To Kill a Queen (10 page)

Faro drew Steady in to let him pass.

"Tis a fine day, mister.'

Faro replied in kind.

The man was middle-aged, cheery-faced. 'Ye've missed the Mains road, doctor.'

'Doctor?'

The man eyed the horse and Faro's tweed suit reflectively. 'Aye, sir, ye'll be visiting the maister. Een o' the bairns has the croup.'

Faro shook his head. 'Alas, I'm not the doctor, and I fear I'm lost.'

The man's curiosity was thoroughly aroused. 'Stranger to these parts, are ye, sir?'

'Not quite. I'm biding with my aunt Mistress MacVae at Easter Balmoral.'

The farmhand was immediately interested. 'That was an awfa' business about the fire—' Suddenly he pushed back his bonnet, scratched his brow. 'I ken who ye are, mister,' he added stabbing a finger in Faro's direction. 'I wasna' far out in thinking ye were the new doctor.'

'He is my stepson.'

'And ye must be Mistress Bella's nevvy, the policeman,' was the triumphant response.

'Correct.'

The man chortled delightedly. 'We've heard all about ye, sir. Solving all these mysteries.' And leaning forward confidentially, he added, 'Did ye ken that there was a murder hereabouts?'

'I did hear something of the kind,' said Faro vaguely.

'Aye, I could show ye the exact spot, if ye'd care to see it.'

Leaping down from the cart, he led the way back and stopped by a bramble-filled ditch some twenty yards distant.

He touched the verge with his boot. 'Here, sir, this is where she lay. I'll no forget it in a hurry, sir. For it was me that found the puir lass,' he said proudly.

'You must be Jock?'

'The same, sir.'

This was indeed an unexpected piece of good fortune.

'Early morning it was, I was on the way up to the fields here. And there was this bundle of rags, I'm thinking. Then I saw it was a woman. Och, a drunken tinker, her hair was over her face. When I tried to wake her up,' he gulped at the memory, 'I thought it was mud dried on her dress. Then I saw it was dried blood. She had been stabbed in the chest.'

'Did you touch anything?'

'Nothing, sir. I ran and telt the maister. He's an invalid, puir body, been in a wheelchair for nigh on twa' years. He was right upset about it, told me to saddle up and ride into Ballater to get Sergeant Whyte. And Dr Elgin. There's been an inspector, a top man from London,' he added in tones of awe. 'He asked me a powerful lot of questions—and the maister too. He has it all written down, just exactly like I've telt ye.'

Faro did not doubt that. 'Did you know the lass?'

'Everybody kenned Morag Brodie,' Jock said slowly. 'A foreigner, no' frae these parts, working up at the Castle. The Crathie Inn was een o' her haunts wi' the rest o' the servants.' Again confidentially he whispered, 'Aye, a fair bucket o' drink they took, but kept themselves to themselves, o'course,' he added with a wry smile. 'Superior to the rest o' us.'

He stopped to watch the distant figure of a woman, carrying a basket.

'That's ma missus. Brings ma piece to the end o' the road.'

The haycart trundled off down the lane. Five minutes later Faro emerged from the ditch without any new evidence but with an abundance of scratches from the close-packed bramble hedge.

At that moment he was thankful that this particular case was not his responsibility and that Purdie had the killer already in his sights.

Why then did it continue to trouble him? Was it the vague possibility that the murder of Morag Brodie had its origins in a plot to kill the Queen?

He sighed. His search for whoever killed the Queen's pet dogs seemed even more ludicrous in the light of Superintendent McIntosh's monstrous revelations.

From the distant hill, the echoes of gunfire, the faint plumes of smoke and clouds of birds rising indicated that the sportsmen were still busily engaged in the morning's activity.

Shading his eyes he stared across the river and wished he could see inside the mind of the assassin who at this moment lurked somewhere behind the granite walls of Balmoral Castle, tranquil in afternoon sunlight.

He turned Steady's head, briskly trotting downhill until they reached the river bank and the bridge which gave access to the Castle gates. As they entered the drive, a landau approached carrying four passengers.

Faro recognised General Ponsonby, the Queen's secretary, and Prime Minister Gladstone. Sitting opposite them were two large gentlemen. With only the most cursory observation, stolid countenances and military bearing betrayed them as the security guards, Captains Tweedie and Dumleigh.

The General, who knew him, bowed and obviously identified Faro for the others who now turned and regarded him intently.

As they disappeared he found himself close to the spot where the Queen's dogs had been killed. When his presence in the grounds was revealed to Her Majesty she would, he was certain, express her impatience if he did not have some substantial progress to report to Brown within the next day or two.

If word of the Queen's dissatisfaction with his investigations reached the popular press, then his whole reputation might be under threat. He could imagine Her Majesty's scornful reactions on her next visit to Edinburgh: 'Inspector Faro, you say. Have you no one else? Why, he could not even discover who killed our precious dogs.'

Suddenly aware that he was running out of time, he shuddered. He had at most four days to discover the dog-slayer and avert a plot to murder their Royal mistress.

This was Tuesday. At the end of the week the Queen left once again for London.

If she was still alive.

As he rode towards the Castle, the drive appeared to be deserted and he realised how easy it was to gain access to the Castle. No guards, no policemen. Just as the Queen wished it to appear, a normal country house.

Dear God, that it was so.

He looked up at the windows, all empty, close-curtained in tartan. He turned away, frustrated, helpless to avert the catastrophe taking shape within those walls.

As he started back down the drive the sound of loud barking presaged the appearance of three liveried white-wigged footmen, leading a selection of assorted dogs.

At the sight of his horse the dogs became even more agitated, while Steady greeted the tirade with remarkable calm, snorting a little but remaining aloof.

The footmen meanwhile with great difficulty and much disentanglement of chains at last succeeded in quieting their charges.

While Faro expected to be challenged on his right to be riding about on Royal property, they merely regarded him sullenly. Touching his whip to his hat in brief salute, he trotted past and out on to the road leading to the bridge, suddenly elated by the encounter.

Did the footmen normally walk the dogs? If so, had this been one of the duties of Lessing, Morag Brodie's drowned lover?

He was to find the answer to that sooner than he expected when, a few hours later, with Steady again saddled to the pony-cart, he set off once more for the hospital.

Bella greeted him cheerfully: 'I'm being let home tomorrow for ma birthday—' The door opened to admit a somewhat breathless Vince. 'I was just telling him the grand news—'

'You go on one condition. Great-aunt,' said Vince sternly. 'That you promise to take care and not do too much.' And turning to Faro, he added, 'Dr Elgin has given me the evening off. I wonder, could we have supper together? I'm told the food is excellent at the inn.'

'No need for that, lad. Tibbie'll give ye both a bite to eat.'

'That's all very fine, dear. But we're not going to impose on Tibbie. Besides it's time I made the acquaintance of the locals. Agreed, Stepfather?'

'Agreed.'

'Forgive me carrying him off, Great-aunt. He will be all yours, I promise, from tomorrow morning.' And to Faro, 'Ten minutes, at the entrance?' And turning back to Bella, 'I'll look in and see you two ladies later.'

In the next bed Nessie remained motionless, apart from her heavy breathing.

Bella looked towards her anxiously. 'The puir soul. She gets that upset, cries a lot about Morag. And the Queen's sewing. Always was a worrier, ye ken. The nurse had to give her something to make her sleep. Puir Nessie, she's upset at me going. She wants home too.'

'But where will she go?'

'She can bide with me, of course,' said Bella indignantly. 'No one goes without a roof over their heads hereabouts, Jeremy. There's always good neighbours. And cottages falling vacant on the estate. The Queen's a kind caring body, never forgetting them as has served her.'

She smiled at him, picking up a ball of wool and needles from the bed. 'Now off you go and have yer supper, lad. I have the heel of my sock to turn and then it'll be bedtime. See and come early for me in the morning.' He hugged her fondly, promising to do so.

Vince was awaiting him in the lobby and greeted the pony-cart with delight. 'No more walking today, thank heaven. It's not a very big hospital, but the corridors seem uncommon long. Especially as I have to attend both men and women patients and when Prince Albert designed the dratted building, he omitted to make any communicating door between the two wings. I cannot imagine how it hasn't killed Dr Elgin years ago.'

The coaching inn was busy, obviously extremely popular with locals and visitors alike. They found a corner table near a cheerful log fire and over an excellent meal of broth, roast beef and Athol brose, Faro told his stepson of his conversation with Purdie and the two policemen, and his meeting with Jock at the murder scene.

McIntosh's secret visit and the plot to kill the Queen, he left until the end.

Vince whistled. 'This is incredible, Stepfather. What a hornet's nest you've stumbled on this time. But you know, I'd wager that Inspector Purdie knows about it. And that's the real reason for his presence here.'

'My thoughts exactly. And the sooner we put our two heads together the happier I'll be.'

'Three heads, Stepfather, if you please. Don't forget about me. I want a part of this too.' Vince sighed. 'You've realised of course that time isn't on your side!'

'In this game, Vince lad, it never is,' said Faro grimly, glancing at his watch. 'Talking of which, since it's now past ten o'clock I had better make a move in the direction of the bar if we want to be served with any more drams.'

Pushing his way through the crowd, trying to claim the attention of the harassed barman, he was greeted by another customer, similarly employed.

'We have met before, sir.' At Faro's puzzled smile, the man laughed. 'You fail to recognise me without the wig.'

'The wig? Ah, one of the footmen—'

'Correct. I apologise for the dogs' unruly behaviour this morning. Horses can get very uppity.'

'Not at all.' And as both men received their order, Faro said, 'Perhaps you would care to join us. At the table over there.'

'Thank you, I have already eaten. I had arranged to meet some friends.' And looking around, 'I don't see them anywhere. I've just arrived and at this hour it is impossible to find a seat,' he added, following Faro through the crowd.

The footman had an English accent, and on closer acquaintance he was not so young as Faro had first thought. Perhaps about his own age, touching forty, with a pale rather melancholy face and quite startlingly pale eyes.

Holding out his hand he said, 'Peter Noble's the name.'

'Mr Faro. Dr Laurie.' Faro's warning glance in his stepson's direction established his wish to remain incognito.

'This is our favourite haunt,' said Peter, settling himself comfortably and lighting a cigar. 'Can't tell you what a relief it is to be warm for a change and to escape all those restrictions at the Castle. Oh, I beg pardon, do have one, gentlemen.'

Vince who had not acquired the smoking habit declined. Faro would have preferred his old pipe but felt it would be churlish to refuse and the chance of an excellent cigar rarely came his way. A moment later he was glad of his decision, appreciating a high-quality Havana obviously in keeping with the Royal household.

'Her Majesty is a regular tartar about this sort of thing,' Peter continued, puffing happily. 'Can't abide smokers or the tobacco habit. I don't think I'll be telling tales out of school for it's fairly common knowledge. The strict rule is all cigars and pipes are banished to the smoking-room. Even illustrious guests are so treated. And that isn't the worst. By Her Majesty's order, that particular door is locked promptly at midnight.'

He laughed. 'It breeds a camaraderie among the guests and servants, I assure you. A kind of conspiracy which does add a furtive enjoyment to their illicit activity. Some have been overheard saying it beats being back at Eton or Harrow. Especially as smoking is forbidden even in the privacy of their own rooms.'

The waiter approached and Peter accepted the large dram that Faro had ordered. He drank it gratefully and as Faro and Vince made their excuses, saying that the hour was late, and prepared to leave, Noble stood up and bowed.

'I do thank you both for your hospitality. Your table by the fire was well chosen. Indeed, I am most reluctant to leave, but I should go and join my friends.'