‘You seem to forget I am involved in a murder case.’ The words were out before he realised how tactless and hurtful they were, especially as that same case stemmed from within the house where his daughter was staying.
Was that what troubled him most of all?
Vince put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Any progress?’
Faro threw down his notes and sighed. ‘Every new factor just adds new complication. Did you know that Justin had a wife?’
‘A wife? Heavens, no.’
‘I thought Grace might have told you.’
‘I’m sure she would have done so, if she’d known. She’s always given the impression that he was just a lad when he rushed off.’
‘Even a lad of eighteen can take a wife.’
‘This is news. Tell me about her.’
When Faro finished the story McQuinn had told him, Vince whistled. ‘I’m sure Grace doesn’t know any of this. Not exactly a piece of family history the Langweils would be proud of.’
‘I think you might discover that a lot of things have been kept from Grace, for her own good - they would say.’
In the silence that followed Vince stared at him. ‘Do you think Justin might still be alive then?’
‘Not only alive but in Edinburgh. And a possible suspect.’
‘You mean, you think he might have had something to do with Cedric’s death. But why and more important, how? I mean, it just doesn’t make sense, if he is alive then he is the legitimate heir so why all the secrecy—’
‘Necessary if, as we discussed earlier, he has a criminal record.’ And before Vince could interrupt, he went on: ‘As a matter of fact I was thinking along quite different lines. In the light of McQuinn’s discovery, we have a new motive for his return - incognito.’
‘I see what you mean. Revenge—’
‘Aye, revenge. Something we’d never even thought of. An execution sentence on the Langweils for the death of his young wife who made her so unhappy she took her own life.’
‘Wait a moment. Adrian couldn’t be guilty, he was just a boy then. The only ones who could be blamed were Theodore - and Cedric. God save us.’
Pausing he looked across at Faro. ‘I’ve heard of cases like this. If Justin was mad, or bad, enough— Do you know, Stepfather, nothing in this case has made sense so far, but now, maybe there is something in what you’re suggesting.’
Faro lit a pipe and watched the smoke ascending. Poor Vince, he was pathetically eager to find a new scapegoat for Cedric’s death. ‘He had to gain access to the house. And, seeing that Theodore and Cedric might recognise him, even after twenty years, what would be his easiest way of entering the Langweil house?’
‘As a servant?’
‘Precisely. People like the Langweils never look twice at servants.’
‘And once he was inside, the rest was easy - well, moderately easy. There’s only one thing I don’t understand, Stepfather. Poison was put into one glass only, when he could have just as easily used the opportunity to get rid of both of them.’
‘Perhaps that was part of a diabolical plot, that he wanted to poison one brother and have the other blamed.’
Vince looked at him, shook his head. ‘I just can’t take any of this as a serious proposition. I’m sorry, Stepfather, it’s too farfetched for me.’
Faro knocked the ashes from his pipe. ‘You’re probably right, lad. What is it we say? Discard all the impossibles and what remains must be the truth.’ He stood up wearily. ‘All I know is that somehow we’ve got off the right track. We have to begin again, sift through the evidence, starting with the servants’ hall at Priorsfield.’
Early next morning, Faro called on Theodore Langweil, and asked him for a list of their domestic servants, indoors and out.
‘Is this to do with my brother’s death?’
‘Perhaps, sir.’
‘Very well. Anything to get this accursed enquiry settled. However,’ he added, drawing a ledger from his desk drawer, ‘I can assure you that you won’t find your murderer, if such a creature exists, in this household.’
Opening the pages he said: ‘Where would you like to begin?’
‘My sergeant, with your permission, will copy down the names and the lengths of time they have been in your service.’
‘Is that all?’ said Theodore heavily. ‘And your sergeant—’
‘McQuinn, sir. He will be arriving later today to talk to them. All I need from you are the long-term servants who need not be interviewed. Those who have been with you more than twenty years. Before your eldest brother went to America.’
‘Oh, indeed.’ Theodore was suddenly very still. Watchful, thought Faro. Suspicious. And he was sure that he had also turned a shade paler. ‘What is all this about?’ he rapped out sharply.
‘Certain facts have come to our notice—’
‘Facts? What kind of facts?’ Theodore demanded.
‘Concerning your brother Justin. Look, sir, we know that he had a young wife, who did away with herself.’
Theodore winced. ‘That is not true. Her death was accidental.’ But he looked frightened.
‘How did she die?’
‘I am not prepared to discuss this with you, Inspector. It has no connection with your enquiry. Let us just say she was a very disturbed and unhappy young woman. And leave it at that.’
‘I must disagree with you, sir. It could have quite a lot to do with Cedric’s death. If Justin is still alive.’
For the first time Theodore looked frightened. ‘I assure you Justin is dead. Long since.’
Theodore had recovered his composure. His scornful laugh and his tone were emphatic. ‘Before you go to any more ridiculous lengths of alarming my staff and the rest of my family, let me assure you, Justin is dead.’
‘Have you proof of that, sir?’
‘Only that the gold camp where he was prospecting was overrun by renegade Indians. The white men were tortured to death. And Justin was one of them.’
‘How do you know all this? The story I heard was that your brother had disappeared and never communicated with you.’
Theodore smiled sadly. ‘Nor did he. That was true. Cedric and I agreed not to distress the family by revealing the true facts regarding Justin’s ending.’ Unlocking a drawer in his desk, he handed Faro a folded paper, yellowed and dog-eared.
It was headed: ‘A true copy of a letter from Messrs Mace and Mace, Bush Street, San Francisco’, and dated February 1856:
Dear Sir—
Our exhaustive investigations on your behalf into the disappearance of your brother Justin Langweil have now revealed that he was murdered by Indians ...
Faro skimmed the remaining paragraph, which was in essence what Theodore had told him.
He handed it back and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘No need for condolences, Inspector. Justin was no adornment to this family, but the search had to be made. In order that certain business matters be cleared.’
He paused, then added, ‘If you wish for additional proof, then Moulton our lawyer has the original letter. In a sealed envelope marked private and confidential.’
‘Moulton does not know the contents of this letter?’
Theodore shrugged. ‘No, why should he? There are matters concerning the family which are no business of his.’
So Theodore didn’t even trust the old family lawyer. What was it Moulton had called it: ‘misinformation’? Did he suspect the truth? Or was Theodore lying? Again.
There was one way of finding out.
Chapter Eleven
Eager to hear McQuinn’s report on the Priorsfield servants, Faro returned to his office later that day. Expecting to find him alone he was surprised to hear feminine laughter as he opened the door. Throwing it open, the last person he expected to see there was leaning across his desk.
It was Rose. Rose, happy and animated, her face flushed with pleasure. Danny McQuinn wore an expression of wry amusement and it was some moments before the young serge
ant became aware of Faro glowering in the background.
Springing to his feet, he saluted smartly. ‘Morning, sir!’
Rose turned, smiled delightedly. ‘Papa! I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Faro asked.
‘I came to see you, of course.’ Anyone but Rose would have detected a certain steely quality had crept into her father’s voice. ‘Sergeant McQuinn has been very hospitable.’
‘Has he indeed?’ And ignoring the unhappy-looking sergeant, Faro said: ‘Well, I am here. What is it you want? I thought you were staying with Miss Langweil.’
‘Just for one night, Papa. I decided as the carriage was passing close to your office that I would look in and see you. Just for a few moments. I’m usually in bed when you get home in the evenings.’
Although there was no reproach in Rose’s statement, Faro was again guiltily aware that he had sorely neglected his daughter on this visit.
Looking round his office, each shelf stacked high with documents, she commented: ‘It is years since the last time I was in here. It hasn’t changed much, has it? They don’t spend much on paint and paper, do they? And you still have the same books on the shelves, in exactly the same places. Do you ever open them?’
‘Rose dear,’ he interrupted, conscious of McQuinn’s knowing smile, ‘what was it you wanted? Are you short of cash?’
‘No. Do I have to have a reason to look in and say hello to my Papa?’
Faro forced a smile. ‘I appreciate your visit, Rose, but I do have rather a busy morning, a lot of matters—’
‘To attend to,’ she completed with a sigh. ‘But then you always have, Papa.’
Faro looked at McQuinn who, for once it seemed, proved not insensitive to a delicate situation. Gathering his papers together, he bowed to Rose. ‘Morning, miss,’ and went towards the door.
‘On your way out, McQuinn, be so good as to summon a carriage to take Miss Faro home.’
As the door closed on him, Rose said: ‘I’m sorry if you are cross about me going to stay with Grace. I spend most of the day with her anyway. And it also means that I see Vince in the evenings.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘It isn’t working out the way I thought it would. I mean, you are busy, Vince is busy, and I do get very bored staying indoors.’
‘I thought you loved Sheridan Place. The number of times you’ve begged to come and stay with me.’ He emphasised the last words.
‘So I have, Papa. But in the past I’ve always had Emily. And I do miss having a companion of my own age. I didn’t realise that I’d be staying with Mrs Brook. Not that I object to her, for she is a dear person, but we haven’t a great deal in common and she has lots to do with the house to run. I can hardly expect her to chaperone me every time the sun shines and I want to walk in the park or look at some shops!’
As she spoke, Faro for the first time saw himself mirrored in her eyes as a selfish, thoughtless parent. He wanted his daughter when he was available to be with her, not caring that she might have to sit in an empty house waiting for him to come home; With a pang of remorse, he realised that her poor mother, his dear faithful Lizzie, had also spent her life waiting for a husband who was always late for meals and never around when she needed him.
He should have been glad that Rose had made friends, and with Grace Langweil. But he wasn’t. The idea of having his daughter stay in a house whose occupants were under the shadow of murder continued to make him uneasy.
A knock on the door and McQuinn said: ‘Carriage is here for Miss Rose, sir.’
Taking her by the arm, Faro led her along the corridor and into the street, aware that she looked around smiling, hoping to see McQuinn, and clearly disappointed when he tactfully remained invisible.
Putting her into the waiting carriage, Faro kissed her and said, ‘We’ll talk about this later, my dear.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
McQuinn had returned to the office and was waiting for him.
‘Storm in a tea cup, sir?’ he grinned.
Faro nodded and said: ‘Let’s get down to business. We’ve wasted enough time.’
And he launched into an account of the latest developments of the Langweil case.
McQuinn handed him the list of servants. ‘I think that rather settles any ideas we might have that the missing brother is lurking about. There isn’t anyone who could remotely be Justin Langweil in disguise. All the middle-aged men are gardeners and malthouse workers. They have been there since they were lads. I’ll say it for the Langweils, their staff think well of them. No grumbles from below stairs either. So where do we go next, sir?’
Faro considered the list. ‘I want you to find out from everyone at Priorsfield, never mind if they have told you already - ask them to repeat it, every detail they can remember from the moment the visitors left the house the night of Cedric’s death until they retired to bed.’
McQuinn whistled. ‘That’s a tall order, sir. It wasn’t yesterday, exactly.’
‘I know. But do it.’
McQuinn went to the door and turned. ‘I don’t get the drift, sir. Do you think Justin Langweil—’
‘Never mind what I think, McQuinn. Let’s say I’m just not satisfied with the evidence so far. There’s something missing. Something that has been overlooked. Someone’s not telling the absolute truth and I suspect either concealing by accident or design some vital clue. And we’re damned well going to find it, even if it means raising a hornets’ nest in the ranks of a loyal and devoted family.’ He stood up, gathered his notes together. ‘Meanwhile, I’m going to see their lawyer again.’
And see him again Faro did. But not quite as he had expected to. A call at the office revealed that Mr Moulton was seeing a client in East Lothian and was not expected back until later that day.
The weather took a turn for the worse. The mild spring-like days disappeared in rain sheets and a furious gale rattled the windows in Sheridan Place, and sent gusts of smoke billowing down the chimneys.
Even on calm nights, Faro was finding difficulty in sleeping soundly and the sudden unexpected storm did nothing for his composure or his ability to wrestle with the baffling elements of the Langweil murder.
Early the following morning, an unforgivably cheerful and healthy-looking McQuinn arrived at Sheridan Place while Faro was breakfasting with Vince and Rose.
‘Forgive the interruption, sir.’
Rose was clearly delighted. ‘How nice to see you, Sergeant. Have you had breakfast?’
‘I have, miss. But thank you kindly—’
You will surely have some tea with us?’
Before Faro could protest, McQuinn smiled and shook his head. ‘Sorry, miss, another time perhaps.’ And to Faro: ‘I’m on my way to Duddingston, sir. Thought you’d want to come with me. And you, Dr Laurie. You may be needed.’
McQuinn’s expression indicated serious police business, not to be discussed in front of young ladies.
His manner was urgent enough for Faro and Vince to jump up from the table and follow him into the hall.
‘What has happened?’ Faro demanded.
‘That lawyer, Moulton, has been found floating in the loch.’
As the police carriage hurtled through Holyrood Park, McQuinn told them that a farmer on his way to market had spotted a wrecked carriage at the bottom of the steep incline they were approaching.
‘It had its wheels in the air and the horse was still in its traces but looked as if it were dead. He was curious so he went down for a better look. And there beside it floating in the water was a man’s body.’
A small crowd had already gathered at the water’s edge. The three men slithered down to join them through the wet grass, for there had been heavy rain during the night. Faro recognised with a sickening sense of disaster the two-wheeler that he had last seen outside Moulton’s office.
Vince was bending over the body. After a brief examination he said: ‘I should estimate he’s been dead for less than twelve hou
rs.’
‘That would make it about midnight.’ And staring at the front of Priorsfield across the other side of the loch, Faro frowned. ‘I wonder what he was doing on the road at that time of night.’
‘I can tell you that, sir.’
The speaker was a rough-looking fellow, a stableman by his attire.
‘I work at Priorsfield. Mr Moulton was visiting the master and he came round for his carriage about midnight.’ Leaning forward confidentially, he shook his head. ‘Had quite a bit to drink, by the look of him, though one shouldn’t talk ill of the dead and an old ‘un like that. Fair staggering he was and in a bit of a paddy. Fair whipped up his horse, too, he did as they trotted off down the drive. Far too old—’
But Faro was no longer listening. ‘Tell my sergeant here, will you? What’s your name? Jock. Very well, Jock, and while you’re here, would you take a look at the wreckage?’
‘Oh, I can tell you what caused the accident. The wheel came off. First thing I did when I came down—’
‘And how did the wheel come off?’
The man shook his head. ‘No idea, sir. The pin was broken. Might have been wear, but I didn’t notice any wobble on it as the gentleman left - of course, it could have—’
‘Hold a minute, if you please. Look,’ Faro interrupted, moving rapidly in McQuinn’s direction, ‘take this fellow’s statement. I don’t suppose anyone saw the accident, no one would be on the road in a storm like that.’
‘Unlikely, sir. Folks unfortunate enough to be out walking would be keeping their heads well down—’
McQuinn paused as Faro stared at the white-faced house across the loch. ‘Do I take it you don’t think it was an accident, sir?’
‘See what you think when you’ve had the stableman’s story, McQuinn. I’m off to see Mr Langweil.’
By the time the police carriage had reached the house by circumnavigating two sides of the loch any element of surprise was lost.
The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) Page 10