The Missing Duchess Page 7

  He had a great deal to think about as he sat on the train to Aberlethie. He enjoyed train journeys. Staring out of the window at the passing countryside gave him leisure to get his facts in order and make a few notes.

  A halt had been conveniently arranged with the railway company where the line passed over Lethie estate grounds. The walk to the castle through the little hamlet with its cluster of houses was delightful.

  He stopped to watch the horses being led across the fields, gathering in the late harvest with the seagulls screaming at their tracks as the uplifted soil revealed fresh delicacies of worms.

  Deciding he was in no hurry after all, Faro lit a pipe and leaned on a fence to watch this pastoral and peaceful scene. Around him lay evidence of all those earlier settlements which had held their sway in Scotland's history, then one by one had disappeared. And in the fullness of time, Faro realised, this must be the fate of his own era, too, giving place to a new world waiting in the wings and a destiny as yet unborn. But all would owe their origins to those centuries long gone which had formed the traditions of the Scotland in which he now stood.

  When almost reluctantly he at last walked up the stone steps to the castle, he was told that Miss Fortescue was walking with the laird in the gardens.

  ‘They went in the direction of the old priory.'

  The neat lawns and geometric flowerbeds surrounding the castle gave way to a wild garden, the domain of ancient trees of huge girth. Through them could be glimpsed a distant sea, glittering on the horizon, and a ruined wall thrusting into the sky.

  Here was the twelfth-century Priory of Our Lady which had once dominated the whole area. Its buildings and harbour, once vital links in a flourishing port, had vanished with a retreating coastline that had left an estuary of the River Forth no longer deep enough to allow sailing ships and steamers safe harbour.

  For a while, Aberlethie had acquired notoriety and the close attention of the exciseman as a landing place for smugglers and those on dubious errands and journeys, with their own reasons for entering Scotland at secret and safe locations.

  As he made his way through the dense shrubbery, Faro heard voices which halted him in his tracks. Although the words were indistinct, what he was overhearing was undoubtedly a fierce argument.

  Reluctant to make his presence known, he decided on immediate retreat, but his cautious withdrawal from the scene had not taken into account the laird's dogs, who pricked their ears and, barking fiercely, darted towards this intruder.

  With Sir Terence calling them sharply to heel, Faro emerged somewhat sheepishly, endeavouring to look as cheerful as was possible in the circumstances.

  Sir Terence and Miss Fortescue were standing by the Crusader's Tomb in its niche in the one remaining wall of the priory. They were not alone. Another figure emerged. Sir Hedley Marsh.

  At the sight of him, Faro's relief that he was very much alive was intermingled with a curiosity about what he was doing here, a participant in a conspiratorial conversation.

  Miss Fortescue, he noticed, had fully recovered and looked none the worse for her recent ordeal. In fact, she looked decidedly pretty. As she came towards him, hand outstretched in smiling greeting, she appeared to be in perfect command of the situation.

  Obviously Lady Lethie had been generous with her extensive wardrobe, he thought approvingly. The two ladies were of similar height and dimensions. Miss Fortescue, carrying a lace parasol and wearing a muslin afternoon gown covered in tiny sprigs of flowers, provided an attractive picture for any man.

  'How nice to see you, Inspector,' she said, and he had an odd feeling that she meant it.

  As he exchanged greetings with Sir Hedley, Faro decided to avoid any mention of his morning visit to Solomon's Tower.

  'Sir Hedley has been giving us a history lesson on our Crusader,' said Sir Terence.

  Tm sure Mr Faro would like to hear it,' Miss Fortescue added with an anxious glance that begged his interest.

  But the looks exchanged between the three suggested that this was by no means all that had been under discussion. And Sir Hedley, with much clearing of throat, stared anxiously in the direction of the Crusader's Tomb, his manner suggesting one hard-pressed for immediate inspiration.

  He rose to the task gallantly. 'David de Lethie was one of a band of Scottish knights who survived the Crusades in Jerusalem and returned to fight at the side of his king, Robert the Bruce, at Bannockburn. There are some discrepancies about this effigy. His sword arm, for instance.'

  Faro looked down at the worn stone of the coffin, which had been broken open centuries ago when whatever remained of the Crusader had been removed. As for the once-proud helmeted face lying eyes open to the sky, the harsh elements of East Lothian wind and weather had all but obliterated his noble features.

  The sword arm,' Sir Hedley repeated. 'Crusaders always had their right arm crossing over on to their sword hilt on the left side - so -' He demonstrated. 'De Lethie, however, did not.'

  Faro looked down on the effigy. 'Rather looks as if he was holding something in his sword arm.'

  'But what?' Sir Terence nodded. That's a mystery we've been trying to solve for centuries past.'

  Sir Hedley turned to Faro. 'What was he holding that was more important than a sword, d'you think?'

  'Perhaps you can tell us, Faro,' Sir Terence cut in. 'You're the detective, after all.'

  Faro smiled. 'My province is recent deaths, not those six hundred years ago.'

  'There must be some clues.' There was a note of desperation in Miss Fortescue's voice which made the three men all look at her quickly, and all for different reasons. Curiosity - and perhaps even warning.

  Faro turned his attention to the effigy. 'I'd say what he was carrying was a chalice.' He looked again. 'Or a staff of some kind.'

  'A staff?' they repeated.

  The sun dipped low and the silence that followed this observation seemed to last for several moments.

  'Undoubtedly Inspector Faro is right,' Sir Terence sounded as if the words were being forced out of him. 'I wonder why?' he added lightly.

  'More important, what happened to it? Interesting to know that,' said Sir Hedley.

  'Interesting, indeed,' said Faro. 'The evidence would suggest that you aren't the first to give this matter serious consideration, sir.'

  He pointed to the broken coffin on which the effigy rested. 'It must have taken considerable force to open that and remove the body. And whatever treasures it held.'

  The word 'treasures' stunned them again into momentary silence.

  'We suspect that it happened in the sixteenth century when the priory was sacked during the Reformation, long before the castle was built,' said Sir Terence at last.

  'You think - that whatever - they were looking for - might have been buried with him,' said Miss Fortescue.

  'That is the general opinion.'

  'Grave robbers rarely leave sworn testimonies of how and why. Is there nothing in the family records, sir?'

  Lethie shook his head. 'Nothing earlier than the sixteenth century and very sparse afterwards. Only the main events were considered worthy of posterity, like the brief visit Queen Mary and Bothwell made shortly after their marriage. But the family's enthusiasm didn't extend to her descendant Prince Charles Edward Stuart. Or if it did, then they were too discreet to put it on record.' He looked at Faro. 'So all we have on the Crusader is legend.'

  'Was he a Templar by any chance?' Faro asked.

  'Perhaps.' The reply was vague. 'It is possible.'

  It was more than possible, seeing that the Crusader's shield bore upon it the still decipherable cross pattee. Odd that Sir Hedley failed to recognise the significance of something he encountered daily in his own house.

  More worrying still was the possible significance of that same cross found on a broken chain in the Wizard's House in the West Bow, a fact Faro felt was linked with the body whose identity he was increasingly and most unhappily aware might prove to be the Grand Duchess of Luxoria.
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  'It's all very strange, isn't it?' said Miss Fortescue. Shivering, she drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and Sir Terence seized upon the gesture with relief.

  'You are cold, m'dear. Let us return to the house. You will come with us, Inspector, take some refreshment.'

  As he accompanied them he realised no one had asked him his business there, or why he had suddenly appeared as they were talking by the tomb.

  They were much too polite. In fact no one showed the slightest curiosity about his presence. As if a visit from a detective inspector investigating the mysterious non-arrival of the Queen's god-daughter was a commonplace event in their lives.

  Surely the first question his appearance should have aroused in that conspiratorial group he had disturbed was: 'What news of Her Highness?'

  Chapter 9

  As they walked towards the house, Faro's responses to Sir Terence's remarks about weather, crops and estate management were quite automatic. One of his useful accomplishments was the ability to carry on an agreeable conversation while his mind dealt with more important matters.

  The Crusader, David de Lethie, had been a Templar, bearing the cross pattee on his shield. That Sir Hedley Marsh was connected with them, too, was evident from the chapel, so unexpectedly immaculate amid the squalor of Solomon's Tower. And from Vince, Faro knew that Sir Terence was a Templar as well as being a Grand Master in the Freemasons, whose origins and rituals were based on that society. But of perhaps even greater significance, Major Weir, the seventeenth-century owner of the Wizard's House, had also been a Templar. That he had terrified citizens by his identification with the devil and his ability to perform magic tricks, Faro was sure fitted somewhere into a pattern concerning the dead woman's identity and the reason for her death.

  Faro sighed, wishing he could interpret, above Lethie's polite remarks, the low-pitched murmurings between Sir Hedley and Miss Fortescue. Was there some conspiratorial connection between these three people, some deadly link with the gold cross on its broken chain in Weir's Land?

  He was rapidly discarding his original suspicion that a murder had taken place in the West Bow. All the evidence suggested that she had already been dead when she was carried into the Wizard's House.

  ' As he sat politely through the ritual of afternoon tea, served with great elegance by Lady Lethie, his eye wandered constantly in the direction of Miss Fortescue. She was not only extremely good to look at, he decided, but she also had undeniable presence, the aura of authority that was perhaps the first requirement of a royal lady-in-waiting.

  Sir Hedley Marsh sat at her side and monopolised her completely. While she gave smiling, patient answers to some bumbling nonsense about fishing in Dunsapie Loch, Faro considered what measures he must take to direct this pleasant but ineffectual teatime conversation towards the object of his visit: namely, the promised photograph or picture of Duchess Amelie, now so vital to his search.

  The clock melodiously chimed four, reminding him that the train from North Berwick to Edinburgh was due at the Aberlethie halt in less than an hour.

  'May I help you to a piece of cake?' said Lady Lethie with an encouraging smile, aware of his empty plate and distracted air.

  'No, thank you. I wonder - the photograph?' he reminded her gently.

  Although the words were spoken quietly, his question succeeded in bringing all conversation to an abrupt end.

  Sara Lethie smiled at him vaguely, shaking her head in the apologetic manner of one who had forgotten entirely: 'Of course. Of course, you wanted a photograph, didn't you.' And to her husband. 'Terence - do we have a picture somewhere?'

  Sir Terence responded with alacrity. 'No, my dear. Not in the album, I've already had a glance.' And to Faro: 'I did think we had one taken at Holyrood, but I must have been mistaken.'

  'Would have been a long time ago. Mere child. Not much use to you now, I'm afraid,' Sir Hedley put in.

  Faro turned to Miss Fortescue. 'What about you, miss? Do you happen to possess a recent photograph of your mistress?'

  Miss Fortescue shook her head sadly. 'There was one, very recent - a present for Her Majesty, you know. In a silver frame. But I'm afraid it is beneath the waters of the Forth now, with all the rest of our possessions.'

  Faro stood up abruptly. So that was that. His journey to Aberlethie had been a waste of time when he could have been pursuing more urgent and productive enquiries in Edinburgh. But not one of these polite, well-bred people thought that an apology was due for his wasted effort.

  'If you will forgive me. My train, you know.'

  'Of course, Inspector. Of course. Sorry you must leave us,' said Terence with undue heartiness. An angry and frustrated Faro felt that was a lie. They were not in the least sorry to see the back of him.

  Then as if his urgent thoughts had communicated themselves to Miss Fortescue, she rose to her feet.

  'If Inspector Faro is ready to leave now, I will walk with him to the railway halt.'

  The Lethies exchanged worried glances. They sprang to their feet, followed a little creakily by Sir Hedley. For a moment, Faro had an unhappy feeling that they were all coming too. With relief he realised it as just another gesture of politeness. Or was it Miss Fortescue's thinly veiled frown of annoyance that quelled all three?

  Miss Fortescue waited while Sara Lethie picked up a shawl and draped it about her shoulders. Their backs were turned to Faro but on that moment of stillness he had a strange feeling that uneasy glances were exchanged. Uneasy and warning, perhaps?

  And then it was over and Sir Terence was showing them to the door, cordially shaking hands with Faro. Waving them farewell he anxiously regarded the sky.

  'Rain's not far off, you're - um, going to get wet. Shall I fetch an umbrella?'

  'I shall be quite all right,' said Miss Fortescue. She sounded rather cross, and her manner was suddenly that of someone who heartily disliked being fussed over. She set off determinedly at Faro's side.

  As they walked through the formal gardens, Faro accommodating his loping stride to her more leisurely pace, he discovered that Miss Fortescue was having problems with her light shoes on the gravel. It occurred to him that she was brave to tackle a walk outdoors at all, especially as the one pair of sturdy, sensible shoes even ladies-in-waiting to Grand Duchess might be expected to possess had been lost with her luggage on the night of the accident.

  'Shall we keep to the grass, miss? That would be more comfortable for you.'

  'It would indeed.' Her smile was grateful.

  'What was it you wished to talk to me about?' he asked.

  She looked at him wide-eyed. 'How ever did you guess? You are clever.' And as Faro shrugged off the compliment: 'It is such a relief to get you alone. I desperately need to tell you the whole story - as it is coming back to me, quite gradually, of course.'

  Her tone warned him not to expect too much. Then halting, she gazed up into his face. 'Quite frankly, Inspector, I am frightened.'

  Frightened. He hadn't expected that.

  She sighed deeply before continuing. 'I have decided that I must take you into my confidence, Inspector.'

  Ah, thought Faro, now we're getting somewhere at last. This could be the break he was waiting for, the thread to lead him through the labyrinth of mystery and misinformation.

  ' - You see, Amelie wished to keep her journey secret from the President, her husband. She didn't want him to know that she was in fact negotiating with Her Majesty's government to intercede in their problems -'

  'May I be permitted to enquire - the nature of these problems?' Faro interrupted.

  'I'm not sure...' she began vaguely.

  Faro stopped walking. 'Look, miss, if I'm to help you and you have decided to trust me, then it is essential that we go right back to the beginning -'

  'The beginning,' she echoed, as if that thought had never occurred to her.

  'Yes, miss. I'm told that you have been with the Duchess since you were both children and I expect that means you are very close.' He p
aused. 'And that you share her secrets?' Silence followed this statement. 'Am I right?' he asked gently.

  Miss Fortescue sighed.

  'Perhaps you know better than anyone else the reasons for her disappearance. Without being aware of it, you may even hold the key to her present whereabouts.'

  It was a bold suggestion, considering the doleful nature of his own suspicions, but he added encouragingly, 'I gather from what I have heard, officially and from private sources, that Her Highness is a lady of spirit and courage.'

  Miss Fortescue laughed. 'Indeed she is. Rumour has not lied, Inspector.' She looked up at him earnestly. 'Yes, and I am quite sure she would put her trust in you, as I am doing.'

  With a sigh she continued: 'You are right, I probably know her better than anyone else, far better than her husband - that odious man -'

  'The beginning, miss, if you please.'

  'Of course. Amelie is related to both the Queen and Prince Albert, as you probably are aware. She was born on their wedding day, 10 February 1840, and that made her very special to both of them. Indeed, they regarded her sentimentally as their very first child, rather than a mere god-daughter. Their visits to Luxoria were frequent and she came to Windsor Castle with her parents -'

  She paused to sigh sadly. 'She adored Uncle Albert, was distraught when he died, and I do believe she was a great comfort to her Aunt Vicky at that time.' She was silent, staring bleakly at the treetops, as if overcome by the memory.

  'And you accompanied her on these visits?'

  She looked at him blankly for a moment, still lost in the other sad world. 'Some of them.' She sighed. 'When she was seventeen there was a revolution in Luxoria. Such a thing had never happened in its history before. Her bastard cousin Gustav had himself elected President. He knew that by marrying Amelie he would destroy the final opposition. Amelie scorned the idea. She hated him. But he refused to take no for an answer.'

  She was silent, walking faster now at his side, as if to escape that distant sorrow.

  'And - ?' said Faro.

  'He forced himself upon her.' Her voice rose. 'He got her with child so that she had no other option but to marry him. Three months later, a few weeks after their marriage, she miscarried. There will be no other child now, and Gustav needs an heir.'