The Seal King Murders (15 page)

Second on Faro’s list, the handwriting on the ransom note, and the terrifying implications suggested by Lady Millicent that Celia had been forced to write it, with a pistol held at her head by her kidnapper.

Thirdly, and perhaps most revealing, were details of his interesting conversation with Gerald Binsley which had revealed clues previously overlooked.

Finally, the foiled pickup of the ransom this morning. As Faro sat patiently in the empty cathedral, he knew he was staking all on a remote possibility, the discovery of the kidnapper’s identity.

The minutes passed slowly, a clock chimed a half-hour, and another. He was cold and hungry. Observation and deduction had failed him, he had almost given up and was about to leave, when the sound of a door opening echoed unnaturally loud through the empty cathedral.

Footsteps approaching, he braced himself to confront Celia Prentiss-Grant’s kidnapper.

The footsteps were of the youth from the family with the unruly children who had been seated nearest to the pillar. Attired in shirt and breeches, he did not even look round. Unaware of Faro’s hidden presence, bending down he began a search underneath the pew.

‘Can I assist you?’

The lad jumped up and faced Faro. ‘You startled me, sir.’ His hands were trembling. ‘I-I was looking for … for something that Mamma left behind.’

In reply, Faro held out the packet. ‘Would this perhaps be—?’

He got no further before the youth jumped forward and seized the envelope. ‘Thank you,
thank—’ then shaking it, ‘But it is—’

A bewildered angry glance and Faro smiled. ‘Empty. Yes, that is so.’ As he said the words the youth turned quickly but the narrowness of the pew put a stop to his flight.

Faro seized his arm in a firm grip. He struggled to free himself, pounding his fists against Faro’s chest. ‘Let me go, sir – this instant.’

‘In a moment – after we have had a little talk.’

‘I have nothing to say to you.’

Faro laughed. ‘Oh, I think you have a great deal to say to me. Is that not so? Surely you realise that gentlemen remove their head coverings in church. Allow me.’ And so saying, he reached out and snatched off the woollen bonnet. A cloud of curls sprang from their confinement.

‘Ah, Miss Celia, we meet once again.’

‘You – you devil! How dare you! Release me at once.’

‘No point in being high and mighty with me, miss. You are in a very dangerous situation – you could go to jail.’

She stared at him, biting her lip. ‘What nonsense. Of course I can’t go to jail. I haven’t – I haven’t hurt anyone,’ she added doubtfully.

‘Maybe not.’

‘I just wanted to get away. A practical joke, that’s all.’

Faro shook his head. ‘You have created a criminal act of deception which had the whole constabulary out combing the shore near Scarthbreck, posters distributed everywhere and the whole of the island looking for you. Don’t you think that is quite enough criminal activity, to say nothing of the distress and anguish you have caused to your parents?’

‘I’m not sorry for them,’ she said. ‘Now may I go?’

‘And where to, might I ask?’

‘I shall leave the island – leave everyone.’ A stifled sob as she attempted to shake off his restraining hold. ‘Please let me go.’

‘In a moment. Now sit down and listen.’

‘I will not. You cannot make me.’

‘Very well. But first of all, let me assure you that it will be better for you and for all concerned if you will sit down – here, in this quiet place where we are unlikely to be disturbed – and tell me the story, right from the beginning.’

She looked at him doubtfully. Removing his hand from her arm, he said gently, ‘Do sit down, miss.’

Suddenly tears started. ‘They wanted to marry me off and I wasn’t going to stand for that – like a package auctioned to the highest
bidder. Not likely. I had my own plans.’ Her expression softened.

‘Which were?’

‘I had met someone – here, before we left for London. We were in love and I believed …’ a shadow crossed her face. ‘I believed truly that we would be together always and that I could persuade my parents to see that was best for me. There was a terrible row – threats – they were going to lock me in my room. I had to escape, so I stole some money out of Pappa’s desk. I knew all about the ships for Orkney, we often travelled that way.’

She paused and Faro asked, ‘What happened when you arrived, after we walked on the shore together?’

She laughed softly. ‘I had it all worked out. I knew about the seal king legend, I’d been fascinated by it as a child. The maids used to tell me, especially about that local woman, Thora somebody, who had been taken by him and survived, and returned after a year and a day.’

She gave a romantic sigh. ‘It gave me an idea – I would make it look as if that had happened to me, give them something more important to worry about than finding me a husband,’ she added contemptuously. ‘I wore … these,’ she said, indicating breeches and shirt. ‘Easy to conceal under a loose gown and my winter
cloak. I was grateful for that heavy mist, I can tell you. I walked back to Spanish Cove, hired a horse and rode into …’

‘Kirkwall,’ Faro prompted, remembering the description of the youth and the destination given by the stableman.

She gave him a sharp glance as he added, ‘That is where your lover lives, is it not?’

Her eyes widened, then tearfully she groaned, ‘Not is – was! Oh, he seemed delighted to see me but after … after that first night together, when I talked about our plans for the future – I’m not a fool. I had a feeling that marriage was not in his mind. Excuses in plenty: yes, he adored me, but surely I could see that he was too poor to support a wife as well as his invalid brother.’

Faro now knew the identity of this lover, Amos Flett. He was not particularly surprised considering the ferryman’s reputation with the island women of which poor, misguided Celia had been quite unaware.

‘If it was only money,’ she continued, ‘then that could be solved. I have a very rich father. So I got this brilliant plan, pretending I had been kidnapped and sending a ransom note. A thousand pounds was an absolute fortune, we could leave the island, start afresh and live happily ever after.’

She crumpled the empty envelope in her
hand. ‘Even if it didn’t change his mind about marrying me, I was going to take it anyway. It could change my whole life.’

‘You would never have got away with it, miss, not once it was under investigation by the police. Kidnapping is a crime, the penalties could be hanging or transportation.’

She looked scared. ‘Surely not if it wasn’t serious – as I told you – just a joke.’

Faro shook his head. ‘No joke, miss. In plain words, you were stealing, obtaining money by false pretences.’

‘Rubbish! It couldn’t be stealing – from my own father.’

Faro nodded. ‘Oh yes, it could. It is still a crime, once the police are involved. You and your lover could both go to jail. Hanging or transportation, remember.’

‘But A—’ she stopped, and put a hand to her mouth.

‘Amos is his name, am I correct?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But Amos is innocent. He knew nothing of this—’

‘A moment – did your parents know his identity?’

‘Of course not. I wasn’t going to tell them. They wanted to know, but I’m not an idiot – my father would have moved heaven and earth to remove him; he can be quite ruthless.’

Her words confirmed Faro’s suspicions that the Prentiss-Grants knew more than they pretended about her reason for returning to Orkney: that, as he and Stavely also suspected, a man was involved. He said, ‘Please continue.’

‘A-Amos was taken aback – shocked – at what I had planned. When he saw the posters, then he panicked, and when I told him about my brilliant idea involving the ransom note I’d sent, he almost threw me out of the house.’ Tearfully, she turned to Faro, ‘What am I going to do?’

‘First of all, your father’s carriage is still waiting outside the local public house, to take you back to Scarthbreck.’

‘Oh no!’ she protested, springing to her feet.

‘Oh yes, miss. You must face your parents.’

‘They’ll be furious. They have never forgiven me for not being a boy, you know. They desperately needed a son and heir.’

‘I am sure you are wrong and that they love you.’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, you don’t know them. They will never forgive this …’

‘They will be angry, but all will be forgiven in the relief of having you back home again. And Gerald will be delighted too—’

‘Gerald?’ Smiling, she clasped her hands delightedly. ‘Is dear Gerald here too?’

‘Indeed, he is. Came post-haste to help search for you.’

‘Oh, that was kind!’

‘He is very fond of you, and I am sure he will put in a good word for you.’

Her face softened again. ‘Yes, he is kind, the one person who understands me. If only my parents hadn’t been so determined when the wretched men they put in my way were horrible; they decided that I should marry Gerald. He proposed to me – they put him up to it. A last resort, after all those years of being my good friend. I couldn’t believe it. I was disgusted.’

‘I rather think it was his own idea, not your parents’, although they would have approved.’

‘It was the last straw.’

They were walking towards the entrance. At the door Faro said, ‘May I suggest you replace the woollen cap, and hide your hair?’

As she did so, he added, ‘A necessary precaution. I’m sure you don’t want to attract attention and curious stares – a girl in a man’s shirt and breeches, among Kirkwall’s Sunday afternoon strollers.’

‘Over here.’ He led the way to the Lamb & Flag, where Tom, sitting at the window, quickly downed his ale and rushed out. His eyes wide in astonishment, he bowed as Faro handed her
into the carriage. ‘To the police station, if you please—’

She gave him an angry glance, pushed open the door and tried to leap out. ‘You promised – you promised.’

Hauling her back as she wriggled in vain, he shouted to the driver, ‘And then to Scarthbreck! Let me finish, miss, if you please. I have to let Sergeant Stavely know that Miss Celia has been found.’ As they stopped, he said, ‘Hand this in, if you please, Tom,’ and hastily scribbled a note for Stavely to come to Scarthbreck immediately.

Tom returned, averting his eyes from the young mistress, and Celia said wearily to Faro, ‘You can remove your hand from my arm now, Constable. I won’t run away.’

Faro smiled at her. ‘I wish I could be sure of that. Maybe I should have requested a pair of handcuffs at the police station.’

As they drove towards Stromness, she said, ‘I won’t be sorry to leave that awful house. I was always hungry.’

Faro smiled. ‘Not quite what you were used to.’

She shuddered. ‘Not in the least. I am not sure, now that I have come to my senses and am quite safely out of being madly in love, that I could have ever endured life in such a house. Always untidy, it even smelt rather dark and
dreary. And I was expected to feed them both, cook for them. What an idea!

‘I haven’t the least notion about preparing meals, it has always been done for me. And then there was that brother of his. I was told that he was an invalid. He didn’t seem to care for my presence, either, and always tried to avoid me. Never spoke a word.’

Faro had a vivid picture of Thora and Josh Flett and that lover-like meeting in the cathedral as she continued, ‘Such ill manners, too. Never rose to his feet like a gentleman when I entered the room, just kept on huddled up by the fireplace as if it was a cold day, with his bonnet pulled down well over his eyes.’

She shook her head. ‘Of course, I was sorry for him, knowing how ill he was and that making an effort to be polite was too much for him. He seemed much more lively at night, though. After I retired I used to hear them laughing and talking together – and I suspected that the whisky bottle was much in evidence.’

As they drove through Spanish Cove, she turned to Faro and smiled sadly, ‘You have been so kind to me. You are a strange policeman. When we first met that night – just a few days, seems such a long time ago,’ she added with a shudder, ‘even then, you never seemed a stranger …’

She paused, a bewildered shrug, then she smiled, placing a hand on his arm. ‘I have absolute trust in you, Constable, and whatever happens over there – at home – I’ll always be grateful to you for listening to me. And I am sure you will do your very best to save me being sent to jail.’

A frowning maid opened the door to Constable Faro accompanied by a youth. Uncertain whether to admit them or not, shocked by the lad’s somewhat scruffy attire, she clearly did not recognise her esteemed young mistress.

Celia suppressed a giggle and swept a manly bow to the astonished maid who said, ‘I will see if Sir Arnold is at home.’

‘No need. He is expecting us,’ she said, striding towards the drawing room where faint voices could be distinguished.

The maid scuttled ahead, throwing open the door. ‘Constable Faro here, sir, with … with … a gentleman.’

Celia marched in, and stood facing her parents. Sir Arnold rose to his feet, darting an angry glance at Faro. ‘Another claimant, is this?’

‘Not at all, Father.’ And Celia took off the bonnet and shook free her curls.

‘Celia!’ her mother screamed. ‘You are wearing breeches!’ She promptly fell back in
her chair, and in the consternation that followed no one even considered producing the required smelling salts.

‘Celia, my dear.’ It was Gerald who stepped forward and Celia threw herself sobbing into his arms.

Leaving her to explain as best she could the reason for this extraordinary reappearance, Faro chose not to be present, and before anyone could halt his exit, thankfully closed the door on what would doubtless prove to be a very painful and long-remembered domestic scene.

Returning to the servants’ lodge, an hour passed before a very angry, frustrated Stavely appeared. He had witnessed the amazing scene of Celia still in disguise and arguing furiously with her father, while her mother, weeping, implored her to retire immediately and put on a decent gown.

Celia ignored her, obstinately denying that she had come to Orkney to ‘meet up with that fellow’, whose identity she steadfastly refused to disclose. At least she owed him that. Now that the whole business might end in disaster for the hapless Amos Flett, she refused to take revenge upon an innocent man. Even angry with him, heartbroken by his rejection, she was sufficiently fair-minded to see clearly that she had been
driven by her own impetuosity, and although she cringed at the thought, she had forced herself upon him.

The responsibility was hers. On the strength of some passionate kisses, she had believed that this was the love that would last a lifetime. Amos’s only crime was that she had taken seriously his intentions and imagined that such overtures indicated that he was also wildly in love and intended marriage, when, in fact, this was his normal flirtatious behaviour as most of the young women on the island could have told her.

As for Stavely, having been reduced to a minor role in the drama of the missing heiress, he was not best pleased to realise that Constable Faro was receiving any praise that was going, for making the ‘arrest’ and unmasking the kidnapper single-handedly. It was most unjust, considering all the hard work the Orkney Constabulary had put in. And for himself in particular, bearing in mind the disruption of his comfortable home life by living near to Scarthbreck with his wretched brother-in-law.

Picking up the threads he was witnessing of the Prentiss-Grants’ reconciliation with their daughter, Stavely was annoyed that he had never suspected Miss Celia’s deception as he studied the ‘youth’, tall and slim in shirt and
breeches, arguing with Sir Arnold. He had been deceived by the voluminous cloak, the loose gown discarded by the shore, and had taken for granted that they were to hide a pregnancy, and had he been a bit sharper than Constable Faro and more observant, then his success in solving this particular ‘crime’ would have weighted handsomely on the credit side of his speedy promotion, with an additional commendation from Sir Arnold.

Sitting at the kitchen table, ignoring Faro’s pleas to calm himself, he shouted, ‘Why didn’t you inform me at the cathedral of your suspicions? As we have worked together on this case, didn’t you think I was entitled to share them?’

‘One can never be absolutely sure, Sergeant. I could have been wrong and I realised there might be a long wait ahead.’ Remembering that Stavely was very short on patience, he added, ‘A wait you would not have enjoyed, eager to get home where Mrs Stavely had dinner on the table for you.’

Stavely grunted, a happy fleeting memory of that feast now troubling his digestive system. ‘I take exception to that message handed in at the station. You know where I live, you could have come to the house.’

Faro was becoming exasperated by a futile
argument and what promised to be a chronicle of ‘what ifs?’. He said, ‘The police station was nearest and I had to hold on firmly to Miss Celia, who was doing her utmost to escape. No means of restraining her. No handcuffs, alas, in the Scarthbreck carriage.’

They weren’t getting anywhere and Stavely decided to change the subject. ‘What about this man?’

‘What man?’ Faro remembered his promise and shook his head. ‘There was a man – in London – her parents wanted her to marry. She rebelled and ran off, back to Orkney. Had this idea she’d scare them by pretending that the seal king had carried her off.’

No man and no pregnancy. All the wrong answers. Stavely sighed. ‘What nonsense. As if any normal man like Sir Arnold would believe that story. How was this seal king able to write a ransom note?’

‘We all knew it was written by Celia herself. Her mother was the one to seize on the terrible possibilities it indicated. And there was enough realism in the kidnapping story for Celia to try to extract one thousand pounds from her father. That was all she wanted. A vast sum of money.’

And remembering Celia’s version, he added. ‘She would be rich – indeed, it would have given
her independence, a chance to escape a forced marriage and begin a new life.’

‘Must be out of her mind – bad in the making and mad too – to want to leave that life of luxury every young lass would envy, with everything she wanted.’

Faro thought, not quite everything, but made no comment as Stavely continued, ‘I’m going to have the devil of a job explaining it to the authorities, and she could be in big trouble, you know, breaking the law by this deception.’

‘I am sure you’re right, but Sir Arnold will no doubt pull a few strings and be eager to more than compensate for his embarrassment and the extra work involved for the local police.’

Stavely realised, with feelings of guilt, that this was indeed the case. As he was leaving Scarthbreck, the mollified Sir Arnold saw him to the door and suggested that the Orkney Constabulary accept a large sum of money to repay this costly mistake, his foolish daughter’s behaviour which had caused such inconvenience to everyone concerned. He had even added, clearing his throat, that the fault was his, imagining that his daughter had been kidnapped, spreading alarm and despondency across the entire island, when it appeared she had merely been visiting old friends.

As a postscript and a piece of spur-of-
the-moment
invention, he added casually, ‘Seems it wasn’t entirely her fault. She did leave a note on her mother’s dressing table. Got blown away … windy day, open window. That was how the alarm was raised.’

Stavely hoped his peers would believe it. Personally, he didn’t believe one single word and neither did Faro, which was hardly surprising since he knew the whole truth regarding Celia Prentiss-Grant’s disappearance.

One person, however, was delighted and excited by this fanciful embroidery of what had happened. Mary Faro never once questioned its authenticity, for it would never have occurred to her that the master of Scarthbreck, a peer of the realm, respected by all, would be capable of a deliberate lie.

Regaled by the misfortune of the missing message, she said stoutly that she never had faith in notes left precariously on dressing tables by open windows. She had a story about an acquaintance to fit such an occasion. The tragedy of a note on a mantelpiece which blew down into a blazing fire and almost set a room ablaze.

As for Sir Arnold, his generosity knew no bounds. Relieved beyond measure to have his daughter returned safely and unsullied, in what he presumed was still her virgin state,
the servants were given an extra day off to compensate for sleepless nights and the stress of several days of needless anxiety.

Mary Faro, however, was less interested in the outcome of this piece of drama which had happened in her absence. She had a tale of her own, and Faro found himself listening to a prolonged version of her lunch with Emil Latour, from which every bite eaten was described in elaborate detail.

She looked flushed and glowing, a surprisingly youthful mamma, and he suspected she had sampled Emil’s splendid French cuisine, which Faro learnt he was an expert in, along with an accompanying indulgence in excellent French wine.

Amused at first, he realised that he was also slightly shocked at somewhat unseemly behaviour more in keeping with a giddy
eighteen-year
-old than the lady he regarded as a stolid mother, at fifty beyond frivolity and interest in the opposite sex. Now it was alarmingly evident that after all these years of widowhood she did not consider herself beyond a little romance.

In all fairness, listening somewhat impatiently as she chattered so happily, he decided that it was always a little shocking to discover romantic tendencies in parents, considered from childhood as quite old by their offspring.

There was a pause. A gleam in her eye as she reached her tenant’s plans for returning to Paris.

‘He hoped – no,
insisted
that I should visit him there,’ she added, with a look of triumph. ‘Very soon. Without delay. Fancy that, now!’

Faro’s eyebrows shot skyward at this revelation from the mother who had stoutly refused to leave the island for Edinburgh, which she had abandoned after his father’s death, not consenting even now to visit him.

Pleased with her conquest, she giggled girlishly and Faro’s lack of comment in this monologue needed no comment or interruption. All her occasional glances were directed at him to establish that he was still paying attention and interested. There was an occasional wry movement of his lips, hardly a smile but eagerly interpreted by his mother as a gesture of approval.

Dismayed, he realised that she was quite moonstruck, something new and fortunately rare – flirting with an artist twenty years her junior. Well, well, he thought, after all these years devoted to mourning her beloved Magnus, it had just taken a couple of hours and a rather flashy Frenchman to break the spell.

But Faro was soon to learn that he had not heard or seen the last of Emil and neither, to her delight, had Mary Faro. A horseman cantered up
the drive to Scarthbreck and Emil dismounted, accompanied by artist’s materials and a large easel strapped to the saddle.

Mary looked out of the window, and with a small exclamation, quickly removed her apron, straightened her skirts and glanced in the mirror, tidying hair that was immaculate beyond reproach, before rushing out to greet him.

Faro watched, fascinated, as the tall Frenchman bowed over her and kissed her hand. The indications of luggage hinted that this was not to be a brief visit for afternoon tea. He was right. Emil had come to stay.

Bewildered, he wondered what on earth was happening to his practical down-to-earth mother as, full of laughter, her face glowing at some whispered flattery, she led Emil into her kitchen.

Seeing Faro, he bowed, and Mary said, ‘Emil is to stay here for a few days. You’ll never guess, Jeremy.’ And to Emil, ‘Do please tell him.’

Bowing gravely, Emil made a gesture of dismissal, ‘Sir Arnold was most impressed by my quick sketch of his daughter and he now wishes her to sit for her portrait in oils.’

This, Faro later learnt, was a commission to celebrate what her parents hoped and prayed for, a forthcoming engagement to the Hon. Gerald Binsley. Mary said, ‘Emil is to have a room in the lodge here. I will leave him with you, Jeremy,
while I see that a suitable room is available.’

Faro decided wryly that Inga would enjoy this story regarding his mother’s transformation. Emil was not in any hurry. Several preliminary sketches must be made, as the artist solemnly declared that it was his usual procedure to get to know his model before the actual painting began.

As Mary eagerly rejoined them, for Faro suddenly the roles of mother and son were reversed and he felt like a father sternly regarding the skittish behaviour of a lovesick daughter. He wondered what would be the outcome, anxious about leaving her unchaperoned in Emil’s society after he left Scarthbreck.

For Stavely, at least, there was some relief that Constable Faro need no longer stay to gloat over him – although gloating was not one of Faro’s failings.

‘You can go back to your duties in Edinburgh, now that this matter has been cleared up and filed away to everyone’s satisfaction.’

Faro smiled. ‘I am no longer a prime suspect.’

Stavely moved uncomfortably. ‘It wasn’t my doing. In the regulations, which you know as well as any of us, the last person that is seen in the company of someone who disappears under suspicious circumstances should remain accessible until the case is solved.

‘Unlike yourself, normally such a person doesn’t happen to live in a part of the British Isles with easy access to the scene. So we could hardly let you go back to Edinburgh, could we now? Fortunately for you, and for the police, it wasn’t a dead body after all.’

Or not quite after all, as the following days were to reveal.