The Missing Duchess (16 page)

'I'm not married, miss.'

'Oh, I'm sorry.' She looked round with a puzzled frown. 'Then you have a very good housekeeper - this room has a woman's touch.'

'That is so. This is her day off. However, I shall endeavour to make you a cup of tea.'

Having put on the kettle, he returned to find her looking out of the window. 'This is such a pretty house, Inspector. I love these small rooms. Such lovely windows and what a delightful view,' she said, pointing across to the commanding mass of Arthur's Seat.

Faro suppressed a smile. The rooms with their high ceilings could only be classed as small by comparison. 'Hardly what you're used to in a palace, miss.'

'I know. But it's all so charming. Palaces are hateful places to live in, I assure you. There is so little comfort, vast rooms with inadequate fires to heat them, miles and miles to walk every time one wants something that isn't there.' She clasped her hands delightedly. 'I would give anything to live in a little house like this.'

'Excuse me, miss - the kettle -'

When he returned, she was sitting close to the dead fire, her arms clasped tightly together.

Faro sighed. 'I'm afraid that's beyond redemption, miss. It is chilly in here.'

Politely she suppressed a shiver. 'Just a little.'

'It's warmer in the kitchen, miss, a good fire down there. Would you care -'

'I would indeed.' And seizing her bag, she followed him downstairs. There her admiration of his home now extended to Mrs Brook's domain. She looked around at shelves and cupboards as if she had never encountered a kitchen before, exclaiming with delight over gleaming brass saucepans and rows of china plates.

'You should see our kitchen in the castle. It's a terrible place, big and gloomy as a dungeon. Oh, do please - allow me -'

And Faro, rather relieved, handed her Mrs Brook's precious tea-caddy. Watching her, he suddenly laughed out loud.

'What is so amusing?' she asked.

'You're better than I am at tea-making. Of course, I should have expected that in a lady-in-waiting. I suppose it's part of your duties.'

She smiled. 'Not really. It's usually brought in all prepared. And as he took out Mrs Brook's cake: 'I'd love a slice of that -

As she ate, Faro, having reassembled his thoughts, decided he must escort her back to Lethie Castle immediately. Her impulsive action involving a wearisome double journey was a nuisance and a waste of his time, but he could sympathise with the anxiety and boredom that had driven her to escape for the day.

The Lethies, he guessed, would by now have discovered her absence. Perhaps she did not realise in her sheltered life in Luxoria that in respectable society, ladies of gentle birth did not promenade the streets and shops of Edinburgh, even during the day, unescorted or without a maid in attendance. And despite the note she had left, Sir Terence and his wife would be frantic with anxiety when they realised she had gone off alone.

He sighed. Somehow on the way to Aberlethie he must tactfully get her to understand that he had no authority to set out for Balmoral Castle with her and make an impromptu visit to the Royal residence on the assumption that her mistress was already there.

If only he could believe that were true, what a happy man he would be.

He smiled at her, so pretty and gentle. And safe too, when just a few hours ago, while she was promenading along Princes Street, he feared she might have been in grave danger. What an opportunity the hired assassin had missed there, he thought with a shudder.

He looked at the clock. There's a train back to Aberlethie in half an hour. We'll take that one.'

She allowed him to help her into her cape somewhat reluctantly. 'Oh, very well. I suppose I must go. But I've so enjoyed talking to you, Inspector, you have been very kind.'

As he picked up her bag she seized it back from him. 'I'll take that, thank you.'

He wondered what it contained that was so precious, deciding that it was remarkably heavy and solid too, for feminine fripperies. But rather admiring her independence, he said: 'You wait here in the hall, miss. I'll get a carriage.'

A few minutes later they were heading towards Waverley Station. Armed with their tickets, Faro led her towards the platform.

At the barrier, the guard shook his head. 'Not tonight, I'm afraid, sir.'

Faro pointed towards the waiting train.

'Aye, sir, and there it stays till morning. There's been a cloudburst, line is flooded past Musselburgh and there'll be no trains till it subsides.' The porter looked at the grey sky. 'If it stays fine, then you'll get away first thing tomorrow morning.'

Faro regarded Miss Fortescue anxiously as they walked back into the booking office.

'Don't worry, miss, we'll get you back somehow.'

But far from being worried or dismayed, Miss Fortescue laughed, obviously treating this new disaster as a huge joke. 'Here's a pretty pickle. Well, Inspector, how do you solve this one?'

'That's easy, miss. We take a carriage.'

'What an adventure.' She chuckled happily.

It was the kind of adventure Faro could well have done without when he saw that the usual line-up of hiring carriages was absent from outside the station. At last a solitary one appeared and Faro rushed forward.

'Where to, sir?' asked the coachman.

'Aberlethie, if you please.'

'Aberlethie, did ye say?' The man shook his head. 'Not tonight, sir. Just come from Musselburgh, that's as far as we can get. Roads are all under water. You and the missus'll need to wait till morning and take a train like sensible folk.'

And looking at Miss Fortescue's bag, presuming they had come off a train, he said: 'I can take you to a good hotel.'

'A hotel.' Miss Fortescue grasped his arm. 'Oh no, Inspector, I couldn't -1 just couldn't,' she whispered.

'Why ever not, miss? There are some very comfortable establishments on Princes Street. Very respectable too.'

'I'm sure there are. It isn't that, I assure you. I'm just -scared.'

'Scared?'

'Yes. You see, I once stayed in a hotel and it took fire. So I can't.' She shook her head firmly. 'Not ever again.'

He wasn't sure he wanted to let her out of his sight, aware that she might have been followed. 'I'll stay there too, if you wish. Take a room close to yours -'

'No - no - you're very kind. But not even if you were in the - the same room -1 just - can't.'

'Are you wanting this carriage or not?' the coachman demanded.

If it was possible that she had been followed, then Faro could see dangers in the hotel idea. He now had to consider reluctantly the alternative that remained. And that was to keep her under his own roof where he could be sure she was safe till morning.

And as if she read his thought: 'Perhaps you have a spare room,' she whispered.

Chapter 14

The carriage set them down in Sheridan Place and as Faro opened his front door, Miss Fortescue sighed.

'I'm greatly obliged to you, Inspector.'

Faro led the way down to the kitchen. And deploring Mrs Brook's absence, he said: Take a seat by the fire and I'll see what I can do about a room for you.'

Where would he put her? He seldom set foot in the spare rooms and had no idea whether the housekeeper kept beds made up for unexpected guests. He soon discovered that was not the case. The rooms he entered were cold and desolate, beds stripped down to their mattresses.

So where were the sheets and blankets kept? He wasn't even sure he knew how to make a bed properly.

Then he remembered his daughters' room, and throwing open the door, saw that Mrs Brook's proud boast that it was always kept aired and in readiness for their next visit was evidently correct.

Miss Fortescue followed him upstairs and, setting down her bag by the bed, she looked round delightedly at her surroundings.

Thank you so much, Inspector. Yes, I'm sure I'll be most comfortable.'

'Let me know if there is anything you require, miss.'

A few minutes later she returned to the kitchen, where he was spreading the table with some of Mrs Brook's abundant provisions.

'Such a pretty room you've given me. Is it your sister's?'

'No, my two daughters occupy it when they come to stay during the school holidays.' He was ashamed at making those sadly infrequent visits sound so regular.

They are not at school in Edinburgh?'

'No.' He explained to her that he was a widower and it was convenient for his daughters to stay with their grandmother in Orkney.

She was all sympathy. Very sweet, he decided, and a good listener. Splendid appetite, too. She obviously relished Mrs Brook's cooking and begged to be allowed to take over preparation of the meal. Far from being baffled by cavernous pantries and belligerent stoves, she found one of Mrs Brook's vast aprons and was soon in complete command of the domestic situation.

Faro looked on, laughing approvingly. 'I'm glad you came, miss.'

She shook her head, smiled. 'Not miss, please. Roma.'

'Roma,' he repeated. 'An unusual name.'

'My parents spent their honeymoon in Italy.'

As they enjoyed a pleasant and companionable meal together he found himself telling her not only his life story, but his problems at the Central Office and even details of some of his most baffling cases. He found she had a surprising knowledge of the major governmental issues in Britain, as well as a keener understanding than he had ever aspired to, of the boiling-pot of European politics.

Miss Roma Fortescue, he guessed, belonged to the new breed of independent and enlightened women. And Faro was one man who didn't feel threatened by them. In many of his cases, he had learned to deal with women who were the equal of any man, and infinitely more ruthless. He had his own personal reasons, and carried some indelible scars, for regarding the fair sex not as the weaker, but in many instances, the stronger.

This one, he thought, was far too bright to be wasted in a stultifying existence as a mere lady-in-waiting to an impulsive headstrong royal duchess, with her talents limited to plying an embroidery needle, playing the pianoforte and playing up to her mistress's constant demand for entertainment.

Afterwards, when he tried to do so, he could never clearly remember details of their conversation, only her ready flashes of wit and humour.

As she cleared the table and carried the dishes to the sink, refusing his help, she sighed happily. 'This is my dream come true. I get so little chance to do this sort of thing. I am not even allowed to set foot in the kitchens.' She paused and looked at him solemnly. 'Shall I tell you what my favourite book is?'

'Please do,' he said, expecting some learned philosophical treatise.

'Promise you won't laugh?'

'I promise.'

'Mrs Beeton's
All About Cookery
book.' She looked at him suspiciously. 'You don't find that amusing?'

'On the contrary, I find it very worthy.'

She looked around and smiled. 'A kitchen, warm - and small. A cosy fire and a table full of baking materials. Half a dozen menus to prepare - that is my idea of bliss.'

'And a husband perhaps to appreciate your culinary efforts,' he added teasingly.

Her face darkened. 'Perhaps.' Then the shadow lifted and she regarded him intently, with a look that flattered him. 'Or a kind friend. That would do perfectly.'

Faro wondered why, past thirty, she was still unmarried. He suspected a sad love story, some hidden grief. Pretty, charming, attractive - were Luxorian men daunted by such qualities and by this clever Scotswoman? Scots? No. She wasn't really, he thought, she was quite foreign sometimes, in turns of phrase, a word sought after vainly - in the manner of British subjects who spend most of their lives in other countries and are more at home in another language.

He was delighted to find that Miss Fortescue was extremely well-read. She shared his own passion for Shakespeare's plays, her early years as companion to her English-educated royal mistress had obviously served her well. He was agreeably surprised to hear that she also enjoyed Sir Walter Scott's novels.

'And we had all Mr Dickens' latest books sent out specially to Luxoria.'

Music too, Faro discovered, was something they shared. Mr Mendelssohn and Mr Liszt had been welcome visitors to Luxoria.

In no great hurry to bring the evening to a close, they talked and laughed together. Meanwhile the storm continued to rage outside, but they were oblivious of wind lashing the windows, of doors creaking in the gale.

At one stage, pouring more wine, Faro looked at his companion and saw her for the first time as a woman to be desired. He realised wistfully that this cosy domestic scene, this simple meal in a warm kitchen, was one being repeated in houses all over Edinburgh.

How long had it been since he spent an evening at home with a woman he loved, he thought wistfully, his hand shaking a little as he picked up his wineglass? It had been so long since Lizzie had died. His skirmishes into love had been transient, wounding, disastrous.