A Quiet Death (10 page)

'Oh, is that it?' she answered vaguely as if she was still considering that possibility and would have liked to question him further. As he walked towards the stairs he thanked her for putting a warming pan in his bed and leaving warm water. Even if it was cold by the time he used it he realised it had to be got from a pump in the yard, carried up several flights of stairs and heated.

'I hope you are comfortable with us, sir,' she said anxiously. 'We haven't much as you know. We're that upset about poor Polly Briggs. Fancy doing herself in, the poor lassie. What on earth came over her to do a thing like that?' And with a sad shake of her head, 'I just canna take it in somehow.'

Her eyes filled with tears and she paused to wipe them on her apron. 'I expect our Kathleen will come for the funeral. Like sisters they were. I canna think that she would stay away.'

And Faro, listening, thought grimly, only if she too is dead. Out loud he said: 'Maybe she doesn't know, Mrs McGonagall. I mean, if she's in London, such news might not reach her.'

'Maybe so, maybe so. I'm right worried, sick with worry I am. I don't know where to turn.' And studying Faro's face hesitantly, 'Do you think you could help us? We were wondering if you might know someone in the police who could tell us how to go about finding our Kathleen?'

Faro refrained from replying that he and the Dundee City Police put together lacked the ability to work miracles. 'I will do anything I can, of course, but trying to find a missing person in London would be like searching for the proverbial needle—'

'In the proverbial haystack, sir.' The door behind them had opened and William McGonagall appeared. 'I've told you not to fuss, woman. Kathleen will turn up when she has a mind to do so. And now do go about your business, woman, and stop pestering Inspector Faro with our worries.'

As Jean went into the kitchen he said: 'A word in your ear, sir. About the girl. I am certain that she has found employment nearer home than London.' He winked at Faro nudging his arm. 'Delicacy forbids me mentioning the matter before Mrs McG. Women worry about their ewe lambs, but fathers like ourselves, we are men of the world. God gave us a deeper understanding.'

He glanced quickly heavenward as if expecting divine approval. 'For instance, there is the whaling fleet. A custom not freely known among respectable womenkind like my dear spouse, but the men do sometimes take lasses away on voyages with them. Lasses who are not their wives, if you get my drift.'

So Vince had informed him.

'Ah yes, sir, to be a man of the world is neither to condemn nor to condone,' McGonagall continued, 'a quality beautiful to behold among those of us who are thespians. We know the lure of the footlights. Kathleen was always stage-struck, with her bird calls and all. She envied Polly that travelling circus the tinkers lived with. She lacked a certain interest in the Bard,' he added with a regretful pursing of his lips, 'but with a little encouragement and training I could make her a great tragedienne—'

'Which reminds me,' Faro interrupted, 'that I have not thanked you for my ticket last night. I was enthralled by your performance.'

'Enthralled,' William repeated delightedly. 'You were enthralled. Alas, it was far from my best performance. The shock I had sustained earlier that day and so forth—'

'Mr McGonagall, take it from me, your Macbeth was brilliant.' Faro exclaimed. 'I have never seen better. You can take my word for it. Even on the Edinburgh stage, and we get the London actors like Kean and Irving each year.'

'Is that true?' McGonagall beamed. 'Well, well, sir, that is the greatest compliment you could pay me. I am most grateful to you, for an actor succeeding in living out a role is beautiful to be seen. I understand from Dr Laurie that you are also a worshipper at the shrine of the Swan of Avon. "To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind—" '

' "—to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?" '

McGonagall applauded, vigorously nodding approval and Faro hid a smile. He was being tested and McGonagall studied him keenly, thrusting out his lower lip.

'Indeed, sir, had you not chosen a life of criminology we might have made a tragedian out of you.' Standing back he looked him up and down. 'You have a fine imposing figure, an excellent profile and you belong as do us thespians to that category of men who carry their years lightly and grow better with maturity. By the time you are forty you will not yet be in your prime and at the age when an actor's voice has just reached its best.'

'I am forty and more,' smiled Faro.

'Then you are very fortunate, for you have worn extremely well.' Narrowing his eyes, McGonagall said, 'You have the tall Viking look. I can see you as one of the great Nordic heroes, even a Siegfried.'

Faro laughed. 'You know, I think I would prefer being a policeman. I don't think I was cut out for heroics.'

'Only off-stage, is that it, Inspector?' McGonagall laughed. 'You are too modest I fear. Let it be, let it be. You are not yet too old for the profession should you change your mind. We need mature actors for the Bard's great roles, for Othello and Lear.'

When Faro repeated the conversation to Vince later, his stepson exploded into mirth. 'That caps all, Stepfather, really it does. You an actor—'

Since McGonagall's claims, although far-fetched, had also been extremely flattering, as Vince doubled up with laughter, Faro said in injured tones: 'I don't think it was all that amusing.'

'I had a sudden vision of you in black face as Othello. I wish you could have seen it. Priceless, priceless.'

Faro felt his moment of hurt pride was well worth it, to see Vince able to laugh again. He had feared that with Rachel Deane's rejection something young and boylike might have been snuffed out for ever. Now he felt oddly optimistic as he considered what possible reasons lurked behind her denial of her own true love and of the idyll they had shared. And of what strange truths he might uncover during that visit to Errol.

And staring out of the train window as it headed towards Perth, Faro wished that he was at liberty to investigate Polly Briggs' 'suicide', Charlie McGowan's accident, the riddle of the two missing women, and to discover whether there was any connecting link.

Deciding that such a coincidence was playing one of his famous intuitions too far, with a sigh he realised that he must content himself with trying to solve the less dangerous but nonetheless intriguing mystery which was so important to his stepson: the enigma of Rachel Deane's extraordinary behaviour.

As Errol drew nearer his mood of optimism evaporated. Even if this visit proved that Vince spoke the truth, what difference could it make to his cause? Again he realised that proof of the cottage's existence could not force Rachel to admit that she had lied if she had deliberately hardened her heart to her former lover.

Faro had built up a mental picture of a girl who was subject to strange moods, to prolonged fits of melancholy. While Vince had accepted the medical theory, the full significance of her condition and its bearing on any permanent relationship between them seemed to have escaped him.

Faro's own conclusions were that Rachel had formed an infatuation for Vince and had embarked on an amorous adventure with him. When she returned to Deane Hall from their short idyll, she had either regretted her impulse or had been persuaded by her family that she was about to embark upon an unfortunate or even an impossible marriage.

Faro could sympathise with Rachel's family. Indeed he would have been the first to agree heartily. Even from his less involved point of view, it was obvious that a poor doctor was no suitable husband for an heiress.

But surely the girl could have been persuaded to choose a less cruel and heartless way of rejecting him?

The lodge gates were still there as he remembered them and as he walked down the drive towards the gamekeeper's cottage, he was relieved to see Tom Elgin returning with his gun under his arm.

His friend was surprised and delighted to see Jeremy Faro again especially as, at Will Gray's funeral, both had deplored that only on such melancholy occasions did they ever meet these days.

'You're the last person I expected to see. Don't tell me there's another funeral in the offing.'

Faro laughed. 'Not at all. As you know, I'm staying in Dundee and as my stepson is busy all day doctoring, I decided to take you up on your offer.'

As he took a seat at the fireside, Faro realised again that this typical estate cottage was similar to the one that Vince had described. Two panelled rooms downstairs, with a narrow staircase leading to two bedrooms with sloping ceilings and dormer windows.

Taking the whisky bottle from the cupboard, Tom Elgin poured out a couple of generous drams. 'Slàinte!'

Lighting a pipe, he regarded his friend through the smoke. 'Well, well, Jeremy, so what brings you here, besides another crack with an old crony?'

Faro laughed. 'What makes you think I have a purpose in mind?'

Tom gave him a shrewd glance. 'Once a policeman, always a policeman. As soon as I saw you walking down the drive, scrutinising everything very carefully, I guessed that this was more than a social visit, pleasant though that would be.'

As Faro hesitated, Tom asked: 'Don't tell me the laird has been misbehaving himself?'

'Not at all, at least, not that I know of. No, this is a personal matter and in strictest confidence.' And Faro plunged into the extraordinary story of Vince's love affair and its disastrous ending.

'How astonishing that the young woman should have denied it all. Even that they had ever met.' And frowning, Tom asked the inevitable question.

Faro had his answer ready. 'No, old friend, there is not the remotest possibility that Vince was not speaking the truth. I trust his word absolutely. I was there too, when she denied it.'

And without revealing Rachel's identity, he described Deane Hall and the way she had received them.

When he had finished, Tom looked thoughtful. 'There is another reason, of course, that has doubtless occurred to you. The lass may have been under considerable pressure from her own family. This grand room, what was it like?'

'The size of a ballroom.'

'Ah,' said Tom significantly. 'Could her parents have been listening somewhere nearby, out of sight? Just to make sure she was speaking as she had been instructed.'

Faro looked up quickly. Taken aback by Rachel's denial he had allowed bafflement and concern over Vince's violent reaction to blind him to the obvious.

'Once a policeman, always a policeman, as you said, Tom. And by God, I think you have something there, something I never even considered. The drawing room was huge and more dimly lit than was comfortable. There were plenty of chandeliers, so it did strike me that they were being rather frugal.'

As he remembered that scene he thumped his fists together. 'Dammit, there was even a large screen behind the armchair.'

Tom gave a nod of satisfaction. 'And I would wager, someone behind it too. Listening to every word.'

Faro shook his head sadly. For once his own much vaunted powers of observation had failed him. Undeniable proof that even experienced, well-trained detectives are capable of not recognising what is staring them in the face.

Eagerly he seized upon this idea of Rachel Deane being coerced by her family. Tom had given him new hope.

'Rachel—did you say that was the girl's name?'

'Yes.' It had slipped out, but never mind.

'Could that be Rachel Deane?'

'The same. You know her?'

'Only vaguely. I wouldn't recognise her now, but I knew her when she was a wee lass.' Tom whistled. 'The Deane heiress. Well, well, now I'm not altogether surprised at what you've told me.'

'Indeed?'

'Yes. I've heard tales of her odd behaviour before. A constant stream of governesses. Went through them like pounds of bannocks, according to her old nurse.'

'You knew her nurse?'

'Not knew—know her. Amy is still very much alive and kicking.' With a shake of his head, he added, 'And the way Amy tells it, she was the only one who could do anything with Miss Rachel. Her mother was a Balfray, you know, and their estate bordered on this one, the other end of the wood. I'll take you across if you like. Dougie, the factor, is an old crony of mine.'

As they climbed the stile, Faro had a sudden feeling of triumph. There was Vince's cottage with its apple tree, the tiny stream.

'That's it, that's it. Just as the lad described it.'

As they went closer, excitement turned to alarm. The cottage was roofless, its timbers blackened, a burnt out ruin.

As Faro stood looking at it, Dougie approached. Greeted by Tom he was introduced with: 'Mr Faro was hoping to meet Amy.'

The factor pointed to the cottage. 'She's the luckiest woman alive, old chap. She's been living with her sister in Arbroath for more than a year now.'

Faro found it difficult making polite conversation after this further coincidence of another seemingly inexplicable accident.

'What happened?' he asked.

'Burnt down couple of nights ago. Thunderstorm. Reckon it must have been hit by lightning.'