To Kill a Queen (6 page)

'There's a barn at Mistress MacVae's—'

'I ken it fine. There'll be no problem there,' said the stableman, throwing a bag of oats into the cart and giving Faro full instructions on the care of this valuable animal, whose name it seemed was 'Steady'. Or had he misheard. Faro wondered, when at first it refused to 'Trot on' as instructed.

By the time they had reached Aunt Bella's cottage, however, Faro and his new companion had achieved a brisk pace plus a mutual respect and understanding. Steady seemed to have no complaints on being introduced to his new stabling and blew into Faro's ear affectionately.

Faro slept well that night, and welcomed the almost forgotten sensations of waking sleepily to cock-crow, bird song and warring blackbirds outside the window. Even the raucous din of a full-going rookery was music to his ears.

As he opened the casement window, distant sounds emerged, sheep bleating on the hill, indistinguishable from the white boulders, and a dainty herd of hinds following their lord and master down to the stream to drink.

He sighed with pleasure. If only life could be always like this, if he could keep this moment and carry it with him like a letter, or a faded rose. For these scenes thrust him back vividly into the days of his childhood, now almost obliterated by years of city life.

Breathing deeply, he filled his lungs with the pure air and hurried downstairs, lured by the appetising smells of cooking.

Tibbie was taking bannocks out of the oven. She smiled a greeting and as he sat down at the table with sunshine flooding the room, life seemed very good indeed.

It could be perfect, he decided, if only people stopped murdering one another.

Chapter Four

At the hospital he found Vince awaiting his arrival. Dr Elgin had been good to his promise and with few patients to attend, he had been given the morning off.

Impressed and relieved to see his stepfather equipped with a pony-trap, he said, 'How clever of you. And invaluable in the circumstances. Should keep you one trot ahead and save wearing out the precious boot-leather. He moves faster who has a horse and cart.'

'He also moves faster who can ride.' And as they set off Faro related Willie's tale of Steady's distinguished early days.

They had reached Abergeldie Castle when Vince said, 'We will certainly be in good time for John Brown—perhaps even for a couple of Tibbie's excellent bannocks before he arrives,' he added wistfully.

Faro smiled. 'How's it going, lad? Settling in all right?'

'Yes, indeed, Stepfather. You know I think I'm really going to enjoy being here. Food apart.' He sighed. 'Dr Elgin is a splendid fellow, such stories to tell. You should have stayed to supper,' he added reproachfully. 'You would hardly credit what medicine used to be like in the old days. Makes me thankful I didn't take it up before the advent of chloroform. A course in butchery would have been more useful than a medical training.'

His mood had turned sombre. Clinging to his seat as they negotiated the sharp bend, he asked, 'About this murder. Stepfather. Aren't you intrigued?'

Faro related the version he had gathered from Nessie and Bella. At the end, Vince frowned.

'A rum do, I'd call it, Stepfather. And everyone very keen to get the corpse off stage and the enquiry closed as quickly as possible. The fact that Lachlan Brown was sweet on the girl may be of some significance.'

'My thoughts exactly.'

John Brown was already waiting for them outside the cottage, the silent Lachlan at his side, whose presence Faro now considered with more attention than at their first meeting.

Impressed by the Inspector's enterprise in arranging his own transport, Brown nodded approvingly. 'If ye'll just follow us, then.'

The estate grounds were vast and towards the main drive, with a glimpse of the Royal residence across wide lawns, Lachlan led the way down a narrow path through the trees.

In sight of the river, they alighted and walked to the path where only a footfall away, the Dee sparkled and burbled on its way to the German Ocean.

Brown pointed with his foot to a stone. 'That's where we found the dogs.'

Vince and Faro immediately crouched down to make a careful study of the area, parting the grass and examining it carefully. Brown watched this procedure with wide-eyed astonishment. To Faro's question he replied: 'Aye, this was exactly the spot. Isn't that so?'

Lachlan, so addressed, merely nodded. Silent and withdrawn, Faro was beginning to wonder whether the lad was shy or had some vocal handicap.

'Did it rain, by any chance, on the night the dogs disappeared?'

Brown thought about that. 'No, not that night. But we had a storm the night before.'

'And there has been no rain since?'

'Nary a drop. A dry spell is usual for this time of year.'

So the low water in the river had indicated. Faro was pleased with this accurate timing. There should have been imprinted on the dried mud paw marks, bloodstains and tufts of dog hair.

There were none.

The grass was undisturbed. No scuffle marks, no bruised grass, nothing to suggest that the dogs had been resting and had been surprised by their killer.

Faro stood up, certain of one thing: that they had been killed elsewhere and their bodies carried to this spot for discovery.

But why?

Brown meanwhile watched the antics of the two men as if they had taken leave of their senses. Consulting his watch gravely, he said, 'I must leave you, gentlemen.'

Vince had walked a little distance away, stepping through a tangle of weeds to what had once been a handsome watermill, now falling into neglect and crumbling ruin.

'Ye'll no' find anything there, doctor,' Brown called after him. 'It's here the puir beasts were killed.' And to Faro, 'I'll tell the Queen that ye're looking into it, conducting an enquiry. Isn't that what ye call it?'

And with a flicker of amusement as Faro bowed in assent and made to follow Vince, 'That hasna' been used since the new mill was built the Crathie side o' the river. The Queen bought the miller's land here to add to the estate.'

'Was it intended for some useful purpose?'

Brown looked up at the empty windows. 'It was just in the way, ye ken. Untidy-looking. Buying it was almost the last thing Prince Albert did before he died. And somehow Her Majesty hadna' heart to do anything about it after that. Like everything else, it was left to lie exactly as it was on the day when she and Prince Albert looked it over together and decided to buy it.'

Moving towards the path again he said, 'I'll need to go, Inspector.' Pointing to the pony-trap, he added, 'No need for ye to spend yer money on that. Tell Willie ye need it for yer investigations and the Queen will pay the bill.'

'I'm most obliged to Her Majesty for her generosity.' Faro had already decided that the Royal task he had been set was doomed to failure and with it, any hopes he had been cherishing of a quiet fishing holiday.

'Before you go, Mr Brown. Have there been any similar incidents reported?'

'In what way similar?'

'Anything like this business. Violent deeds, damage to property,' he said helpfully.

Brown scratched his beard, frowning. 'Let me see. There was the fire at Mistress Brodie's croft. But that was an accident. The puir woman is in the hospital—'

'Yes, I met her last night.'

Brown frowned. 'That was how your auntie got injured, ye'll ken that. Nothing mysterious about it. Barns often go on fire.'

'What about the murder of Morag Brodie? Did that not raise a stir in the neighbourhood?' The question seemed superfluous. In a rural community, if his Aunt Bella was a typical resident, no one would be speaking of anything else for months to come.

Lachlan was very still and when Brown replied, he did so reluctantly. 'Aye, the lass who got herself killed.'

And Faro, thinking that was a curious way to express it, as if Morag Brodie had deserved death, asked, 'Where was her body found?'

'In a ditch over yonder. Crathie way.' Brown's eyes slid across Lachlan. 'That case is closed.'

'A murder without a murderer, whatever the verdict, is never closed as far as I'm concerned, Mr Brown.'

Brown looked him straight in the eyes. 'But then ye're nor concerned, are ye, Inspector?' he fairly crowed. 'And Detective Inspector Purdie—from Scotland Yard,' he added significantly, 'is satisfied with the verdict.'

'I understood that the lass was a servant at the Castle?'

'How did ye guess that?' Brown's glance was suspicious, and although his question was chilly, it was asked with elaborate carelessness.

'I didn't. My aunt was full of it, of course.'

Brown's sigh of relief was audible as he once more glanced at the silent sullen Lachlan. 'I must awa'. If you want any more information about—about Morag Brodie, why d'ye no' ask the Inspector. Or Sergeant Whyte, our local lad.'

The moment of danger was past; he was prepared to be affable, even expansive. 'Detective Inspector Purdie is acquainted with these parts. Like yeself he used to bide here for holidays when he was a wee lad.'

Turning to leave, he came back. Facing Faro squarely, hands on hips, he said, 'Ye should know, Inspector, that we're trying to keep all this business from the Queen. As much as possible. We dinna want to distress her.'

His voice defiant, he added, 'It must be obvious to ye that we do our best to give her a restful holiday and spare her as much as possible from anything sordid or unhappy.'

Or anything concerned with the real world, Faro added silently. A brutal murder would obviously tarnish her vision of Balmoral as the 'dear Paradise' she and her beloved Prince Consort had built.

'We are proud to have Her Majesty at Balmoral and we like to keep her happy and content with us. This is her only place now where she feels at home. It's her refuge. We dinna want to spoil that for her.' It was quite a speech. 'The puir woman has had that much grief,' he added desperately.

But Faro was unmoved. Considerably less grief than most of her subjects, he thought bitterly. And surely the Queen should be more concerned about the possibility of a murderer living in the midst of her rustic tenantry than the unfortunate death of two pet dogs, however beloved.

Neither man spoke. Observing Faro's guarded expression. Brown moved unhappily from one foot to the other. Then consulting his watch, he looked over his shoulder towards the Castle. Touching his bonnet briefly, he took Lachlan by the arm and walked rapidly in the direction of the Royal apartments.

Faro watched them go, his mind on Morag Brodie.

'Stepfather. Over here.' Vince waved to him excitedly from one of the upstairs windows of the ruined mill.

Faro picked his way through thorn and briar that would have done justice to the Sleeping Beauty's Palace and did nothing for his trousers and coat, or his temper. Opening the creaking door into shuttered semi-darkness, he shivered.

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he saw that this had once been the kitchen. The heart of family life, it had known laughter and prosperity. Now the sense of desolation rushed out, clawing at him. Cheerless and forbidding, it was not a place in which he would care to linger. And although it was still sturdily roofed, he would have no wish to seek its sanctuary on a stormy night.

Vince gazed down at him.

'Up here, Stepfather.'

'Found something, lad?' said Faro climbing the pen staircase.

'Yes, look around you. What do you make of this?'

Signs of domesticity, blankets and sheets, even a tablecloth, two mugs and plates, and a vase of wilted flowers indicated that this room had been recently occupied.

'And over here,' said Vince. 'Bloodstains.'

Faro studied the marks on the floorboards. He could see a dark area at the top of the stairs, which continued downwards, streaks on steps and stone walls. Bending down, he picked up a small clump of brown hair.

'From the dogs?'

'Perhaps, Stepfather. And on the bed. Spaniels shed a lot of hair. I would hazard a guess that they were both shot in here and their bodies carried out to the river path.'

Pausing Vince looked around the room. 'Are you thinking the same as I am, Stepfather?'

'Precisely. That this place has been lived in recently. And by someone who was no passing stranger seeking shelter. And no tinker. Tinkers care little for sheets and fine blankets. They don't put flowers in vases, either.'

'But girls do. Especially girls who are entertaining a lover.'

'Ah, now we're getting somewhere, lad,' said Faro as he examined the fireplace. 'Let us reconstruct the scene. This was a clandestine meeting. No fire was lit, for that would bring attention to the fact that the ruined mill had an occupant. The bedlinen and tablecloth indicated a lass of refined taste.'

Considering for a moment, he said, 'I think if we gathered these together and took them to the Castle, we would find they originated from the same source in the linen room. Purloined by Morag Brodie for the special occasion which, alas, was to cost her her life.'

'So you think she stayed here.'