Read The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) Online
Authors: Alanna Knight
The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) (2 page)
As Faro approached the drawing room, voices raised in heated but friendly argument were hastily hushed as Gimmond announced him.
Grace, with a beaming Vince at her side, rushed forward to introduce a middle-aged man wearing a clerical collar.
‘Meet our second cousin, Stephen Aynsley.’ And as the two men shook hands, ‘Stephen has just arrived from America.’
‘Not quite, my dear. I have been in Scotland several months now. In St Andrews, where I recently took holy orders,’ Stephen explained with a shy fond smile in Grace’s direction. ‘I have only
recently had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of my
charming family.’
All this information surprised Faro since Aynsley looked con
siderably more mature than the usual run of students nearer Theodore in age than Adrian. Stoop-shouldered, presumably
from carrying the cares of the world, with the skeletal thinness
of the aesthete, Stephen, he was informed, was son of Grandfather
Langweil’s only sister Eveline.
Little of the Langweil good looks had descended by the distaff side, Faro decided. Learning that Aynsley was shortly to leave for
missionary work in the unexplored regions of Africa, he realised that a superabundance of the Langweil famed zeal and enterprise
more than compensated for this deficiency.
The second stranger was Piers Strong. Introduced as an
architect, Faro suspected that his agitated manner and heated complexion concerned the yellowish documents he clutched so anxiously and were possibly the cause of the argument he had
interrupted.
‘Congratulations, Stepfather,’ muttered Vince. ‘You arrived just
in time.’
‘Nonsense, Vince. Blood hasn’t been spilt yet,’ said Theodore.
And to Faro, ‘We are merely trying to sort out whether to have
or to have not some new alterations and additions to the house.
Vince has given me to understand that you are a traditionalist,
so I am relying on you to take our side.’
Traditionalist, eh? Vince’s quick glance in his stepfather’s
direction pronounced that word as a rather less flattering
‘old-fashioned’.
‘My dear sister-in-law here’ - with a gesture in the direction of
Grace’s mother Maud, Theodore continued - ‘has succeeded in
tearing the town house apart and now, aided and abetted by young
Adrian and Freda, with their infernal notions about hygiene, they
are directing their missionary zeal - beg pardon, Stephen - towards
Priorsfield. All I say is what was good enough for my grandfather
- and his grandfather - is good enough for me.’
‘Rubbish, brother. Rubbish,’ said Adrian. ‘Bathrooms and water closets are an absolute necessity if we are to stay healthy. I’m sure Barbara as a modern young woman will agree.’
Barbara. Where was she?
Faro had known on first entering the room that she was not there. Now at the sound of her light step outside the door he turned and once again felt as if he had been thumped hard in the chest by a sledge hammer.
She came straight to him, took his hand. ‘Welcome, Mr Faro, it is good to see you again. I trust you are well.’
Faro stammered something appropriate in reply, conscious that he was blushing like a lovesick lad. Then she was gone.
‘I have spoken to Mrs Gimmond as you suggested, Theo.’ And to Adrian: ‘And what is this I am to agree about?’
Feasting his eyes, his whole being upon her as Adrian reiterated the argument, Faro was amazed that the rest of the company were oblivious to her effect upon him. She was so strikingly lovely. Quite the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Not only in the composition of her looks, but the essence of womanhood without which, he knew, good looks are as dead as the portraits that stared down from the walls.
Again he found it difficult to realise that she was touching thirty. She could have passed for eighteen. Here was a woman who would grow more beautiful with time’s passing. Like Shakespeare’s Cleopatra whom ‘age cannot wither, nor custom stale her infinite variety’.
He suppressed a sigh. She was not for him, could never be for him. But every man has his own fantasy, his own goddess, and Barbara Langweil was his.
Drawn once again into the round of domesticity, the argument resumed over the merits of a bathroom, Faro observed that Barbara’s smile contained a nervous glance at Theodore.
‘Oh, come now, I’m sure you’d appreciate more than one bath a week,’ said Adrian.
‘Well, I do manage that—’
‘I dare say you do, with the maids carrying pails of hot water
upstairs.’
‘Um - yes.’
‘That was good enough for most folk,’ Theodore repeated.
‘Not that old story again, Theo, for heaven’s sake. Come on,
Cedric, you haven’t contributed much to this argument. Aren’t
you going to support me?’
All eyes turned in Cedric’s direction. But the enthusiasm of the
converted was strangely lacking. Sighing, almost wearily, he said:
‘You had better ask Maud. I leave matters involving the household
to her. And I stay quietly out of sight when the builders move in.’
Maud laughed. ‘But you did approve of the results, didn’t you,
dear? Be fair, now. You spend more time in the bathroom than
any of us.’
Cedric shrugged. ‘Yes, I have to be honest. I approved of the
result. Once the dust cleared.’
‘There, you’ve admitted it, Cedric,’ Adrian said triumphantly.
Vince had complained to Faro that the serenity of the fifty-year-old town house in Charlotte Square had lately been shattered by
a tide of architects and builders. One of the fine houses built
by Robert Adam, it fell short only in lacking one of the indoor
bathrooms now de rigueur for well-off families.
The Georgians had been content to deal with the natural functions by a commode behind the screen in the dining room
and one under the bed for more intimate occasions, but those
who could afford to be health conscious in modern Edinburgh
now produced written evidence to add to their arguments.
‘The spread of disease,’ they claimed, ‘undoubtedly begins in
the home, where matters of hygiene can no longer be ignored.’
‘Dammit, Cedric,’ Adrian persisted, ‘you told me that life had
never been so good. So why don’t you convince our stubborn
brother here?’
‘Priorsfield is his business, not mine.’
Adrian sighed warily and turned again to Theodore. ‘Think of the advantages. You have more rooms than you know what to do with. What about HRH’s ablutions when he visits? He’s a heavy drinker, after all.’
‘I get your meaning, but we do have a water closet, you know that perfectly well,’ said Theodore stiffly.
‘One water closet. In a house this size,’ said Adrian. ‘And what does our architect think about that?’
Piers looked anxiously at Theodore. ‘As Dr Langweil has pointed out, sir, this is not just a matter of vain extravagance. This ever-growing city of ours desperately needs up-to-date sanitation.’ Having begun nervously, the architect now gathered the strength of conviction. ‘And healthy citizens need more than efficient drains in the streets—’
‘They do indeed,’ said Adrian. ‘We don’t want any more outbreaks of cholera and typhoid. Isn’t that right, Vince?’
Faro felt that his stepson would rather have been left out of this domestic argument, torn between pleasing his senior partner and displeasing Grace’s uncle, as well as his future father-in-law.
‘There are problems, quite serious ones, sir,’ Vince said to Theodore. ‘Ones I know you are fully aware of. All this new building on the south side, the villas in Duddingston’ - he pointed vaguely - ‘have created new problems. For Priorsfield too.’
When Theodore did not respond, Vince went on. ‘The rats which haunted the old Nor Loch have now taken refuge in newer buildings. A regular plague of them, which the city fathers are anxious to conceal, especially since the building of the railway station.’
‘And with the rats go our worst diseases, we are sure of that,’ said Adrian.
Turning his back on his brother, Theodore indicated Piers Strong, who having raised his hornets’ nest, now shuffled miserably from foot to foot.
‘Can’t we leave this discussion until later, Adrian? Hardly fair
to our guest—’
Piers regarded him gratefully.
‘Or to Mr Faro—’
At that moment the dinner gong sounded.
‘Splendid,’ said Theodore, in tones of relief. ‘Saved by the bell.
Shall we proceed?’
As the family, now chattering happily, made their way in the
direction of the dining room, Faro, hoping to escort Barbara,
found she was claimed by Stephen, and offered his arm to Grace’s
mother. Halfway downstairs, Maud exclaimed: ‘Oh, I have left my fan upstairs. Bother. Oh, would you, please? Bless you.’
As Faro ran lightly upstairs, the drawing-room door was open.
Theodore was leaning forward, his hand gripping Cedric’s shoulder.
‘Look, I only invited the fellow here because you said he
wanted to see over the house. Nothing more,’ he added heavily.
Suddenly aware of Faro’s presence, he swung round and with a
startled look almost guiltily released his hold of Cedric. ‘Just
telling him that what I do in my own house is my business. Don’t you agree?’
Faro smiled. ‘It’s a gentleman’s privilege after all.’
Following the two brothers downstairs, the scene he had witnessed, with its air of urgency, their strained faces, had a
menacing quality which stubbornly remained, filling him with
strange uneasiness.
Uneasiness very soon to be justified.
In the dining room, the candle-lit table could not be faulted. Silver and crystal gleamed, mahogany shone, there were skilfully arranged exotic flowers from the greenhouses on which Theodore prided himself.
Not only was the table exquisite but so too were the Langweil family. Almost, thought Faro, as if they had been chosen especially to grace the setting. Such a gathering gave him a vicarious sense of family pride, for as an only son, left fatherless in infancy, close kin was a commodity he had in very short supply.
The two brothers Theodore and Cedric had the perfection of features commonly associated with Greek gods, Cedric’s unusual pallor accentuating the likeness to alabaster statues.
Of that handsome trio, Adrian’s looks were most outstanding. Despite his intensive personal research into the effects of chloroform and dangerous excursions into new methods of alleviating human suffering, his complexion was radiant. Doubtless those hours on the golf course were responsible.
Looking across the table at Freda, his plump and pretty young wife, Faro realised that the strongest likelihood was that Adrian’s branch of the family would eventually succeed if, as seemed likely, Theodore and Barbara remained childless.
Barbara. Faro found his gaze drifting back to her constantly, unable to linger, sure that he carried his heart in his eyes for this woman with all the ethereal beauty of an angel from a Botticelli painting. He found himself wondering uncharitably if Theodore had chosen her with the same meticulous care as he had collected the other adornments of his house.
Looking round the table he saw that he was not alone in his admiration. Each time she spoke, every male head turned eagerly in her direction. Her voice, with its slight American accent, was beautiful and unusual. Although she spoke rarely and only a little above a whisper, that was enough to still all other conversation.
Theodore obviously adored her. He had brought her home -’captured her’ as he called it - from one of his rare visits to New York. A fortunate man indeed. And Faro sighed at the game of chance that was life itself.
If Theodore had chosen for outstanding beauty, the same could not be said of Cedric. If Barbara’s looks suggested the purity of a painted angel, Maud’s finely boned features merely suggested a washed-out water colour abandoned by an indifferent artist.
He saw Vince glancing in her direction and wondered if the same thoughts were going through his stepson’s mind. For this was an oft-discussed topic between them: why many handsome men chose plain wives. Vince called it the ‘peacock syndrome’, a kind of vanity whereby a man’s own good looks were enhanced by a plain mate.
At his side, Grace was smiling across into Vince’s eyes. A well-matched couple who gave the lie to Vince’s theory, thought Faro with some satisfaction. Grace had inherited her father’s exotic Langweil looks.
Piers Strong sat next to Vince and having discovered a sympathetic ear was waxing eloquent on the latest development in domestic sanitation and the city sewage systems.
Faro listened with some amusement to a monologue not entirely suitable for the dining table, but delivered with the same missionary zeal that Stephen Aynsley was expounding to Maud on heathen Africans.
‘He has worked wonders with our house,’ whispered Grace. At Faro’s startled glance, she giggled.
‘Not Stephen, Piers, I mean. Even Uncle Theodore was impressed with our two bathrooms. I can’t imagine why he’s so stubborn about making changes here.’
Faro smiled. Vince had told him that as a subject of admiration, visiting guests to Cedric’s home were now taken directly upstairs to view and acclaim these new masterpieces of elegant plumbing.
‘A little more wine, sir.’
Allowing Gimmond to refill his glass, Faro sat back in his chair. Listening to the gentle arguments, the laughter and teasing, the family jokes, he felt extremely well blessed.
Vince had done well, very well indeed. Much better than his earlier less fortunate ventures into prospective matrimony had suggested, and Faro thrust from his thoughts the disastrous choices that had blighted Vince in the past. As for his own fears that a young wife might have objections to a stepfather sharing their establishment, Grace could not have made it clearer that instead of losing a stepson he was gaining a stepdaughter.
Game soup and salmon had been followed by roast goose and a dessert of plum pudding. An excellent meal prepared and served with the meticulous attention to individual taste that made dining at Priorsfield House a gastronomic delight.
Only one apparently meaningless incident threw a faint shadow on that evening. Cedric twice retired hastily from the table in the middle of the meat and the dessert courses. Looks were exchanged but the company was too polite to do more than acknowledge his return.
To a whispered question from Maud, he said: ‘Yes, of course, I’m all right, m’dear.’ And leaning over he patted his daughter’s hand. ‘I’ve been celebrating rather too well before we sat down to dinner.’
Faro glanced round the table and caught a long look exchanged between Theodore and Adrian while Barbara studied her plate rather too intently, he thought, than the situation merited. Then without any further glance in Cedric’s direction, hastily the brothers resumed the general conversation. This deliberate ignoring of Cedric struck a false note somehow. As if they were all too well aware of the cause of his withdrawal.
And Faro, well used to interpreting his own observations, felt uneasily that there was perhaps more in that moment of shared anxiety than could be justified by mere overindulgence in the Langweil cellars.
At last Barbara stood up. ‘Shall we adjourn for coffee?’
This was a new innovation which had Faro’s full approval. The Langweils on all but the most formal occasions had dispensed with the custom of gentlemen remaining to enjoy their port and cigars apart from the ladies.
The company followed into the upstairs parlour, a welcoming withdrawing room with rose velvet curtains and a glowing fire. Here the family visitors usually spent their evenings together, reading and listening to Barbara play the piano.
At Faro’s side, Piers said: ‘We are now in the oldest part of the house. This is the central block, the old tower-house.’ And tapping his foot on the floor, ‘Below us are the foundations of the original alehouse.’ To Theodore he added: ‘I suppose you realise, sir, that according to the original plans and the Session Records, this room was once considerably larger than it is now.’
The position of the fireplace, set two-thirds of the way along the wall, instead of centrally as was customary, was out of symmetry: a curiosity which had often jarred on Faro’s earlier visits.
‘One of Grandfather’s alterations last century,’ said Theodore.
‘I don’t think so, sir. Pardon me if I disagree but it is much more recent. When I was last here with Mrs Langweil and Mr Cedric—’
‘While I was absent in Glasgow, of course,’ said Theodore shortly with a veiled glance in his wife’s direction.
‘My dear, it was merely—’ Barbara began.
As usual she was not allowed to complete the sentence. Theodore patted her arm. ‘I’m not blaming you, my dear, of course I’m not,’ he added, with a gentle smile at her anxious expression.
‘I merely thought, sir,’ Piers put in, ‘that this room, adjoining the drawing room, would have been in the old days the laird’s study, or the master bedroom. However, there is something not quite right.’ And tapping his foot on the floor, ‘There’s a ten-foot discrepancy in the original plans which I’ve had access to. You may be interested in seeing them—’
‘No need,’ said Theodore shortly. ‘I’m fully aware that the room has been altered at some earlier stage. You know what it’s like in these old houses, full of odd twists and turns. I’m sure you’ll find some cupboards on a later plan that have been dismantled to enlarge the rooms.’
Piers was not to be put off. He continued eagerly: ‘I believe you were born here, sir.’
‘Indeed, as were all the family.’
‘Then these changes must have been quite recent. In your childhood even. Perhaps you’ve forgotten?’
‘No. I have already told you,’ Theodore said coldly. ‘There has been nothing done to this room.’ And with a gesture, ‘Not even decoration that I can recall.’
Piers turned hopefully towards Cedric, who shook his head.
‘My brother is younger than I am,’ said Theodore.
Cedric smiled. ‘I expect it was in our Papa’s day.’
‘But that isn’t possible, sir. The wallpaper—’
Ah, here’s the coffee. At last,’ said Theodore, his relieved tone indicating boredom with the architect and his intensity.
The evening over, Faro and Vince declined the offer of a carriage in favour of walking the short distance home to Sheridan Place.
We are thinking of a honeymoon in Paris,’ said Vince. ‘Are you pleased?’
‘I am indeed, lad. It’s great news. Hey, slow down. You’re walking too fast.’
‘You’re out of condition, Stepfather. Have to get you out on the golf course. Nine holes before breakfast. That’ll get you in perfect trim in no time.’
‘I get enough exercise,’ grumbled Faro, ‘without chasing a blasted ball around a green.’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing. Marvellous for the digestive system. A necessity after dining at Priorsfield.’
‘Indeed, another memorable meal, but a little too rich for your future father-in-law. I can sympathise with him.’
‘I didn’t think he looked at all well,’ said Vince.
‘True. Very pale, I thought earlier in the evening.’
‘You noticed that too.’
‘I think you should recommend a few rounds of your golf to put some colour back in his cheeks.’
‘As a matter of fact I am rather worried about him.’
‘My dear lad, I’ve seen you just as bad - worse even - after a night out at Rutherford’s—’
‘It’s more than that, Stepfather. This isn’t the first time he’s had to leave the table hurriedly during dinner. A weak digestion, he calls it.’
And what does Adrian call it?’
‘Oh, he gives him a bottle to help and grumbles that families with doctors never want to listen to their advice.’
Faro’s own digestive system was not his strong point and he could understand Cedric’s impatience. Especially as Vince’s attempts to coddle him, as he called it, drove him to distraction.
‘You know what he’s talking about,’ Vince added with a grin.
‘I do indeed, but I don’t usually have to take flight from the dining table in the middle of a meal.’ Faro had long ago diagnosed his stomach upsets as due to the stress of a detective’s life, with hasty, infrequent, and often inedible meals. Doubtless, Langweil Ales had their anxious business moments too.
But that look he had interpreted between Theodore and Cedric, as if they shared some secret awareness, continued to haunt him. It came to mind vividly when next day a constable brought into the Central Office a note from Vince.
Stepfather. Prepare yourself for a shock. Cedric died during the night. I am going to Priorsfield.
Faro carried the news into Superintendent McIntosh’s office.
‘Can’t believe it, Faro. Saw him only yesterday morning. Seemed perfectly fine in wind and limb.’
When Faro told him about the dinner party, McIntosh shrugged.
‘No one dies of indigestion. Doubtless his doctor brother will know the real cause.’
As they left together, the newsboys on the High Street were calling: ‘Sudden Death of Cedric Langweil. Read all about it.’
Buying a paper, with McIntosh staring over his shoulder, Faro was somewhat frustrated to find only a heavily black-edged paragraph giving Cedric’s age and brief biographical details.
‘That’s how they sell newspapers,’ grumbled McIntosh.
As they parted and Faro headed home towards Sheridan Place, a series of melancholy pictures filled his thoughts. There would be a funeral, followed by six months’ deep mourning for the family, before the marriage of Grace to Vince Laurie could now take place.
Suddenly the world of happy families he had pictured to himself only yesterday was no longer a reality. Ominously he felt it was in danger of collapsing like a house of cards.
Anxious for news he waited up until midnight, but Vince did not return until breakfast the following morning.
