Everyone, they say, has an Achilles heel. And this is mine. My recurring nightmare. Despite Orkney ancestry and an allegedly selkie great-grandmother, the natural ability to swim had been left out of my inheritance. Yet a possible storm on the loch had taken me by surprise. I had no unpleasant memories from childhood of crossing the notorious seas between Orkney, where Emily and I lived with Granny Faro after our mother died, to Edinburgh and summer holidays at Sheridan Place under the care of Papa’s excellent housekeeper, Mrs Brook.
Curiously enough my sea crossing to Orkney a year or two back, which I had anticipated in terror, was like a millpond. Perhaps travelling across smooth Orcadian waters was a blessing in my inheritance from Sibella, my great-grandmother.
Now as Meg and Faith beckoned us to move forward and feel the spray, I put on a brave smile. They were enjoying it, as were Olivia and Alice, no qualms or uneasiness in either of them. They did not seem to notice or feel alarmed that the sky had lost its tranquil blue and dark clouds were overhead. Vince, too, was enjoying himself with the other three rowers, sharing a joke.
I looked over the edge, the waves were gathering around us, swirling, reaching out. The boat leapt suddenly and Vince shouted: ‘Sit tight. Nothing to worry about.’
One of the ghillie rowers grinned. ‘There’s a storm approaching, ladies, but don’t worry we are quite used to it and this wee boat can cope with anything.’
His companion grinned and nodded reassuringly. ‘You are quite safe with us.’
I didn’t believe him for a moment. We were now some distance from the shore, the idea being to row to the top of the loch as far as Birkhall and back again, a two-hour journey.
And I knew I would never make it. I felt my stomach heaving, delicious salmon sandwiches about to put in another appearance. In a few moments I was going to be very sick indeed. And that would not be the end of it; as well as disgracing myself and making everyone feel uncomfortable, this nauseous condition would continue until I stepped back on dry land back again.
Olivia’s hand was on my arm. ‘Are you feeling quite well, Rose?’
‘No. I feel very ill indeed.’
‘Oh, then we must go back immediately, get the rowers to return, Vince—’ she began.
He did not hear her against the creak of the oars, but the girls turned their heads, regarded us, frowning and I knew I could not do this to them, spoil their day.
‘No, Olivia. Just seasick, I’ll manage.’ I tried to sound cheerful.
She stared into my face. ‘My dear, you’ve gone quite green.’ She stepped forward, clinging on to the side and spoke to Vince. He turned and I heard her say: ‘You must tell the rowers, we have to return, Mrs Macmerry is unwell.’
Cries not of sympathy but bitter disappointment from Meg and Faith, resentful looks too, I fancied, at the odd ways grown-ups could behave. I had ruined their day, this and not the picnic was what they had really been looking forward to.
It was Vince’s turn to look anxious.
‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘just put me ashore on the shingle over there and I’ll make my way back to Glas-Allt-Shiel. It isn’t far.’ I pointed. The chimneys of the house were still faintly visible.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Vince.
I nodded and he asked the rowers who were resting on their oars waiting for a decision to be reached: ‘Can you do that?’
‘Aye, Doctor.’ One pointed landwards. ‘Over there. There’s a wee sheep path to the top.’ But Vince was still uncertain. He looked at me anxiously.
‘I’m a martyr to seasickness, Vince, but all will be well once I’m on dry land.’
He glanced at Olivia. The two girls looked close to tears of disappointment. In something of a quandary, he nodded: ‘Very well, if you’re absolutely sure.’
As the rowers turned the boat and headed towards the strand, it was Olivia’s turn to look uncertain, as she shaded her eyes to regard the tall cliff standing a hundred feet high above the shingle. Sheep were grazing on the top.
‘Will you be all right, Rose? Are you sure – it’s very steep?’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said to her. ‘You heard the lad say there’s a sheep path.’
There was no evidence of that as the boat approached the rock-strewn shore and it did look alarmingly steep at closer quarters, a cliff towering above us, seven hundred feet and rising sharply.
But I had no option now, feeling increasingly sick, with an alarming headache of mounting magnitude. I knew the symptoms, my stomach still remembered them again from the two terrible sea voyages on the big ship back and forth from New York to the Clyde. Once to go out and join Danny in the 1880s, and back again, to return alone without him ten years since.
I looked again at the high cliff. I would rather risk the invisible sheep path than feel that death would be too good as I did at the moment, aware that I could not contain the contents of my stomach much longer.
I looked at the others in the boat as it bobbed up and down like an enormous cork. They were unmoved; I was to be alone in my predicament. Oh, the shame of that in front of them all. A precarious walk up a cliff path was nothing by comparison, the easier by far of two evils.
The boat slid towards the beach with its dark brooding cliff hovering above, even more threatening than it had looked offshore. The rowers knew the area around Glas-Allt-Shiel well and amid reassurances said that I must take extra care as the path was very narrow.
‘If you’re afraid of heights, don’t be tempted to look down back the way you came.’
His companion nudged him, a warning that he was being tactless.
Olivia steadied me in the swaying boat as I removed my boots, preparing to wade ashore. Meg was watching, biting her lip.
‘Shall I come with you, Mam?’
What a sacrifice! It took some effort but I managed a confident smile. ‘Of course not, dear. This will pass.’ She looked up at the cliff and shivered. I could see it scared her. She didn’t like heights.
‘See you back at Glas-Allt. Enjoy the trip,’ I added. The boat ground onto the shingle and as Vince lifted me over the side, the bile rose into my throat and I prayed that I wouldn’t be sick over him, then and there.
On a nearby rock, I waved to them as I sat down and put on my boots again, watching the boat turn back into the swirling waters waiting to engulf them. It looked dreadful and I fought mounting urges to be sick just watching them, suddenly fearful for their safety and for Meg, fearless, heedless of danger, very much her father’s daughter. I groaned. If anything happened to her … and what of Jack, heartbroken for all time, when I had promised to take care of her?
Even as I tried to banish such thoughts, the boat had become a tiny bobbing object only occasionally visible, rocking and rearing above the waves, growing smaller, almost indistinguishable from the waters of the loch.
As I began my climb I was soon aware of my own danger for the first time. The narrow path worn by the sheep occasionally disappeared completely or came perilously near the edge of the cliff with only feet between me and a rapid descent onto the rock-strewn beach below. I decided not to look down again, once was enough for vertigo, another kind of sickness eager to take over as my main concern. Above, the path turned and twisted like a drunken man’s progress. Seemingly endless, it was often slippery with sheep droppings, another hazard to be avoided.
I stopped to draw breath, no sign of the boat any longer. As my path veered to the left I hoped it was just out of sight, hidden by sea spray and not under the waves. Far above my head, I heard an ominous rumble. A deep, sharp rumble of falling stones. I stepped aside, flattened myself against the shelter of the protective cliff wall.
And not a moment too soon, for it no doubt saved my life as I watched the shower of large stones bounce off my path and thunder down to the shore.
Horrified, I realised had it not been for my swift movement I would have been carried with them. Heart pounding, I was afraid now to resume my perilous journey, for the path in front of me was al
so partially blocked by the fallen stones which I would have to negotiate. What if this was just the start of an avalanche? What and how had it started? An animal, one of the sheep – and yet another more terrifying thought – a human?
Had someone from Glas-Allt tried to kill me, aware that I was getting too close to Lily’s killer?
Another sound, more stones, more in the path ahead, so I was trapped. I crouched flat against the cliff face, considering how I could possibly continue my upward journey, my legs shaking now. Obviously the person, for person it must be, was pushing the stones over the edge and my only hope was to stay rigid against the cliff. But how long could I remain there and who on earth could ever come to my assistance?
I tried to negotiate one of the larger stones in the path and suddenly realised that my presence was known. A face looked down from above, the top of the cliff, some twenty feet above, a face growing quite familiar now.
My rescuer from the dark forest and my executioner.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘Stay where you are, miss. I’ll come down and give you a hand. Are you hurt?’
‘No. Just petrified!’
‘Wait. Don’t move. I’ll explain.’
I hoped it would be a good explanation as I heard another ominous rumble, and minutes later the rest of the tall figure of my rescuer edged down the path, a hand held out for me to grasp. A strong, warm, somehow reliable hand. As I clung to it, he said:
‘Follow in my footsteps and I’ll see you safe to the top. It isn’t far now.’
His hand was like a lifeline, I had to trust him. At last, breathless, the flat top of bitten grass. Around us the sheep darting away.
‘There go your beasts who started the avalanche, two of them were fighting and dislodged the stones.’
Was that the truth? I had to believe it. ‘Thank you,’ I said and he released my hand. ‘How did you know there was anyone on the path?’
He grinned, pushed a strand of dark hair off his forehead. ‘Saw you leave the boat. I was wondering about that. Not a good day for a row on the loch. Those sudden squalls can be very nasty. Blowing hard and I could see the rowers were having a job pulling against it.’
As we walked towards Glas-Allt, I saw that there were a lot more gathered than when we had set off in the boat. The fishers had been increased by some of the sportsmen who had abandoned the guns to fish for trout instead. They were distinguished by their tweeds and their hats – popularly known as ‘deerstalkers’ – from the kilted ghillies.
My rescuer did not adhere to either sportsman or ghillie, informally dressed, hatless in breeches and jacket. The sportsmen had gathered outside the hut, relaxing after their fishing efforts with a long line of trout strung across the veranda.
Even at a fair distance the air was heavy with cigar smoke and the pungent odour of whisky, useful also for keeping the dreaded midges at bay, although it was early in the day for their onslaught.
The King was with the fishermen, seated on the veranda, easily spotted in any crowd, a large, regal and commanding presence, suddenly just a man enjoying a joke and a drink with his friends and doubtless a few foreign princes who were distant relations. I recognised one of them, Graf Hermann von Mueller, Alice’s husband who I had seen walking with her in the gardens. He looked genial enough, hard to believe that he treated her so cruelly.
There were no women present, this was an entirely male activity and as I hesitated, my rescuer, tall at my side said: ‘You’re still a bit shaken, aren’t you? Scary thing to happen.’ He was warm and close, a supporting arm which I no longer needed but was in no hurry to decline. He took out a flask.
‘Here, have a dram, well known for its restorative powers.’
I lifted it gladly and he watched, those strange amber eyes on me, as I drank.
‘What on earth made you leave the boat, miss?’
So he had seen it all. I felt a shiver of fear, realising that this had also been his opportunity to get rid of the woman who might be dangerous, for even if he denied all knowledge of Lily I was still certain that if he had not killed her, then there was some connection.
What if the gardener I saw at Penby and this man were one and the same, could he have been her lover and pursued her to Scotland? Her interest in the Lipizzaner horses and her reluctance to converse with us hinted that she might be foreign. My mind raced ahead. Perhaps there were more sinister depths to her death, she’d been sent here on a secret mission.
As we neared the veranda, I shied away from the idea of joining this male enclave with explanations of my presence. And as my rescuer also had an uncanny aptitude for reading my mind, he was aware of that and said: ‘Perhaps you’d rather return to the cottage?’
I nodded gratefully and he smiled. ‘Very well. Allow me to escort you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am sure or I wouldn’t have offered. Excuse me one moment.’ A bow and he walked swiftly to where the main group of sportsmen were gathered. Gestures and nods indicated messages to be passed on. Then he was back again and leading the way to where the motors were parked and stable boys looked after the horses.
‘Do you drive?’
He shook his head. ‘Not one of my accomplishments, I’m afraid. But over there, look – there’s Dave snoozing at the wheel. He’ll take you safely home. There’s plenty of time, his services won’t be needed for a while yet.’
Dave bolted upright and saluted him as we approached. A word and we were installed in the car.
I felt an apology was needed to my travelling companion about taking him away.
He laughed. ‘Not at all. My work’s done for the day and as I don’t enjoy cigars and bad jokes, all of which I’ve heard before, I’m glad of an excuse to leave.’
We sat in silence after that, the return journey seemed a lot shorter than when we set out this morning. Perhaps that was because I enjoyed the presence of this man, warm and strong and close, especially on the swerves of the motor, which brought us into even closer contact. I liked his profile too, now that I had a chance to study him near at hand, the straight nose, the firm chin. I was beginning to like everything about him and not only because at first encounter he had reminded me of Danny, of a life and a love lost for ever.
But the possibility that he was Lily’s killer I could not shake off. Intuition played an important part, a useful accessory to a career as a successful detective. That much I had inherited from my father, Chief Inspector Jeremy Faro.
All my intuitions were basic and the evidence pointed strongly in his direction. There was something alive and dark and threatening swirling unseen below the surface of what appeared as a pleasant summer holiday on a royal estate. That something I must unravel. Even if it proved him guilty.
What if he had already tried and failed to kill me once that day and the sheep’s activities causing an avalanche were an invention? However, for the precious moments of that drive back through Glen Muick in a smiling landscape calm and beautiful in the late afternoon, I was willing to suspend my suspicions that I sat by the side of a ruthless killer, who might well strike again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
At the cottage Mabel had watched my arrival from the window. Thane leapt out to greet me. His almost human look of concern reminded me of an anxious parent for a missing child. That he had been aware of my danger was confirmed when Mabel grumbled: ‘That Dog has behaved in the most incredible way ever since you departed. Wanting to get out. I knew I must restrain him since that was expressly forbidden,’ and eyeing him at my side: ‘He is the most spoilt animal I have ever seen.’ That said she asked where were the others and why had I come back alone?
There was no point in dissembling. I told her the truth, that I was a martyr to seasickness. She shrugged. ‘It was your own fault then for agreeing to accompany them. Besides, picnics are an intolerable waste of time and effort and the maximum in discomfort. All that sitting around on damp grass, having to eat without proper implements, fighting off
insects.’ Another shudder.
I took Thane for a walk and talked to him. At least he seemed more understanding than Mabel. Had he been afraid for me? Again that look of concern. ‘I wish you could talk and answer me, Thane. It has been the one important missing factor in our life together. And at this moment there are so many missing clues regarding poor Lily that I am sure you could help with.’
We had just returned ahead of Vince. Leaving Olivia and the girls, he was driving Alice back to the castle. Leaning out of the motor, she asked anxiously how I was and assured that I had completely recovered, she smiled.
‘You look yourself again,’ she said and stretching out a hand she added sadly, ‘I had hoped for a long talk today but the opportunity never came. Perhaps we can meet again before you leave.’
I was sure by her anxious look that the long talk would be a repetition of her problem, which she hoped in vain I would be able to solve, but I gave the polite response expected.
Mabel had made a pot of tea. She had found herself quite accomplished at minor kitchen tasks without a personal maid. ‘I suppose I had better get used to it,’ she grumbled with a long-suffering sigh and as we ate a swiftly prepared meal of ham, sausages and eggs for the hungry homecomers, they wanted to know what had happened to me. Leaving out alarming details of the avalanche, I explained that one of the ghillies had brought me in a motor car driven by Dave who had passed on the information to them when he returned to Glas-Allt-Shiel.
Meg and Faith were ecstatic about the row on the loch, all the things they had seen, herons and a golden eagle and all manner of wading birds. ‘It wasn’t nearly as bad as you imagined, Mam. The storm only lasted minutes and after that it was quite smooth. You really would have loved it, you should have stayed and we would have looked after you.’ And taking my hand, ‘We missed you.’
The Balmoral Incident Page 14
