The Seal King Murders

by Alanna Knight

  ‘I would,’ Faro said indignantly. ‘But she could have been carrying anything over her arm under that cloak.’

  ‘And even our weather could hardly justify a fur-lined cloak in August,’ Inga said.

  Faro frowned. ‘Know anything about Paris fashions this year?’

  Inga laughed. ‘Wish I did. Why?’

  ‘Just the gown we found.’

  After he described it, she said, ‘That shapeless style is very old-fashioned, belongs to the days of the Prince Regent. Very useful for pregnant ladies.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Could that have been the reason? Did she look … well, large?’

  That was another factor at the back of his mind and it accounted for the shapeless gown. Shaking his head he said, ‘The cloak concealed her shape rather well. You may be right.’ Pausing, he added desperately, ‘Do you think she might have been kidnapped?’

  ‘Kidnapped! Here! Where everyone knows everyone’s business, even what they had for supper last night?’ She laughed. ‘I think that theory is very doubtful.’

  ‘That’s the sergeant’s theory.’

  ‘You don’t surprise me. He’s not an islander.’

  ‘He thinks the next thing will be a ransom when her parents arrive.’

  Inga laughed even more at that. ‘If the kidnapper is a local man, then everyone who knows him will want a share in it.’ She paused, thoughtful for a moment. ‘But I’d be prepared to stake a fortune, if I had one, that there is a man somewhere in all this, and a young woman in the family way.’ And nodding triumphantly, ‘Yes, now that makes sense, doesn’t it? A young man, much more substantial than the seal king. I’ll bet her parents have found out, and for once they aren’t prepared to let her marry him. As for a baby …’

  That was a distinct possibility, Faro thought, until Inga added, ‘Of course, I can’t think of anyone in this area who would have the temerity to court Miss Celia, much less propose marriage. No one here has that kind of money to support such a wife. So who was she running away from – some man in London? In other words, was she seeking refuge here?’

  Again he shook his head and Inga said, ‘I’ll keep you informed of what happens. Such a shame you can’t stay and sort it out.’

  ‘That’s where you’re mistaken. I am instructed by Sergeant Stavely that, as the last person to see her before she vanished, I am to remain, until she turns up. Alive, or … please God not dead.’

  Inga frowned. ‘Is that usual?’

  ‘Yes, quite usual.’

  ‘But you’re a policeman.’

  ‘Makes no difference.’

  Inga looked at him sharply. ‘Are you telling me that he thinks you did away with Miss Celia? That is incredible.’

  ‘He saw us walking together that evening,’ Faro explained, ‘and so did one of the Scarthbreck maids.’

  ‘But you went back to the house with your ma.’

  Faro shook his head, explained about the missing telescope and how he had returned to search for it.

  Inga’s laugh was somewhat shaky, but she took his hand, held it firmly, ‘Honestly, Jeremy, this is just plain daft.’ She stood up, smiled and said, ‘Sorry, you’ll have to go now. Have a client coming any minute now for a fitting.’ And kissing him lightly, ‘Don’t worry, there must be an innocent explanation and I’m sure you will find it.’

  Leaving her, Faro was far from sure. He was halfway back along the road when he realised that he had forgotten to remark very tactfully on her acquaintance with Amos Flett, who did not fit into the role of a client coming for a fitting.

  The idea amused him and he decided there would doubtless be other occasions as, at that moment, he had to leap aside to let the Scarthbreck carriage pass.

  Celia’s parents had arrived, and he caught a glimpse of Stavely sitting alongside. Hopefully they would provide the key to the mystery of their daughter’s sudden arrival and why she had abruptly vanished.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Judging by his mother’s agitated manner as Faro entered the servants’ lodge, the interview with the Prentiss-Grants promised to be painful.

  ‘You’re to see them immediately.’ As she spoke she looked him over carefully, assessing what sort of an impression her son would make. It took him back to schooldays, restraining herself from brushing his hair back and making sure his clothes were neat and tidy.

  Walking over to the house she whispered by way of consolation, ‘You’ve nothing to fear. They’ve been talking to the sergeant. He’ll have put in a good word for you.’

  Regarding her anxious expression, he said, ‘I hope they didn’t attach any blame to you, Ma.’

  ‘Of course not. I could hardly keep Miss Celia in chains. Besides, I was taken aback – we all were – when she arrived home like that without warning. I thought something dreadful must have happened, but the other servants made light of it, the maids said she was always having rows with her parents.’

  Outside the dining room, she tapped on the door. Called upon to enter, Faro observed that Stavely was still present, or almost present, lurking in the shadows, doubtless to recover from his share of the interrogation which had begun in Kirkwall and carried on relentlessly during the carriage drive to Scarthbreck.

  The Prentiss-Grants were seated together on one side of the dining table and looked up briefly, the only acknowledgement of his presence. No greeting, no attempt to shake hands or put him at his ease. Nor was he invited to take a chair, but was instead made to stand before them like a servant who had misbehaved, or worse, as a prisoner in the dock, or a condemned criminal – a scene with which he was familiar in Edinburgh courts.

  He glanced towards Stavely seeking oblivion in the background. At least he had been offered a chair, presumably as a mark of his rank, having superiority over a mere constable.

  Sir Arnold leant forward, a formidable figure, large in girth, red-faced with a bristling moustache and the booming voice of a military disciplinarian.

  ‘We are given to understand from Sergeant Stavely that you were the last person to see our daughter before she chose to disappear.’

  Faro decided that the choice of words conveyed that they believed she was still alive and well, as he replied, ‘We met while I was walking along the shore earlier that evening.’

  ‘We?’ the voice boomed.

  ‘We met,’ Faro repeated.

  ‘A prearranged meeting?’

  Faro suppressed a sigh of exasperation. This opening gambit told of things to come, and they were not going his way. Nor did he correct Sir Arnold by saying that, in fact, the last person to see her was not himself but some person or persons unknown who had abducted her, considering it was unlikely that she had gone for a swim and drowned. He also refrained from mentioning she must have first removed most of her clothes.

  At Sir Arnold’s side, his wife cleared her throat, an obvious overture to saying her piece. Millicent Prentiss-Grant was a slighter version of her husband. According to her portrait on the staircase, she had once been a renowned beauty, or else had the advantage of a singularly imaginative artist. Relentless time had done the rest, sharpening soft contours into severe angles, replacing a once-smiling countenance with a formidable air and a toned-down, but extremely harsh and shrill, version of her husband’s booming voice.

  Leaning forward in an attempt to intimidate Faro from beneath haughtily raised eyebrows, she demanded, ‘Are we to understand that you were acquainted with our daughter?’

  Faro shook his head. ‘No. Not until the time we met on the shore.’

  ‘We take it that you had not been formally introduced.’ Her tone was icy, disapproving.

  Faro looked her straight in the eye. ‘No, madam, I had not had the pleasure. I should point out that, as I live in Edinburgh, a formal introduction was most unlikely as I had only recently arrived on a visit to my mother, your housekeeper.’

  This lack of a formal introduction weighed heavily against the constable. The couple’s exchanged glances seemed to declare the fellow some sort of a b
ounder, and a fortune-hunter too. If such an emotion were possible, they regarded him with renewed distaste.

  Lady Millicent’s lip curled. ‘So we are to understand that you were out walking and approached a young lady who was a complete stranger.’

  ‘Not quite, madam. The young lady approached me, and as we were heading in the same direction, we walked along the shore together.’

  Sir Arnold’s eyes rolled heavenward in disgust and his fist banged down on the table. ‘I find it very hard to believe that our daughter would associate with a total stranger in such a fashion.’

  The look that accompanied this remark condemned Faro into the lowest ranks of seducers. In his defence he said, ‘I am a detective constable, sir, perhaps she felt it was safe to talk to me.’

  ‘So you talked too, did you?’

  ‘We did indeed.’

  ‘And may we enquire what was the nature of this talk?’

  ‘We talked of casual matters of little consequence. She wished to talk to someone. I decided she was lonely.’

  ‘You decided she was lonely.’ The words came slowly and heavily in shocked comprehension from Sir Arnold. As his wife tut-tutted, Faro said, ‘Yes, sir, that was my impression.’

  The fist banged down again. Lady Millicent shrilled, ‘Your impression, indeed. The very idea!’

  Sir Arnold leant forward and took a better look at Faro. ‘May we ask what gives you the right to express such an opinion?’ he roared. ‘Miss Celia would never confide in a stranger, the idea is beyond decency.’

  His wife also leant forward, her manner threatening. ‘And what, may we enquire, did she confide in you?’ Faro detected a note of anxiety as she added, ‘We cannot imagine that she informed you of her intentions.’

  Her husband’s hand was on her arm, a warning gesture.

  ‘Not at all. Our brief conversation concerned the difference regarding life in London and Orkney.’

  ‘She did not tell you the reason for her return?’ Lady Millicent insisted.

  ‘No, madam, but in my official capacity I was about to ask you the same question.’

  A moment’s silence, a look of bafflement exchanged between the couple. Heads shaken, a hand raised in an abrupt and unmistakeable signal of dismissal.

  Resisting the temptation to slam the door behind him, Faro left the dining room aware that he had learnt nothing. Regarding the abandoned clothes at the scene of their daughter’s mysterious disappearance, he wondered if the Prentiss-Grants were aware of this bizarre circumstance.

  He wondered if Stavely had brushed that matter aside as too indelicate or embarrassing a subject to mention to the girl’s parents.

  Outside the house, there was no sign of Stavely, who had seized the opportunity to slip out unnoticed. Instead, he could be found comfortably seated in Mary Faro’s kitchen behind a steaming cup of tea and a plate of freshly baked scones.

  Stavely looked up and said defensively, ‘Before you say a word, it wasn’t a pleasant experience for me either. I hadn’t met either of them before and I can tell you, the Orkney Constabulary, and myself in particular, were made to feel personally responsible that his daughter had vanished.’

  ‘Any mention of those clothes she was not wearing?’

  Still smarting under the discomfort of that first meeting and a carriage drive where the discomfort was not completely due to the reckless speed of the horses, Stavely shook his head vigorously. ‘I considered things were bad enough without that.’

  He pushed across the table a large photograph that Sir Arnold had removed from its frame. ‘We have to find an artist to copy this. They want a copy printed in The Orcadian, and on posters displayed everywhere across the island. With a reward offered for information. Immediately.’

  The photograph was of Celia, looking even younger than her eighteen years.

  Faro said, ‘She hasn’t been missing for three days yet.’

  Stavely shrugged. ‘I agree. She might walk in with a perfectly feasible explanation. And what fools the police will look then.’ He shook his head. ‘His nibs has a theory. He firmly believes that she is being held somewhere and this offer of a reward for information will scare off her kidnappers and put an end to their hopes of a ransom.’

  ‘I don’t like it. I have known of such cases where kidnappers have lost their nerve and have killed off their victim to conceal their identity,’ Faro said, pushing the photo back towards Stavely, who grimaced.

  ‘Ours is not to reason why. And in this case, it’s yours to deal with.’

  ‘And how am I to do that, pray?’

  ‘Take this photo into Kirkwall, find an artist.’

  ‘Who?’

  Mary Faro was clearing the table. She laughed. ‘You’re in luck, dear.’

  Stavely grinned. ‘Your mother has just informed me that there’s one living in her house in Kirkwall.’ He stood up. ‘No time for delay. Ask him to make a quick sketch and take it into the newspaper office. They’ll get posters printed. Time is of the essence. Be brisk.’

  While Faro was wondering how he was to get to Kirkwall on the instant, as it were, his mother reappeared from her bedroom, wearing her cloak.

  ‘Her ladyship has some urgent shopping and I have to collect her pearls which have been restrung. A minute, while I collect her list.’

  Watching her hurry towards the house, Faro asked, ‘Did you get anything useful from your interview, Sergeant?’

  ‘Nary a word, only a strong feeling that I wasn’t being told everything and that the main clue was being deliberately withheld.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They weren’t going to confide in me, a mere policeman. But from what they did not say, I would be willing to bet that there had been one unholy row before she flounced out and took ship to Orkney.’

  ‘But why? I got the impression she was rather bored with the island, and for a young girl who had never left home alone, the decision to take ship required organisation. We can only conclude that there was a very strong reason for her flight.’

  Stavely seized the suggestion eagerly. ‘I’ve been thinking the very same. A reason to be kept secret at all costs.’

  That secret could be an unwanted pregnancy, Faro thought, as Stavely went on excitedly, ‘I’d be prepared to bet my last shilling that young love’s dream is involved here. That’s the obvious answer.’

  Outside, the carriage was waiting and Mary had not yet reappeared.

  Stavely looked round, a puzzled frown, ‘Who on earth would she find, I mean, of her own class, here at Scarthbreck?’

  ‘I don’t think we need worry ourselves about that, Sergeant. Young men, handsome but humble, have their appeal to rich young women, and there is the added thrill of crossing the social barrier. It isn’t unknown for girls like Celia to enjoy such dangerous liaisons, often with unforeseen and terrible consequences beyond their imagination.’

  As he said the words he found himself remembering the cause célèbre of Madeleine Smith. Accused of poisoning her lowly lover, she had escaped the gallows with a Scottish ‘not proven’ verdict.

  Stavely was silent as Faro continued, ‘So where do we go from here?’

  ‘Heaven only knows,’ Stavely said sharply, thinking of his own son, who might well fit into such a category. ‘But I firmly believe that we can dismiss suicide. Self-destruction does not fit in with what we are learning about a spoilt, rich, young girl.’

  ‘I agree. Those abandoned clothes were just a cruel joke left to confuse us – and scare her parents. The next thing will doubtless be a very large ransom note.’

  ‘So you believe she was kidnapped?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Faro, ‘but there will be a ransom note, I am sure of that.’ From what he had deduced so far, there were two possibilities. First, that she had a lover in London, was pregnant and had taken refuge in Orkney; second, that her disappearance was part of an audacious plan to foil her parents and get her own way.

  Was the poster of the missing girl, with a substant
ial reward for information, only an attempt by her father to foil kidnappers? Faro was certain the father knew a lot more than he was prepared to admit regarding her precipitous flight from London.

  Stavely’s sigh was that of a very worried man. ‘As far as I’m concerned, we can’t get to the bottom of this case soon enough. I am to stay here – official orders from Kirkwall – on the spot where it all happened, to conduct my enquiries.’

  Constables were already conducting an inch-by-inch search from the shore to Scarthbreck’s extensive gardens. Divers were out in the skerry.

  He shook his head. ‘We’re a law-abiding lot on the whole, and bearing in mind our lads’ experience has been limited to dealing with only minor crimes, like poaching, drunken fights and a bit of smuggling, I fear this operation will take some considerable effort, as well as being a complete waste of time.’

  He paused and added, ‘As for you, Faro, arrangements have been made with your lot in Edinburgh to extend your stay accordingly.’ He did not need to add that, as far as the police were concerned, Faro, who had been seen walking with the missing girl, was the prime suspect.

  ‘Very well.’ Faro had his own reasons for wishing to extend his visit, and this unexpected trip to Kirkwall opened unexpected possibilities of meetings with Inga.

  Stavely gave him a resentful look. ‘All right for you to sound so cheerful, you’re not a family man. You’ve no one depending on you,’ he grumbled. ‘At least you’ll have a pleasant environment, well looked after by your mother, who is an excellent cook.’ Wistfully remembering the plate of scones he had depleted with considerable enthusiasm, he added with distaste, ‘I’ll have to stay with my brother-in-law Hal, who lives almost entirely on porridge, cheese and ale.’

  Mary Faro appeared, bustling down the front steps. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Her ladyship seized the opportunity to compile a list of items urgently required,’ she added, wearily considering the magnitude of the shopping list involved. Then turning to the sergeant, ‘Give me that note for Mrs Stavely. I’ll drop it off.’