Blood Line: An Inspector Faro Mystery Read online

  Announced, Faro thought the drawing room to be empty at first glance. No doubt Sir Eric would shortly appear from the direction of his study. Meanwhile he would enjoy the photographs of modern royalty, splendid examples of that new and magical art now taking Britain by storm. There was Sir Eric with Her Majesty and members of the royal family at Balmoral Castle. Again, Sir Eric in the uniform of the Queen's Royal Company of Archers being graciously received at Holyrood Palace. A silver-framed likeness held the place of honour. It showed Her Majesty in state robes and was signed, 'To Sir Eric, a devoted servant, Victoria R.'

  'Inspector Faro?'

  He put down the photograph guiltily and swung round to find the occupant of Sir Eric's high-backed chair had stepped into the candlelight. Faro was a little taken aback to find himself face to face not with his grizzled old friend, but with a very pretty girl in her early twenties. Now laying aside the book she held, she came forward, hand outstretched to greet him.

  'How do you do? Sir Eric has been detained at Holyrood, I'm afraid, some boring royal business.'

  Her handshake was strong and more to the point, it was surprising. Did she not know that etiquette demanded that well-bred young ladies should not touch a man's hand until they were formally introduced? Who the devil was she?

  Bowing, he said, 'I'm so sorry to have inconvenienced you. I will return later. Perhaps you will tell Sir Eric when he arrives.'

  'Wait. You're surely not going?'

  'Well - yes.'

  As Faro hesitated, she said eagerly, 'If you arc not in a desperate hurry - please be my guest.' The invitation was accompanied by a winning smile.

  'He should be here directly. And now, Inspector Faro, tell me all about yourself.' At Faro's startled expression, she said, 'We are not complete strangers you know. I have heard so much about you - you are his clever policeman friend and I've been dying to meet you.'

  Faro was surprised to find her on his own eye level. An inch over six foot, he was used to looking down on most of female kind but this girl, studying him so candidly, was almost as tall as himself.

  Head on side, she continued, 'You don't look much like a detective, I must say. You look far too young - and jolly.'

  Faro's feelings were far from jollity, if truth were to be told, however he was sufficiently vain to be flattered by the definition 'young' from a girl half his age.

  'I've never met a detective, of course,' she said apologetically, 'and one gets very fixed ideas about people who are in authority. I've always imagined anyone to do with the Police Force as being quite stern and elderly.' She smiled, head on side. 'Not a bit like you. Sir Eric is always singing your praises and I'm so glad we've met at last.' And leaning forward confidentially, 'I'm terribly interested in crime.'

  Faro's eyebrows raised a little at this frank and decidedly unfeminine admission. In respectable drawing rooms such matters were restricted to behind-hand whispers since any interest in improper behaviour was considered not only unwomanly, but wanton.

  Here was a very forthright and unusual young female. And although he did not normally like tall women, finding that a certain aggressive manner went with the extra inches, this slender girl before him was most appealing. What Vince and his generation would undoubtedly call 'an absolute stunner'.

  A stunner indeed, and enchantingly pretty. Raven-black tresses coiled on top of her head sloped to a widow's peak on her brow, emphasising a heart-shaped face and eyes that in candlelight seemed golden brown. Her figure was exquisite and he was wondering where she fitted into Sir Eric's lonely bachelor life, when she suddenly trilled with laughter at his expression.

  'Oh, I am rude. Do pardon me. Of course, I should have introduced myself. I'm Lucille Haston - Sir Eric is my uncle. I've been staying in Orkney with his sister, my Aunt Maud, and I guess I bullied the poor dear to let me come to Edinburgh.'

  'You are from America?'

  The girl clasped her hands and laughed delightedly. 'Bravo, Inspector - a good try. Actually I'm Canadian backwoods and Orkney isn't much better - a peevish, dull place.'

  Faro refrained from comment. 'I hope Edinburgh is to your taste.'

  'Not so far, alas.' She sighed. 'All we do is play cards or chess or read books. We never go anywhere. Absolutely no social life, no people of my own age - except the officers of the guard and Uncle says I can't associate with them, since I'm unchaperoned - except for my maid. And who wants to go out to dinner or to a ball accompanied by one's maid? Girls in the backwoods have a little more freedom, thank heaven . . . '

  This breathless account was interrupted as the door was flung open by a uniformed maid, eyes discreetly lowered and carrying a tray.

  Lucille Haston greeted her appearance with that trilling laugh.

  'You see what I mean,' she said, and at the maid's sternly disapproving glance in the direction of this gentleman caller's boots, she sighed, 'No need to look like that, Bet. I am quite safe. Inspector Faro is a friend of Sir Eric's and he is also a policeman, so you needn't apply your eye to the keyhole any longer. I am totally in the hands of law and order and the Inspector is the very soul of propriety.'

  Bet, embarrassed by her young mistress's declaration, bobbed a curtsy and, avoiding Faro's amused glance, hurried out.

  'Refreshments, how nice. Will you take lemonade, or tea - and these biscuits are very good indeed.' At this hour of the day, Faro would have welcomed something stronger.

  He eyed the sideboard with its decanters longingly. Sir Eric was very generous with his drams.

  'I suppose you're wondering how my maid appeared with such alacrity.' And Lucille pointed to the large chimney-piece. 'Above that there is a small pantry which used to be the laird's lug in the old days,' she whispered. 'You know, the laird used to go up to his bedroom and listen in to what his guests were saying about him. Hardly the done thing, but very useful where chaperones are concerned.'

  Taking a sip of lemonade, Faro asked, 'Are your parents abroad, Miss Haston?'

  'Please call me Lucille. My parents? Both dead. In Canada - I was born there - when I was three, I can't even remember them. Uncle Eric is my guardian until I'm of age and meantime I live in Stromness with Aunt Maud, his unmarried sister. You know Stromness? Isn't it the dullest place ever?' she added.

  'On the contrary; I'm very attached to Orkney. I lived near St Margaret's Hope and I sometimes miss it - and my family there - very much.'

  'Surely not after living in divine Edinburgh all these years?' Lucille obviously regarded such an admission as incredible. 'Tell me about your family. I understand from Uncle that you're a widower. How sad - I am sorry.'

  A sound of voices in the corridor and Faro was spared an account of his life story when the door opened to admit Sir Eric. Grey-haired, large and distinguished, he bore the unmistakable air of authority, the stamp of a Court official.

  'My dear fellow, how good to see you. I trust my niece has been looking after you. What on earth is that she's given you to drink? For Heaven's sake, why didn't you ask her for a dram?'

  'I wasn't sure - '

  Lucille laughed. 'My dear fellow,' she said to Faro in a tolerable imitation of her uncle's manner, 'I know all about drams. Why, my dear Aunt Maud owns shares in the local distillery. You should have told me, silly man. You don't have to be polite with me.'

  'That's quite enough, young lady. Thank you for entertaining the Inspector in my absence, but now you may retire. Now, Lucille,' he added in a threatening tone. 'Now - meaning immediately.'

  Faro suppressed amusement for there was nothing in the least avuncular in this stern aristocrat's manner.

  'But, Uncle . . . ' protested a sadly diminished Lucille.

  'Now,' Sir Eric repeated firmly. He rose to his feet, a tall, regal, grey-haired disciplinarian. A sight to make strong men quail and more than a match for his spirited niece.

  'It's been lovely to meet you,' said Lucille weakly. 'I hope I'll see you again before I leave,' she added with a sigh.

  'Seeing that you're to
be here until the autumn, I don't see how that can be avoided,' said Sir Eric, his good nature restored. His affectionate glance was followed by a threatening gesture. 'Now, be off with you, young lady. Good night, sleep well.'

  'Good night, Uncle. Good night, Inspector.' A pretty curtsy and the door closed.

  Handing Faro a dram, Sir Eric relaxed in the chair opposite. 'Hope she wasn't being too tedious. Bit of a rattle, but a sweet child really. Have to watch her with all these soldier lads about in the Castle. Seems to have no idea what men are like - well, you know what soldiers are. Given any encouragement, it could be deuced awkward.'

  Drinking deeply, he sighed. 'We inherited her when a Vermont Haston cousin died. Time she had a husband. Her aunt's finding her a bit of a handful. Got this brilliant idea that there might be more chance of a good marriage here in Edinburgh. Perhaps when the Court comes to Holyrood. Anyway, I dare say you aren't here to talk about my niece. What can I do for you?'

  'I'm not sure, Sir Eric. There was a body found at the base of Castle Rock . . .'

  'So I've heard. Fellow trying to get into Queen Mary's apartments. Up to no good, I warrant. Expect he was disturbed, panicked and tried to make his getaway. Good Lord, nobody's climbed down Castle Rock and got away with it since the wicked Earl of Bothwell back in the 1560s. Don't make men like that any more.'

  'Have you any idea what he could have been looking for? Are there any valuables missing?'

  'No, thank God. All safely locked in their glass cases. The rest of it is memorabilia - shoes, gloves, that sort of thing. Then there's a bed with hangings Mary embroidered personally.' He laughed. 'All authentic, dating from the sixteenth century, whether they belonged to the Queen or not.'

  'I wonder if I could have a look round.'

  'By all means. But you'll be wasting your time, lad. I know every item after all these years. Naturally when I heard about the intruder, first thing I did was to have them checked. Nothing missing, nothing even disturbed, I'm told. In fact, how he hoped to get in and out again is a mystery.'

  Faro smiled and Sir Eric continued, 'Which, of course, is why you are here. Who was he, anyway?'

  'We have no idea as yet.'

  'I see. Well, you're more than welcome to have a search for any clues if you feel my men might have missed something vital. But you'll need to come back in tomorrow. Forster, who keeps the keys, is off duty, away to Haddington, I think. Returns in the morning. Now, time for a game of chess?'

  'Not tonight, I'm afraid, sir. My mother has just arrived from Orkney with Rose and Emily - '

  'Then I mustn't delay you.' With a sudden tender glance, he added, 'Compliments to your dear mother. It is far too long since we last met. Tell her I shall take the liberty of calling on her very soon.'

  'Please do, Sir Eric. She would enjoy that.'

  'You really think so?' He sounded eager. 'Such a splendid lady and one I have always held in the highest esteem.'

  There was a suppressed sigh. 'We were very close after your father's death, you know.'

  Faro did know, but not from Sir Eric. He had gathered from his mother's coy innuendoes that she might have married Sir Eric had she had the notion for a second marriage. But like her adored Queen Victoria she preferred to remain in love with the memory of a dead husband, relishing her widowhood to the full.

  'Besides,' she told her son in a moment of confidence, 'it wasn't proper at all. I know my station in life, son, and it was not to be Lady Haston-Lennard. The very idea. What would my Orkney friends think of me, giving myself airs?'

  'It's done every day in high society, Mother. Poor-born females are raised up by marriage.'

  And now he was left wondering whether Mary Faro could possibly be the reason why Sir Eric had remained a bachelor.

  'Do bring the little girls with you next time. I'd like to take them round myself. Tell them a bit of the history.'

  'They would love that. They're full of stories about Queen Mary.'

  'Good for them. I'll get my niece to go along too. Might stir her interest in the past. Our glorious history leaves her quite cold. All she cares for are pretty clothes and theatres and grand balls. Don't know what this young generation is coming to.'

  Faro didn't feel inclined to argue that some of that young generation, like his doctor stepson Vince, were a credit to Scotland's future. At the door the two men shook hands.

  'I'll expect you about ten tomorrow,' said Sir Eric.

  'Thank you for your help, sir. And I'll bring the family on some later occasion.'

  'Of course, of course. Crime and domesticity don't mix, do they?'

  Rose and Emily Faro were early risers, so too was Faro's mother - the latter somewhat surprised, on preparing to indulge her son with the special treat of a breakfast tray, to find his bed slept in, but the room empty.

  'He left the house half an hour ago, Mrs Faro,' the housekeeper told her. 'Quiet as a mouse he was. 'Spect he's gone for a constitutional. Oh yes, I'm sure he'll be back soon.'

  Even as she spoke Faro was perched precariously on the Castle Rock. The point to which he had climbed was some eight feet above the spot where the body had been found. As he conducted his minute search of the area, he kept remembering those empty pockets.

  Unless the dead man lived within walking distance, he must have had some money. And a clay pipe and tobacco in his pocket, since evidence had pointed to a smoker.

  It was the stem of a clay pipe which led him to the discovery of a large knotted handkerchief, jammed in a crevice and almost hidden by gorse. Inside he found small coins and the pipe's bowl. He had guessed right. Its mode of transport had probably been the trouser pocket, since the hand-me-down jacket was such an uncommon tight fit.

  Looking at these anonymous tokens, Faro almost missed the jewel completely. The sun, tardy in putting in an appearance, suddenly blazed forth from behind a bank of cloud. At that moment, Edinburgh's many churches, whatever their denomination, were more or less united in chiming forth the hour.

  Eight, nine. Faro sighed. The search had taken longer than he had planned. It was hardly worth returning home for breakfast. He might as well go direct to the Castle, contact Forster and begin his investigations with a thorough search of Queen Mary's apartments.

  It promised to be a glorious day, the sunlight swiftly drying the night's dewdrops in a kaleidoscope of delicate colour. Suddenly he strained forward for a closer look. This particular dewdrop was in fact the ruby and diamond glint of a jewel about three feet above his head. Weighing it in his hand, he thought about the constables' method of investigation. Doubtless they had been conscientious enough but had used little imagination. They had searched below where the man was found, not realising that as a body rolled downwards, through such an uneven terrain of rocks and gorse, items carried in pockets could well be dislodged.

  The jewel was a cameo pendant of delicate gold and enamel filigree surrounding a tiny miniature of a man in sixteenth-century apparel. The likelihood of it being 'buried treasure', lying here in this crevice for many years undiscovered, seemed very remote. The gold would have tarnished, in fact it was doubtful if that delicate filigree would have survived the passage of time.

  Faro felt certain that the piece was authentic, valuable, and had found its way down the Castle Rock very recently. Looking up at the window of Queen Mary's apartments, he was now sure that the jewel he held had been connected with the man's violent death. When he walked round the glass cases shortly, Forster would confirm that one piece was missing.

  There was a thrill of personal triumph in knowing that the mystery was beginning to unravel. In his hands he held the thread to the labyrinth, the very first clue. He was still certain that the scanty clues of the dead man's apparel pointed to his having been murdered, but why? A struggle on the heights with someone else who wanted to gain possession of the jewel? Was it that simple?

  He should know part of the answer in ten minutes' time and could almost hear Sir Eric saying, 'Yes, of course. One of our treasures, b
elonged to Queen Mary. I know it well.'

  I know it well. The imagined words repeated themselves over and over. I know it well. True, he knew little about jewellery, but what he now felt was the unmistakable sense of recognition. Just as he was certain that what he held was not a modern reproduction of an antique cameo, he was experiencing a feeling that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

  A sensation of times past. Of a happening far off but familiar too. At some other period in his life, he had held this piece in his hands. No, that could not be - one very like it. The remembrance brought with it a rush of guilt and shame. Someone had been very angry with him. His mother? Yes, his mother. No, she wasn't angry. She was upset - crying. And that made him feel terrible.

  His fist tightened over the cameo. The possessor of a phenomenal memory, he fought desperately to remember. How, when and, most important, where?

  At that moment, his glance took in a shadow moving far above him. Arms gesticulating? A large bird?

  No. A black shape - hurtling down towards him.

  He flattened himself against the rock and felt the wind of a huge dark object flying past him. A second later and it bounced, cracking, stone upon stone, past the very spot where he had been perched, to crash vibrating the railings far below.

  His sudden evasive action dislodged the heath root supporting his weight. The next moment he too was hurtling down - down, the ground coming to meet him, dazzled in morning sunshine.

  Chapter Three

  Slithering painfully against every rock, Faro's downward progress was arrested with a sickening thud as he hit the ground and his ankle twisted under him.

  He tried to stand. The pain was agonising. On hands and knees he crawled the short distance to the railings and stared helplessly through at the road with its bustling morning traffic, walkers and riders, carriages driving towards Princes Street and the West End.