any danger from thieves -'

  'Times have changed, Sir Terence. As you are probably aware, crime is on the increase and we have travelled a long way from the days when lairds were regarded by their clansmen as sacrosanct and only a little lower than God.'

  This particular laird clearly did not like such a reminder. 'I have to tell you, Inspector, that my tenants are one hundred per cent reliable - to the last man,' he snapped.

  'Nevertheless, this suspected burglary has now been recorded in my office. Such matters are regarded as very serious offences -'

  'As I told your sergeant,' Sir Terence interrupted impatiently, 'it was all a mistake. The Luck had been removed for - for cleaning - it has since been replaced.'

  'Replaced?'

  'Indeed so.' Sir Terence frowned. 'I'm not quite sure how to begin.'

  Faro was aware of a movement behind him. Roma Fortescue had entered the room. She was looking flushed and extremely pretty.

  'Perhaps I should tell him, Terence.' And turning, she smiled at Faro. 'I took it -'

  Sir Terence began to protest.

  She held up her hand. 'Please - please let me explain.'

  'If you would be so good, miss.'

  'It's rather a long story. You see, we have a Horn of Plenty in the Palace, identical to your Luck o' Lethie and reputedly brought back by a band of Knights Templars who sought sanctuary with us from persecution in the thirteenth century. It was always understood, although there was no written evidence, of course, that it was part of the booty taken from King Solomon's Temple in Jerusalem and that they bequeathed it to those early rulers of Luxoria in gratitude for their hospitality.

  'Our Royal Family have known poverty and hardships in the last few years, but despite pressure from the President, they have resisted any suggestions that it should be sold.'

  She smiled. 'A superstitious man, knowing its reputation, he would be afraid to take it by force. What he is unaware of, however - as it is a closely guarded family secret - is that two hundred years ago the Horn of Plenty disappeared, and some time later miraculously reappeared. Whatever happened to it in the interval, whether it was stolen or sold, we have no idea -'

  As she spoke, Faro remembered that two hundred years ago Major Weir, the wizard of the West Bow, appeared in Edinburgh, accompanied by a magic staff with a snake's head and amazing powers. Could they be one and the same?

  '- This was an additional reason for this visit by Amelie,' Miss Fortescue continued, 'to find out if what we had was, in truth, the original Horn of Plenty. I'm afraid she considered that, regardless of its supposed powers, we could no longer be sentimental and that the time was now ripe for us to sell it.'

  'Had you a buyer in mind?' Faro interrupted sharply.

  She smiled. 'Indeed, yes. An American multi-millionaire with a young wife who is childless, and who knew of its legends, was very keen to possess it.'

  'These supposed magic qualities,' said Faro, 'would they be altered by selling it? Surely that is the traditional belief - that such powers cannot be sold.'

  Three faces turned towards him, frowning.

  Miss Fortescue shrugged. ‘The family and Amelie herself believed most fervently in its fertility properties, it was an assurance of the continuation of the Royal dynasty. But they can no longer afford to be sentimental, they are in dire need of financial help. And without an heir they have no security; the President's power is limitless and he wields it, since they are still popular with the people, by keeping them alive but under what is in effect permanent house arrest.'

  At Lady Lethie's sharp exclamation, Miss Fortescue turned and regarded her sadly. 'Yes, they are virtually prisoners, without hope of escape unless they can buy their freedom. The President is not popular. Money might also be put to a better purpose -to raise an army and overthrow him.’

  She paused. 'I have no wish to sound disloyal, but it is well-known that your Queen is not only a very sentimental old lady, she is not averse to money - and to the power money brings,' she added candidly. The feeling was that she might even be persuaded to intervene - politically - in our present situation.'

  Miss Fortescue regarded the listeners' faces anxiously, to see if the implications of what she was hinting at were clear to them. Then with a sigh, she continued: 'I have given the matter great thought. In Amelie's continued absence and on an impulse - which I assure you she would have approved of wholeheartedly - while you were away I decided to take the Luck o' Lethie to the jeweller in Edinburgh myself. You will have heard of him -'

  The family name she mentioned was of international renown and they had been court jewellers for many generations.

  'He studied the jewels in their setting and assured me they were undoubtedly genuine. "This piece," he told me, "is priceless."'

  And, as if in echo of Faro's warning, she looked at Sir Terence.

  'He asked me how it was kept, and when I told him in a glass cabinet, he threw up his hands in horror. He said it should be kept behind bars under lock and key.'

  Sir Terence darted an uncomfortable glance in Faro's direction as she continued sadly: 'I knew then what I had rather expected to find out. That what we have treasured all these years in Luxoria is a worthless imitation.'

  Pausing, she looked anxiously at the Lethies. 'I do hope you understand that I was not in the least influenced by this news and that I never entertained the slightest intention of stealing the Luck o' Lethie.'

  Conscious of their guarded expressions, she shrugged. 'It was all very embarrassing. You would never have known of its very temporary absence if I had not been delayed by the storm and forced to take refuge -' Her glance slid off Faro - 'in Edinburgh overnight.’

  Lady Lethie ran to her side and put a reassuring arm about her shoulders. 'Why didn't you tell us, Roma dear? We would have understood, wouldn't we, Terence? You should have confided in us, dear. We could have helped you.'

  'I had a very good reason for silence,' said Miss Fortescue. 'Don't you see, if yours had been the imitation, then I certainly would never have told you. I would not have distressed you by destroying your family's belief in the Luck o' Lethie.'

  She looked at Faro, her smile odd and faintly mocking. 'Luck is so often in the mind. What we make of circumstances, don't you agree, Inspector?'

  Without waiting for his reply, she turned again to the Lethies: 'At least we know now that your faith is justified and that you can go on believing in its magic'

  'We will, indeed. And we're grateful to you, aren't we, Terence?' said Lady Lethie.

  Sir Terence nodded, his polite smile in Faro's direction signalling dismissal. The case was closed.

  Faro stood up and said: 'I didn't come about the burglary, sir.' And to Roma Fortescue he handed the Prime Minister's letter. 'This is the reason for my visit.'

  He never took his eyes off her face as she read it once, and then with a bewildered expression, read it again.

  'May we know -' Sir Terence began.

  'Is it something serious, my dear?' asked Lady Lethie.

  Although Miss Fortescue smiled and shook her head, Faro noticed that her hands trembled ever so slightly as she read out the letter to them. Nor did she miss the anxious looks that were exchanged between the Lethies before Sir Terence cleared his throat and muttered: 'Splendid to know that your mistress is in Balmoral. And safe, too.'

  Safe. There w
as that word again, thought Faro grimly.

  'But what a journey for her to make alone,' Sir Terence continued, with a man's concern for practicalities. 'I wonder how on earth she managed it, Faro?'

  'She must be a lady of great resource and courage, considering her sheltered background,' Faro replied drily.

  'Oh, she is, I assure you,' said Miss Fortescue. 'She is indeed.' And to Faro: 'I presume we are leaving immediately.'

  'If you please, miss, the sooner the better.'

  'This time tomorrow and all will be revealed, m'dear. You will know the truth behind this little mystery,' said Terence heartily. 'No doubt, a very simple explanation.'

  It was never that simple. Faro knew of old and to his cost that dealings with royal persons could be extremely devious -and dangerous. By careful circumnavigation of the facts, they could be overly economical with the truth.

  And what they called truth often turned out to be only the very tip of the iceberg.

  'This time tomorrow -'

  His growing suspicions confirmed by Roma Fortescue's reaction to the letter, Sir Terence's words echoed in his mind. This time tomorrow, he might indeed know that whole story. If he and Miss Fortescue were still alive to hear it.

  Chapter 19

  Faro accepted Sir Terence's offer of a bed for the night. Arrangements made for an early start by carriage to Waverley Station next morning, Miss Fortescue and Lady Lethie departed to discuss wearing apparel. The estate factor appeared and needed his lordship's presence. Sir Terence apologised and Faro, left to his own devices, walked in the direction of Mr Stuart Millar's cottage.

  There was no one at home. The cottage which had seemed warmly welcoming only days ago was deserted. The fading light of an autumn afternoon lent a touch of melancholy. Overhead rooks screeched homeward and a sudden breeze sent a flurry of dead leaves rattling down the roof.