A servant. Gimmond? Unlikely.
Then it could only be her husband. And Theodore would lie and lie. As he, Faro, would have done had such a woman been his wife. He knew that, recognised it for his own weakness. That love - and loyalty - could be stronger than justice.
Switching from such uneasy thoughts, he asked: ‘You must have known your brother-in-law very well. Granted that he thought he was incurably ill, did he ever show signs of mental disturbance? What I’m trying to say, did he ever hint that, let us say, if things got too bad, he might put an end to it all?’
‘Never. No, never,’ she replied quickly without the slightest hesitation, her eyes bright and shining, a slight smile playing about her lips intensifying that likeness to a Botticelli angel, as Faro had first seen her.
‘When we - knew - what Cedric believed we were distraught. It was as if this death sentence had been passed on each one of us personally. There is nothing we would not do for each other, no sacrifice too great. We are that kind of family.’
In the silence that followed her words, for Faro could think of no rejoinder beyond a curt nod totally inadequate to the occasion, Barbara gazed up at the family portraits above the mantelpiece.
‘That I think is the secret of how the Langweils have survived and prospered over so many centuries.’
When he declined the inevitable offer of tea, which seemed to be on hand at all hours in such houses, Faro recognised that it was also an indication that the interview was at an end.
About to take his leave, Barbara stood up saying she would accompany him.
Wrapping a shawl about her shoulders, she smiled. ‘Just to the end of the drive. I would enjoy a little exercise. I get little chance these days. It is not the done thing for recently bereaved ladies to show their faces in public.’
Faro could think of nothing to say as they walked down the front steps. ‘I understand you are from Orkney, Inspector. What brought you to Edinburgh?’
Faro told her, keeping his life story as brief as possible, certain that was not her reason for wishing to walk with him.
‘That is very interesting,’ she said. ‘As for me, not even the wildest stretches of imagination could have prepared me for what my destiny held. My family were poor immigrants from Eastern Europe and we lived in direst poverty. I went to work as a waitress in a restaurant and it was there by the merest chance that Theodore Langweil, on a business visit to New York, and slumming it, you might say, came into my life. And stayed there.’
‘A fairy-tale story, is it not, Inspector? And yet so simple. Complete with happy ending. With Priorsfield - and all this - at the end of it. A happy devoted husband, and a loving family. What luck. Who could have imagined it?’
She turned and left him almost abruptly. He watched her go, walking lightly back towards the house.
Opening the gate of Priorsfield and shedding the enchanted spell of Barbara Langweil, he began to have his doubts.
There was something about so much loving, so much sweetness and light that he felt uneasily did not ring true to reality. It was the major obstacle in sniffing out murderers, rapists and petty criminals in a family circle. He thought again about loyalty. How even those who hated each other, screamed and railed and battered each other, or bore a lifetime’s secret resentment, would lie and perjure rather than suffer the shame of seeing one of their kin sentenced to prison - and the noose.
If this was true of Edinburgh’s poor, how much more so of the society where the good name was everything, the facade of a united family to be protected at all costs?
Squaring his shoulders with new determination he walked past Duddingston Loch, for in his eyes Barbara Langweil’s proclamations of her family’s apparent innocence took on a new meaning. Surely her past was one of the Langweil family’s best kept secrets? Why then had she confided in him this story of poor girl into rich wife? A simple story that any detective worth his salt knew perfectly well was all too often a motive and incentive for murder.
Chapter Nine
Unpleasantly wrapped in his own gloomy thoughts, Faro had reached the outskirts of Holyrood Park when he was hailed from a passing carriage.
It was Vince, accompanied by Grace and Rose. ‘We are going out to the Golf Hotel for tea.’
‘Do come with us, Papa. Please,’ cried Rose.
‘I ought to get back—’ said Faro doubtfully.
‘Oh, please, Papa. Vince, you make him come,’ Rose persisted, reinforced by Vince’s insistence.
And as they made room for him his stepson continued sternly: ‘Time you stopped being so conscientious. Gave a little more time to the lighter things in life. I suppose you’ve been to Priorsfield.’ And without waiting for an answer, ‘That’s enough activity for one day, surely?’
Faro glanced at Grace, awaiting her reaction. There was none. She merely adjusted her parasol, serenely regarding Salisbury crags. ‘These mild days are too good to miss.’
Her smile while a little lacking in her usual warmth was reasonably welcoming.
‘We decided it was time we escaped from Edinburgh,’ said Vince. ‘It’s my half-day off.’ To which Grace glanced at Vince lovingly and tucked her arm into his, while Rose snuggled up close to her father and took his hand affectionately.
Sitting opposite the smiling couple in the carriage, Faro was both pleased and relieved by this return to the normal behaviour between them he had witnessed many times before Cedric’s death. All was apparently well again between the two lovers.
At the hotel, Vince went to book in his guests with Rose skipping alongside. Grace, however, seemed glad of the opportunity to be alone with Faro.
‘I’m so glad you came with us. I realise now how badly I have behaved and that it was quite silly to blame you - and my dear Vince - for doing what you thought was right.’ She paused and looked towards the door where he had momentarily disappeared. ‘I have always admired you for your integrity, you know that. And in similar circumstances I am sure I should have acted in exactly the same way myself.’
As Faro smiled down at her and took her hands she sighed. ‘You see I do love Vince very much and I want to be his wife. Even if I do most earnestly hope - and believe - that you are mistaken and will find some perfectly innocent explanation of dear Papa’s death.’
‘We all hope that, my dear, I assure you.’
Grace looked at him gratefully and nodded. ‘So Vince says. And you are so clever, he said we could rely on you to find out what really happened—’
As Vince reappeared with Rose, Grace took Faro’s arm and, standing on tiptoe, kissed his cheek and whispered: ‘I am still your devoted future daughter-in-law—’
‘What’s all this?’ Vince said. ‘Do I perceive a rival for my affections? Am I to call you out, sir?’ he demanded mockingly. And you, madam, did I not observe you bestowing kisses on another man, and in public too?’
Grace prodded him in the ribs and seizing her he swung her off her feet, much to Rose’s delight, while Faro observed this little pantomime with considerable relief. All was forgiven and he prepared to enjoy the afternoon tea, which was one of his weaknesses.
The hotel was famed for its Scotch pancakes, scones and Dundee cake. Their table in the large window overlooked the course’s rolling greens occupied by a few enthusiastic players, now straggling towards the hotel as the sun dipped low over the Pentlands.
And Faro was suddenly content, glad to be with the two happy young people who at that moment appeared to have not a care in the world. As for his dear Rose’s presence, that was for him a wistful return to the domestic life which was increasingly one of his fleeting and ever retreating dreams.
Wednesday was half-day closing in Edinburgh and around them were other families with young children, enjoying the kind of life other men accepted as normal that he had so briefly known with a loving wife and bairns. He thought of Emily, seen, with luck, perhaps twice a year. Soon she too would be grown up like her sister, two young women with their own lives and dreams
wherein he would have no part.
On to the peaceful scene beyond the window a dark shadow hovered, and as Faro lifted his second scone to his mouth a sparrowhawk swooped and with a scream of triumph ascended with its own ending to a hungry day’s hunting.
Faro shuddered. There had been something ominous about that picture of sudden death which his three companions had not witnessed.
‘Hello, Faro. You’re a stranger.’
The deep voice at his elbow materialised as the manager of the hotel, an ex-colleague from the Edinburgh City Police. Peter Lamont’s wife had been cook at a big house and when he retired, a hotel had been their particular ambition.
Vince and Grace, after greeting him cordially, returned to their own quiet chat.
Introduced to Rose, Lamont chuckled. ‘Your daughter, eh, Faro? I remember you well, lass. I used to dandle you on my knee when you were a wee one.’ And to Faro: ‘Like to have a look round? We’ve made some improvements since we moved here a few weeks ago,’ he said proudly.
‘May I come too?’ asked Rose.
‘Aye, lass. Dr Laurie and Miss Langweil know the house well from the previous owners. They’ve been constant visitors.’
They followed him up the wide staircase into a handsome drawing room where visiting guests took their ease and then into the dining room overlooking the estuary of the River Forth.
‘So that’s where you are.’ Mrs Lamont appeared clutching an armful of rolled papers. Seeing Faro again she flattered him by saying that he hadn’t changed one scrap since she last saw him five, or was it six, years ago. ‘How do you keep so slim and so young, Jeremy?’ she said, eyeing her husband’s corpulent figure and thinning hair.
Looking curiously at Rose, her eyes opened wide with astonishment. ‘This young lady is never your daughter, Jeremy. Surely? My goodness.’
‘I was just telling him that he ought to do a few rounds of golf to keep fit,’ said Peter.
‘He doesn’t look as if he needs that. Besides, dear, it hasn’t done much for you.’
‘It’s not the golf,’ Peter grinned, ‘it’s all the ale and the appetite I have for your good food, dear.’
Mrs Lamont smiled at Faro. ‘That’s a very bonny lass your young Vince has got hold of.’
‘We haven’t seen so much of him since they got engaged.’
‘I expect you will in the future. He’s marrying into a golfing family, I understand.’
‘And he could do a lot worse. We were right sorry to hear about her poor father.’
‘Aye,’ said Mrs Lamont. ‘We’ll miss them. Grand customers they were. Mr and Mrs Theodore and Mr and Mrs Cedric stayed with us in Perth too.’
Glancing at Faro and Rose, she chuckled. ‘And talking of fathers too young-looking to have grown-up daughters, I really put my foot in it, thinking Mrs Cedric was far too young to have a lass the age of Miss Grace—’
‘Then she realised that she must be her stepmother.’ Peter’s smiling interruption held a note of warning.
‘Such a beautiful woman,’ sighed Mrs Lamont.
No one could make that mistake. And Faro shook his head. ‘I think you’re confusing the two ladies. The young one is Mrs Theodore.’
‘Oh - is she? Now that is interesting—’
Mrs Lamont looked quickly at her husband. ‘That’s even worse. Oh my goodness, how terribly embarrassing—’
“What was it you wanted, Betty?’ Peter demanded rather sharply.
‘Nothing, dear. I was just on my way to Room 37. I thought we might have enough of this paper’ - she unrolled a length – ‘to do that badly stained wall.’
‘Let me see. Yes, I think that would do.’
‘It was very expensive. Seems a shame to waste it.’
‘May I see?’ asked Faro. ‘I recognise this one.’
‘I expect you do, Jeremy. It was the rage in all the big houses about ten years ago. Fashions change and it’s out of date now, of course, so we got a batch cheap when we moved into the hotel’.
Shaking hands with the manager and his wife, promises were exchanged to meet again soon. As they walked towards the staircase Faro asked Rose: ‘Do we have that wallpaper in Sheridan Place?’
‘No, Papa. I’ve never seen it before.’
‘I have. And recently. Wish I could remember where.’
Rose chuckled. ‘Dear Papa. Your much vaunted powers of observation and deduction never did reach the realm of ordinary things like clothes or decoration—’
‘That, young lady, was a blow below the belt.’
She took his arm fondly. ‘But you can’t deny it. This is one case where you have to accept that you are guilty.’
From the landing they saw Vince helping Grace into her cloak. Setting off in the carriage once more they reached the outskirts of Edinburgh as a sunset glow touched the Pentlands with rose, echoing its majesty of crimson and gold on Arthur’s Seat. A scene of tranquility and harmony outside, laughter in the carriage as Vince and Grace held hands and talked about their wedding plans.
‘Papa, Grace would like Emily and me to be bridesmaids.’
Faro looked at Grace.
‘As I have no sisters or girl cousins, it would make me very happy to have Vince’s sisters. As long as you approve—’
Faro leaned over and took her hand. An excellent idea. And a very thoughtful one too.’
Here was an unexpected end to a routine working happy day, thought Faro. Vince and Grace had made up their differences, he had been reinstated and forgiven. He had renewed acquaintance with the past, an elderly couple with their lifetime’s dream fulfilled, and before him sat a young couple whose happy future beckoned only a few months away.
He should have been happy. But he remembered other dark shadows: a sparrowhawk making its kill unobserved by all but himself, reminding him ominously that in the midst of life there is always sudden death. Death striking, unexpected and violent.
There was other residue from that afternoon’s pleasant interlude which troubled him more. Lingering at the back of his mind, it refused to be banished. A case of mistaken identity perhaps but with such monstrous implications he could not bear to bring it into the light and scrutinise it closely. For what he could not fail to recognise was its overwhelming significance in the murder of Cedric Langweil.
Sitting in his study that evening, he made a series of notes regarding his second line of enquiry: three people who had been present at the Priorsfield dinner party that fatal evening. None were witnesses to Cedric’s demise but one had slept in the house that night.
As for the other two, their association with the Langweils might have some fact of vital importance to contribute.
He knew from years of past experience that it was often the seemingly innocent observation, the frailest of threads that he had followed, which had led his way out of the labyrinth to a confrontation with a murderer.
First on his list was the Langweil cousin, Reverend Stephen Aynsley, who, Grace had told him, was now living with them until his plans were complete for going out to Africa.
Faro was relieved to find him at home in the town house, a visitor of sufficient importance to be allocated a handsome bedroom overlooking the Charlotte Square gardens.
When the maid announced Faro, Stephen Aynsley laid aside his Bible and received him graciously, not one whit put out when Faro said it was in connection with Cedric’s death.
He nodded sadly. ‘No need to apologise, Inspector. I am perfectly aware of police procedure in such matters. Of course you must talk to everyone who was in the house that night.’ He smiled gently. ‘For if my poor cousin was murdered, then we are all likely suspects, all capable of having criminal motives. None of us is safe.’ Again he smiled. ‘And it would not, I am sure, be the first time a clergyman has figured in your enquiries. All I can tell you is that I retired on the stroke of midnight. As I am a temperance man, my presence would have been an embarrassment long before Theo and Cedric began their serious drinking.’
Regarding
Faro narrowly, he went on: ‘Having said that, I have no witnesses for my departure except Theodore. I saw no one, rang for no hot milk. Nothing. Merely got into bed and was asleep, as is my wont, before my head touched the pillow. And you have only my word for that. After the servants retired, there was nothing to stop me from going quietly downstairs and slipping poison into Cedric’s glass.’
Pausing, he gave Faro a triumphant look. ‘As you will have observed the side table containing the decanters is very conveniently placed just inside the door. I could have done it easily. And so could - well, several other members of the household. Or a servant who had some mysterious reason, or some grudge, against his master. You look surprised, Inspector?’
Faro laughed. ‘Only that I am wondering if you have chosen the right profession, sir.’
‘Calling, Inspector. That’s how we refer to it. We are called to the ministry.’ He gave Faro a shrewd glance. ‘There is one more vital question you have no doubt thought of? Surely the very first one that is in any policeman’s mind. What have I to gain by my cousin’s death?’
‘I had thought of that, sir. That by nipping downstairs and putting poison in the wine you could have poisoned both Theodore and Cedric’
‘Ah yes. Now you are making sense. Although getting rid of poor Cedric would have availed me nothing. Polishing off both of them would have got me two steps closer to the Langweil fortune.’
He paused and then shrugged his shoulders. ‘If I wanted it. Which I don’t. You have to believe that. My destiny lies in Africa and although some money would undoubtedly have its uses in our mission work, I assure you it is not the kind that men murder for. Besides if we take this theory that I perhaps intended to murder both cousins, then it still does not make sense. I have not the least hope of inheritance unless the whole family is deceased. An impressive list, Inspector, including the expected new arrival in Adrian’s household—’
The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) Page 8