Murder in Paradise (5 page)

Faro was silent for a moment. ‘There is one other possibility. What if Emile was killed by a stranger who knew nothing of his relationship with Madeleine Smith? How about that?’

McFie smiled. ‘You’re in the land of fantasy with this one, lad. For Emile to have come across a murderous stranger or acquaintance on that fatal night and for that person, of all possible murder weapons such as knife, pistol or strangulation, to choose the specific poison that Emile’s lover had been purchasing. Well, that theory relies on too many stark coincidences, does it not?’

Faro agreed. ‘So we are left with only one conclusion. That Madeleine did in fact kill Emile. But although her purchases of arsenic made a strong case, her lack of an immediate attempt to retrieve those damning letters was on her side. Unless he had been telling her lies about keeping them, which would put an end to any possibility of her marrying Minnoch, then she must have been fully aware of the terrible danger she was in, that they would be found among his possessions.’

‘Did she perhaps still have a forlorn hope that her pleas had been successful and that he had destroyed them?’

‘Then she had killed him for nothing, you mean. A terrible thought. I can’t believe that she was so naive, knowing that her maid could testify about Emile’s visits and those cups of cocoa.’

‘There is still one mystery unsolved,’ Faro said. ‘Those five missing hours on March 22 from when he was last seen heading in the direction of Blythswood Square and his death in his lodgings in the early hours of the following morning. He was unable to tell anyone about that “dark liquid” he had recently consumed but colleagues and his old friend Mary Perry remembered that in the weeks before his death he had mentioned the possibility of his being poisoned.

‘Whatever the reason for his silence as he lay dying in agony, he must have suspected the cocoa he had recently consumed was responsible. But he died without naming the obvious person, his lover Madeleine, and that remains the greatest puzzle.’

Pausing for a moment, he added: ‘Or did he still love her right to the end and, remembering the once close relationship, did he refuse to believe that she was capable of doing him harm? So without any accusation, it was circumstantial evidence only that saved her from the gallows and got that “Not Proven” verdict.’

The older man had smiled wryly. ‘Aye, lad, had that jury been women, then the outcome might have been different.’ And laying aside Faro’s comprehensive notes, he said, ‘We’ll make a detective of you yet, Faro.’

Now, three years later, in the impersonal surroundings of Red House, Faro groaned anew. How would his old friend have dealt with this new crisis, this diabolical situation in which he found himself? He heard his name called; something hit his window. There were shouts of laughter as he looked towards the orchards. Erland had emerged with Lena from the summerhouse, a romantic setting secluded from the rest of the garden.

Erland, ready to throw another apple, grinned up at him. ‘Don’t be shy, Jeremy, come and join us. Lena is dying to talk to you.’

Faro went slowly down the stairs. He couldn’t avoid Lena for ever. Meeting her in Red House was inevitable. As for that approaching wedding – he had to think of something but his wits had temporarily deserted him.

Stepping out into the sunshine, he braced himself for this second encounter. In normal circumstances he would have been overcome with joy. For this was indeed a new Erland he beheld, transformed by the presence of the girl he knew and loved as Lena. No longer weak and indecisive, the pale crippled schoolboy who had suffered from fainting fits had become a strong handsome and virile young man, radiant in countenance and confident in the future.

How could Jeremy Faro, the friend whom he believed was more than that – kin who could be trusted – now with his terrible knowledge, use the power in his hands to ruin for ever that image of hope and happiness.

As he reached them in the little courtyard, he saw the two lovers were absorbed in each other, Lena snuggling into Erland’s side, smiling up into his face. She looked so young, so pretty and wistful and – dear God, so innocent – Faro found himself remembering that was exactly how she had appeared during her trial.

Hardly hearing their bright conversation about those inevitable wedding arrangements, he saw instead that hot dusty Edinburgh courtroom waiting for the trial to begin, the room packed, the audience noisy with clerks hurrying among the desks, distributing papers and official documents. A sudden hush as judges and lawyers took their seats, an absolute silence of anticipation as a trapdoor in the floor opened and Madeleine ascended, wearing a brown silk gown, lavender gloves and a white bonnet with a veil.

An artist seated directly below Faro was already busily sketching, possibly for the various newspapers whose reporters were waiting anxiously for her image. Madeleine, as if aware of the artist, turned round to look at the reporters to see how they were getting along with the note taking carrying her name and notoriety into every British home. Not only in Edinburgh and Glasgow newspapers but even the London
Times
carried a daily report of the proceedings.

The prisoner, a young lady of remarkably prepossessing appearance, took her place at the bar
with a firm step and a composed aspect, her self-control never forsaking her for a moment…she entered the dock with all the buoyancy with which she might have entered the box of a theatre… her restless sparkling eyes, her perfect self-possession indeed could only be accounted for either by a proud conscience of innocence, or by her possessing an almost unparalleled amount of self-control. Through her veil she seemed to scan the witnesses with a scrutinising glance and even smiled with all the air and grace of a young lady in the drawing room, as her agents came forward at intervals to communicate with her.

Any man would have considered her desirable. Faro recognised that. Small, slender, vulnerable and quite lovely. She carried a small vial of smelling salts which he never saw her use during that nine-day trial. Her Declaration was read out and verified and the Sheriff remarked that her answers were given clearly and distinctly. There was no appearance of hesitation or reserve but there was a great appearance of frankness and candour.

The audience held their breath as the indictments to murder on three occasions, two in February and one in March, were read aloud.

All eyes turned to Madeleine, who stood up and said in a clear voice, ‘Not guilty.’ She sat down again, her polite and gentle smile with no more emotion than she would have declined an invitation to a supper party. After that, silence. This was her one and only public utterance for she was not permitted by the law to speak in her own defence.

Faro observed her closely and saw how with every witness her demeanour was the same. Calm and unruffled, she listened with complete attention, sometimes leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.

Only once, with the recitation of her letters which took an entire day, was there any change in her self-control. But even the flat monotone, the strong Glasgow intonation of the elderly Clerk of the Court, could not disguise the passion and the implications of the word ‘love’, often underlined emphatically, which indicated that there was indeed a sexual relationship. Some portions, however, were considered too obscene to be read out in court and were excluded by the three judges, and at such announcements she occasionally hid her face in her hands.

As Lena did at that moment. But merely to burst out laughing at something outrageous Erland had whispered and the past of an Edinburgh courtroom momentarily blended into the present – a garden’s mellow sunshine, still warm for the winds of autumn had not yet stripped the trees.

Above their heads a robin sang, his sweet serenade adding to that feeling of peace and serenity, of time eternal. Red House, so newly built as a marriage home for William and Janey Morris and a family life still to come, had a sense of belonging to the landscape as if it had been here awaiting their arrival.

Faro bowed rather stiffly over Lena’s hand and, smiling, she made room for him on the rustic garden seat. It seemed impossible that she could not recognise him again, although there had been no smiles during their first encounter on that journey from the High Court to Slateford, meeting with her brother James, who would take her back to Glasgow and a reception from her stern father that beggared imagination.

Faro remembered her perfume, a delicate scent of some unknown flowers. The same perfume she still wore and again it touched his senses, his masculinity yearning for this strongly desirable woman. Her slender shape, her features delicate and sharply defined, she would be the perfect model for Rossetti, with a beauty of bone structure that would wear well with time and defy age.

Indeed she looked even younger than she had during the trial, just a mere slip of a girl. Impossible to imagine that the girl before him could have been capable of murdering anyone and against his will he felt a tinge of envy for Emile who had been her lover in the past and for Erland who had this new role in her life.

Erland. He was hardly listening to the radiant Erland saying, ‘This is a perfect day for me—’ and taking Lena’s hand he placed it in Jeremy’s, linking the two together. ‘You are to be the greatest friends – my wife and my cousin, who is also my dearest friend. If I was a God-fearing man, I would thank the good Lord for this extraordinary coincidence of bringing us together in Red House.’ He grinned. ‘In God’s absence, however, I shall have to thank Topsy Morris.’

Lena listened, smiling, and gently withdrew her hand. ‘It is good to meet you, Jeremy. And I share dear Erland’s sentiments.’

Did she recognise him? He thought it highly unlikely that she had been aware of his presence among the many onlookers at her trial. Apart from a polite inclination of her head, a thanks for his escort to Slateford, he had not heard her voice until now. A pleasant educated upper-class voice with only the faintest trace of a Scots accent.

‘Erland has told me of the marvellous coincidence of you being down here on business.’

Faro gave his friend a sharp glance as Lena said hastily, ‘Be assured that I shall be most discreet.’

Erland shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. What kind of business had he invented? Were there any secret hints that he was a policeman?

Lena was smiling, nodding towards the house. ‘Not a word to anyone, I promise. I hope you’ll complete your assignment but not too soon.’ Another tender smile at Erland this time. ‘Not until after our wedding or dearest Erland will be so disappointed. And so indeed will I, having met you.’

Quite a fulsome little speech, Faro decided, unable to think of a suitable response, burdened by his own terrible thoughts about the situation he had encountered which seemed more fraught with horror than any possible meeting with his hidden enemy Macheath.

‘We are all north Britons,’ said Erland, ‘although people do confuse Orkney with Scotland, don’t they, Jeremy?’

Faro looked at her. A sudden devil in him made him ask: ‘Do you know Edinburgh, Miss Hamilton?’

‘Lena, please.’ And looking up at the house as if the question required thought, she nodded vaguely. ‘Not really at all. I believe my parents took me there when I was a little girl but I have no memory of anything but the magnificent castle. Like something out of a fairy tale.’

‘Lena is from Glasgow, Jeremy. There’s always been rivalry between the two great cities, as you well know.’ Erland sounded apologetic and Lena sighed and nodded.

‘I would like to visit Edinburgh some day.’

That was another lie. And watching Erland kiss her hand and whisper, ‘And I shall take you there, my darling, perhaps on our honeymoon,’ Faro’s lips narrowed. He had a sudden irresistible desire to say, ‘When you do, you should make a point of visiting the High Court, an unforgettable experience – it is where all the murder trials take place.’

A girl ran out of the house towards them.

‘Where have you been, Poppy?’ asked Lena jumping to her feet.

‘Well might you ask. I thought I’d never get away from him. I’m exhausted, he’s been at me all morning,’ she groaned.

What on earth was she talking about? Soon it became evident that Lena’s friend was another of Rossetti’s models.

‘Good morning, Jeremy,’ she said and held out her hand. As the conversation had turned to exciting feminine matters such as what she had bought in London to wear for the wedding, to which the men were outsiders, Poppy turned to Faro with a comical shrug.

‘I hope you are enjoying your visit and that these two aren’t boring you to death with their wedding plans.’ Pausing to smile indulgently at them, she said, ‘It is all their conversation, you would think no one in the world had ever got married since Adam and Eve. Perhaps Jeremy would like me to show him the garden. Come along.’

And as she took his arm in the manner of one who was an old friend – and a very attractive one, Faro had to admit – he decided that the two girls were not unalike in appearance, slender with slight frame and delicate colouring of the type that the artists seemed to admire in their models.

As Poppy steered him towards the summerhouse in its romantic seclusion beyond the rose garden, she did not appear to notice his monosyllabic response to her polite questions, preoccupied as he was with the possibility that Erland had told Lena that he was a policeman and she would remember him as the Edinburgh constable who escorted her from the High Court.

But it was the transformation in Erland that troubled him most. How on earth was he to avert the imminent disaster, the death blow to his happiness when the truth about Lena Hamilton was revealed?

There was an alternative, of course; the only one. To keep that information to himself and leave Erland and Madeleine to their fate.

Fate, however, had other plans and was to take the matter out of Faro’s hands in the form of the pre-wedding masque and the advent of a newcomer to Red House, Topsy Morris’s business manager, the wealthy and highly eligible bachelor, George Wardle.