The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Some two weeks after Justin Langweil’s remains had been placed with those of his ancestors in the family vault, after a short service of committal conducted by the Reverend Stephen Aynsley, Faro arrived home one evening to find Grace awaiting Vince’s arrival.

Before Faro could exchange more than a dozen words with Grace, Vince appeared, and, leaving the young couple together, he went upstairs to his study.

There was a letter from Rose. He was reading it eagerly when a tap on the door announced Grace.

‘Will you please come down, sir? I have something to tell Vince and I would like you to be there.’

Vince was leaning against the mantelpiece, smiling but quizzical, delighted to humour her. ‘What is this great secret you are about to impart, my dear?’

Grace winced visibly. ‘It is no great secret, and I thought perhaps it was one you might have guessed already.’

Walking over to Vince she took both his hands and held them tightly. ‘My dear, I am sorry, but I cannot marry you. I am asking you to release me from our engagement.’

Vince’s laugh of astonishment was a little hoarse. ‘You are teasing us again, aren’t you? Say you are, silly girl. Of course I won’t release you. What nonsense is this?’

‘It’s not nonsense. I only wish it were. I have thought of nothing else for the past weeks, ever since - that night at Priorsfield.’

‘What difference can that make? Justin’s dead and buried,’ said Vince angrily, and looking at her stony face, he added: ‘It’s a bit thick, you know, concealing all this from me. I thought you were merely preoccupied with the wedding arrangements.’

‘Please, please, Vince. Don’t make it any more difficult for me. I cannot marry you. I now know that I can never marry you.’

And turning to Faro, she said: ‘Surely you understand the reasons why and can convince him that in view of the recent disclosures about my family, I cannot marry him. Indeed, I am not fit to marry anyone,’ she added sadly.

‘I don’t see—’ Vince began.

‘Then you should,’ she said hardly. ‘You are a medical man. Don’t you understand I am the daughter of a murderer, the niece of a murderer as well as a madman? For pity’s sake, Vince, I am not only ruined by my blood but by marrying you, I would ruin you too.’

‘Rubbish,’ Vince protested.

She shook her head. ‘It is not rubbish. I only wish it were. Adrian has told me how we pass things on to our children, not only blue eyes and golden hair but traits of character. Good things, talents, and bad things too. Adrian is older than you, my dear, more experienced in such matters and I trust his judgement.’

‘I thought he liked me—’

She seized his hands again. ‘Of course he does. And that is the very reason why he believes my decision to be right. He believes that you have a great future before you.’

‘A future that means nothing without you.’

‘All right. If you won’t think of yourself. And me. Think of our unborn children. What if we had a son and he took after my Uncle Justin, my Uncle Theodore, or even his own grandfather? Or a daughter? Lovely but mad. What then, how long then would love last? How long before we were not blaming each other for having begot such monsters? Oh, Vince, Vince, for
pity’s sake—’

As she fell into a chair, her slim shoulders racked with sobs,
neither man moved to comfort her, both stared down at her and
then at each other.

Faro knew that she spoke the truth, as Vince would. Some
day, but not now. That knowingly endangering a future genera
tion with family madness was the one unforgivable sin. For madness was like ripples in a still pool. It was not only those
nearest it affected but all in its orbit.

And Faro remembered Sarah the gentle wife who had been
struck down and killed by her husband in his temporary
madness.

At last Grace looked up, wiped her eyes. Rose to her feet and
regarding them sadly, removed Vince’s ring from her finger.

‘Keep it,’ he said harshly.

‘No—’

‘Keep it. To remember me by.’

‘I need no ring for that,’ she said, her eyes welling with tears. I shall never forget you, never. I shall always love you,
Vince.’

Vince rushed forward. ‘Then forget all this. Marry me. And
to hell with the future. We needn’t have children. Then all your
arguments are futile.’

‘No. We both love children. Marriage for us would be a farce without them. And if I were your wife I would want your child.’
And pulling away from him, she said: ‘I have made my decision.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I am going to Africa.’

‘Africa! For God’s sake—’

‘Yes. With Stephen.’

‘Stephen? Your cousin?’

‘I am not going to marry him. Believe me when I tell you that I am not to marry him or anyone. He is not your rival, so
don’t look like that, Vince. But by going away from Scotland I
can serve some useful purpose in the world. I can sort out my
feelings—’

‘Promise me something then—’

‘Of course.’

‘Promise me that if you ever change your mind you will come
back to me.’

Grace smiled. ‘There is no other man I would come back to.
You have my word on that.’

‘Then give it a year, two years. And if by the end of that time
you still want to be my wife, I will be waiting. I promise—’

Faro went out and slowly closed the door. He could no longer bear to witness the sufferings of the young couple whose happi
ness was dear to his heart.

Instead of fulfilment and joy, what he had dreaded had happened. The evils of the Langweil past had caught up with them
and Grace was right too. For not only caught up but over
whelmed, the guilty and the innocent alike. And he thought of
that unborn baby, the child of Adrian and Freda who would
carry on the Langweil strain. At least Adrian and Grace were guiltless of bloodshed, but who could tell what repercussions lay
in store for future generations, if as Adrian suspected evil as well
as good could be inherited.

The Langweil case was almost closed. There were no more
revelations to destroy them. He had one last call to make.

He was going to Priorsfield, where Barbara Langweil was
waiting for him.

‘Adrian will have told you that I am leaving Priorsfield.’

Barbara smiled sadly. ‘This is a house of sad memories. I still
cannot believe that I lived here for twelve years with a man I
loved so deeply, and never knew or suspected the terrible crime
he and Cedric had committed.’

She paused. ‘Do you think it is possible to love that much, and yet never know a secret like that? And yet if he were to walk in the door this moment, I would do the same again. I would do more, I would lie and cheat to save him from the gallows. That is the kind of woman you see before you, Mr Faro. With few moral principles, alas, beyond the workings of her own heart.’

‘When are you leaving?’ he asked.

Gesturing towards the already shrouded furniture, she said: ‘As soon as I have made the final arrangements.’

‘You do not care to stay with Maud then?’

‘Without Theo my final link with Edinburgh - and this country - is broken. Although I might live here in Priorsfield in comfort for the rest of my life, what kind of life would that be, I ask you, Mr Faro?’

He could think of no reply.

‘I am thirty. I still have, with good health and barring accidents, half of my life before me.’

Looking round the room, she stood up, gathered her shawl from the chair. ‘This room depresses me. Too many memories. I still see Theo everywhere. Let us go into the garden. The roses are blooming. They are such cheerful flowers, I find it impossible to be sad among roses.’

Faro walked at her side, conscious of that lovely presence, but aware that he knew her not one whit more than when he had fallen in love with her on his first visit with Vince and Grace.

He had imagined that grief might have changed the perfection of that countenance, might have made his goddess into an earth-bound creature—

She walked swiftly for a woman with long-legged, easy strides. ‘I am going back to America,’ she was saying. ‘I have a little money of my own that Theo left me, and with it I shall start afresh, a new life. Somewhere, I’m not sure where yet.’

‘What will you do? Have you any plans?’

‘I haven’t decided yet, but something will come along, I’m sure. I have friends - humble but good - who will help me make the right decision. I have no one here. No one I care for.’

And her words blotted out the sun from his world, and what he had been going to ask her. To be his wife. The very reason for his coming to Priorsfield died on his lips. As if ice had been carried on the light summer breeze that stirred the perfume of the roses around them.

Trying not to sound wounded he said: ‘You must not feel uncared for. You have people here who care and who will miss you.’

She looked at him in amazement as if such an idea had never occurred to her. Taking a moment to answer, she said slowly: ‘I dare say you are right. Yes, of course, you are. And you are a very kind man, Mr Faro, a very nice person in spite of being a detective.’

Was that how she thought of him? And Faro, who never cried, felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes. All that love and suffering on her behalf. All his dreams about her and she was totally unaware that he was more than ‘a nice person’.

Such fools we are, such fools, he thought.

Suddenly, he stopped, and turning her to face him, he took her roughly in his arms. Held her, savouring the sweetness of the moment, of that slim firm outline of her body so close.

Prepared for resistance, there was none.

Acquiescence then? His heart hammered hopefully.

Did that mean—?

He looked into her face. She was smiling, politely, enigmatically. It was as if he had taken into his arms, in a surge of passion, one of the white marble statues that surrounded the paths and wore the same curiously bloodless expressions.

Embarrassed now, he released her. There seemed nothing more to say and both hastened their steps towards the iron gates at the end of the drive.

As they parted there for the last time, she held out her hand and then, as if she changed her mind suddenly, she stood on tiptoe, took his face in her cool slender hands and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

‘Goodbye, dear kind Inspector Faro. And thank you.’

He touched his lips in wonder. But when he turned round, she had gone. Vanished. Only the roses nodded and the garden was empty.

Walking back along the road past Duddingston he remembered Rose’s letter, that she sounded happy, content to be back in Kirkwall with his mother and Emily, surrounded by all that was familiar to her, by loves that were not touched by uncertainty.

And he remembered her words to him as they waited on the dock at Leith for the Orkney boat to leave.

‘You were very lucky never to have loved anyone but Mama, so that you can be happy enough with those memories not to need to search for anyone else to replace her.’

He had looked at his daughter. Yes, he would let her believe that, although it wasn’t true, and some day, when she was older and happily married with a string of bairns clutching at her petticoat, he might tell her the truth.

About Barbara. And all the others he had loved and lost. Or who had loved him and he had hurt by turning away.

‘Do you mind Barbara Langweil?’ he’d begin. And he’d see her eyes widen in surprise as he told her of this day, and his last visit to Priorsfield.

And how for some men, it’s a lifetime of loving, for some only a butterfly kiss from a goddess in a summer rose garden.

The Langweil case was over, the players in its drama had departed, its stage was empty for all but the few innocents bruised by its impact.