The Missing Duchess Page 16

  Faro walked away thoughtfully, considering again the historian's part in this tangled web of intrigue, where no one, it seemed, spoke absolute truth about anything.

  On his way back through the grounds, he stopped by the Crusader's Tomb. Regarding that face almost obliterated by wind and weather, he laid his hand on the faint outline of the cross pattee.

  'If only you could talk, my friend.'

  Above his head, the trees were silent now. The first faint star glittered in that vast uncharted universe beyond the planet earth, far remote from the cares of mankind.

  Roma Fortescue's words regarding the Luck o' Lethie came back to him. Luck is often in the mind. What we make of the circumstances.

  Faro thought: If I were a superstitious man, I'd believe in its magic too. If its legendary powers were true, it had given unlimited power to Major Weir of the West Bow and to Bailie Lethie, who rescued it from the wizard's burning and with its help built the first Lethie Castle, ensuring prosperity for himself and his heirs. And Faro had his own reasons for acknowledging that brief magic: the strange dreams and the enchantment of those timeless sweet hours when both the Luck o' Lethie and Miss Roma Fortescue were sheltering under his roof.

  He returned to the castle and slept well in a very handsome modern bedroom, untroubled by the Luck o' Lethie and the ghosts that had haunted generations of its owners.

  Lady Lethie, who had last-minute shopping to do in Edinburgh before their departure to France, accompanied them in the carriage. Her maid sat silently at her side, giving little opportunity for any conversation other than polite trivialities.

  But Faro, glancing across at Roma Fortescue, felt that she was not engrossed by urgent pleas for advice on ribbons and lace and satin gowns. He fancied that her replies were short and distracted. Her constant frowns suggested anxious preoccupation, similar to his own, with the rail journey ahead.

  At the station, leaving the two women exchanging farewells and promises of letters to be written, Faro headed in the direction of the ticket office.

  The queue was surprisingly long and, just ahead of him, he recognised Stuart Millar and his sister Elspeth, with a porter carrying their golf clubs.

  They greeted him warmly. 'You are going to Perth too, Inspector?' said Elspeth.

  'Jut as far as Enrol.'

  They hovered politely while he purchased his tickets, and Faro wasn't at all sure that he really wanted their company at that precise moment.

  'I looked in at your house last night,' he said by way of conversation.

  Millar smiled. 'We have been away for a few days to the Borders.'

  'Staying with friends,' his sister put in eagerly. 'Trying to get in a little practice, you know.'

  'I didn't realise you were golfers,' said Faro, waving to Miss Fortescue, who hurried towards them.

  Millar laughed. 'Oh, yes, indeed. It is quite a vice of ours.'

  Greeting Miss Fortescue, Elspeth's smile was also a question. She would have liked to know a lot more about why these two were going on this particular train, and with luggage. But before she could find the right words, she and her brother were hailed by a foursome, who announced they were keeping seats.

  Faro watched them depart, and taking his companion's arm, he walked down the platform in search of an empty carriage. Many with the same idea had been there before them and they had to share a compartment, fortunate to get the two remaining seats.

  'The train is unusually full,' said Faro to the four other occupants.

  'The golf tournament, I expect. It's always very popular.'

  Faro leaned out of the window. Among those hurrying along the platform were Vince and Leslie Godwin, with Batey in tow.

  'Didn't know you were to be on this train, Stepfather. We have seats booked further along.'

  Leslie hovered, smiling, waiting to be introduced to Miss Fortescue. Faro, observing his cousin's admiring expression, did not miss his arch glance as he said: 'Never expected to find myself on a golfing expedition. Vince persuaded me to come along. All very mysterious, said there might be a story in it somewhere.' He grinned. 'A duel to the death on the greensward, or something of the sort, perhaps.'

  As the trio prepared to move on, an elderly man puffed his way along the platform.

  Sir Hedley Marsh. He did not look particularly surprised to see Miss Fortescue. Embarrassed perhaps, but not surprised.

  'Are you going to the golf too, sir?' Faro asked, guessing that was highly improbable.

  'Nothing like that. Off to see one of my relatives. Family crisis and all that sort of thing.'

  At the advent of Sir Hedley, Vince had seized Leslie's arm and with a despairing heavenward glance retreated down the train, with the Mad Bart in hot pursuit, much to Faro's amusement.

  As the journey began, Faro stared out of the window. He had a great deal to think about and he found his companion had little to contribute. Immediately the train moved out of the station, she took out a book and held it firmly on her knee. However, each time Faro glanced in her direction, she was in fact staring bleakly out of the window. And when their eyes met, she deliberately turned a page with a frown of deep concentration.

  Faro had long since decided that the book was merely a protective device against any attempt at conversation - or more important, explanations.

  He was relieved when the train drew into Errol halt.

  If only he could communicate with Vince. Then Faro's prayers were answered. A window opened further down the train and Vince leaned out and shouted a greeting.

  The words Faro was mouthing in reply were cut short when Leslie also leaned out and waved to them, and Vince, making room for him, ducked back into the carriage.

  Faro picked up Miss Fortescue's bag and regarded the departing train with considerable misgivings. He now had sufficient evidence to believe he was walking into a trap, but there was no other way of bringing the assassin into the open.

  'No train times?'

  Miss Fortescue found the absence of this information less disturbing than he did. 'Don't concern yourself about that. I expect other arrangements will be made for your return to Edinburgh. Amelie and the Royal party will have arrived by carriage from Balmoral -'

  It was a short walk across the grounds to Errol Towers, a handsome Georgian mansion worthy of the name of castle. Sir Piers Strathaird was famous as a racing enthusiast, and grazing in a field bordering the drive, several splendid horses from his stables trotted over to inspect these strangers and give them a friendly welcome.

  Roma Fortescue stopped to stroke the boldest. 'Aren't they simply beautiful?'

  But Faro's attention was drawn to the battlements. The flagpole was empty. Odd that this normal indication of the laird in residence was lacking. More significant was the lack of carriages arriving and servants darting to and fro, that characteristic atmosphere of suppressed excitement and activity one would have expected of an imminent visit from Her Majesty.

  Even more curious and disquieting, on closer examination, the lower windows were shuttered from the inside and the house looked deserted. He was relieved, however, to find the door promptly opened by the housekeeper, Mrs Ashley.

  Inviting them to step into the hall, she announced that Sir Piers was at present with Her Majesty at Balmoral.

  'The house itself,' she said, glancing over her shoulder towards open doors revealing shrouded shapes of furniture, 'is closed. The rest of the family are abroad. But the dower house across the gardens has been prepared for your visit. If you would care to follow me -'

  Across rambling gardens and twisting paths, the dower house was invisible from the main house. A Scottish castle in miniature, complete with turrets, ivy-covered walls and a rustic porch. It was also very small. Faro decided uneasily that Her Majesty was keeping strictly to her word of secrecy and informality as Mrs Ashley's tour of the premises revealed only four small bedrooms.

  Leaving his still-silent companion in one of them, he asked the housekeeper when the visitors from Balmoral we
re expected.

  Mrs Ashley gave him an odd look. I'm not quite sure what you mean, sir. I had a telegraph telling me to have the dower house in readiness for visitors from Edinburgh - Mr Faro and a lady,' she added pointedly, unable to conceal her curiosity. And when Faro did not respond, she said quickly: 'You will be well looked after, sir. There are always an adequate number of servants -'

  Faro went downstairs. The tiny house had been conscientiously prepared for their comfort. The panelled parlour was attractive with its cheerful fire, the walls adorned by antlers and sporting prints, and every available space held by stuffed animals and gamebirds in glass cases. He sniffed the air. The familiar smell of Mrs Brook's favourite beeswax was greatly in evidence, and on the highly polished floorboards, a large and ferocious-looking polar bearskin rug was further proof of Sir Piers's marksmanship.

  From the direction of the kitchen, a young and nervous maid appeared to spread the table for their luncheon.

  Cock-a-leekie soup, salmon en croute, dessert and an excellent wine.

  It was a meal worthy of Lethie Castle and Faro discovered that he was extremely hungry. He noticed that Miss Fortescue was imbibing rather freely. Her former sombre mood had vanished, to be replaced by light-hearted banter with a tendency to giggle and to remark with increasing frequency that meeting with her mistress was 'a great adventure'.

  'We have so much to talk about,' she added with a happy sigh.

  Faro did not doubt that and thought privately that he, for one, would need a great many very plausible explanations for those missing weeks. Even though he was now aware that the Grand Duchess Amelie was alive and well, such knowledge, instead of bringing reassurance, merely made the situation more sinister and bizarre.

  Roma Fortescue twirled the wine glass in her fingers as she talked eagerly about Luxoria. Her attitude reminded Faro of travellers returning home who are suddenly overwhelmed with nostalgia for dear faces and familiar places. She was even expansive about Amelie's early days before the revolution.

  Faro let her talk.

  Occasionally she paused and looked across at him, inviting exclamation or comment. These he readily supplied, his mind busy elsewhere. He did not doubt that they were in the deadliest of danger as he made careful assessment of the vulnerability of their surroundings.

  The windows were small panes of glass between wooden astragals. No one could break in that way without using an axe, nor could the windows be opened from the inside. What bothered him most, however, was that in this replica of a castle, the architect had not considered a back door necessary for the dowager lady's servants, or that the elaborate front door required more than a latch for her security. Perhaps the lack of a bolt or any means of locking the door from the inside had been considered a wise precaution for any old lady who might be infirm.

  The front door led directly into the sitting-room, an oak staircase giving access to the bedrooms above. The only entrance was also the only exit, he realised grimly.

  The maid could not have left the house without them seeing her. She should surely have appeared to clear the table. Faro had rung the bell-pull twice without success before the chiming clock interrupted his companion's soliloquy.

  'Surely they should have arrived by now?' she said anxiously.

  With no wish to alarm her, and on the excuse that the fire needed replenishing, he said: 'I'll get the maid to see if there's any message up at the house.'

  As he hurried towards the kitchen he knew now that there was unlikely to be any message from anyone. At least not one he and Miss Fortescue would wish to hear.

  He found the maid with her head resting on her arms, slumped over the kitchen table. He called to her, touched her and, for one dread moment, he thought she was dead.

  No, he mustn't let his imagination run away with him. Shaking her proved effective. Telling her: 'Go - at once. No, leave the dishes', he ushered her through the house, opened the front door carefully, and making sure the way ahead was safe for her and that she understood the message, he returned wearily to the sitting-room to find Miss Fortescue fast asleep.

  Could it have been the wine? Surely not - then he remembered that, trained as he was to avoid alcohol during work hours, he had only taken a few sips from his glass.

  'Roma,' he said to her. And then, 'Miss Fortescue.'

  Still she didn't move. He spoke to her again. This time her response was immediate. Sitting bolt upright in the chair, she opened her eyes wide, yawned.

  'I don't know when I've felt so sleepy at this hour of the day.' Yawning again, she said, 'Oh, do excuse me - I think I'll retire for a while. I was up and about very early this morning, you know.'

  The words seemed to be dragged out of her, and stifling another yawn, her eyes closed wearily and slumped back into her chair.

  Seizing the carafe on the table, Faro poured out a full glass of water, then shook her by the shoulder. 'Drink this.'

  She gave the glass a dazed look. 'I don't want any more to drink, thank you.'

  Lifting her hand, he thrust the glass into it, raised it to her lips. 'It's only water. You mustn't fall asleep just now.'

  'Oh, very well.' She took a few sips.

  'All of it,' he commanded.

  Giving him a puzzled look, she drained the glass which he seized and promptly refilled.

  'And again,' he said.

  She looked at him in horrified amazement. 'No -

  'You must believe me - you must.'

  'But why? - Oh, very well.'

  Watching her drain the glass, Faro sat down opposite her.

  'We haven't a great deal of time. It would help if you were to tell me the truth.'

  'What are you talking about? I really would like to close my eyes for a few moments, if you don't mind. You may wake me when they arrive.'

  'No one is gong to arrive. At least no one we would welcome,' he added grimly. 'Go on. Keep drinking -'

  As she did so, obediently this time, she said: 'What did you call me -1 mean, when you woke me up?' When he didn't reply she protested weakly: 'I don't understand -'

  'Oh, I think you understand very well - Your Highness.'

  Chapter 20

  Faro discovered that the truth was far more effective than glasses of water at throwing off the effects of the wine.

  'You called me - Your Highness,' she whispered.

  ‘I did.'

  'But I'm -' she began, and then: 'How did you know?' she demanded indignantly.

  'You gave the game away. You didn't respond to either Roma or Miss Fortescue, but when I called you Amelie, you woke up immediately.'

  'I'm sorry -' she began, and he cut her short.

  'I had guessed already.'

  'But how?'

  'Some day, if ever we have the time, I'll tell you. But now, Your Highness, the truth, if you please. And all of it. Rest assured our lives may depend on it.'

  She said sulkily, 'What else can I tell you, since you seem to know most of it? As Aunt Vicky's favourite god-daughter, I have a particularly privileged place. Anything I need, any help, she wrote to me, I had only to ask. I realise that the President -my husband -' She stopped and drew breath as if the word choked her. 'As he is trying to get rid of me, flight seemed the only way I could stay alive.'

  'Had you some evidence of the President's intentions?’

  'He tried to poison me,' she said, and went on hurriedly. 'Aunt Vicky could use her influence, I thought. As I told you, anything that relates to poor Uncle Albert - and we were third cousins’.

  'My absence - or escape - had to be done secretly. I didn't want my family, who have suffered enough, to be held responsible. And as the President only visits me every four weeks or so, I felt I had enough time to make the visit and return without his knowledge.'

  'Where did the Luck o' Lethie come into all this?' Faro asked, hastily banishing a suddenly vivid picture of 'Miss Fortescue' lying in his arms.

  'I had some naive idea that it might restore our good fortune.' She sighed. 'All th
at I told you about its history is true. And had it been the original, then I would have been prepared to sell it to the American millionaire. I realise I behaved foolishly -'

  'Impulsively - and in character,' Faro suggested, smiling.

  'We had one person we could trust to make the arrangements. Roma's father, Miles Fortescue. He alerted the Lethies to the purpose of our journey -'

  'So they knew who you were.'

  She shook her head. 'Not at first. Had to tell them. A nuisance. That day you came on us at the Crusader's Tomb. I was trying to persuade them not to make matters more complicated.' Pausing, she smiled at him. 'They suspected everyone - including you.’

  'Roma's father will be so relieved to know that she is safe. I have been terrified that something dreadful had happened to her. She was not at all well on the voyage, but she was determined to accompany me. Despite her doctor's orders.'

  'She was ill?'

  'Not exactly ill, but delicate. She suffered from a heart condition - brought about by a childhood attack of rheumatic fever. Despite her frail health, she must have made that incredible journey to Balmoral Castle, alone. And, on my behalf, arranged this meeting. I'll be grateful to her for the rest of my life.'

  Without suggesting that the rest of her life might not be long, Faro had now before him the melancholy business of breaking the news that the real Miss Fortescue, far from being in Balmoral, had died of a heart attack on the night of the carriage accident. Sparing her the details, he said that with no knowledge of her identity, she had been buried in Edinburgh.

  Amelie was deeply distressed. 'She was so afraid that I might be kidnapped or that somehow the President might have learned of our plan. She insisted we change clothes - and jewellery -everything by which I could be identified, on the ship. When I told her she was being ridiculous and overdramatising the situation, she just smiled and said: "Oh, they'll soon let me go when they find they've got the wrong one."'