Blood Line (12 page)

'And thereafter lived forever in mortal terror of denouncement,' said Vince. 'No wonder drawn swords and any violent movement terrified him.'

'Aye, knowing what he knew. But not knowing how many other people were privy to the secret - and Scotland's nobles had a long and notorious record of getting rid of their unwanted kings. Very, very few ever died in their beds.'

'And if James VI of Scotland and I of England was an impostor, then he had good reason to be on the alert for assassins lurking behind every dovecot and in every closet.'

'And if the coffin in the wall contained Mary's real son, then the discovery of that long lost secret has more significance than any other episode in Scottish history.'

'I can see that, Stepfather. The curtain-raiser to the long-drawn-out tragedy of two succeeding centuries, culminating in the tragedy of Culloden, the downfall of the Clans and the doomed Jacobite cause.'

'And more up to date, Vince, we could also add the present clearances of the Highlands.'

'If Mary had died childless, then the whole course of Scottish history might have been very different. No Stuarts, no Charles I and no Charles II

'Whose illegitimate offspring conveniently founded many of the most noble families in the land.'

'A very different "Kingdom of Scotland".'

'Or just Scotia, the northernmost county of England.'

'No Hanoverians, and no Queen Victoria,' said Faro.

'Our dear Queen isn't the most popular monarch Scotland ever had, if truth be told. You hear a lot of discontent voiced in the howffs of Leith Walk.'

'Aye, and we have it on good authority at the Central Office that there's a lot of dissatisfaction in Parliament at the amount of time she spends at Balmoral.'

'Behind the respectable closed shutters of the New Town, there are a lot of old men whose fathers were "out" in the '45 Jacobite rebellion. Even in England the early years of her reign, long before you were born lad, were fraught with problems. As well as the far corners of Empire, there were rebellions much nearer home - in Ireland and Wales.' With a laugh, Faro added, 'Get your Grandmother Faro on to the subject, wars are her speciality. If women had been allowed in Parliament, she would have made a superb politician.'

'God forbid,' groaned Vince. 'One woman ruling over us is enough yet the newspapers give the impression that her subjects are all devoted and loyal to a man.'

'Aye, and those same loyal subjects once demanded that her beloved Prince Albert be put in the Tower of London as a spy. There have always been assassination attempts on her life.'

'And, as you well know, not even Balmoral is safe.'

Faro nodded. 'When she's travelling in Scotland, the police are constantly on the alert. Never made public, of course.'

'Fenians?'

'Aye, but not only Irishmen.'

'So I gather. There had always been troubles in Ireland, but it appears that her loyal dominions, like Canada, are having problems.'

'I heard it being discussed in Central Office. Some trouble with French-speaking people who don't want to be Canadians?'

'More than trouble, Stepfather, it's a full-scale rebellion.' Vince gave him a hard look and said slowly, 'Only last week, Colonel Wolseley set out with a brigade of staunch men and Iroquois Indians to quell a threatened uprising.'

'How very interesting. I must read it up sometime.'

'Stepfather, why do you never read the newspapers?' asked Vince gently.

'I rely on you - and my mother when she's here - to keep me in touch with any interesting items of news. I'm too busy everyday with my own crime reports, lad, to consider wars and rebellions as a source of pleasurable reading. Especially in summer when our police are responsible for the safety of members of the Government - and the Royal Family - passing through on their way to Balmoral.'

Vince smiled. 'I'd have thought the first requirement of a detective was to be knowledgeable about current affairs.'

Chided but unrepentant, Faro indicated a file of papers on his desk. 'That's tonight's work. At any given moment I have to be able to reel off for Superintendent Mackintosh the whereabouts of every suspected lawbreaker and revolutionary in Edinburgh and the Lothians - aye, and a few north and south too, who might decide to extend their activities. In the circumstances, I shall continue to devote my leisure hours - the few I have - to the world of crimes I don't have to solve...'

Vince looked at the line of leather-bound volumes on the shelf. 'Such as Mr Dickens'?'

Faro nodded enthusiastically. 'Exactly. And times past - Scott, Shakespeare - how the spirit soars - I assure you a very necessary escape when a man has done wrestling with today's dark and sordid deeds.'

'You are incorrigible,' said Vince, with a shake of his head.

'That's as may be, lad, but let's not digress. Let's get back to Queen Mary and the question mark poised over the discovery of that tiny coffin.'

'And why so many might have died to keep its secret,' said Vince.

'And where do these', said Faro, indicating the cameos on the table beside them, 'fit into the puzzle? Let's hope Lieutenant Mace has found the answer by now. He promised to track down a missing page of the inventory of the Queen's jewels.'

'And you think these might be on it?'

'I'm almost certain they will be.'

'You suspect they are part of a cache of buried treasure, don't you?'

Faro shook his head. 'I'm not sure what I suspect until we can learn a bit more about the man who died on Castle Rock. I must talk to Sir James's valet, find out what he knows about the jacket. Then I must try to track down Femister's daughter.'

'If she's still alive.'

'True. At thirty-eight, we hope so, if she hasn't succumbed to cholera or childbirth. We know who she married and where Lord Penfold still lives, in a handsome town house in Heriot Row. That is where I go next. But what became of Dowie, I wonder?'

'It seems very unlikely that he's still alive considering his serious injuries thirty-odd years ago. It's even less likely that he could be our dead man, seeing that broken bones heal but also thicken and the body was remarkably unblemished, apart from that tattoo on his wrist.'

'A clover leaf - for good luck, I suppose.'

'Didn't bring him much, did it?' Faro was silent. A second later he shook his head and said excitedly, 'No, lad, not a four-leafed clover - a shamrock. That's what it was. An Irish shamrock.'

'Of course. Poor devil.' Vince paused and then asked, 'Where next, Stepfather?'

'Tomorrow I'm off to Piperlees, but first of all I have to look into the Central Office and see what reports the constables have collected, if any, on my drawing of the cameo. See if it fits any of the stolen property taken during the Clavers gang's robberies. And if it does, then we may have a clue to the one with my father's papers.'

'After more than thirty years, do you think . . . ?'

'No, I don't, lad. That would be the easy solution.' Faro shook his head. 'I think it would also be a miracle, but we must make sure.'

'And then?'

'Off to the Castle to see Mace.'

'Dr Kellar has promised me a day off. Rose and Emily are longing to see the Castle. We'll meet you there, of course,' he added hastily. 'That will leave you free to make your own arrangements.'

'And you, of course, free to entertain the enchanting Miss Haston.'

'Why, Stepfather,' said Vince in mocking tones, 'what an absolutely splendid idea. It's so sad to think of that lovely creature bored and unhappy in her gloomy Castle when she could be enjoying the benefits of fresh air and gentle exercise.'

'And where are you hoping to find that in the centre of Edinburgh, might I ask?'

'Oh, there are lots of places,' said Vince vaguely. 'We might go down the coast to East Lothian. The girls would love the seaside. And sea air is so beneficial, brings a glow to their cheeks.'

'Your conniving, Vince lad, brings a glow to mine. You are certainly in the right profession to make a fortune out of gullible patients.'

Chapter Eight

A hired gig took Faro out to Piperlees, where a long wait at the front door and the shuttered windows confirmed his worst suspicions. At length a horseman appeared on the drive, with the unmistakable look of a stable-boy.

'Heard you as I was going by. What do you want?'

'Is Sir James at home?'

'No he isn't. There's no one at home at this time of year.' And with an air of amusement and condescension at such ignorance of the gentry's habits, he continued, 'Now, where else would Sir James be but away up to Deeside for the shooting?'

'They were here in the midst of a party only two days ago,' Faro said sharply, furious at this further setback.

The stable-lad shrugged. 'Well, they've gone now. No, I don't know when they'll be back exactly, 'cos I'm not in their confidence. It depends a lot on the weather. Could be next week, or next month.'

'Are the servants with him?'

'Aye, some of them. Sir James is a good employer,' and, indicating the shutters, 'has the house closed up so that the other servants can get away to their own homes for a wee holiday too. What was it you were wanting, anyway?' he added, his curiosity aroused by this questioning and the brown paper parcel under Faro's arm.

Faro decided against declaring himself. The presence of a detective inspector on the premises might be calculated to spread alarm and despondency, put the innocent and guilty alike on their guard. By the time the family returned, tales of the 'polis's visit' would have gathered momentum among the tenantry. Rumour and speculation would be rife and Sir James, a personal friend of the High Constable of Edinburgh, would not be pleased at hints that his public record and private life were less than impeccable.

'I was wondering what Sir James does with his discarded clothes?'

'So that's what you're after, guv'nor, from one of them charity organisations are you?' Amusement was now replaced by contempt as he scanned Faro from head to foot, no doubt assessing the origins of the caller's wardrobe. With a shrug, he added: 'We don't get none of them down the yard. Her Ladyship packs them off to the poor house in Edinburgh, I suppose.'

Faro cursed silently at the prospect of continuing his quest for the jacket's new owner, faced by such daunting odds.

'What if there was something special - some garment too good to give away?'

The stable-lad shook his head. 'Might give it to his valet. But I wouldn't be knowing for sure. I'm only concerned with the horses and their welfare.'

'Is the valet around at present?'

The lad guffawed. 'Come on, guv'nor, where would Sir James's valet be but on holiday with the master? Doesn't move a foot - or a boot, come to think of it, without Mr Peters.'

Thanking him for his help, Faro limped back to the gig. Further investigation was pointless. The only person who could help him, if not Sir James himself, would be the valet, Peters. And next week or next month would be too late. By then all that remained of the dead man on Castle Rock would have been distributed among the eager young medical students from Surgeons' Hall.

On the outskirts of Edinburgh, Faro decided to call on Lady Penfold before going to the Castle. Heriot Row was bathed in milky afternoon sunshine. The day was oppressively warm, the heavily burdened trees silent of bird-song. As he climbed the steps he felt certain that again his luck would be out. This was the time of day when ladies in Edinburgh society took a nap before calling for afternoon tea. The door was opened by a uniformed maid.

'Is Lady Penfold at home? Detective Inspector Faro.'

The maid glanced at the card. 'I will see if her ladyship is receiving visitors.' A moment later she returned and, opening the door wider, ushered him into the morning room. 'If you will wait here, please.'

Faro took stock of his surroundings. The perfect proportions of the Georgian room, the furnishings, the velvet and satin, the silver and crystal. He looked at the roaring coal fire in the grate and thought of this further extravagance for a late August afternoon. How sparse and even poverty stricken was his home at Sheridan Place. A waft of violet perfume announced the approach of Lady Penfold.

His first thought was that he had been mistaken, that the woman before him was far too young to be the Griselda Femister in the parish register. His experience of the
grande toilette
was limited, but she appeared to be attired in the manner of one going to a ball. With her flounces of satin and lace, and rich jewels, she was almost as over adorned as the room itself.

'Do please sit down.' As he did so, conscious of her ladyship's searching glance and, remembering Sir James's stable-boy's contempt, he was acutely aware of his own rather shabby dress.

Lady Penfold smiled. 'I'm afraid his lordship is away from home. We have just newly returned from abroad, a short summer holiday for a family wedding. His lordship's niece married an Italian count.'

As she warmed her hands before the blaze, her smile became coquettish. 'Weddings are such fun and all the noble houses of Rome and Tuscany were present. I revelled in every moment.' And with a faint shudder, 'I am finding Edinburgh a trifle chilly by comparison. Everyone who matters, all one's friends and acquaintances are away to Balmoral or to shoot with some Duke or Earl of something on his estate in the Highlands.'