Deadly Beloved (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.3) Read online

  If Kellar suffered from a sense of humour, then it was of the macabre variety. He allocated to students with the weakest stomachs the most gruesome tasks related to the human corpse, relishing their discomfort and distress.

  Faro left the horse-drawn omnibus which took him part of the way. It was a freezing day, and he walked rapidly in the direction of the police surgeon's house in the Grange. The snow by the roadside had melted and refrozen several times during the last week. It lay grey and pitted and his boots slipped ominously as he tried to avoid every passing vehicle which threw up a fountain of disagreeable brown slush.

  The drive down to the Kellar house was hardly less hazardous under foot but mercifully without any traffic. At this hour servants should have been busily engaged in their household tasks but ten minutes later, as he waited on the front steps and the bell pealed through the house unattended, he wondered if his errand had been in vain.

  His third summons brought forth a tiny housemaid who looked all of twelve years old, frail and undernourished, with what his Orkney mother called 'not a picking on her bones' and the hugest palest eyes he had ever seen.

  "Detective Inspector Faro, to see Mrs Flynn, if you please."

  The girl's eyes grew wider, almost colourless, the pupils reduced to tiny black points. She regarded him with apprehension and he felt a desperate need to put this frightened child at her ease.

  He gave her a warm and friendly smile. "What's your name, lass?"

  "Ina, sir." The words were whispered with a slight shuddering movement away from him, as if the response to her name encouraged a violent reaction. She would see if Mrs Flynn was in.

  Pitifully thin and frail, in a skirt several sizes too large for her, she seemed to float rather than scuttle across the hall to disappear in the direction of the downstairs kitchen. Her extreme youth was in keeping with Kellar's policy of employing child labour since it was cheap, thought Faro grimly. It was a disgrace. Thank God there were women like Mrs Kellar with her kind heart who allowed such lasses the privilege of returning to their homes at weekends.

  Ina reappeared promptly and this time remembered to bob a respectful curtsey to the gentleman. "Mrs Flynn will see you directly, sir."

  He followed her across the handsome panelled hall lit by many Gothic windows where a door disguised as an antique cupboard gave access down a steep flight of stairs into a gloomy basement, whose only light seemed to be reflected from whitewashed stone walls. Cold as the day was outside, he suspected sunshine seldom penetrated these dank nether regions.What a contrast from the handsome house above. These dismal stone-flagged floors and rough-hewn walled quarters, with every window barred, gave the illusion less of a house than a prison.

  Faro knew all about such matters from Lizzie. She had told him that the reason for the barred windows was not only to keep intruders out, but equally important, to keep skittish and flighty maids and their followers from making easy exits and entrances at all hours. Once the master or the trusted housekeeper bearing her iron ring of keys had secured and bolted the doors at ten thirty each night, the servants were virtually prisoners until next day. Morning roll-call, as breakfast prayers were called in large houses, for those who had found themselves locked out the night before, brought retribution in the form of instant dismissal. For a servant girl innocently delayed, perhaps by visiting a sick relative, the future was bleak indeed, unless she was pretty enough to be taken on without references. If she was plain and had dependants, often the only answer to starvation was prostitution. Manservants fared somewhat better. In the ever-growing labouring class, cheap work and strong bodies were called for and no questions asked or references required.

  Faro was not altogether surprised to find the housekeeper installed in a room poorly furnished and lit by the stumps of two feeble candles. She poked a few miserable coals into a lot of smoke without attendant fire and apologised that her bag of coal was finished. She was not due another until next week. Her bulky frame huddled in a thick shawl, the inevitable scarf about her neck, she grumbled hoarsely.

  "If the mistress had been here she would have seen me right. But it's no good asking him. I keep out of his way as much as I can."

  Faro could well believe it as he nodded sympathetically and edged his chair closer to the fireplace. Really, the atmosphere was colder here indoors than it was outside, for this basement added a clammy dampness to the chill. He would have thought twice about keeping a pet dog or the Sheridan Place cat Rusty in such conditions and felt a surge of righteous indignation towards Kellar whose meanness bordered on cruelty to his servants.

  Mrs Flynn managed to lower her chin back into the warm protection of the scarf —

  "I trust your toothache — " Faro began.

  "Better, sir. The gumboil burst. Only I got this awful sore throat," she said, patting the scarf "Hurts to talk."

  "I'm sorry. Shall I come back?"

  "No, no. I'll manage. Is it something urgent — about the mistress?" she asked eagerly.

  "I wondered if you could help us with our enquiries, if you had any ideas where she might have gone. You know, friends and so forth."

  Mrs Flynn shook her head. "She's left him. I'm sure of that."

  "So one would suppose."

  "Run away from him, that's what. And about time. And good luck to her. That's what I say," she added defiantly.

  "Yes, Mrs Flynn, but this is just speculation. Unless you have any proof? Did she tell you, or give any hint, that running away was her intention?"

  "I'm not sure what you mean, sir?"

  "Well, did she indicate that she might be gone for some time?"

  "No."

  "She didn't leave you any instructions?"

  "No, sir."

  "Wasn't that rather odd?"

  "She probably didn't think it was worthwhile as I'm working my notice." Mrs Flynn thought for a moment and then added, "But I knew something was wrong. I saw how upset she was the night before, helping me in the kitchen. I tried not to notice, but she was crying her eyes out, the poor love."

  "Are you a married woman, Mrs Flynn?"

  "A widow. For more than twenty years. I see what you're getting at, Inspector. All married folks quarrel a bit and don't I know it, as a housekeeper." She laughed harshly. "But Mrs Kellar was different. She doted on the master, anyone could see that with half an eye."

  She let this information sink in for a moment and then added, "Besides she must have run away, otherwise she would have been at North Berwick, wouldn't she?"

  "What happened exactly that last morning?"

  "Ina came in early and took the wire from the mistress to the post office."

  "Did you see it?"

  "Oh yes. It said, 'Arriving today off 12.45 train from Edinburgh.' I was making soup when the mistress shouted down that she was leaving. When I came upstairs, I saw the doctor handing her into the carriage."

  Mrs Flynn paused to lean over and retrieve a coal from the feeble fire. "I opened the door and overheard a bit of an argument. It was snowing quite hard and he was shouting at her: 'Get in. Get in, woman. I'll take you there, the blasted station or all the way, if I have to'."

  "You're quite sure that's what he said?"

  "I'd swear to it in a court of law, Inspector," said Mrs Flynn firmly. "The blasted station or all the way," she repeated, watching Faro make a note of the words.

  "So he was driving her himself. No coachman?"

  Mrs Flynn chuckled. "There was not. Him? Waste money on a coachman? Oh, I hear that he sometimes gets a fellow from the hiring place down the road, but only for special occasions. Says he likes driving himself."

  "When did you see the doctor again that day?"

  Mrs Flynn frowned. "I didn't, sir."

  "He didn't return directly from the station?"

  "I'm not sure but I don't think so."

  "What about meals? Didn't you serve him supper?"

  The housekeeper shook her head. "No, he hadn't left any note on the hall table that morning.
That's the usual procedure. We have strict instructions, if there's no note saying what he wants to eat, then we are to presume he wishes to remain undisturbed or he's dining at his club."

  "When did you see him again, then?"

  "Not until later that week at supper time. I can't remember which day it was."

  "He didn't seem anxious or upset in any way by Mrs Kellar's absence?"

  "Of course not. Why should he? He had no idea that she had gone for good until he opened that letter from her sister."

  "And then, how did he behave?"

  "Behave, sir?" Mrs Flynn thought for a moment. "I didn't see him reading it. He just rang the bell for me and when I went upstairs he was sitting with a letter in his hand. 'I have to go to North Berwick immediately.' That was all he said."

  "Did he look shocked?"

  "I couldn't say, sir. He had his back to me. Never looks at us, or speaks to us directly, if it can be avoided. So I guessed something serious had happened. I asked him if the mistress was ill and he snapped my head off 'None of your business, Flynn.' I asked him if he was going to be away long, and reminded him that I was working my notice and would be leaving on Saturday. He said, did I have a situation to go to, and when I said no, he said then I'd better stay on meantime until the mistress came back."

  The housekeeper leaned back in her chair and sighed deeply, as if exhausted by the toll of this lengthy explanation on her sore throat.

  Faro got to his feet. "Thank you, Mrs Flynn, you have been most helpful. I wonder if I might ask you one other favour."

  Mrs Flynn stirred from her reverie. "Yes, sir, of course."

  "You saw Mrs Kellar leaving? Did she take much luggage?"

  "A leather travelling bag. Smallish. I carried it downstairs."

  "Did you help her pack?"

  "No, I'm not a personal maid, sir. She wouldn't expect me to do that for her, although I did repair a petticoat hem that was torn, as an obligement."

  "What was she wearing, by the way?"

  "Her lovely fur cloak, sable or something like that. Black with a shoulder cape. And a dark green costume with brown braid, a cream-coloured silk blouse. Looked a picture, she did. Is there anything else, sir?"

  "I wonder if I could have a look at her room."

  "Her room, sir. Which one would you be meaning? Him and her both had their own bedrooms."

  "I'd like to see the room she occupied."

  "I don't see why not. Ina will show you."

  The housekeeper rang the handbell on her table and Faro asked, "By the way, could you let me have a list of any callers Mrs Kellar received during the days before she left?"

  "Callers?" Mrs Flynn frowned. "You mean tradesmen and the like?"

  "I was thinking of more personal callers."

  Mrs Flynn gave a throaty chuckle. "Oh, you mean gentleman callers and such, do you, Inspector?"

  Faro tried to look nonchalant. "Something like that."

  "Only the young doctor, him that works for the master. He was with you at the dinner party. He calls on Mrs Kellar quite regularly. He looked in as she was packing. Went upstairs and stayed for ... " Mrs Flynn paused and thought, "for twenty minutes or so. I expect his address will be in her book up on the writing desk, if you want it."

  She obviously had no idea that Vince was his stepson. A tap on the door announced Ina and, turning to leave, Faro said, "One thing more, Mrs Flynn. Is there anything missing from the house that Mrs Kellar might have taken with her besides her personal possessions?"

  Mrs Flynn gave him a puzzled look. "I couldn't say, sir. I'm new to this house. It takes years to get to know one well."

  "Well, if you hear of anything missing, you will let me know."

  Glad to be out of the housekeeper's gloomy uncomfortable sitting-room, Faro thanked her for her help and followed Ina along the chilly corridor and into the hall, to gratefully breathe in the purer air of the house's upper regions.

  As they climbed the stairs, he asked, "Did you assist the mistress to pack?"

  "No, sir. She didn't ask."

  Ina opened the door into a bedroom expensively furnished, but apart from the silver brushes, jewel box and toilette set on the dressing table, there were fewer mementoes than Faro would have expected to see. This characterless room gave no hints about Mrs Kellar's personality, but he realised that he could hardly, with decorum and in the presence of the maid, conduct a careful search of wardrobe and chest of drawers.

  "Do you come into this room every day?"

  "Yes, sir. I make up the bed and clear the ashes from the fire, re-lay it. I empty the slops and dust ..."

  "Good. Then you can tell me if anything has been moved since Mrs Kellar left."

  "Nothing, sir. Mrs Kellar is a very neat tidy lady, very thoughtful for everyone."

  "She didn't have a personal maid?"

  "Oh no, sir. The master didn't think such expense was justified and Mrs Flynn told me that when the mistress's maid who had been with her for years took sick and left he said a housekeeper and a maid should be enough."

  "Do you happen to know where Mrs Kellar's maid lives?"

  "She died last year and Mrs Kellar went to her funeral. Such a kind lady, if it wasn't for her, he'd never get anyone to stay. Look at Mrs Flynn. She's only staying on as a favour — he had to fair beg her, I'll bet. And now she's working her notice, so to speak, she's very hoity-toity."

  Suspecting compassion from this nice policeman, Ina was no longer bashful or afraid. "She does as little as possible, I can tell you. Says she's poorly with her toothache and her sore throat, gives me my orders, prepares the doctor's dinner and then retires to her room ..."

  Only half-listening to this tirade against Mrs Flynn, Faro was surveying the room very carefully, making mental pictures of the contents. When he left he would be able to write out an exact list of everything it contained. That was part of his job.

  The writing desk by the window was a handsome davenport. He opened the lid and a cursory glance revealed the usual stationery and pens. There was no address book in evidence. It might have been pushed into a drawer but, in all probability, Mrs Kellar had taken it with her.

  Looking around, he concluded there was not the slightest indication in this peaceful, strangely impersonal room that Mabel Kellar had intended anything other than to spend a few days visiting her sister.

  Where was she then? What had he overlooked?

  His attention kept returning to that dressing table. He touched the silver brushes with a strange feeling that there was a lot more in Mabel Kellar's disappearance than he had first thought. Now he wondered whether the answer lay deeper and wider than a long-suffering wife teaching her ungrateful husband a lesson by leaving him to the tender mercies of incompetent servants.

  "Will that be all, sir?"

  Faro nodded and followed the maid on to the landing. He pointed to the drawing-room: "May I?"

  Crossing the floor, he opened the double doors leading into the dining-room. Sterile without the softening effects of candlelight, an atmosphere of melancholy pervaded the long table with chairs devoid of diners. He was not surprised to hear that Dr Kellar did not have his meals there.

  "When the mistress isn't at home, he eats in his study across the way."

  Faro strode towards the study door. At present, Kellar's wife was merely missing from home and he had merely requested exhaustive enquiries to be made. He could imagine the doctor's righteous indignation, which would surely rebound on Detective Inspector Faro's head personally, should he return home unexpectedly. But the opportunity was too good to miss.

  "Oh sir, you can't go in there. No one's allowed. He always keeps it locked."

  A pity. Kellar's study could well be the only room in the house where confidential information as to why his wife had left him might be found. But without authority, Faro was treading on very delicate ground. And without positive evidence that a crime had been committed he could hardly proceed to search the police surgeon's house.

  "No m
atter. You have been most helpful, Ina."

  At the top of the stairs, the maid paused. "There is something, sir." Again she hesitated. "I overheard you asking Mrs Flynn if there was anything missing."

  "Well, is there?"

  Ina played nervously with the starched edge of her apron. "I didn't want to mention it in front of Mrs Flynn, or I'll be blamed. You see, she hasn't noticed so far, but when the doctor finds out ..."

  "She looked up at him with huge scared eyes. "One of his precious carving knives has gone."

  "When did you discover this?"

  "When I was washing up after the dinner party, that morning the mistress left. I was putting everything back and I suddenly noticed when I went upstairs to put the special silver back in the canteen that there was only one carving knife. I've searched for the other, but it's never turned up. I just can't find it anywhere."

  As she spoke she led the way back into the dining-room and walked over to the mahogany sideboard.

  "There, sir." She watched eagerly as Faro opened the elegant velvet-lined case, as if his action might miraculously restore the missing knife to its embossed silver-handled partner.

  "Mrs Flynn will skin me alive when she finds out."

  "Oh come now, lass. I shouldn't worry too much. It'll turn up, you'll see. Probably put into the wrong drawer."

  But Ina was shaking her head. "No, sir. It's not that. I know, I just know, that something — something wicked has happened to it."

  "Wicked?" Faro laughed uneasily.

  "Yes, sir. Wicked." The huge eyes turned on him again, almost tearfully this time. "I see things, sir. People laugh at me, but I can't help it. There's something black, black and wicked going on in this house. I know it. Come the weekend, the master'll go mad. He'll never carve the roast ..."

  Faro was no longer listening. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." Shakespeare, who belonged in a very different world to this simple maid, had been aware of the same devils. And so was Faro, his senses warning him of the enormity of the girl's words. Worse, he had a sudden inescapable vision of Vince saying, "I could have snatched up one of those knives and plunged it into his black heart."

  Only this time, perhaps the missing knife had been plunged into everyone's favourite, Mabel Kellar.