Blood Line (13 page)

Another sidelong glance. 'Edinburgh is very dull and boring in summer. Do you not find it so?'

Faro shook his head. 'I'm afraid, your ladyship, that criminals, robbers and villains are quite indifferent to the conditions of weather. They even find certain advantages in remaining in Edinburgh when wealthy houses are deserted by their owners. The work of the police increases rather than otherwise.'

'The police? You are a policeman?' She sounded shocked.

'A detective. I gave your maid my card.'

'I'm afraid I did not look at it carefully. The silly girl is new here and all she said was that there was a gentleman downstairs. I presumed you to be some acquaintance and I have been trying in vain to place you. We meet so many persons in our social round, you understand.'

'I do indeed, your ladyship.'

'And you are a policeman?' She repeated the words carefully, as if giving this information time to sink in.

'Detective Inspector Jeremy Faro, your ladyship.'

She beamed on him. 'I thought you couldn't be just a policeman.' Again the sidelong glance. 'You look much too distinguished. However, you are surely rather young to have such a responsible position. You must be very clever,' she sighed. And Faro, managing to keep his face expressionless, received a look that even the most unobservant of men could not mistake as anything but an overture to flirtation.

The door opened to admit the maid. 'You will stay and take tea with me?'

Faro thanked her and the ritual of tea pouring and plate passing began, accompanied in the maid's presence by some trivial conversation from Faro concerning the splendid view of Queen's Street Gardens from the windows and a particularly fine collection of volumes of Sir Walter Scott, which he was invited to examine.

'They are all signed, Sir Walter was a close friend of my father-in-law.' And in answer to his eager question, 'No, I have not read any of them, I'm afraid, I find there are too many pages and too closely printed to hold my interest for long. Candidly, I prefer real people and real-life adventures. So much more exciting than can be dreamed up in novelettes.'

And before he could think of a reply, 'Almost every day, life offers us some unique opportunity of experiencing a new sensation, a thrilling adventure, if we keep our eyes open.'

She looked across at him and her eyes, he observed, were very open indeed. 'Don't you agree, Inspector?'

Faro replaced the delicate china cup on its saucer. 'I'm afraid I haven't given the matter a great deal of thought.'

She lowered her gaze thoughtfully. 'You should, you know, you really should. Opportunities must often come your way, more than to most men. Such a very exciting and interesting life.'

'It can also be very dull. All routine enquiries are not as pleasant as this one.' That cheered her up considerably and he continued, 'Perhaps I may be permitted to explain the purpose of my visit.'

'Of course, Inspector. But I have enjoyed meeting you and I hope we will meet again. His lordship...'

'You mistake me. It is your ladyship I wished to see.'

'You wanted to see me?' The eyelashes fluttered. 'How absolutely splendid.' And leaning forward, eyes narrowed so that the pupils grew large and black, her lips slightly parted, she whispered, 'But really, Inspector, my conscience is quite clear.' And then stretching out diamond braceleted wrists for his inspection, she laid her soft cool hands on his. 'I suppose all criminals tell you that. Am I to have handcuffs now - or shall we say, a little later?'

Managing to remove his hands with a gentle smile, he said, 'Nothing so dramatic, I assure you. I only wish to recreate a piece of old history.'

'How very boring, Inspector.' And with a sigh: 'But if you must, I am yours to command.'

'I understand that both your parents died when you were a child.'

'That is so. I never knew my mother. She died bringing me into the world. That is why I am childless.' She paused and then asked, 'Are you a married man?'

'I was. I am a widower.'

'A widower. How sad.' But her look, hopeful again, belied such sentiments. 'Recently?' When Faro nodded, she asked, 'May I ask what happened?'

'My late wife died in childbirth.'

'So you are childless too.'

'No. We had two daughters.'

'How fortunate. I, alas, have always been so afraid, indeed so repelled at the prospect of all that agony that I have been grateful, nay, fortunate even, that his lordship had a son and heir by his first marriage. The first Lady Penfold died of a fever while they were travelling in Italy. Tell me about your poor wife.'

Faro shook his head. 'There is little to tell.' He could not bear to uncover his grief and agony over losing poor Lizzie and their longed-for son. The girls had been too young to understand, but Vince had been inconsolable. Part of his dedication to the study of medicine came from his determination to specialise in this branch of medicine with all its superstitions and prejudices. Dr James Young Simpson's discovery of chloroform in 1840 had been frowned upon by those who believed that ever since Eve it was woman's duty to bring forth children in suffering. For her ninth child, Prince Leopold, Queen Victoria had eagerly seized upon the use of chloroform thereby bestowing respectability upon painless childbirth.

Determined to change the subject, Faro said, 'Tell me about your father. How well do you remember him?'

'Not a great deal, I'm afraid. Except that he used to carry me on his shoulders down to the harbour at Leith to watch the big ships sailing away.'

'So you don't remember his accident?'

'Accident?'

'Yes. When he was killed working on the masonry at Edinburgh Castle.'

'Working on what masonry, Inspector? I don't understand you.'

'A wall in the royal apartments. He and another labourer named Dowie were repairing it, in 1837, in preparation for the Queen's coronation visit in 1838. The scaffolding ... '

Lady Penfold held up her hand. 'A moment, Inspector. I am quite bewildered by your remarks. You have been grossly misinformed, I'm afraid. My father - a common labourer - a workman?' Her laughter had a strangled sound and before he could reply, she continued gently, 'You have got your facts wrong, this workman person cannot possibly be my father. John Femister was an officer and a gentleman and he died in the Canton rebellion in 1843. On the wall behind you is a painting of him in full dress uniform, the year before his death.'

Faro regarded the painting solemnly. There was little or no resemblance to the dead man on Castle Rock. She was watching him closely and there was nothing to be gained by refuting her claim. He apologised.

'Who brought you up after your father died?'

'A great-aunt in Fife. My only relative, alas, and now dead - the year I was married.'

'Was she also a Femister - from Ireland, were they not?'

Lady Penfold laughed. 'Ireland? Whatever gave you that idea, Inspector? These Femisters were Scots through and through. Great-aunt was on my maternal side, of course.'

'Of course. One more question. Did your father by any chance have a brother, possibly older than himself?'

'My father was an orphan, Inspector.' Her easy, flirtatious manner had been replaced by a certain watchfulness and carefully-thought-out statements. Faro had interviewed too many criminals in his twenty years not to know when someone was lying. He was certain that Lady Penfold was most anxious to conceal the truth.

Could there be any other reason than the very obvious one: that she was a fearful snob, determined to impress with her good connections? Had she built this fantasy about her father, complete with portrait, in order to establish herself as Lord Penfold's wife and when she married deliberately turned her back on her humble parentage? A heartless verdict, but, Faro knew from experience, not altogether rare in those who wished to rise in society from a poor working-class background.

There was nothing to be gained by prolonging the interview, but as he apologised for wasting her time and bade her goodday, she made a rapid return to coquetry. With a great fluttering of eyelashes, she begged him to stay and tell her all about his fascinating work in capturing criminals.

He shook his head, murmuring thin excuses. At length, sighing, realising she had lost a conquest, she rang the bell for the maid to show him out.

'It is my turn to be curious, Inspector. What is your reason for all these questions?'

'Oh, have I not told you?' Faro faced her squarely. 'A man was found dead on Castle Rock recently and we had reason to suspect that he might in fact be related to your late father, John Femister, and that his fall was no accident.'

'You mean this - Femister person - might have been deliberately murdered.'

'That is what we suspect.'

There was a moment's pause as she sought to recover, then with a deep breath, she drew herself up and said sternly, 'I can assure you, Inspector, there is absolutely no connection with this house.'

Faro had observed her reactions carefully. Her horrified whisper, her sudden change of colour, her hands clasped tightly together, all were the confirmation he needed that this was indeed John Femister's daughter. Even more to the point he suspected that she had some knowledge of the dead man. What that connection was remained to be revealed and he was fairly certain that Lady Penfold would give him no help whatever.

As they walked towards the door, she said, 'It is only idle curiosity, Inspector, but where do the police bury murder victims who are unclaimed by relatives?'

'They become the property of the Medical College. For dissection by the students.'

Her voice as she said goodbye was curiously unsteady, all coquetry long since forgotten. As the door closed behind him Faro had the satisfaction of interpreting her look of terror and guilt. The fact that her dreams that night might be haunted by remorse, and the thought of her discomfort, afforded him considerable pleasure.

At the Central Office there were six very short reports awaiting him, collected from the properties robbed by Clavers and his gang. In each case, according to the constable who made the investigation, Faro's drawing of the Queen Mary cameo had been carefully scrutinised and, in every case, the robbed gentleman denied ever having seen it before.

Superintendent Mackintosh came in as Faro put down the last report.

'If that piece is genuine,' he said indicating the drawings sternly, 'and no one has claimed it, then the proper place for it is in the collection at Edinburgh Castle. See to it, will you, Faro. Oh, and before you go, you had better sign this certificate for the Fiscal.'

The document related to disposal of the remains of an unknown man found on the Castle Rock. All the usual procedures of investigation had been carried out, but no claimant had come forward.

'He definitely wasn't one of Clavers' gang either, Faro. I had my informant take a look at him.'

Faro reluctantly put his name under the presumed cause of death - 'By misadventure' - and handed the document back to the Superintendent.

There was little point in protesting. A jacket that might have been distributed to the dead man by any of Lady Piperlee's charitable organisations, and not necessarily first hand. It could have had several owners.

Lady Penfold had been his last hope, a woman too proud to admit a common labourer as her father, who had invented a grandiose background suitable to her present position in society.

He handed the certificate back and the Superintendent gave an approving nod. 'Good. That's settled then. Case is now closed and we can get him tidied away. Thank God. No one will be sorry about that, I can tell you. Complaints already about keeping bodies around in this weather, a very unpleasant business. Very nasty indeed, Faro.' And his reproachful glance seemed to indicate that his Detective Inspector had been personally responsible for the inconvenience caused.

He was leaving the building when a constable hailed him. 'Message for you, Inspector.'

Marked 'Urgent' the note read, 'Have stumbled on something which you ought to know. Come at once. Highly confidential.' The last words were heavily underlined and the signature was 'Arthur Mace'.

'When did this arrive?'

'An hour ago, maybe more. I didn't realise you were in the building.'

But Faro was already at the door stepping into a waiting carriage. As it climbed the steep High Street towards the Castle, he felt the stirrings of excitement.

With or without the corpse of the mystery man, with or without his superior's approval, the case for him could not yet be closed.

As long as he had a shred of evidence.

And his sixth sense told him that whatever Lady Penfold's denials, however unsatisfactory the interview had been, her manner had betrayed evidence that the dead man was either a relative of John Femister or somehow connected with him.

It was by following such frail uncertain threads that mysteries were solved and Detective Inspector Faro brought criminals to justice.

Chapter Nine

At the entrance to the royal apartments, a gentleman, swarthy of countenance with the proportions of a wrestler and a decidedly foreign appearance which belied his very English name, announced himself as Forster, Sir Eric's personal assistant.