The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (13 page)

Seizing her arm as if to restrain her from flight, his head
close to hers, chiding or comforting, he propelled her in the
direction of the manse.

Mrs Cairncross darted a helpless look at the pair of them,
turned to Faro, opened her mouth as if to say something and,
unable to think of anything to fit the occasion, turned on her
heel and hurried after them.

Left standing, Faro regarded their swift departure thoughtfully.
Curious behaviour indeed, remembering that warning tone
clear as a bell as he was being introduced by the vicar to his wife
and pretty daughter.

As he continued his perusal of the tombstones, he stored
away in his excellent memory the picture of the consternation
that the vicar's words 'at the Castle' had struck. A chord that
the ominous words 'Detective Inspector Faro' normally aroused
in those whose consciences trembled with guilt.

Now he wondered what the Cairncross family had to hide.
Their reactions could hardly have been more dramatic had they
known his real identity. The blight that mention of Elriggs
or Castle brought into the most friendly and ordinary
conversations was becoming uncomfortably familiar, swiftly
changing listeners' attitudes from geniality to suspicious
alertness, tense and watchful as the wild cattle on the hill.

Experienced as he was in the nuances of criminal attitudes,
such strange behaviour fascinated him, as he wondered how
many more village folk would be thrown into panic and
consternation by the innocent announcement of his business at
Elrigg.

Continuing his inspection of the gravestones, which was
proving singularly uneventful, he was once again seized by a fit of sneezing. Aware of being tired and hoping this was not the
prelude to a fever, he sat down on a rustic seat sheltered by the
church wall.

Taking out his handkerchief, he encountered the book Miss
Crowe had dropped.
The History of Civilisation
by Henry
Thomas Buckle. A curious choice, he thought, for a young
woman whose main reading was of the sensational kind.
Opening it at the bookmarked page he read:

Of all offences, it might well be supposed that the
crime of murder is one of the most arbitrary and
irregular. For when we consider that this, though generally the crowning act of a long career of vice, is
often the immediate result of what seems a sudden impulse;
that when premeditated, its committal, even
with the least change of impunity, requires a rare
combination of favourable circumstances, for which
the criminal will frequently wait: that he has thus to bide his time and look for opportunities he cannot
control, that when the time has come his heart may fail
him
, that the question whether or not he shall commit
the crime may depend on a balance of conflicting
motives, such as fear of the law, a dread of penalties
held out by religion, the prickings of his own
conscience, the apprehension of future remorse, the
love of gain, jealousy, revenge, desperation; - when we
put all these things together, there arises such a
complication of causes, that we might reasonably
despair of detecting any order or method in the result
of those subtle and shifting agencies by which murder
is either caused or prevented. But now, how stands the
fact. The fact is, that murder is committed with as
much regularity, and bears as uniform a relation to
certain known circumstances, as do the movements of
the tides, and the rotations of the seasons.

Faro re-read the lines heavily underscored and, turning back the
pages, read the owner's name on the flyleaf, so unexpected and
disturbing that it set at naught all his evidence. With a sickening
feeling of dismay he realised he might well have been following
the wrong track.

Faro walked slowly down the main street, wrestling with the
enormity of his new discovery. Constable Dewar had to hail
him twice before he was aware of an interruption to his dismal
thoughts.

The constable was off-duty, in his garden opposite the police
station. With considerable effort Faro returned his greeting and
paused to admire the neat array of daffodils.

Dewar smiled, indicating the rustic seat by the door.

'You're looking tired, sir. Rest yourself a while. Mrs Dewar'll
bring us out a drink while we enjoy the sunshine.'

Faro needed no second invitation. As he sat down with a
sigh of relief, Dewar said: 'Inquiries going well, sir?'

Faro shook his head. He didn't have McQuinn but in the
circumstances Constable Dewar, who had lived in Elrigg for
many years, might have convenient access to the kind of
information he needed.

He sighed. 'Not very well, I'm afraid. I could do with your
help, Constable.'

Dewar looked startled at the request. He regarded Faro
indecisively, and then, squaring his shoulders, said firmly: 'I'll be straight with you, sir, although I don't think you're being
straight with me.'

While Faro was thinking of a suitably evasive reply, he
continued: 'I've been keeping an eye on your activities, sir.' He
paused dramatically. 'You're a policeman yourself, aren't you?'

Taking Faro's silence as affirmation, he smiled triumphantly.

'You're either a policemen or you have been at some time in
your life.'

At Faro's grudging admission, Dewar thumped his fists
together with a crow of delight.

'Knew I was right all along, sir. Said so to Sergeant Yarrow.
All he says is that if you wanted us to know that, then you'd tell
us. And that I was to keep quiet about what I suspected.'

As Faro wondered anxiously how many others Dewar might
have confided his suspicions to, the constable leaned forward
and said earnestly: 'I am at your service, sir. You can rely on PC
Dewar. Born and bred in the place, there's nothing I don't know
about the ways of folk hereabouts. Elrigg's an open book to
me,' he added proudly.

Faro smiled vaguely.

'What is it exactly your lot sent you down to investigate?'

There seemed little to lose and much to gain by being honest
with Dewar and Faro decided to reveal his true identity.

Dewar's eyes boggled. He whistled. 'Not the Inspector Faro.
From the Edinburgh Police. Well, I never,' he said with an
admiring glance. 'Why, every policeman from here to London
has heard of you.'

And when Faro bowed modestly, Dewar's expression
changed to one of shrewd intelligence.

'Then it must be something very important indeed that's brought you here. Not a couple of missing paintings or a death
insurance, I'll be bound.'

Faro frowned. 'I take it that you are aware of who Sir
Archie's companion was on the day of the accident?'

Dewar beamed. 'Bless you, sir, everyone is. Although we all pretend to go along with their incognitos. "Mr Osborne" - a lot
of nonsense.'

'Tell me, is there much security attached to these visits?'

'Security!' Dewar laughed. 'At Elrigg? Bless your heart, no, sir. Sergeant Yarrow and I are required to ride at a discreet distance. This isn't London or Edinburgh, not like any big city.
Just a token presence of the law, you understand, where royal
visitors are concerned.

'We know all the people here, you see, and if there was any
villain coming in with bad intent, well, he'd stand out like a
sore thumb, sir. We'd be on to him before he had time to know
what hit him.'

Even as Faro doubted that, he remembered his aunt's similar
reaction to the Deeside inhabitants in the vicinity of Balmoral
Castle.

'People think they are just strangers passing through and
won't be noticed. They'd think differently if they knew how newcomers are a fascinating topic of speculation. Of course,'
Dewar continued, tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger,
'we all know the real reason for the royal gentleman's visit, but
enough said.'

And he closed his mouth firmly, loyal to Queen or Prince and
Country.

'Where do you get your information from?' Faro asked.

'Servants, sir,' said Dewar cheerfully. The way the
gentleman in question has to have a room nearby his, er,
interest, if you get my meaning. So that he can come and go
without embarrassment to either of them...'

Faro's eyes widened to think that matters arranged with such
delicacy by discreet aristocratic hosts were in fact common
village gossip.

Dewar paused and then, in a tone purposely diffident, 'Her
Ladyship's a rum 'un, mind you.' And again he regarded Faro
nervously and closed his mouth firmly in the way of a man who
fears he has already said more than enough.

'How so?' Faro prodded him gently.

Dewar took a deep breath. 'Well, sir, the class she comes
from, actresses and such like. Can't see one of her kind settling down to be a proper wife to His Lordship. Stands to reason, his
family's one of the oldest in the land, older than any royalty.'
With a shake of his head he added pityingly, 'Her so young, five
years married and not a bairn, much less an heir. Just ain't
natural.'

'Presumably Sir Archie wasn't worried by this?'

'You can never tell with that class of people, sir.'

'He does have an heir, I gather.'

'Yes, Mark, his first wife's son. But it's not the same, is it,
sir?'

'I understood that they were close kin.'

'Yes.' Dewar sounded doubtful. 'The first Lady Elrigg was
Sir Archie's cousin, so the lad had a right by blood. I was one
of the witnesses to the will, sir, I tell you that in confidence.
That in the event of the laird dying without issue, it would all
go to Mark.'

Dewar frowned for a moment, before saying in the manner of one choosing his words carefully: 'It seems to me that Lady
Elrigg isn't as grieved as is natural in the circumstances. Not
like the example Her Majesty has set for widowed ladies. She's
ordered mourning to be set aside and I hear tell that she and her
companion have been heard playing the piano, singing comic
songs. Now that's not nice.'

At Dewar's shocked expression Faro said gently: 'You mustn't forget that the two ladies are very young. At least
having a companion who has known her for a long time must
be a great help to Lady Elrigg at this time.'

'That's as maybe,' Dewar admitted grudgingly, 'But Miss
Kent doesn't behave like a servant at all. Very grand with
everyone in the village, too. Too good for the likes of us, you'd
think. And it's time she was finding herself a man before it's too
late...'

Faro felt a fleeting sympathy for Miss Kent at the village
matchmaker's mercy as Dewar went on: 'Bowden tells me that
one or two of his customers - young lads - have made, well,
advances when she's been down on an errand. Nothing coarse
or undesirable, you understand,' he added hastily, 'just friendly
- a bit saucy like they are with the maids at the Castle. But this
one just gives them a steely look, a frosty reply.

'What can you expect with stage folk?' He shook his head.
'Can't be doing with them. Mind you, I was sorry for that poor
actor chap who had that nasty accident while staying at the
Castle.'

'What kind of accident?' Faro asked innocently.

'Well, sir, it was all a bit mysterious, if you ask me. If it had
happened anywhere else there would have been a full inquiry
but here, well, it seemed to me that it was very hastily hushed
up, the Chief Constable and the Coroner being close kin of Sir
Archie -'