Killing Cousins (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.4)

by Alanna Knight

  Indecisive for a moment, he hovered, about to head in the general direction of the castle's ornate gates.

  'Stepfather...wait...wait!'

  Vince was hurrying down the cliff road to greet him.

  'I thought it was you, Stepfather. You did get my telegraph about Thora then?' And, without waiting for a reply, he said, 'I'm here to collect a box from Aberdeen.' And to the boatman, 'Have you something for Dr Laurie? Ah yes, that's it.'

  And, acknowledging the small wooden box placed in his hands, he said, 'Come along, Stepfather. How clever of you to arrive at exactly the right time,' and set off along the road at a jaunty pace.

  'What about Thora Balfray?'

  'As I told you, she died last week. Poor Thora. It was in the wire I sent to you at Sheridan Place.'

  'I haven't been home, Vince. I've been trailing Noblesse Oblige all over Aberdeen. A thoroughly abortive pastime, I might add.'

  'What rotten luck,' Vince sighed sympathetically. 'Even if you had been at home, I've discovered that the word urgent means nothing here, so I doubt whether you would have got my message. Anyway, I'm delighted to see you and I can hardly wait to see Grandma's face when you walk in.'

  'Rose and Emily?'

  Vince shook his head. 'Staying in Kirkwall now that school has started. Grandma only has them for the weekends. They love that, I hear. Enchanted by living in a real castle, every little girl's dream come true.'

  'It can't be a very happy place just now.'

  'True,' said Vince, frowning at the tree-lined horizon.

  'Tell me, how are my wee lasses?' Faro's smile was tender.

  'Not wee - peedie's the word. You'll have to get used to that in Orkney. Oh, they're in splendid spirits.' And Vince warmed to this change of subject. 'And Grandma too. There's nothing like a funeral to bring out the best in her. The life and soul of this whole wretched business. Organising everyone. I don't know how Thora would have ever got kisted without her.'

  Faro looked at him sharply. Vince's humour tended towards the macabre.

  'I mean it, Stepfather. Francis is utterly devastated. Just like a dazed child. Locked himself in his room. Went to pieces completely.' Vince sighed. 'You can pay your respects to the poor chap at the funeral wake. I've made arrangements for you to stay at the castle, by the way.'

  'Is there room for me?'

  Vince laughed. 'There are about thirty bedrooms, so you can take your pick. And I'll find you a nice black cravat for the wake. All you need. You needn't appear unless you want to, of course, but it would be considered a mark of respect.'

  At his stepfather's questioning look, he added, 'It's traditional when one of the laird's family dies for the whole island to be invited to the castle to speed the deceased on their way with oatcakes and drams. That,' he continued soberly, 'can take rather a long time and I gather no one is sober enough to be in charge of a boat back to the mainland for several days afterwards. Here, let me carry that.'

  There followed a slight argument over who should carry Faro's luggage.

  'It isn't heavy,' Faro protested.

  'Heavy enough,' said Vince. 'Transporting the Immortal Bard as usual, are we?'

  Faro laughed. 'My favourite travelling companion, present company excepted,' he added with a grin.

  'I should have imagined you knew most of the plays by heart, Stepfather.'

  But behind Vince's gentle mockery was remembrance that The Complete Works of William Shakespeare had been his mother's last present to his stepfather on his birthday, just weeks before she died. Since then he had carried it everywhere with him, sad memento of a happy marriage and dear Lizzie herself.

  'Please yourself, Stepfather, but it's a longish walk,' said Vince, tucking the small wooden box under his arm.

  At the lodge gates, he shook his head. 'No, not straight up the drive. If you aren't too tired.'

  Faro's blunt reception of this concern for his well-being was in keeping with his refusal to be pampered by his doctor stepson.

  'Good,' said Vince and led the way up the steep cliff path. On the rocks far below and in the shallows offshore the seals barked like maddened dogs.

  Faro paused and looked down. 'I'd swear they were keeping pace with us. It's really quite uncanny.'

  'They always behave like that at this time of year, or so I'm told.'

  'Of course,' said Faro. 'This is St Ola's Summer.'

  'Quite. When they remember the saint who lived as a hermit on Balfray. That is the Christian interpretation. There are others.'

  Faro laughed. 'In pagan days, they used to believe that this was when the seal king returned to his kingdom under the waves, with a mortal bride. A grand finale to his quest, after having taken human shape and lived with men at Lammastide.'

  'Used to believe, did you say? Let me tell you that they still believe every word of it They all do lip-service to Christianity of course, but you couldn't get any lass to walk along these cliffs alone after dark, not for a handsome prince or a purse of golden guineas.'

  At his stepfather's disbelieving glance, Vince added firmly, 'I mean it.'

  Faro shook his head. 'Some people will believe anything.'

  Such beliefs he regarded as yet another part of the islands' refusal to enter the nineteenth century. The kind of ignorance and superstition which had sent him hurrying away to make a life in Edinburgh twenty years ago.

  As they entered the sea walk which separated them from the castle Faro marvelled at the stretch of trees, an extension of those he had observed clustered round the castle as the boat approached. Their gnarled appearance gave testimony to an uneasy grip on life, as they fought for survival against the elements, clinging together, huddling in tight groups against the autumn winds which yearly stripped the new growth and kept them permanently stunted.

  A leafy tunnel emerged into an arbour where a former Balfray laird had thoughtfully provided stone seats. The addition of a quartet of contemplative Greek statues established the illusion of a restful sheltered spot. Here the ladies from the castle might exercise their dogs and children on winter days, the cambered walk protecting the hems of their dresses from contamination by the never-absent damp.

  'Let's sit here, shall we?'

  'Splendid idea,' said Faro, lighting his pipe.

  Vince watched this operation in silence. 'I need a breather before we face Francis again - and the house of mourning. At least Grandma will be so surprised, and delighted, to see you.'

  Faro winced at the prospect of his mother's delight which would include a refusal to allow him to do anything for himself, or admit the possibility that he might also be competent to think for himself.

  When she was not persuading him that he was, like all men without a woman in their lives, utterly helpless, she indulged in an unending tide of gossip. This mainly concerned people her son had never heard of, nor, on the strength of their entire life histories, had any wish for further acquaintance.

  Once again Vince glanced cautiously over his shoulder. 'We can be quite private here. I have rather a lot to tell you, Stepfather, before we reach the others. This is the one place where I suspect we won't be overlooked or overheard.'

  'For heaven's sake, lad, you're being very mysterious.

  Overlooked indeed. I thought I was the policeman in the family.'

  There was no answering smile from his stepson who merely nodded, frowning. 'I must say I'm heartily glad to see you here. I was in the devil of a fix. Have been ever since Thora died. You see, I was certain from almost the moment I examined her that she wasn't suffering from a wasting illness.'

  Pausing, he drew a deep breath and added in a whisper, 'I have every reason to believe she was poisoned.'

  Chapter Two

  'Thora Balfray showed definite symptoms of arsenic poisoning,' said Vince.

  Faro whistled. 'Arsenic? Are you sure?'

  'So sure, Stepfather, that I decided to do the Marsh Test.' Vince tapped the wooden box lying on the seat between them. 'Fortunately the apparatus is bo
th portable and inconspicuous. The quickest way was to have it sent up from medical suppliers in Aberdeen.'

  'Let us hope Francis Balfray doesn't find out.'

  'I don't think he has the slightest idea. The doses must have been given in minute quantities over some considerable time and by someone very close to her,' Vince added grimly. 'No wonder poor Francis was baffled. He would be the last person in the world to think any member of his household was capable of such wickedness.'

  Faro looked at him sharply. Surely the lad couldn't be that naive? 'It has always been my experience in poisoning cases, as you know, to look first at those closest to the deceased, those who might have the most likely motive and opportunity.'

  'Not so in Francis' case, Stepfather,' said Vince firmly. 'He's such an honourable fair-minded chap himself.' Observing Faro's doubtful expression, he repeated, 'I am in a devil of a fix, I can tell you. Dammit, I signed the death certificate as natural causes.'

  'With your suspicions, lad? What had come over you? You know what you've done, don't you?' Faro demanded angrily. 'You've put your whole professional reputation in jeopardy.'

  'Be reasonable, Stepfather, what else could I do with the distraught husband, who also happens to be a friend and a colleague, looking over my shoulder? If I'd even hinted my suspicions, I'd have had another corpse to deal with - and by his own hand. He adored Thora.'

  'If you are right then, and Thora Balfray was poisoned, you'll have to summon the Procurator Fiscal from Kirkwall.'

  'That is my intention. You can imagine in these circumstances how delighted I was to see you arrive on Balfray. You have so much more experience in these matters, Stepfather. I feel I can leave it all in your reliable hands.'

  'It's going to create a fine stir among the islanders, isn't it?'

  'I'm afraid so. In a small community like Balfray practically everyone is related, either directly by blood or by marriage.'

  'And, having pulled down a hornet's nest about our heads, we'll have to keep everyone here, make sure no one leaves until the Fiscal arrives,' said Faro grimly.

  Vince smiled. 'I'm glad you said we, Stepfather. Because by the time he makes his report and issues an exhumation order, I am quite certain that we will have solved the crime.'

  'I shouldn't be too sure about that,' was the reply. 'Murder investigations among people related to one another can be baffling in the extreme. Relatives can be either nervous, or, knowing too much, reluctant to give information about loved ones. Alibis, I have found in such cases, are as thick on the ground as autumn leaves.'

  He paused and added, 'The best that we can hope for, Vince, is that the Marsh Test proves your suspicions were unfounded.'

  'Proves that I'm the over-enthusiastic over-conscientious young medic, is that it?' demanded Vince indignantly. 'Is that what you're hinting at? That too many encounters with poisonings by arsenic in the police-surgeon's laboratory have made me unnaturally suspicious? I can assure you-’

  Faro put a hand on his arm. 'There, there, lad. I take your word for it, that you had just cause for suspicions. What we need to know is who had direct access to Mrs Balfray, the family and retainers, in fact.'

  'That won't take long,' said Vince. 'Balfray Castle has long been on short commons. Francis, with the help of a ghillie and some workers, ran the estate until Thora's illness, then Captain Gibb, ex-Navy, distantly related, took over the factoring in return for a house on the estate.

  'There's Norma, Thora's stepsister, who is betrothed to the Balfray chaplain, Reverend John Erlandson - and that completes the family.' He gave his stepfather a stern look. 'I hardly think any of them could be included as suspects.'

  'What about staff?'

  'Precious few. One wing of the castle is closed off since it was seldom used and the twenty servants of the last laird, Sir Joseph Balfray, were reduced to three indoors, a housekeeper and two maids, and a stable boy who doubles as handyman. Your mother will no doubt be in possession of full family histories of all of them by now.'

  At Faro's wry smile, he continued, 'As for those with constant access to her food...'

  Faro held up his hand. 'No. I don't want to know. Not at this stage, if you please. Let us wait until you've proved the test positive.'

  'But all these people are unknown to you.'

  Faro nodded. 'I agree. Let us just say that I have

  known too many cases in the past of policemen tailoring the crime to fit a favourite suspect. I don't want to be guilty of that. If Mrs Balfray has been poisoned without any shadow of doubt, then, and then only, will be the time to consider suspects with motive and opportunity. And to reach my own conclusions.'

  'We can know for certain in half an hour, Stepfather. Just as long as it takes to set up this apparatus behind the locked door of my bedroom,' said Vince grimly, picking up the wooden box and holding it like some precious gift, on his knees.

  Despite his own misgivings and his hopes that Vince would be proved wrong in his suspicions, Faro was well aware of the infallibility of the Marsh Test. In constant use by police laboratories for the past forty years, it was capable of converting arsenic in body fluids and tissues into arsine gas by a simple apparatus so sensitive it could detect three-thousandths of a grain of arsenic.

  'What will you use - from the deceased, I mean?'

  'I kept a urine sample, that was the easiest to obtain. And some hair roots, for a double check.' Vince stood up. 'Well, shall we go?'

  Leaving the sheltered arbour they almost cannoned into a man who appeared, book in hand, with surprising alacrity from behind the hedge. Of indeterminate age, his heavy beard and hair, luxuriant and dark, were at youthful variance with a somewhat ravished and deeply lined countenance, with the suspiciously florid complexion of the heavy drinker. He bowed gravely to Vince.

  'Captain Gibb. This is my stepfather, Mr Faro.'

  The Captain murmured a greeting and hovered indecisively.

  'Are you returning to the castle with us?' asked Vince politely but, as Gibb declined the invitation and with a non-committal grunt resumed his walk down the path, Faro detected relief in Vince's response.

  'I trust you have no objections to being introduced informally, Stepfather.'

  'Not at all. Mr Faro sounds impressively off-duty,' was the reply, although Faro suspected that his mother must have already told everyone in Balfray the entire life story of her detective inspector son.

  'As I told you, Captain Gibb is related, a remote cousin on the distaff side, or so he tells me with rather constant repetition. According to Francis, he arrived a few months ago, recently retired from active service, anxious to meet the family and write a history of the Balfrays.'

  'He didn't strike me as being eager for our society.'

  Vince shook his head. 'Oh, he is quite anti-social. Devotes scant time and attention to the living members of the family. They would have to be dead for at least two hundred years to engage his interest and enthusiasm. I've hardly seen him at all, but I gather that isn't unusual. When he isn't closeted in the library poring over old documents, he's to be found in Kirkwall or Stromness consulting dusty old records.'

  'Has he found anything of interest?'

  'Francis tells me he has made some remarkable finds, hardly world-shaking to the visitor but of breathless fascination to the Balfrays.'

  Faro suppressed a smile. Vince's resistance to history was well known. He could well imagine his stepson's ill-concealed boredom regarding the Captain's activities.

  'And you don't care for him, do you?'

  Vince shook his head. 'Not a lot, Stepfather. He's something of a charlatan, I suspect. The archetypal sponger, preying on affluent relatives. But Francis is far too much of a gentleman to voice his opinions. As long as the Captain can feed him titbits of family history, he is sure of a berth at Balfray.'

  'What has he discovered so far?'

  The Balfrays boast a connection with the wicked Stuart Earls of Orkney and a dubious bastard ancestorship ...'

  'A
s do most of the isles, including our own family,' said Faro cynically. 'Hardly surprising considering that Earl Robert and his seven sons helped to populate the island with their many bastards.'

  'Does it not amaze you how bastardy gains immediate respectability when the blood Royal is involved?' said Vince bitterly.

  Faro gave him a sympathetic glance, wondering if a day would ever come when the lad's own illegitimacy ceased to plague him. His mother, Faro's dead wife, had borne him when she was a servant girl of fifteen, the result of rape in a stately home.

  'This discreditable story, however, concerns the Earl of Bothwell who, despite his marriage and apparent devotion to the Queen of Scots, and being on the run after the disaster of Carberry Hill, managed to beget a bastard son during his brief and fateful visit to the island where he took refuge out of range of the guns of Kirkwall Castle.

  'He slipped out and with his treasure ship headed for sanctuary in Norway, which was again denied him. According to the Balfray legend, the treasure ship and her captain gave their pursuers the slip and returned to Balfray. He brought up Bothwell's child and used the gold that had been intended to set the Queen of Scots free to establish the Balfray dynasty.'

  'Remarkable!'

  Vince gave him a quick look. 'And you don't believe a word of it?'

  Faro smiled. 'It's an attractive story, but I suspect highly coloured. Eminently suitable material for one of Sir Walter Scott's romances.'

  'Not according to Captain Gibb. He gets very animated on the subject, insisting that he can prove it. That it's all there in the sixteenth-century documents discovered behind the wainscoting when the old castle was demolished by Francis' grandfather, who built the present building.'

  Looking back in the direction which the Captain had taken, Vince added anxiously, 'Was he really walking and reading? He appeared with alarming promptitude, don't you think?'