Akin to Murder

by Alanna Knight

‘Honour be damned,’ she snapped, eyeing him coldly. ‘Find the thief, that is what I want. Put him in jail and get me back my picture, if he hasn’t disposed of it already.’

  Gosse bowed again, even closer to the ground this time.

  ‘Come on, man, look smart. And be quick about it.’

  Temporarily ignored and regarding the scene through narrowed eyes, Faro was aware of surreptitious glances in his direction that said this was not the outcome Belmuir had wanted.

  He felt almost sorry for Gosse, put at such a disadvantage, the detective inspector called ‘man’ and ordered about like a lower servant at the castle. He sighed; yes, having witnessed this humiliation before a member of the aristocracy, Gosse would doubtless make him pay in due course. It was beginning now.

  ‘Well, Faro, what are you waiting for? You have work to do,’ Gosse said in poor imitation of Her Ladyship’s voice of authority.

  ‘Your Ladyship.’ Faro inclined his head, not as a servant, a gentleman’s mere inclination of the head. And clutching the batch of letters, he left them, aware that Belmuir would eat Gosse alive, and as he walked down the corridor, he would have liked to have been invisible, following them down to Moray Place, feeling almost sympathy for Gosse’s grovelling attempts to ingratiate himself by doing a mere constable’s work of recording details of a robbery.

  Despite taking to his heels down the High Street, by the time he reached the Pleasance, it was too late and he had missed the train to Dalkeith. The afternoon one would delay him and was considerably less convenient for his plan. He had better spare Lizzie’s tendency to worry that he might not be home until very late and tell her not to keep supper for him. He had not yet succeeded in assuring her that such delays were not because some disaster had overtaken him and only hoped and trusted that her excessive apprehension would end with the arrival of the new baby; that the anxieties of motherhood would overcome those of a husband facing a policeman’s normal daily hazards.

  Frustrated by his attempts to begin enquiries, he decided to call on Mrs Brook and see if there was any news of Tibbie.

  There was none. Mrs Brook’s anxious face as she opened the door told him all he needed to know. She asked if she could report Tibbie as a missing person. Shaking her head dolefully, she whispered: ‘I am sore afraid something has befallen her.’

  Those were Faro’s thoughts too. But after all, she knew nothing of Tibbie, they had only met once and the police might just push it aside as unimportant. Also, this anxious woman was not a relative. There was no family connection that she knew of and this Tibbie might have just forgotten, or for some other reason decided not to visit the housekeeper at Sheridan Place. Perhaps she had given a message to a young lad in the street, saying this was an urgent note to deliver – but as often happened, the would-be messenger, eagerly pocketing the penny, had cheerfully gone on his way.

  All Faro could do was to advise her to leave it for a day or two and when he came back from his enquiries, where he hoped to see the inside of the poorhouse, there might be some news.

  Mrs Brook reminded him that all was now in readiness for his mother’s visit. She repeated anxiously that she hoped Mrs Faro would find the room comfortable and the bed well aired.

  At the cottage Lizzie said anxiously: ‘Try not to be too delayed, Jeremy. Remember when your mother arrives, Charlie doesn’t need to hide. He is my brother from the Highlands. We haven’t met for some time, and he was heading south to work on the Borders. Unfortunately he sprained his ankle.’

  She had it all prepared. She had already altered Jeremy’s second-best trousers and shortened the sleeves of the jacket to make him look respectable. Faro mentally crossed his fingers and hoped it would work. He had to leave it to Lizzie to keep his mother’s well-known curiosity at bay and he was thankful that at least the brother and sister could retreat into Gaelic, a foreign language she wouldn’t understand, if imminent danger threatened.

  However, it was with a heavy heart and a sense of foreboding that he went down to the Pleasance to find that the train was delayed. There had been a fallen tree on the line and there would be nothing until tomorrow. The whole service was disrupted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was very fortunate that Faro was still at home next morning, as with breakfast over, he was preparing to go to take the early train to Fisherrow when the sound of a carriage arriving and approaching footsteps had Charlie leaping back into the box bed and closing the shutters.

  ‘Who on earth—’

  Faro opened the door and Mary Faro flung herself into his arms. Hugs and kisses exchanged with Lizzie, she said crossly:

  ‘I thought you were coming to meet me, Jeremy. I had to take a hiring cab,’ she said, following him into the kitchen. ‘Why weren’t you at Leith when the ship docked?’

  ‘Mother – wait a moment. When you said eight o’clock, I presumed you meant evening.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t,’ she snapped. ‘I stayed on the ship overnight.’

  Faro sighed. ‘You might have made that clear.’

  ‘Never occurred to me, thought you’d remember that after all your trips home.’ Discarding her cloak, she set down her luggage. ‘Anyway, I’m here now.’ No longer interested in reproaching Jeremy, her fond smiles were for Lizzie. ‘How are you, my dear?’ And with a downward glance. ‘All well with the wee one?’

  ‘Yes, I’m very well,’ and patting her increasingly rounded stomach, Lizzie whispered: ‘And so is she.’

  Her mother-in-law asked the obvious question. ‘How do you know?’ She was hoping for a grandson.

  Lizzie merely shook her head and smiled. ‘Have some breakfast. You must be hungry.’

  ‘I ate early, on the ship while it was unloading. But I’d love a cup of tea.’ And sitting down at the table, Mary looked from one to the other. ‘You both looked very startled when I came in. Is there something wrong?’ she added anxiously.

  Faro avoided Lizzie’s eyes and patted his mother’s hand. ‘Of course not. It’s good to have you – any time.’

  Always sensitive to atmospheres, Mary frowned. ‘What about this place where I’m supposed to be staying. Is it going to be all right?’

  Faro explained that it was a very nice house just a short distance away. The home of his great friend Superintendent Macfie who she would remember had looked after Vince while he and Lizzie had been in Orkney with her on their honeymoon. The gentleman was abroad at present but his housekeeper would look after her.

  Far from the complaints he had expected, she sounded impressed and grateful. ‘Will you take me, Jeremy? I could have gone straight there in the cab, but thought it was better to have an introduction.’ She looked around appraisingly. ‘This is such a pretty little house.’ And pointing triumphantly to the box bed. ‘I could have slept in there, you know—’

  ‘Not nearly comfortable enough,’ Faro said quickly.

  Further explanation was mercifully cut short as the trapdoor to the attic opened and Vince emerged. Coming down the ladder, he looked anxious too, and then saw it was a lady sitting at the table, not the police here to apprehend the man who was his Uncle Charlie concealed in the box bed.

  Mary held out her hand, smiling. ‘So this is Vince. I’m your grandma, glad to meet you. And what a fine young lad you are.’

  He went to her side and kissed the proffered cheek with just a mite of embarrassment, while over her head he exchanged an anguished glance with Lizzie and Faro.

  ‘You’re sleeping up there? It can’t be very comfortable.’

  Vince would have heartily agreed, seeing there was hardly room to stand upright, but Faro’s glance at Lizzie, his slight nod, indicated that this was the time for explanations.

  Lizzie said hastily, ‘We have a visitor just now, Mother. My brother Charlie is with us. He looked in unexpectedly on his way down from the Highlands, to a job with the railways in Carlisle. Went for a walk on the hill out yonder and unfortunately sprained his ankle—’

  ‘Where is he?’ Mary
asked sharply.

  Lizzie pointed to the box bed and whispered. ‘He’s occupying it at present. Couldn’t climb the ladder, which is why Vince had to go up to the attic. He’s still asleep,’ she added, a finger to her lips.

  Faro groaned inwardly. What a situation. The best he could do was to remove his mother as soon as possible, let Lizzie sort it out with Charlie and together cobble a convincing story. One that would have to be very good indeed, since Mary was a very sharp lady; in fact, he rather suspected that he had inherited his abilities as a detective, his intuition regarding clues, directly from her.

  As they headed towards Sheridan Place, Mary walked blithely at his side, chattering all the while about how lovely Lizzie was and how lucky he had been to find such an excellent wife after all her misgivings that he was to die a bachelor after all, and she would never see a grandchild. Vince, too, came in for high praise, a delightful boy, so handsome. Faro hoped she wasn’t going to ask about his hero father but she skipped on, and a keen gardener, was making helpful suggestions about what they might plant.

  His responses were automatic, a nod, and a yes or no, with only vague ideas of what she was talking about, his mind heavily engaged on other vital matters like how he was to get Charlie out of Edinburgh, while his mother cheerfully reorganised the cottage with firm recommendations on ‘what I would do if I were you’, such as building extensions to make best use of all existing space.

  Did he think Lizzie would approve? Domestic improvements were well past his concern in a shaky future, as Mary stopped in her tracks to view the scaffolding and the busy workmen with a disapproving eye, particularly the crumbling stones that were all that remained of Lumbleigh House.

  ‘Why doesn’t someone stop them? A horrid terrace of four-storeyed houses, just a blot on the horizon.’ She shuddered and shook her head. ‘I can tell you our Kirkwall authorities would never have allowed such desecration, spoiling the landscape.’

  Faro let her go on unchallenged, useless to try to intervene and explain that the slums of the High Street and the elegant New Town mansions were no longer adequate to house Edinburgh’s constantly growing population, and the city boundaries had to be extended out of necessity into the countryside beyond the south side.

  There was one nasty moment when Mary spotted the wanted poster attached to the lamp post newly erected on what would be the new Dalkeith Road.

  She paused to look at it and exclaimed in horror. ‘This dreadful man is still roaming about? How awful.’ She shuddered. ‘And there’s Lizzie alone all day at the cottage. I hope you are safe enough with a killer on the loose. We don’t want to be murdered in our beds.’

  Thinking of the irony of it all, with the murderer hiding asleep just yards away in the box bed, he made reassuring murmurs about the cottage being watched over, having police protection.

  Mary frowned. ‘I hope you’ll catch him soon.’

  ‘We’re on to it, Ma. Don’t you worry,’ he said, escorting her across the road where she waxed lyrical over the charm of a lodge with gates that could be locked each evening. The garden of Macfie’s new home also met with approval, while Faro eyed the closed door with considerable anxiety.

  It was opened by Mrs Brook who managed to conceal her surprise at this unexpected arrival with a welcoming smile for Mary Faro. Behind the back of the newcomer she ushered inside, a shake of the head confirmed Faro’s fears about the missing Tibbie, as he listened to the footsteps of the two women ascending the stairs to the waiting guest room.

  Mrs Brook left the visitor to unpack, saying she would be making a cup of tea. Downstairs, Faro was looking out of the window and she whispered: ‘Not a word from Tibbie. Something must have happened to her. What can you do about that, sir?’ she added anxiously. He shook his head. The answer was, not a lot.

  Observing Mrs Brook’s distress, he said: ‘You can go into the police office and tell them you were expecting a friend who has not arrived and you think something has happened to her. They will listen and want her address and personal details, description and so forth, but it is a slow business, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Especially as I know nothing about her except her surname,’ sighed Mrs Brook and as she walked through to the kitchen to make the promised tea, Mary Faro reappeared, beaming with delight over the lovely guest room.

  ‘I know I’ll be very comfortable here, Jeremy.’

  That was a relief. He smiled, glad of the excuse to depart. ‘Excellent, Ma, but I have to go now.’

  ‘What about tea, surely you can stay for a little while?’ she said, reluctant as ever to let him go. ‘After all, I haven’t seen you for months,’ she added reproachfully.

  He sighed. ‘I have to work, dear. I am not on holiday,’ he reminded her. ‘And we will be seeing plenty of each other while you are here.’ However, the lure of Mrs Brook’s tea and one of her delicious scones was irresistible, while Mary chose to ignore the housekeeper’s apology for still unpacked storage containers, saying that the house was just perfect and thanking her for doing so much.

  She put down the empty cup. ‘If you really have to go, Jeremy dear, I think I will rest in my lovely room for a while.’ And with a yawn, ‘I did not sleep a great deal on the Orkney boat last night, a very uneasy crossing. I’m sure Lizzie will understand and excuse me. I’ll see all of you at supper.’

  Far from minding, he felt that Lizzie, and especially Charlie, would be greatly relieved, acutely conscious of the terrible anxiety induced by Mary’s presence. Faro was also relieved by the absence of any posters in the Blacket Place area to suggest that Lizzie’s brother on a visit from the Highlands was none other than the murderer wanted by the police, with a substantial reward for his capture.

  Time was not on their side. He had to get Charlie away as soon as he could walk – or preferably run. But how? As he was walking across the Pleasance towards the railway terminus, two constables who he knew but didn’t immediately recognise saluted him. And that gave him an idea, how uniform and helmet were a disguise in themselves. He was jubilant; he would obtain these from the police store on some pretext, and as a detective sergeant travelling with a constable, Charlie would be safe. No one would give them a second glance. It would be easy, he decided, as he bought a ticket and took a seat on the train, heading for the first of his interviews with the claimants of the reward, already sure that it was a waste of time.

  Suddenly his plan made him smile: the irony of getting Charlie McLaw away from under Gosse’s nose disguised as a constable. As well as irony there was the ever-present haunting thought of discovery, which would mean the end of his career and possible imprisonment or transportation, and what would become of Lizzie and their baby, and young Vince?

  The train window was jammed open and he couldn’t close it as they sped through the long dark tunnel at the outset of the journey. Absorbed by the darkness, the stifling atmosphere smelt vile from more than the normal steam from the engine, and in the flickering light from the candle sconces, which offered poor illumination, he noticed the number of sacks alongside the rail and decided that a lot of local folk, perhaps also the builders on the nearby road, were guilty of finding it a useful disposal place for rubbish.

  Once out of the tunnel his fears were momentarily soothed by the gentle countryside moving past the windows, the peaceful sights of what had now taken on the atmosphere of a world lost to him, remote from the hazards of a harrowing present. For a while, he let the soothing motion overcome his anxiety, absorbed again by his love of trains. How lucky to live in this modern age; what a difference the railways had made to the lives of ordinary folk as he thought of the alternatives, the stagecoaches infrequent and highly uncomfortable with their wooden seats. Only the rich could afford the luxury of a well-padded carriage and a coachman.

  The other alternatives were horseback or to go by foot and Faro was never completely comfortable with the first of these means of travel. Like most of the police, from constables to detectives, once out of the city with its horse-
drawn omnibuses he had to walk, mile upon mile every day.

  Faro consulted his notes for the addresses, one in Fisherrow and one in Musselburgh itself. This was a perfect opportunity to call at the poorhouse and make enquiries about the missing Tibbie, who he felt certain had a connection there, with his gut feeling that she was the lame woman he had seen trying to board the train, and as an excuse for the visit, he would produce once more the ailing, frail mother.

  As the train steamed past the grounds, there was no activity. This was not one of their days for ferrying the market produce to the city. Onward to the furthest of his two calls.

  He was pleasantly surprised when he stepped off the train.

  The Romans settled Musselburgh, just five miles from Edinburgh, in the first century AD following their invasion of Scotland, and built a defensive fort, long vanished, a little inland from the mouth of the River Esk.

  The bridge he walked across that sunny morning was a descendant of the original the Romans had built over the river downstream from the fort, establishing the main eastern approach to Scotland’s capital that had endured through the passing centuries.

  Without a map, he needed directions for the address of this reward claimant. The sound of hammering and the smell of hot iron said that there was a blacksmith’s forge near the riverbank.

  The large, heavily muscled, sweating man paused in his exertions to greet him.

  ‘Aye, down the High Street. Turn left and then right. Just across from Pinkie House.’

  Faro thanked him and the blacksmith, now curious, said: ‘You are welcome. This is your first visit to the Honest Toun, sir?’ Proud of its history, Faro was told that this ancient epithet dated back to the fourteenth century, when the Regent of Scotland died in the burgh after a long illness, cared for by the citizens. The new regent, the Earl of Mar, impressed by these good folk, rewarded them thus for their honesty.

  Faro had a feeling that the blacksmith had only just begun on his story, that there was a lot more, but took the opportunity of a rider arriving with a horse to be shod to hurry on to his destination.