The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (2 page)

‘Thank you, sir,' said Faro. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.'
'Do that,' was all that Mcintosh could say in the
circumstances. 'Do you need anyone - McQuinn, perhaps? I
could spare him.'

'That's very good of you, sir, but that would be complicated.'

'In what way? I mean, you will be in Edinburgh, of course?'
Faro shook his head. 'No, not even in Scotland.'
Mcintosh's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.
'I won't be far away, though, just over the border, only a
day's ride. And now, sir, if you'll excuse me.'

Nodding agreement, a very puzzled Mcintosh went to the
window and watched Faro leave the building and head across
the High Street, as if such action might reveal some indication
of his plans.

With a sigh he returned to his desk. Borders, eh. Then this
could not be a police matter, hence his own exclusion from the
details. Besides, the English police had very different ideas of
how the law should be administered and were, as far as he was
concerned, a race apart.

No doubt time would reveal all.

Faro, however, hoped most fervently that it would not as he
walked rapidly homewards through the crowded, odorous
High Street and emerged at last in the quiet villa quarters of
Newington.

All around him Edinburgh blossomed, touched with the
gentle splendour of Maytime. Arthur's Seat, proud and majestic,
bloomed richly under the gold of broom while roadside
hedgerows and gardens beguiled him with the scent of
hawthorn blossom, of meadowsweet and delicate wild irises
marching in sedate regiments shaded by mighty trees.

He breathed deeply. The warm breeze and gentle sunlight
carried sweet odours of new grass and distant peat fires.

Approaching the tree-lined avenue leading to Sheridan Place
with its handsome Georgian houses, he observed his housekeeper,
Mrs Brook, industriously polishing the brass plate outside the
home he shared with his stepson: DR VINCENT B. LAURIE,
FAMILY PHYSICIAN, to which a new name, DR STEPHEN
BALFOUR, had been added recently, a partner to accommodate
the growing practice in this ever-expanding suburb of prosperous merchants.

Mrs Brook looked up at his approach. 'This is a grand day
to be alive, sir,' she said cheerfully.

'It is indeed, Mrs Brook.'

Alive, he thought grimly as the sudden cool darkness of the interior hallway engulfed him and he climbed the stairs to his study. Beyond the window the distant Pentland Hills glowed in
the late sunlight. This room containing all his books, his most
precious possessions, had never looked more desirable, more
comfortable and protective. And he sighed, with an ominous feeling that there might be precious few days like this in the
immediate future.

As far as he was concerned, for 'incognito' read ‘Royal spy'
and he winced at having to conceal his identity. Once a policeman,
always a policeman.

That he was incapable of successfully wearing any other disguise was a possibility that Her Majesty obviously had not
taken into consideration.

He shuddered as a sudden vision of the Tower of London
loomed before him. He had seen gloomy and alarming
lithographs of its grim interior and, considering its bloody and dreadful history, it was one place he had no desire to visit either
outside or in.

What if he discovered that the Prince of Wales was guilty of
worse than cowardice. What then?

The Queen's displeasure for a mission failed and a scandal
might at best merit discreet exile to the Colonies, or at worst a
rather splendid civic funeral financed by Edinburgh City Police.

Such were his sour thoughts as he prepared to assume the
new role necessary for what promised to be a most trying
investigation. Given a straight choice, he would have taken on
an Edinburgh murder any day.

'A pity you are no actor,' said Dr Vincent Laurie, who
sympathised with his stepfather's present predicament.

For the sake of his two young daughters, Rose and Emily,
living in Orkney with their grandmother, Faro realised that he
must disregard the Royal Command to the extent of taking a
member of his family into his confidence. In case a similar fate
awaited him in Elrigg and he too was victim of a mysterious
fatal accident.

And who better to be trusted with the details of his secret
mission than his stepson, whose quick thinking had on many
occasions saved his life?

'Elrigg Castle?' said Vince. 'Sir Archie Elrigg's place - equerry
to the Prince of Wales, was he not?' Wide-eyed, he looked at
Faro. The one who has just been gored to death by a bull? A bit
about in the paper few weeks ago. Didn't you read it?'

Faro shook his head rather irritably. He had been
particularly busy chasing a notorious villain, a fact that seemed to have escaped his stepson's memory. As he gently reminded
him, Vince shook his head.

The wild cattle are notorious. I seem to remember there was a similar accident in the papers a while back. An actor - Philip
Gray. Entertaining guests with monologues from Shakespeare.
Remember we saw him in Hamlet at the theatre...'

As Faro listened, he wondered if the actor had also been the
Prince's rival for a lady's love. From the few veiled hints Her
Majesty had vouchsafed in this sorry tale - hints that were all
he had in the way of clues - he guessed that Bertie was more
than a little interested in the laird's wife, Lady Elrigg, the former
actress Miss Poppy Lynne.

Such knowledge was enough to support the theory that
Bertie was following the usual pattern of his seductions. Fancy a married lady and, providing the social stratum was correct,
the first step on the road to her bed was to appoint her husband
as equerry. Next, suggest a weekend shooting party; grouse,
deer, wild cattle, nothing on wing or hoof was safe from His
Royal Highness's attentions. If the lady was willing and the
mansion large enough to conceal indiscretions, the husband
was more often than not only too honoured at enjoying Royal
patronage to care about being cuckolded.

There were scores of such stories, at least one a year, but for Bertie, Royal sportsman, the thrill was in the kill. Once the lady had succumbed to his arms, the Royal eyes soon wandered. An expensive piece of jewellery for the lady, a knighthood and a bit
more land for the husband and there the affaire ended. When
next the ex-lovers came face to face, a chilly bow of polite
acknowledgement was all the lady could reasonably expect to
receive for services rendered.

Bertie was always very discreet. Having the husband meet
with a particularly nasty accident while his Royal person was on the premises, to say nothing of the publicity such a story
might invoke, was clearly most embarrassing.

'What happened exactly?' Vince asked curiously.

'At the moment all I have are some vague theories,' said Faro with a sigh. 'Doubtless I'll have more to tell you when I get back.'

'Wish I could come with you.'

'So do I.'

'Wait a minute. Elrigg's quite near Wooler, isn't it?'

When Faro nodded agreement, Vince said triumphantly, 'I
might just be able to look in, see how you're getting on...'

The prospect of Vince's presence on any investigation was
immensely cheering. Appearances were deceptive, none more
than in his stepson's case. Bright curls and a boyishly handsome
countenance innocent of guile disguised a keen brain, austere
and analytical. Slighter in build than Faro, he was also capable
of swift and often deadly movement when danger threatened.

'The Gilchrists have a great aunt who lives near Flodden,' Vince continued. 'She's celebrating her birthday on Saturday
and Livvy has hinted once or twice,' he added shyly, 'that
Great-Aunt would like to meet me and of course, I would love
to see the countryside.'

Faro smiled. He had great hopes of Olivia Gilchrist, for this
relationship had lasted the best part of a year, much longer than
his stepson's usual run of disastrously short-lived courtships.
Indeed, he had even developed a sentimental tendency to picture
her fondly as Vince's future wife.

The two young people were eminently well suited. Olivia
had brains as well as good looks and infinite patience, all
excellent qualities for a doctor's wife. There was only one
problem that concerned him deeply. Since leaving school she
had been tied to her mother's invalid cousin, who had brought up Olivia and her twin brother Owen from the age of ten after
their missionary parents had died of cholera in India.

When the hitherto strong and active Cousin Edith had been
suddenly struck down in late middle age with a mysterious
paralysis, Olivia immediately assumed the mantle of dutiful
surrogate daughter, self-appointed nurse and companion. Vince
assured Faro she did not find this arduous in the least since the
two were devoted to each other, with a common love of books
and music.

However admirable, such devotion was also the one
impediment to his stepson's possible matrimonial intentions.
And Faro was forced to accept Vince's claim that this was merely a very dear friendship. Owen and he had been at medical college together and the trio enjoyed a pleasant friendship with no desire
for change.

'What precisely are you supposed to be doing at Elrigg?'

'Investigating the disappearance of two paintings the Queen
wishes to acquire for her collection...'

At the end of his description of the paintings, Faro added helpfully: 'I might take along a magnifying glass, check over
their vast collection. Who knows what I might come up with?'
he ended cheerfully.

Vince wasn't convinced. 'A bit thin as excuses go, don't you
think?'

'I couldn't have agreed more.' Faro sighed.

'And hardly enough reason for an extended visit.'

'I can take my time about it. I can use your imminent visit as
a good reason for lingering in the area, taking a few extra days'
holiday. Why not?'

Vince frowned. 'That's all very well but it doesn't guarantee you unlimited access to Elrigg Castle. Besides, you don't know the first thing about art, Stepfather,' he added sternly.

‘I know that. Have you any better suggestions?'

Vince was silent. 'Couldn't they have dreamed up something a
bit more convincing for your visit, some more plausible excuse?'

'Perhaps Her Majesty isn't rich on imagination - I expect Mr
Gladstone had a hand in this one and as far as he is concerned
a Royal Command refuses to recognise the impossible. It's all
part of the divine right of kings.'

Vince looked at him. 'Of course, the main reason is this so—
called accident to Elrigg, I can see that. But why is the Queen so concerned - apart from the anxiety of having the future King of England branded as coward?' he added cheerfully. 'I dare say
he'd outlive that one. Royal subjects have short memories,
especially for a prince who is also a leader of society.'

'True. But there is a complication. A difference of opinion between Bertie and his equerry - overheard - angry words in
front of the whole castle before they rode out together alone.
And only one came back,' he added grimly.

'Bertie?'

'Precisely. He said Elrigg had taken a bad fall from his horse.
Help had been summoned on his way back to the castle, the
local constable alerted. But when they arrived on the scene, Sir
Archie was dead. Not from the fall. Someone had carelessly left
a gate open and he had been gored by a bull.'