The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (11 page)

He sighed. 'She walked into the ornamental lake by the
walled garden. My uncle showed some finer feelings - or some
remorse, by having the lake drained.'

'So all this will go to Mark now?'

Hector did not seem perturbed. 'That is so, since there is no
issue, legitimate or otherwise. Mark's mother was ten years
older than my uncle, plain but very wealthy. Nice woman, kind
too. Coal owner's widow. There were no children. He was out
of luck with Poppy too. Five years and no sign of an heir.'

A childless marriage, a barren wife. How often Faro had
heard that. The bane of rich men and noble lairds with much to
leave and desperate for a son to leave it to. Kings had murdered
their queens and lords abandoned their ladies for just such a reason. In the new society even rich merchants keen to establish a dynasty had been known to be crafty and merciless in ridding
themselves of a barren wife.

It remained one of the best of all possible motives for
murder. If Poppy had been the victim instead of her husband.

Hector squinted up at the sky. 'We'll have rain soon. Must
get on with things, unless you'd like a shot with a spade too.'
And nodding towards a cottage half hidden by tress, 'I live over
there. If you change your mind and feel like some healthy
exercise any time.'

'I'll bear it in mind.' Faro pointed to the standing stones
outlined against the sky. 'Meanwhile I think I'll brave the
headless women.'

Hector grinned. 'Walk round the field unless you want an
encounter with the farmer - an earful of his bellowing could be
more scaring that our stone ladies' vocal qualities.'

Faro smiled. 'Constable Dewar warned me.'

Hector regarded him coolly. 'You don't look to me like a
man who scares easily. What was it you said you were - an
insurance assessor?'

And his accompanying laugh, with its note of disbelief,
reminded Faro how thin his disguise was.

As he climbed the steep hill, the sun beat down straight into his
eyes. The stones seemed to shiver in the glowing transparent
light. Occasionally he stopped and shaded his eyes. Once or
twice he could have sworn he saw a dark shadow move swiftly
across his line of vision.

At last, following the rough path, he reached the perimeter
of the circle. His mind far away, he almost leaped from his skin
when a woman's face stared down at him.

Not stone, but flesh and blood with dark red hair and green eyes. A face as cold as the stones, whose response to his friendly
greeting was to gather up her papers, tuck them swiftly into her
valise and jump down the other side of the circle.

'Wait,' he called, 'I didn't mean to intrude. Don't let me
disturb you.'

Whether she heard him or not, he couldn't tell, his efforts
rewarded by her fleeing back, her hair flowing out like a
burning bush behind her as she leaped through the stony field.

Obviously she feared an irate farmer less than himself, Faro
thought. And watching her swift progress, half amused, half
exasperated, he realised he had almost forgotten Imogen
Crowe's existence.

About to retrace his steps, he noticed a slim book lying face
downward where she had been sitting.

Glancing at the title,
The History of Civilisation
, he thrust it
into his pocket, only mildly curious about this dramatic change
in reading matter or what interesting mission his arrival had
interrupted to cause her precipitate flight. He would hand in the
book to the lodge sometime. A nuisance, and her own fault if
she lost it. He turned his attention to the stones when he heard
a cry.

A human cry...

The cry had issued not from the headless women behind him,
but from the stony field.

Faro stared down from the perimeter of the circle. Imogen
Crowe was lying on the ground about thirty yards away. She
looked up, saw him and called: 'Help me, will you, please.'

What an irresistible invitation, he thought grimly and made
his way carefully down the rough ground of the field.

'Are you hurt?' he asked, bending over her.

She struggled to sit up. 'Of course I'm hurt. I wouldn't call for help otherwise. My ankle, I think I've broken my bloody
ankle. No, don't you touch it. Don't dare-'

And thrusting his hand away she seized her ankle between
her hands and began to rub it vigorously, moaning a little as she
did so. 'I twisted it on that bracken root. I just shot forward -
and here I am.'

Faro stared down at her. 'You should have come up by the
path at the edge of the field.'

'I did that.'

'Then why on earth didn't you go back the same way?
Racing down the field like that...'

She shrugged and chose not to answer what was perfectly
obvious and equally embarrassing: her eagerness to escape from
him.

With a sigh, Faro looked down at her, held out his hands,
still waiting to be thanked for his assistance: 'Can you stand?'
he asked gently.

She stood up, wavered and with a cry would have fallen
again but for Faro. She looked indignantly at his steadying hand
on her arm as if she'd like to brush it off, given half a chance
and a more reliable balance.

If only her damned ankle wasn't so sore. Now she had to rely
on this wretched man. Nodding towards the still-distant road,
she said, 'Help me down there, will you.'

'Of course.' And bending over, he picked her up bodily.

'What do you think you're doing?' she demanded angrily.

'Isn't that rather obvious, seeing that you are incapable of
walking?'

‘Put me down - at once.'

'As you wish,' Faro said coldly, setting her down so
unceremoniously that she moaned, clutching her ankle as she
tried to regain her balance.

'I-I can't.'

'Then will you allow me to assist you?' She put her arms
around his neck and struggled no more as he carried her once
more towards the stone circle.

'This isn't the way to the road.'

'I'm quite aware of that. But this is the way we are both
going. The way we both came up. Unless you want us both to
have twisted ankles - or worse. A broken neck might be the
answer...'

She struggled in his arms. 'This is nonsense. Put me down.
I'll manage.'

Faro stopped, and again set her on her feet. 'Listen to me.
Either you do as I say or I will leave you to make your own
damned way back to Elrigg. I don't care either way.'

She was silent, staring at the ground.

'Agreed?'

She nodded and, with a sigh, he said: 'Off we go then.'

Lifting her more carefully this time, he clambered up the last few yards very carefully. The terrain was strewn with smaller
stones, boulders from the circle that had been eroded through
the ages, washed by wind and weather down the field and were
now barely but dangerously concealed by thick coarse grass.

'You shouldn't have taken it at a run. You could have hurt
more than your ankle. Foolish creature.'

This expression was mild compared to what he wanted to
say - and do - at that moment. She was behaving like a spoilt
child and deserved more than a gentle reprimand. He pursed his
lips grimly.

However, she was lighter than he had expected, small boned
although she was quite tall. Bodily contact was not unpleasant,
she was warm, sweet smelling, her hair resting against his
cheek...

Damned woman. Damned woman, he muttered to himself and set her down rather more sharply than was kind on one of
the flat stones within the circle. There, without a word of
thanks, she began to moan and rub her injured ankle.

He pushed her hands aside. 'Let me look at it.'

Angrily, she thrust him away. 'No. Leave me alone. There's nothing you can do. Unless you're a doctor.' And wriggling her
foot, she winced. 'It's probably just sprained a little. If I could
rest for a few minutes.'

'Very well,' he said wearily. 'Let me know when you're ready
to go down.'

She looked towards the road, distant beyond the stony field.
'How can I walk that far?'

He looked at her. 'I'll see if I can find a stick somewhere. You
can use that. If not, I'll carry you. You're not very heavy.'

She darted him an angry glance. As if the whole episode was
his fault.

Never had he met such a thankless, ungracious young
woman and he walked quickly away before she could think of
any ill-natured comment.

Leaving her with little hope of finding a branch for support,
he was glad to escape from her and to concentrate on his reason
for coming here in the first place. The view was breathtaking.
The site commanded a magnificent landscape over the Cheviots,
reaching out to touch the border with Scotland.

As for the five headless women, they were less forbidding at
close quarters than seen from below. On closer examination the
torso shapes were the result of natural erosion, confirming
Hector Elrigg's theory that the fluting effect might well produce
alarming sounds when the wind was in the right direction.

He made his way carefully through the nettles, which were
their natural protective vegetation and whose roots had long
ago hidden any significant details of what had been the purpose
of their original builders.

Lost in thought, he was suddenly aware of Miss Crowe
looking over his shoulder.

'You've been such a long time, I thought you'd gone without
me,' she said anxiously, sounding so contrite and scared that,
smiling kindly, he was able to bite back the words: As you richly
deserved.

In no hurry to leave, he continued to look at the view,
fascinated by the mystery of this strange prehistoric site.

As if reading his thoughts she said, 'Why were they put
here?' - her voice a whisper as if they might be overheard, their
presence resented by the ghosts of this ancient place. 'Do you
have any idea? I mean, how they were carried up this steep hill?'

'They are questions to which we will never have proper
answers, I'm afraid. No more than how the Pyramids of Egypt
were built.'

Pointing towards a horizon where Scotland began: 'Defence?
Was that what they had in mind?' she asked.

'Probably. A lookout post for the hillfort below.'

'It must have been more than that, surely. A lookout post wouldn't have lasted for thousands of years.' Caressing the
outline of the nearest stone, she smiled. 'Could they have been
Celtic princesses perhaps?'

Faro smiled. 'If you mean, is that winsome legend true, I can
assure you of one thing. These stones had been well established
for centuries, a landmark long before the Romans came.'

'Or before history was written.' She moved away from the
stone, hobbling a little. 'I think I will be able to manage now -
if I may take your arm.'

'Of course.' He helped her from the perimeter of the stones to the edge of the field. 'What brought you here?'

'Oh, I don't know. Natural curiosity. It's an intriguing story,
one wants to believe that it's true. At least I'd like to. And I
wanted to know why the village people were so afraid, why
they avoid it.'

Leaning against the fence for support, she pointed towards
the Eildon hills. 'Have you read Sir Walter Scott, by any
chance?'