Deadly Beloved (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.3) Page 2

  "Very." And aware of the old man's frowning glances in Vince's direction: "Let me introduce you to my stepson, Dr Vincent Laurie."

  Faro suppressed a smile. He detected a certain distaste as the fastidious young doctor took the extended and none-too-clean hand.

  "From these parts, are you, young fella?"

  "I've lived in Edinburgh for most of my life, sir."

  Sir Hedley frowned. "We've met before, of course. What kind of a doctor are you?"

  Vince was saved a reply as Mabel Kellar ushered the young widow towards them. "Now, Uncle, you can talk as much as you like at dinner. I want dear Vince to talk to my dearest friend and companion, Mrs Eveline Shaw."

  Not a poor relative after all, thought Faro, observing Mrs Kellar watching benignly as Vince and Mrs Shaw shook hands.

  "The Superintendent is waiting to meet you, Uncle Hedley," said Kellar and led the old man, glowering ferociously, in the direction of the waiting McIntoshes. Turning, he addressed Mrs Kellar: "I take it that dinner is ready? Will you lead the way?"

  Formal etiquette demanded that Dr Kellar lead in Mrs McIntosh; the Superintendent took in Mrs Shaw and as Sir Hedley was intent on questioning Vince rather loudly, Faro brought up the rear, offering Mrs Kellar his arm.

  "You will be nice to Uncle Hedley, won't you?" she whispered.

  "I will, indeed. You are to be congratulated on getting him out of Solomon's Tower. Quite extraordinary."

  Mrs Kellar laughed. "Don't I know it! But as I said, I have you to thank — and the Superintendent."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes, he is absolutely fascinated by crime. He's a great admirer of yours. And so am I, Inspector. I have heard so much about you from dear Vince. You have such kind eyes. You don't look at all like a policeman."

  Faro intercepted the long glance over a fluttering fan, a look that in any other woman he would have considered highly coquettish. Embarrassed, he chuckled: "Indeed? I don't know quite how to answer that one, ma'am. What, pray, do policeman look like? 'If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?'"

  Mrs Kellar did not acknowledge his smiling glance. She was staring straight ahead, white-faced, her expression one of sudden terror.

  "Ma'am?" said Faro gently.

  The fan had closed and was clutched tightly between white-knuckled fists.

  "Ma'am?" he repeated gently, ushering her towards the table.

  Suddenly aware of him, the fan fluttered free again and she laughed.

  "Dear Vince told me of your passion for Shakespeare. Did you see Sir Henry Irving in The Merchant?"

  "I did indeed."

  "Are we not very privileged to have his annual visit to Edinburgh? We never miss a performance."

  Acutely aware as he was of changes in atmosphere. Faro had sensed a dangerous moment, and wondered upon whom that dark glance had fallen. Now as he seated her at the table, she tapped him on the wrist.

  "Not ma'am, Inspector. You must please call me Mabel — as your dear Vince does. For I hope we are also to be friends."

  On the other side of the table Vince suppressed a smile, conscious of the admiring glances of both Mabel Kellar and Eveline Shaw in his stepfather's direction.

  Faro, so shrewd and observant, could never see himself as he appeared to others, thought Vince, especially to the ladies — certainly not as a sober widower approaching forty and therefore to be dismissed as thoroughly ineligible. True, his interest in dress was negligible, but despite his declaration that the only function of clothes was a decent covering for nakedness, he managed by instinct to choose the right thing to wear.

  Examining his stepfather feature by feature, Vince noted the heavy silver-gilt hair and the wide-set dark blue eyes of the psychic. They didn't look at you, but right into you as if they read a fellow's very soul, a fact which many a criminal had found disconcerting. True, his nose was rather long and his lips were thinner than made for beauty but that was out of the habit of pressing them together in contemplation rather than their natural shape.

  He had inherited good looks and a splendid physique from his Orkney ancestors, but there the resemblance to those fierce warriors ended. Vince, from the threshold of youth, had long guessed the secret of the Inspector's attraction to the opposite sex: an irresistible combination of those qualities which appealed to women, strength and reliability with that most disarming of manly features, a gentle smile and a compassionate heart. Here was a strong man who could also cry and was not ashamed of his tears.

  Vince's attention was distracted from his stepfather as Dr Kellar poured the wine and Mrs Kellar excused herself.

  "Mabel," bellowed her husband from the other end of the table. "Mabel, where are you going now?"

  "Just to the kitchen, my love. To look at the oven."

  "Can't Flynn take care of that?"

  "I've told you, dearest, she's most unwell." And to the guests she fluttered nervous hands. "The poor creature. She has such a cruel toothache. You saw her, didn't you? Her face all swollen?"

  The guests murmured sympathetically and Mrs Kellar continued: "I couldn't possibly ask her to prepare dinner, swooning with agony."

  "Go on then, woman, but hurry up," was Kellar's ungracious dismissal. And as the door closed, "I must apologise. My wife is too indulgent. She thrives on waifs and strays."

  Sir Hedley squeezed Faro's arm and whispered hoarsely, "He means me. Doesn't like me much. Came for Mabel's sake."

  But Faro observed that the barb had also been intended for another guest, as he caught Dr Kellar's hooded glance in the direction of Mrs Shaw, who studied her plate intently.

  The food served failed to come up to Vince's hints of excellence; it was uninspired, insipid and disappointing to both men used as they were to their housekeeper Mrs Brook's abundant and excellent cooking.

  Faro could, however, sympathise more than most with Mrs Flynn's problem. He knew all about the agonies of toothache since he frequently cornered desperate and violent criminals and disarmed them of deadly weapons with considerably more aplomb than he ever faced a dental surgeon's chair.

  Considering the housekeeper's malady which necessitated their hostess's frequent excursion below stairs to give 'a hand', Faro, a kind and sympathetic employer himself, would have readily overlooked tepid soup and the long delays between courses, had the wine — even Dr Kellar's somewhat substandard table wine — continued to flow in agreeable abundance.

  After a longer wait than usual, during which the guests, and Sir Hedley in particular, with much clearing of the throat stared meaningfully into empty glasses, Mrs Kellar reappeared looking warm and flustered, bearing before her a serving dish from which blue smoke issued forth.

  Dr Kellar sniffed the air and, it seemed in retrospect to Faro, looked up quite murderously from the task of sharpening his carving knives, an action which he had carried out with the pride and expertise to be expected of a brilliant surgeon. Later Faro was to wish he had paid a little more attention to those knives, one of which went a-missing and whose reappearance in sinister and dramatic circumstances was to play a vital part in the murder evidence.

  Overcome with rage, Dr Kellar had shouted, "This is an outrage — and I hold you directly responsible, Mabel. We seldom have guests to dinner these days and when we do, I expect perfection. Perfection, do you hear, madam? Intolerable food and intolerable serving, a housekeeper who cannot even cook a decent meal! This is an unforgivable insult to our guests — "

  "Her references were quite excellent, my dear, you read them yourself and approved," Mrs Kellar interrupted defensively. "Please be patient, she has such dreadful toothache, in awful agonies."

  "Then she must see a dental surgeon and have it extracted."

  A delicate shudder passed round the table. Faro was not alone in his cowardice.

  "Yes, have it ripped out," Kellar continued, "But not on my time," he roared, thumping the table. "I have had quite enough o
f her. Enough. I do not pay domestics to indulge themselves with petty indispositions. You are to give her a week's notice immediately. Do you hear, woman, one week's notice."

  "But what are we to do?" wailed Mrs Kellar. "We cannot be left without help in the house."

  "Then set about finding a replacement."

  "Please be reasonable, my love. I cannot possibly find anyone in a week."

  "One week," thundered Kellar. "You have one week. And that is my last word on the subject, madam."

  "As you wish, my love."

  In the heavy silence that followed, Mrs Kellar's sniffs indicated barely suppressed tears while the guests did their best to avoid each other's eyes. They concentrated in a half-hearted way on staring ahead at nothing in particular, resisting at all costs a curious or speculative glance in the direction of the ruined roast, still smouldering like a burnt offering on the centre of the table.

  "And where is our maid this evening?" demanded Dr Kellar.

  "You allowed Ina home for the weekend. Don't you remember, my dear — that is our usual procedure." Mrs Kellar looked round the table, her helpless gesture begging affirmation and approval.

  "Hrmmph," growled Dr Kellar, his indignant shake of the head indicating that this generous impulse had been ungratefully reciprocated.

  Emboldened, Mrs Kellar went on: "And might I remind you, my dear, that the necessity for acquiring a new housekeeper need never have arisen, had you not given Mrs Freeman notice." Again she appealed to the guests: "Mrs Freeman's services gave no cause for complaint, an admirable housekeeper in every way."

  "A self-opinionated fool," sneered Kellar. "And rude. Damnably rude."

  "You forget, my love, that she had looked after this house for nearly thirty years and regarded it as her own."

  "Hrmmph. Small disagreement, that was all. Ungrateful wretch left in a huff without working her notice. No character need she expect from me, nor this new one either. You may tell her that, as a parting gift." Kellar's sneer as he continued to flourish the carving knife now assumed sinister and monstrous significance.

  Faro shrugged aside such imaginings. A ruined meal, problems with the servants, were hardly just cause and impediment for murdering one's spouse. If that were the case, then the daily press would have no news of anything else but domestic crimes.

  The dessert, an apple tart also somewhat charred about the edges, was served plus a Scotch trifle sadly lacking in sherry as its main flavouring.

  There was a momentary revival of cheerful spirits around the table as the guests noted the appearance of the port decanter.

  Faro declined the cheese and concentrated on trying to attract Vince's attention, wondering how soon they could decently and discreetly excuse themselves. His hopes sank when Mabel announced: "Our dear friend Mrs Shaw has been prevailed upon to play for us very shortly. She is an excellent performer," she added reassuringly.

  As there was no possibility of bringing the evening to a close. Faro considered his host dispassionately. Dr Kellar was a snob and worse., a pompous parsimonious bore whose choice of conversation seemed limited to promoting his own importance to the Edinburgh City Police with the addition of graphic descriptions relating to his dissections of interesting cadavers of criminals past and present. The mere flicker of an eyelid from Vince indicated to Faro that they were in agreement about the suitability of this topic for light dinner-table conversation.

  Despite Vince's high commendation of their hostess, none of her sterling qualities was evident and Mabel Kellar was soon to retreat into a blurred memory, a well-meaning bungling nonentity, her sole virtues being to suffer incompetent servants gladly and acquiring waifs and strays.

  When she wasn't scuttling back and forth to the kitchen. Faro observed that her attentions were devoted almost exclusively to Vince and Eveline Shaw. Her colour grew more hectic as she beamed upon them, pressing the young woman's hand affectionately or patting her cheek with her fan. The specially-invited Uncle Hedley, sitting next to Vince, was being studiously ignored by that young man, intent upon discussing with his hostess his imminent trip to Vienna.

  On Sir Hedley's other side, Superintendent McIntosh was enthusiastically following his host's dismemberment of cadavers while the Mad Bart looked bewildered and very glum indeed. Faro, after a few vain attempts to engage him in conversation across the wide table, gave up and regarded the scene thoughtfully.

  Again he was struck by the ill-chosen assortment of dinner guests, puzzled by the reason for his inclusion. This first social invitation to the police surgeon's house was flattering but obscure, since they had little to say to one another, and before tonight he would have considered that their dislike was mutual.

  He turned his attention to Vince and Eveline Shaw, clucked over in a nervous mother-hen fashion by Mabel Kellar. The thought sprang to his mind unbidden: had this dinner party been carefully planned as an occasion for matchmaking between the dearest friend and companion and his young stepson who was Mabel's confidant? Was that why the pleasure of his company had been required, to give approval and blessing? The thought was firmly rooted in reality, for matchmaking was the main creative hobby of Edinburgh matrons in Mabel Kellar's stratum of society. Faro imagined that just such a scene might be encountered at other Edinburgh dinner tables this evening, presided over by many an anxious mama, desperate to find a husband for a daughter no longer young, and whose face had never been her fortune.

  As for Eveline Shaw herself, oblivious and indifferent to being the centre of her hostess's adulation, her attitude was one of sadness and patient bewilderment. She stared at her plate and spoke little apart from accepting or declining the food offered, her mourning dress serving only to enhance that young and lovely face.

  Faro shook his head. No. Mrs Shaw wouldn't do at all for Vince. Small wonder he preferred his hostess. But what could have united these two women, so dissimilar, in friendship? The young widow, stricken and lost in the lachrymose stage of early bereavement, appeared to be scarcely older than Vince. Faro guessed that she had not been married long and was no doubt still deeply in love with her dead husband.

  He knew all about losing one's beloved partner and sympathised silently with the countenance frozen in unhappiness across the table. Her expression suggested that she longed for the solitude of her own home, to be alone with her melancholy thoughts. Her silence and lack of spontaneity told a tale of bitter regret at having been persuaded to accept Mabel Kellar's thinly veiled invitation, and all its implications, to be jolly and meet 'the nice young doctor'.

  Was her 'dearest friend and companion's' refusal to cooperate in the matchmaking activity, the plan that had gone awry, the reason for Mrs Kellar's distraught appearance? There was more in it than that. Faro had observed the fleeting glance of terror displayed earlier by Mrs Kellar. Mrs Shaw was also afraid.

  Faro was to remember the significance of that moment when he endeavoured to deduce the sinister elements and motives lurking behind the masks worn by the guests at that very dull and chaotic dinner party.

  His attention was drawn repeatedly to Sir Hedley. He was not frightened but certainly appeared ill-at-ease. His attempts to engage Vince or the Superintendent in conversation had been rather discourteously ignored. What was his reason for being included? Surely more than an obligation to his niece and a fascination with crime had been required to persuade him out of that hermit's shell in Solomon's Tower?

  Had he been invited out of thoughtful concern or simply to make up the sitting? Whatever the reason, the old man must have been concluding that it was all a dismal failure, thought Faro, turning his attention to Superintendent McIntosh.

  A toady of the worst possible kind, McIntosh hung on every word Kellar uttered.

  "A little bird tells me that there is a knighthood in the offing, Doctor. Let me be the first to offer my congratulations."

  Faro shuddered. Coyness sat ill upon the Superintendent's fleshy shoulders and Kellar's attempt at modest indifference also failed. He beamed.


  "That is so. Word has newly reached me. But in the utmost confidence." He put a finger to his lips. "Not a word. I know I can rely on your discretion, Superintendent. Not one word."

  "You may rely on me utterly. Doctor. Utterly."

  Faro suppressed a smile. The forthcoming knighthood was common knowledge and he suspected that every policeman walking the High Street in Edinburgh was betting on its probability.

  "How absolutely thrilling., Doctor Kellar," put in Mrs McIntosh. "And such an honour for your dear wife too."

  The dear wife alerted, looked momentarily more distraught as Mrs McIntosh endeavoured to gain her attention.

  Faro had early decided that for Mrs McIntosh the evening would be memorable as a social triumph. True, she did not inhabit the same intellectual plane as her host but she shared his abominable snobbery, and was rosy with delight at finding herself dining with a Title and a Knight-To-Be. Her gushing attempts to converse with Sir Hedley had not met with much success, as the latter apparently failed to hear, or was deaf to the shrill remarks directed toward him.

  Mrs McIntosh was two inches under five feet tall but she made up for her small stature by a massive temper, and her angry glances boded ill for her spouse who had twice interrupted her flow of eloquence on the one subject dear to her heart.

  She understood, oh, how she understood and sympathised with dear Dr Kellar's outburst of passion on the subject of new housekeepers. She knew, oh, how she knew all about domestics and how hard they were to come by. And oh dear me, such low creatures they were these days, one would imagine they would be grateful for the chance to shelter under the same roof as their betters.

  "You cannot get a good girl, a really good girl, cheap to live in anywhere these days. They actually demand wages in return for bed and board. Do you not find it so, Sir Hedley?"

  The Mad Bart's eyes swivelled nervously in the direction of Vince and Mabel Kellar. With an exasperated sigh Mrs McIntosh turned to Faro. "Now you must agree with me, Inspector. Servants must be of crucial importance for the smooth running of an Inspector's household."

  "I give the matter little attention, madam," said Faro coldly.