To Kill a Queen (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.6) Page 11

  Faro nodded glumly and the Prime Minister continued, 'May I presume that you are on the track of some clues?'

  'Alas, no.'

  'A pity. A pity indeed.'

  Faro did not like to depress the Prime Minister further by telling him that the identity of the Queen's dog-slayer and the prospective assassin were undoubtedly one and the same.

  Chapter Nine

  Inspector Purdie arrived ten minutes after the Prime Minister had left. Aunt Bella, whose supplies of warm hospitality were inexhaustible, offered tea and bannocks.

  'If you would be so kind as to butter them, not too thickly, Mistress MacVae.'

  Congratulating her on her recovery, Purdie commiserated with her on the loss of her neighbour. This threatened to bring about floods of tears and Bella retreated hastily.

  'I am sorry. I did not realise—'

  'They have been friends for thirty years or more,' said Faro. 'Nessie was like one of the family.'

  Purdie sighed. 'Apart from the burned-out shell of the croft down the road, how little the place has changed since my boyhood visit. I do not remember ever meeting you then,' he added regarding Faro curiously.

  'I was in Orkney a good deal.'

  'A pity our visits never coincided. Your aunt has a remarkable memory for faces and names.'

  Faro laughed. 'So good one is never sure how much is memory and how much hearsay. The old are like that.'

  'I have thought so too. The young have more important matters to concentrate on.'

  Tibbie carried in the tray, Bella at her heels. She said, 'I'll leave you gentlemen to your tea. Perhaps you'll pour, Jeremy. That pot is difficult until you get to know it,' she added with a warning nod in his direction.

  Faro did as he was bid and Purdie tackled the modest repast with vigour and enthusiasm.

  As Faro finished his account of Lachlan's visit and his mention of the missing banknotes, Purdie showed no signs of surprise. 'They will be returned,' he said grimly. 'I have the matter in hand.'

  'Craig?'

  Purdie nodded. 'He confessed. Didn't know what came over him. He was needing money urgently, overspent on his next week's wages. Apparently the unfortunate fellow has got into debt. Not too precise about details, but when pressed he admitted to gambling for large stakes at the Crathie Inn.'

  Faro swept his excuses aside. 'This amounts to stealing, Purdie. I need not stress to you that this is a particularly serious matter.'

  'I agree and I have reprimanded him severely.' Purdie's tone was light but Faro was not convinced. For a police officer in search of evidence to appropriate banknotes or any other possessions was a matter for instant dismissal with Edinburgh City Police.

  'I have great faith in the lad,' said Purdie. 'This is the first time he has succumbed. He was hoping that in a few days he could replace the money or send it back anonymously.'

  And determined to close the subject he said firmly, 'Now to business. Did the Prime Minister's visit throw any more light on the Queen's danger?'

  Faro decided not to mention his inspection of the register in case Purdie took it amiss. 'Did you know they had an undercover man who gave them the hint about the Prince's Party?'

  Purdie nodded. 'Lessing, you mean?'

  'So it was him.'

  Purdie smiled. 'Naturally, Faro, he was sent by the Yard as soon as we realised there would be an attempt at Balmoral. I gather he found something out but had his unfortunate accident before he could be of any further use.'

  'In the circumstances can we continue to dismiss his drowning as accidental? Especially as it also sheds some light on the murdered girl.'

  Purdie helped himself to another bannock.

  'Unfortunately we will never know now whether he was recruiting her or whether she merely knew more than was good for her and was apt to be indiscreet when she had taken drink.'

  Faro considered for a moment. There is another possibility which I am sure has occurred to you.'

  'And that is?'

  'That Lessing did not drown after all. That he was swept down river and that someone was waiting for him.'

  'You mean, they hit him on the head or stabbed him—'

  And Faro found himself remembering the bloodstained skean dhu.

  '—Then he was dumped in the mill race? Is that what you are saying?' Purdie shook his head. 'Far too much of a coincidence, don't you think, that the murderer should have anticipated the accident and have been waiting his opportunity downstream—at the exact moment?'

  He dismissed Faro's theory with a shrug. 'No, Faro, I'm afraid that won't do at all. Let us not forget that the Prime Minister is inclined to exaggerate. I still maintain that Lessing drowned. However, you have succeeded in raising some uncertainties in my mind. In the circumstances a visit to the Castle would be well worthwhile.'

  'Then you will be glad to hear that I have engineered an invitation to cards this evening. My stepson will accompany me and I have been promised an opportunity to scrutinise the servants' register. Perhaps you would care to join us.'

  'Capital, Faro. As you know, I left that part of the investigation to Craig. As well as taking their statements. But now...' His sigh emphasised Craig's unreliability.

  As Purdie was leaving he thanked Bella graciously. She watched him from the window while Tibbie gathered up the tray from the parlour.

  Faro smiled. 'I don't get my bannocks buttered, Auntie,' he said teasingly. 'Nor am I allowed to eat without removing my gloves.'

  'Ah, so you noticed did you?' said Bella.

  'That he only ever takes off one glove seems curious. What is wrong with his right hand, anyway?'

  Bella held up her hand dramatically with the two middle fingers covered. 'That's what happened. On that holiday he spent with Nessie. She never forgave herself although it happened away from her cottage. He was playing with a saw.'

  She sighed. 'It was the first thing she asked him when he came to visit her that last night.' And when Faro looked puzzled, she went on, 'The man she thought was him. No wonder she said she would never have recognised him again. "How's your poor hand, Davie?" He said he had managed fine all these years. "You can get over anything, if you work at it."'

  This explanation provided another answer for Faro as the two men set off in the pony-trap later that evening. The fact that Purdie could light a pipe and keep his gloves on and his pride intact. To overcome such a handicap as a policeman and reach the height of his profession was admirable indeed.

  Vince had sent a message that he would be found at nine thirty in the Crathie Inn which put paid to his part as one of the card players. He would be disappointed at missing a visit to the Castle, thought Faro, as he and Purdie were received at the entrance.

  A liveried footman led the way through a maze of carpeted and curtained corridors bedecked in the now familiar Balmoral tartan. Black, red and lavender on a grey background, it had been designed by Prince Albert himself.

  The late Prince's influence was everywhere, from the bust crowned in laurels to the permanent evidence of the Queen's melancholy veneration of widowhood. Death was the predominant theme. Their progress was overlooked by stags' heads gazing down at them in the last glass-eyed throes of mortal conflict while Mr Landseer's paintings depicted the dying agonies of stags and rabbits, and the bloody corpses of game birds.

  The corridors were ill-lit too; Faro had imagined a more extravagant use of wax candles in a Royal residence. They followed the candelabra held high amid frequent warnings:

  'Mind the steps, gentlemen, if you please. This is a bad one. Take care now.'

  Such remarks suggested that there could be a succession of broken ankles for the unwary or the poor-sighted, conclusions echoed by Purdie's whispered, 'One needs sharp wits for the hazards of this journey.'

  At last they were ushered into the Prime Minister's study where a fire of dismal proportions did little to enhance the pervading gloom of dark oak panelling, leather sofas and, for light relief, the soundlessly snarling tiger-skin rug. />
  The Queen's secretary Henry Ponsonby rose to greet them. Faro had met him before in Edinburgh and had great respect for the General, who combined efficiency with an admirable economy of the jargon of officialdom.

  'Mr Gladstone is in audience. He sends his apologies for his absence.' He pointed to the desk. 'These are the registers you wish to inspect, gentlemen. I understand your concern is with newcomers, is that not so?'

  'It is.'

  Ponsonby opened the ledger, turned up the lamp. 'Then perhaps I might be able to save you some time. Most are footmen, casual employees taken on for service during the period of the Queen's residence. Such persons would have their credentials investigated thoroughly, of course.'

  'And if they come from beyond Deeside?' Faro indicated two addresses in Perth.

  'Then they would generally be recommended by other members of the Royal family, or other households. Such as Abergeldie, the Prince of Wales's residence.'

  Faro exchanged a glance with Purdie. To build up a dossier on servants from far afield and find out whether they were who they pretended to be would take several days.

  When he said so, General Ponsonby shook his head. 'The Queen either brings servants with her or in most cases employs tenants from the estate or Crathie. This is a small tight area, convenient on a temporary basis, so that they can return to their own homes when the Castle is closed. In some cases, you will observe, we are already into the second generation of servants from one family.'

  He ran a finger down the list and ticked off various names: son of, daughter of. 'I can personally vouch for all of these.' Then raising his head he glanced across at Faro. 'You will have to look elsewhere for your criminal, sir.'

  Faro was startled by his directness until he realised that Ponsonby presumed he was still engaged in the quest for whoever had killed the Queen's dogs.

  'What about Abergeldie Castle?' asked Purdie.

  'You mean the Prince of Wales's servants?' Ponsonby shook his head. 'That is the business of the Master of the Household. Besides, the Prince is not in residence and the Castle is empty meanwhile.'

  At the door he turned. 'The Prime Minister informs me that you wish to be included in the Queen's outing to Glen Muick. That is so? Excellent. Pray be so good as to ring the bell on the desk when you wish to leave.'

  The servants' register went back to the first Balmoral Castle. Many were retainers employed by Sir Robert Gordon who had then passed into Royal service with the new building and its illustrious owners.

  'Excellent character, trustworthy and dependable' were the usual marginal comments.

  'I think we can safely dismiss these worthy souls from among our suspects,' said Purdie.

  The list of newcomers and temporary staff did not take long to compile:

  'Morag Brodie, lower servant, recommended by Mistress Nessie Brodie, seamstress to Her Majesty. (Deceased)

  'Lachlan Brown, ghillie, recommended by Mr John Brown.'

  And 'recommended by H.R.H. Prince of Wales', four names:

  'Peter Noble, footman.

  'James Lessing, footman. (Deceased)

  'Captain Horace Tweedie, security guard.

  'Captain David Dumleigh, security guard.'

  Purdie crossed out Lessing and Brodie and indicated the footmen:

  'One dead, one to go. Or are we on the wrong track? Who would you consider the most likely, Faro?'

  'Noble has access as footman and so has Lachlan Brown as ghillie.'

  'I am inclined to add two more to my list,' said Purdie.

  'The Captains?'

  'Precisely. I consider anyone who has been in the Prince of Wales's service is worthy of careful attention and even now I am awaiting a full report from the Yard.'

  Faro studied the list. 'If we learn that the two Captains are beyond reproach, then the only newcomers are Lessing and Noble.'

  'And as Lessing is marked deceased, that leaves us with Noble.'

  Purdie shook his head. 'You are forgetting Lachlan Brown. And there is one other whose name is not on our list.' He sighed heavily. 'But that I think I will keep to myself until my enquiries bear fruit.'

  Faro thought of Craig. Had Purdie reasons of his own for suspecting his colleague? 'I trust your enquiries will not take too long. We have only three more days,' he warned.

  'Two more, to be precise,' was the grim reply as Purdie rang the bell on the desk.

  In the carriage, Faro decided that Purdie must be told about Lachlan's Scots marriage.

  The Inspector was very impressed with this information.

  'Ah, Faro, at last, the perfect motive. Perhaps this is precisely what we needed.'

  As they parted inside the Inn, he declined Faro's invitation to a dram. 'It has been a long day and I have various notes to make.'

  Watching him climb the stairs to his room, Faro hoped that he would have a chance to become better acquainted with the Inspector. His usual experience was of detectives and policemen working closely on a case, their lives often depending upon one another, yet parting afterward each with only the faintest inkling of the others' personal lives.

  In the bar Vince had just finished supper.

  Thrusting aside his plate with a sigh of satisfaction he said, 'I fancy I shall be eating here regularly. Hospital food.' He grimaced. 'Reminds me too much of medical school. I do miss good cooking. Having been thoroughly spoiled by our Mrs Brook, I was expecting more of the same from Great-aunt.'

  And accepting the dram Faro set before him, he asked, 'Now, what news?'

  Faro outlined the events of the day, his visits from Lachlan and from Mr Gladstone, ending with the visit to the Castle. Considering the list, Vince said:

  'I wonder about the footman drowned in the Dee. By the way, I wandered down to the kirkyard, saw his grave and Morag Brodie's. Thought it might inspire me with some splendid deduction and enlightenment. It didn't. Only to consider how ironic that the girl who was with him had survived only a few days, to be murdered. And that John Brown would not take kindly to his lad being under suspicion of murder.'

  Indeed, no. How would he be able to face the Queen again? Betrayal from within—'

  'What are you hinting at? You surely don't think John Brown—'

  Faro laughed. 'Heavens no. Brown in a plot to kill the Queen? That is beyond belief. Especially as Bertie has no love for his mother's favourite servant. Can you see the Prince's Party approaching him with such a proposition?'

  'Not by any stretch of the imagination.'

  Then Faro remembered wryly that it was usually those who were beyond his stepson's stretch of imagination who had proved to be guilty in past cases.

  'Do I detect you have a certain reluctance to consider Lachlan's guilt, Stepfather? Two hundred and fifty pounds per year to go through a form of marriage valid only in Scotland smells fishy to me. And that five hundred pounds could have been the pay-off from the Prince's Party for getting rid of the girl and Lessing. Surely Lachlan's presence at the drowning episode is highly significant? I am suggesting that he might well have engineered the whole incident. Stepfather.'

  He paused, then with a disappointed shrug, said, 'You don't look very convinced.'

  'I'm not. Not certain sure as I would wish to be. As I have to be on my own cases when I am in at the beginning and have viewed the bodies myself and studied their relation to the scene of the crime. There are raw edges here that nag. My instincts tell me that there is some vital factor missing.'

  'At least we can rely on Inspector Purdie,' said Vince.

  'True. But he was not here when it happened either. I have the strongest feeling that the motives are all too obvious and that far from apprehending the murderer, the Inspector is merely at the entrance to the labyrinth. At present I am convinced of only one thing.'

  'And that is?'

  'Morag Brodie's murder is linked, somehow, with an attempt to be made on the Queen's life. And we have only two days left, lad. Two days to avert a national catastrophe.'

  As they parted
, Vince announced that Dr Elgin, knowing that Faro's short stay in Easter Balmoral was drawing to an end, had freed him from duties until midday, after the early morning ward round.

  'I was thinking we might take a drive up to Bush Farm,' said Faro collecting him at eight. Steady trotted along happily through roads dappled with sunlight. The hint of autumn touching the treetops with gold was dazzling in its perfection and difficult to reconcile with thoughts of sudden violent death.

  As they reached Bush Farm, John Brown was emerging from the gate. Flustered and bleary-eyed, he was in that condition the Queen was pleased to call 'bashful'. More accurately, he was still suffering from the effects of a heavy night's drinking.

  Rumour had it that the Queen quite often participated in such an activity and could match him dram for dram. But no one really believed that.

  'Lachlan?' he said in answer to Faro's question. 'He's awa'.'

  Vince's look of alarm indicated that Lachlan, guilty, might have taken flight.

  'Away where?' asked Faro politely.

  'Away courtin'—mebbe. I dinna ken,' Brown grumbled.

  'Courting?'

  'Aye, that's what I said. I dinna ken where. That's a man's business and I dinna question him. If he wants me to know, then he'll tell me.'

  'Mr Brown,' said Faro. 'This information might be vital.'

  At Brown's suspicious stare, he hesitated only a moment and then plunged on. 'The Queen's safety may be at risk.'

  Brown looked astonished. 'Ye're no implying—'

  'What I'm implying is that the Queen, and your lad Lachlan, may be in danger.'

  Vince's admiring glance in his stepfather's direction said plain as words: Well, that's one way of convincing Brown to tell all.

  John Brown shook his head vigorously in a valiant effort to gather together his thoughts. 'I dinna believe ye. No one would touch the Queen here. It's havers, man, havers.'

  His laugh though scornful was not quite convincing. 'As for the laddie, he's awa' into Ballater. There's a lady he's acquainted with.'

  'You've met her?'

  'Once. She stayed a night at the farm here. Two-three years ago.'