A Quiet Death (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.5)

by Alanna Knight

  Johnston's revelations explained her violent reaction but how could he tactfully warn Vince? He rephrased over and over the words he would need and discarded them all as totally inadequate consolation for Vince in his present state of mind.

  Gloomily aware that by now his stepson might have another pressing problem, in the form of dismissal from his situation as factory doctor, he climbed the stairs to their lodging.

  Vince bounded towards him, beaming with delight. But the letter in his hand was the last that Faro expected.

  'Guess what. Stepfather. I've had a note from Rachel. I knew—I told you—it was all her family's doing. And I was right. She wants me to meet her. I knew she still loves me. And she does.' He flourished a piece of paper. 'Read that. Read it. Now you'll be convinced.'

  And Faro realised that any words of warning he might care to offer were now too late.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dearest Vince. Meet me at Magdalen Green (where we met once before by the bridge) at 7 this evening. I will explain everything then. Do not fail me. I love you. Your Rachel.

  Faro handed the note back. He was speechless. 'Well, Stepfather. What do you think of that?' demanded Vince triumphantly.

  Highly suspicious were the first two words that occurred to Faro. He could not bring himself to respond to Vince's enthusiasm and utter the encouragement expected of him. Somewhat hesitantly, he said 'I presume there is no doubt that this is Rachel's handwriting?'

  'Really, Stepfather,' was the scornful rejoinder, 'I do know her handwriting. For heaven's sake, this is their crested notepaper, too. And I have other notes from her. Here,' he added taking out his pocket case. 'Read them if you wish. Check them carefully,' he added stiffly.

  'No need for that, lad.'

  Thank you.' Vince's words were tinged with sarcasm as he replaced the notes, but on his lips was a dreamlike smile. Now that he believed Rachel Deane loved him, he was ready, even eager, to forget all the indignities she had heaped upon him. It was as if the last two days had never happened and Vince was about to rush headlong into the fantasy world they, or most likely he, had created.

  'I can hardly believe it, after all that has happened.'

  Neither can I, lad. Neither can I, thought Faro gloomily.

  'It's like a miracle.'

  A miracle or another cruel trick to destroy his stepson, he thought, listening to Vince now full of plans and speculations, all highly romantic and, Faro decided, highly impractical.

  'Her grandfather dotes upon her and I have not the least doubt that she has persuaded him to let us marry. Don't you agree?' And not waiting for a reply, That swine Wilfred must have been the stumbling block. No doubt she will tell me all about it—'

  Faro cut him short. 'Wait a moment, lad. Why all the secrecy? If she has the family approval, surely she or her grandfather might have invited you up to the house?'

  He had to do his best to warn Vince that all might not be as he anticipated. He succeeded, for Vince looked suddenly thoughtful.

  'Yes, that is a possibility I hadn't considered. Another is that she is making her escape from Deane Hall and wishes us to elope. That is something we have discussed before, in happier days,' he added wistfully. 'After all, she will be of age in two weeks' time—'

  The more Faro listened, the more convinced he became that the note from Rachel and the whole situation it conjured up were deeply suspicious. A situation that Vince, in a sane mood, would have regarded with the utmost caution.

  Watching his stepson prepare for the meeting, whistling happily, filled Faro with ominous dread that this time Vince himself might be in danger. When he emerged shaved and well-groomed, wearing his best suit and cravat, every trace of any recent despondency had vanished completely. Young and handsome, he was revitalised by his lost love returned.

  At six thirty the sky clouded over. The weather had changed, a squally wind followed by heavy rain indicated that a storm was blowing up the Tay.

  Vince mistook his stepfather's sombre countenance for anxiety about the weather. 'How exasperating!'

  It was just a few minutes' walk from Paton's Lane to Magdalen Green but on a night like this, with forebodings of disaster pricking like daggers in his mind, Faro came to a sudden decision. 'We'll need to take a carriage. And I'm coming with you.'

  'But—but there is absolutely no necessity—'

  'It's all right, lad, I promise not to intrude. I shall remain discreetly inside the carriage.' And in a flash of pure invention, 'You see, it's just occurred to me that if you're eloping, the assistance of a third party might be extremely useful.'

  'Well done, Stepfather. It never entered my head. You do think of everything, don't you?'

  Hiring carriages on the busy main road from the railway station were readily accessible. At five minutes to seven they reached Magdalen Green. As the road near the bridge offered little shelter but a large quantity of mud underfoot, the cab driver agreed that for another shilling they might wait inside the carriage.

  Those last few minutes were an eternity for Vince and a gnawing anxiety for his stepfather. The bridge was empty of workmen now, with gaslight flares to help the night-watchman in his task.

  The swaying lanterns reflected the ghostly dark shapes of the piers of the bridge. No longer echoing with the sound of daytime hammerings, the creak and groan of cranes and pulleys as they elevated their heavy baskets to the higher platforms, only the wind whistled eerily, rustling up a tide which tugged and dragged at the half-finished girders.

  Seven o'clock struck and faded away, but there was no sign of Rachel.

  As for Faro, he became more convinced with every passing moment that Rachel herself would not appear, as his sinking heart told him that this had been yet another cruel practical joke at Vince's expense.

  Nevertheless, he was now watchful, alert to possible danger. If that note had been a ruse to lure Vince to this lonely place, then the lad might be in mortal peril, with paid assassins lurking in the dark shadows of the bridge.

  They were in for a surprise, he thought grimly, feeling triumphant and thankful that he had spoilt their plan by accompanying Vince to this assignation. He and Vince had been in many similar scrapes and they had acquitted themselves nobly, more than a match for their adversaries. Wishing he had not left his pistol in Edinburgh, he now looked for something that might be used in defence as well as their own fists.

  In the flickering gaslight, he could see by Vince's eager face that he had not the least suspicion that anything was amiss. Hopeful, his spirits buoyant, he whistled under his breath.

  This carriage was a good idea of yours, Stepfather. We would be getting very wet indeed, wouldn't we?'

  Through the window which they had reeled down, they could see the darkness of the river speckled with white horses and Faro remembered ominously Shakespeare's 'Seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.'

  The rain had ceased, revealing a full moon drifting through occasional breaks in the clouds. Faro glanced at Vince. Was he remembering its effects on lunatic patients? And a voice inside whispered: 'How then will it affect Rachel Deane?'

  Now the occasional boom of sea lapping the shore competed with an eldritch wind, rattling here and there some loose segment on the piers above their heads.

  Seven fifteen struck from a church clock nearby and Faro was about to suggest that they wait no longer, when Vince seized his arm:

  'Listen.'

  A closed carriage approached.

  Faro leaned forward expectantly. Could it be Rachel?

  'There she is. There she is.'

  But the carriage swept past them and stopped twenty yards further down the road near the bridge.

  'It must be her. Of course, she was expecting me to be on foot.' He leaped out. 'Rachel, Rachel. Over here.'

  Faro watched from the window as Vince ran down the road to greet the girl who emerged from the carriage.

  Now she was close enough for Faro to observe in the wavering gaslight that she was in a state o
f considerable excitement, or distress, or apprehension. Considering the inclement weather she was most inadequately clad, he thought. A light shawl only partially covered a plain dark dress, her hair hidden under a tall bonnet tied firmly under her chin. And that fretful wind, tearing at her gown, revealed light slippers.

  Faro sighed. She carried only a small reticule over her wrist, hardly the luggage of a young lady intending to elope. Here was no triumphant mistress, blessed with family approval, coming to meet her lover. Appearances hinted that her departure from Deane Hall had been in some confusion and haste and that she wished to keep her assignation secret.

  Vince had reached her side, arms outstretched in a lover's embrace. But again all was not well. Over Vince's shoulder she was staring at the carriage. She had caught sight of Faro and he saw her thrust Vince away so savagely that he staggered off balance and slipped on the wet road.

  'Get away from me,' she cried. 'Leave me alone.'

  Taken aback by the violence of the girl's reaction, Faro was never quite certain what happened next. Even as he sprang from the carriage to assist Vince to his feet, Rachel Deane ran swiftly down the road.

  Vince was doubled up, winded, clutching his stomach. It was obvious, thought Faro grimly, that the innocent Miss Rachel knew something about self-defence too.

  'Oh God, why did she do that? I didn't mean to upset her. Where is she? Tell her to come back.'

  The gas flares illuminated her flight down the road towards the bridge. Once a cab came along and for a moment she seemed to be trying to make it stop. Then changing her mind she ran alongside the wooden fence. Some six feet high, its purpose was to keep at bay inquisitive children and deter any unauthorised persons from exploring the unfinished bridge.

  As they followed her, even the elements turned against them.

  With heavy rain renewed and driving into their faces, by the time they reached the gate and discovered it was locked, Rachel Deane had found another entrance.

  A tiny figure in a billowing gown, she was already high above their heads, climbing steadily the swaying ladder on the bridge's first pier.

  Chapter 12

  As Vince shook the gates, shouting: 'Rachel, Rachel, come back,' Faro examined the padlock.

  'She didn't go in here. There must be some other way in.'

  They found it easily. A few yards away, a broken plank in the fence. A narrow gap that only a very slender girl could have contemplated.

  As Vince and Faro tried to squeeze through, a night-watchman, alerted by the voices raised above the gale, appeared from his hut. He carried a lantern and was yawning, obviously just awake.

  'What's going on?' he demanded sleepily. 'No one's allowed to come in here.'

  'Let us in. Open the door, I am a doctor,' said Vince.

  The man glared at him and shook his head obstinately. 'Whatever you are, I canna open that gate without proper authority. More than my job's worth.'

  'So is sleeping on duty,' snapped Vince.

  'Is that so—'

  'Stop arguing,' Faro interrupted. 'Look over there, a girl is climbing on to the bridge.'

  'A girl? You must be mistaken. No one's come in here without me seeing them—'

  'Use your eyes, man. Over there!'

  The watchman raised his lantern. 'She canna do that,' he cried indignantly. 'It's not allowed. She'll get into an awfa' row for that—'

  'For heaven's sake, man, don't you see, she's in danger. She could fall to her death, if we don't stop her. Now will you unlock this door?'

  As the man withdrew his set of keys, he said: 'I still don't see how she got in—'

  'She came through a hole in the fence. Down there.'

  The watchman sidled down towards the gap and inspected it, frowning. 'Well now, I'd better get that fixed. Some laddies must have been up to mischief. There'll be trouble when Mr Deane finds out. Very safety conscious, he is.'

  'For God's sake, will you open this door,' said Vince.

  'Steady on there, sir. Steady on.' And misinterpreting Vince's desperation he said: 'Been at the bottle, have you, laddie? Go home and sleep it off.'

  As Vince shook the gate savagely once again, he added sternly, 'Now, now, damage Deane's property and I'll need to get the polis to you.'

  That was the key. Cursing himself for not having thought of it before, Faro said: 'I'm an Inspector of Police, and Superintendent Johnston will vouch for me. Dr Laurie here works for Deane's.'

  The watchman, who was considerably smaller and slighter than the two men who faced him, now held the lantern high and peered into their faces. 'Dr Laurie. So you are. So you are, sir. You should have said so. I expect it'll be all right to let you in.'

  And unlocking the gate, he added sympathetically, 'One of your escaped patients is it, sir?'

  But Vince and Faro had pushed past him and were already in headlong pursuit of Rachel. His vociferous protests followed as he tried vainly to keep up with them.

  'Wait a minute, gentlemen. I'll need to come with you. I'm not supposed to let anyone on the bridge. It's more than my job's worth.'

  But neither heeded him.

  'Look. Look. Up there.'

  In the gaslight's feeble flare they saw Rachel Deane, now thirty feet above them, a tiny windswept figure clinging to the ironwork. She had reached the first platform of the pier.

  'Rachel. For God's sake, come back-'

  For a moment she paused, a pale face looked down at them.

  'Stay there, Rachel. Don't move. I'm coming up.'

  Horrified, Faro caught up with Vince at the base of the ladder. Rachel had discarded her satin slippers to make her climb easier, abandoning her reticule to free her hands. Vince thrust the slippers into his pocket and Faro seized the reticule as they began their ascent of the frail ladder.

  'Come back, come back,' shouted the watchman. 'It'll no' hold the lot of you. You'll all be killed.'

  Vince remained where he was looking upwards. Rachel had disappeared momentarily, concealed by the frail wooden shield erected to protect workmen from the worst of the weather.

  'Wait there, Rachel. It's all right. I'll be with you—'

  Even as Vince spoke, she reappeared and began a steady and rapid climb towards the second platform some eighty feet above their heads.

  'Rachel, Rachel. Stop, for God's sake, stop.'

  But Vince's plea, even if she heard it, did not deter her from her purpose. Now far behind Vince, Faro sighed with relief as he saw her reach the second frail shelter in safety.

  'You can't go any further, Rachel. Please stay there.'

  He heard the terror and agony in Vince's voice as with one faint cry, Rachel hurtled downwards past them.

  Clinging to the ironwork, they felt the violent movement of air as her dark gown billowing out transformed her into some gigantic winged bird.

  A second later, the turbulent waters of the Tay blossomed into a white rose of death to receive her. Then the blackness closed over once more and all was still.

  Knowing that she could stay alive only seconds in those icy waters, both men began sliding, scrambling down the ironwork, oblivious of torn clothes, bruised and bleeding hands.

  On firm ground again, Vince cried out, 'Oh God—oh God—' and discarding his coat raced towards the water's edge.

  Faro followed, his mind working coldly, his intention at all costs to prevent Vince from plunging into that swift-moving river with some mad idea of saving Rachel Deane. She was past saving. She could not have survived that terrible fall. As for Vince, an indifferent swimmer at the best of times, any attempt at rescue and he too would be a dead man.

  'Let me go to her, damn you, damn you.' But Faro held him firm.

  'No. No, I beg you—don't.' As they struggled, Vince cursing. Faro pleading, imploring, the watchman panted alongside.

  'See, there's a rowing boat down yonder. Take it. I'll go and get help,' he yelled.

  Vince and Faro sprang down the pebbled beach, pushed out the boat, leaped in and seized an oa
r each. Even with two strong men rowing for dear life, the river almost won that bitter struggle. At last they were near the spot where Rachel had fallen. Or had jumped into the dark waters.

  Steadying the boat against the vicious tide, they circled, calling her name.

  'Rachel. Rachel.'

  But even Vince now knew that the battle was lost. Even if she had survived the fall, too much time had now elapsed. There was no longer the faintest possibility of finding her still alive.

  A shadow floated towards them. A body, thought Faro for a heart-stopping moment, as he leaned over and fished out a shawl.

  Wordlessly he handed it to Vince who clutched that pathetically sodden garment Rachel had worn. Hugging it to him, he sobbed, whispering her name over and over.

  'Rachel, Rachel. Why—why? In God's name—why?'

  And still with all hope vanquished, they could not return to the shore. Round and round they rowed the boat, stopping now and then to stare at the waters, at some imagined floating object.

  Time had ceased to exist. They were both numb with cold and speechless with shock and horror, when Faro became aware that other vessels had joined them in the search.

  A voice called from the dark shadow of a deck above their heads. The lifeboat from Broughty Ferry. 'We'll take over, lads. You return to shore. It's too dangerous. There's a gale blowing up.'

  Vince shook his head, shouted: 'No. No. We are going to find her.'

  Faro, dazed, realised that his feet and trouser legs were sodden. The boat was already half full of water. He began to steer for the shore.

  'We'll get another boat, lad. Yes, we'll go on searching. But not in this one. See, we're sinking rapidly.' Raising his voice against the wind, he shouted down Vince's protests.

  As they struck the pebbled beach again, he glanced up at the bridge. It was no longer deserted, there were many lights now as workmen in overalls swarmed over the girders holding flickering torches to assist in the search.

  Two workmen in overalls were approaching the very spot where Rachel had fallen, from all appearances carrying out a minute inspection.