The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11)

by Knight, Alanna

  Vince, with Grace holding his hand tightly, came behind Faro, who was carrying a candelabra.

  Blinking until at last their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, Adrian’s lantern revealed other things. That this room had been inhabited. There was a table with a plate on it, a chair. Even a small fireplace in one corner.

  ‘Open the door as wide as you can,’ said Adrian, gasping, seized by a fit of coughing.

  ‘You can hardly breathe in here,’ said Vince.

  ‘Light,’ said Adrian. ‘We need more light.’

  ‘I expect it was a priest’s hole,’ said Grace. ‘I can’t imagine anyone else living in such a wretched room.’

  That was true, for everything was mouldered over with dust and insects, and the ancient odours of decay. ‘Smells like an old crypt, doesn’t it?’

  Grace gave a little scream for there was another sound now. Rats. Rats scuttling, secret-moving, disturbed by this human invasion of what had long been their undisputed territory.

  ‘And what have we here?’ Against one wall was a chest. Adrian wiped the top with his sleeve. Once the dust settled and the cobwebs faltered, it was revealed as a very large and ancient oak chest, about six feet long, carved with symbols from another age. The four stared doubtfully at this elaborate addition to the shabby rickety furnishings of the room. ‘Open it,’ said Grace. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Let’s hope it contains the Frenchman’s treasure,’ said Adrian. ‘Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

  At first the lid would not yield. Again came the question of it being locked. In the lantern, the candle was burning low. ‘No, I think the hinges are rusty—’

  The three men, with some considerable difficulty, succeeded in raising the heavy lid.

  The lantern was set on the floor and Grace, who had been given the candelabra to hold, held it high. Then her screams rang out as she almost dropped it, the hot wax hissing on to the floor. There was no treasure. Only a decomposed body.

  For a moment, Faro hoped that this was the legendary Frenchman who had disappeared in mysterious circumstances after a rendezvous he had failed to keep with Prince Charles Edward Stuart.

  But the sweet smell of decay belonged to a later age and the mummified atmosphere of the casket had kept most of the dead man’s clothes intact. Modern clothes they were, and there was enough hair remaining on the skull, enough withered flesh to be still recognisable as the Langweil strain.

  The mystery of Justin Langweil’s disappearance was solved at last.

  The grim discovery pointed again to murder. But this time there were no suspects, for the answer was all too obvious.

  Theodore Langweil had lied. There had never been a letter from San Francisco telling him that his brother had been killed by renegade Indians. For Theodore had undoubtedly murdered his elder brother, with or without the help of Cedric.

  And Faro found himself remembering that fatal evening when Cedric was poisoned, how he had overheard a conversation between the two brothers. Theodore adamant against Piers Strong’s plans for a bathroom, and the atmosphere of menace he interrupted.

  He never quite remembered how they quitted the room, Vince clutching the sobbing, frightened Grace. Or how they raced downstairs as if the murdered man might rise from the tomb and point a withered finger— But at whom?

  They ran like frightened fugitives into the night where in the darkness of the drive the carriage waited to carry them back to safe surroundings, to normal life where such things as they had just witnessed belonged in the realms of fantasy, in the nightmares of Edgar Allan Poe.

  Faro had not yet retired when Vince, having seen Grace and Adrian home, arrived back at Sheridan Place.

  ‘It did happen - tonight, I mean, Stepfather. All the way back I’ve wondered if I dreamed it. Of all the awful things that have happened to the Langweil family, this is undoubtedly the worst. My poor Grace. She knows, must know, that her father was involved in her Uncle Justin’s murder.’

  ‘With both men dead, we may never know the whole truth,’ said Faro. ‘However, I’ve been thinking about that, realising that Barbara gave us the answer. Don’t you remember what I told you? She said that Cedric had promised to betray a family secret that could destroy them all, if Theodore couldn’t persuade her—’

  ‘I’m glad they are beyond the reach of the law, Stepfather, and that the family can be spared this additional horror. I presume it does not need to be made public,’ Vince added anxiously.

  ‘The skeleton of an unknown man was found behind a blocked-up door in Priorsfield,’ said Faro. ‘Is that what you have in mind?’

  Vince sighed. ‘It doesn’t sound very convincing, but surely you agree that the family have suffered enough?’

  Faro’s comment was: ‘We know only that a murder was committed, twenty years ago, by person or persons unknown. Information to be filed away as another of Edinburgh’s unsolved crimes.’

  ‘Personally, I am more than happy for it to remain so,’ said Vince. ‘I think this is one time when we might let the past bury its dead in decorous silence.’

  And so it might have done, had not Wailes, the lawyer Moulton’s clerk, returned to Edinburgh after a prolonged absence. A mercy call on a sick elderly aunt in Yorkshire had extended into weeks instead of days. He had just returned to his lodgings to have an irate landlady report that besides owing her rent, the police were investigating his ‘disappearance’.

  Settling his debts with some alacrity, he presented himself in Faro’s office, very anxious not to be regarded as a criminal. Distressed to hear of Theodore Langweil’s death he announced that there were various family documents for Adrian as next of kin.

  ‘Surely his widow is next of kin.’

  Wailes shook his head. ‘The document I have in mind predates his second marriage. Since there have been certain, er, difficulties I gather, perhaps you would care to be present—’

  They met in the doctors’ consulting rooms, where Wailes handed over a large envelope that Faro had seen before.

  ‘To be opened by Adrian Langweil in the event of the death of his brothers, Theodore and Cedric.’ It held their two signatures and the date 1855.

  Adrian had also requested Faro’s presence, for he was even more eager than Vince to keep quiet any further family scandal.

  The letter began:

  This is to confirm that Justin Langweil, our eldest brother, died by our hand on the 26th day of February, 1855.

  There was a horrified gasp from Vince and Wailes. Adrian paused before continuing.

  Mr Moulton will confirm that Justin was unstable and suffered from moods of extreme violence which necessitated keeping him under restraint—

  ‘A pity that Mr Moulton isn’t here any longer,’ Wailes interrupted briefly.

  We had long suspected that he was insane and getting steadily worse. We were at our wits’ end what to do, not caring to face the publicity and scandal of having a madman as head of our long-respected family. The effect on our thriving business would have been disastrous. When he was sane he was genial and helpful, but these lucid bouts were becoming rarer. So we put it about that he was an invalid, which meant that his occasional withdrawals from society (locked in an upstairs room) could be accounted for. Although on such occasions we were careful not to entertain or have any other than family visitors who knew and understood our problem.

  Then during one of his better periods he escaped our vigilance and disappeared - we later learned to Glasgow. He had often stated that he wished to leave Scotland and go to America, certain that the climate of California would improve his health.

  When several months passed by, we imagined that he had left the country. Imagine our surprise when one day he walked in, with a wife. A pretty young servant lass from Hamilton who he had met during his wanderings in the Highlands.

  We rejoiced to see him looking so fit and well. Obviously marriage was the answer to his problems, we told each other. But not for long. Suddenly the violent attacks were renewed. This time t
hey were directed against his helpless wife. In one of these rages, for he was very strong, he struck her and she fell from the balcony on to the terrace.

  She could never have survived such a fall. She was dead and he had murdered her. But he was without remorse. With some considerable difficulty we locked him in the small room, once the withdrawing room of the master bedroom. With its skylight roof, we felt he was safe and could do himself no harm.

  And there we proceeded to look after him, keeping his presence secret from the outside world. Sarah’s death was dismissed as suicide, and we maintained Justin was too grief-stricken and dangerously ill himself to appear at the family funeral. When it was over we were faced with the terrible decision, whether or not to have him committed to an asylum. Obviously we could not minister to his needs indefinitely or keep the servants in ignorance of what was going on.

  Once we went in and found him semiconscious. He had been beating his head against the stone wall. We do not know to this day which of us spoke the words which had been growing in our minds, the monstrous decision that had to be made.

  He had murdered his young wife. He was guilty and for the sake of the family and the continuance of our good name, we must be his executioners.

  The sentence once pronounced, we realised it must be carried out quickly before we could suffer any change of mind. So that night when he was abed we took in a pillow and both of us smothered him while he slept. Then we put his body in the chest where you will find it behind the door in the wall of the upstairs parlour.

  Afterwards we blocked up the door and hired a firm from Arbroath to repaper the walls.

  We did this woeful deed to protect you, our youngest brother and the survivors of this family who now read this document.

  Using the considerable influence of the Langweil name and the discretion of the Edinburgh City Police the murder of Justin Langweil was kept out of the newspapers.

  It seemed that there was nothing more that could happen. There remained only the domestic details brought about by the earlier bereavements. Barbara and Maud, the two widows. Would Maud persuade Barbara to remain with her at Charlotte Square once Grace and Vince married?

  Grace and Vince.

  But here again, was the unexpected for which Faro was quite unprepared.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Some two weeks after Justin Langweil’s remains had been placed with those of his ancestors in the family vault, after a short service of committal conducted by the Reverend Stephen Aynsley, Faro arrived home one evening to find Grace awaiting Vince’s arrival.

  Before Faro could exchange more than a dozen words with Grace, Vince appeared, and, leaving the young couple together, he went upstairs to his study.

  There was a letter from Rose. He was reading it eagerly when a tap on the door announced Grace.

  ‘Will you please come down, sir? I have something to tell Vince and I would like you to be there.’

  Vince was leaning against the mantelpiece, smiling but quizzical, delighted to humour her. ‘What is this great secret you are about to impart, my dear?’

  Grace winced visibly. ‘It is no great secret, and I thought perhaps it was one you might have guessed already.’

  Walking over to Vince she took both his hands and held them tightly. ‘My dear, I am sorry, but I cannot marry you. I am asking you to release me from our engagement.’

  Vince’s laugh of astonishment was a little hoarse. ‘You are teasing us again, aren’t you? Say you are, silly girl. Of course I won’t release you. What nonsense is this?’

  ‘It’s not nonsense. I only wish it were. I have thought of nothing else for the past weeks, ever since - that night at Priorsfield.’

  ‘What difference can that make? Justin’s dead and buried,’ said Vince angrily, and looking at her stony face, he added: ‘It’s a bit thick, you know, concealing all this from me. I thought you were merely preoccupied with the wedding arrangements.’

  ‘Please, please, Vince. Don’t make it any more difficult for me. I cannot marry you. I now know that I can never marry you.’

  And turning to Faro, she said: ‘Surely you understand the reasons why and can convince him that in view of the recent disclosures about my family, I cannot marry him. Indeed, I am not fit to marry anyone,’ she added sadly.

  ‘I don’t see—’ Vince began.

  ‘Then you should,’ she said hardly. ‘You are a medical man. Don’t you understand I am the daughter of a murderer, the niece of a murderer as well as a madman? For pity’s sake, Vince, I am not only ruined by my blood but by marrying you, I would ruin you too.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Vince protested.

  She shook her head. ‘It is not rubbish. I only wish it were. Adrian has told me how we pass things on to our children, not only blue eyes and golden hair but traits of character. Good things, talents, and bad things too. Adrian is older than you, my dear, more experienced in such matters and I trust his judgement.’

  ‘I thought he liked me—’

  She seized his hands again. ‘Of course he does. And that is the very reason why he believes my decision to be right. He believes that you have a great future before you.’

  ‘A future that means nothing without you.’

  ‘All right. If you won’t think of yourself. And me. Think of our unborn children. What if we had a son and he took after my Uncle Justin, my Uncle Theodore, or even his own grandfather? Or a daughter? Lovely but mad. What then, how long then would love last? How long before we were not blaming each other for having begot such monsters? Oh, Vince, Vince, for pity’s sake—’

  As she fell into a chair, her slim shoulders racked with sobs, neither man moved to comfort her, both stared down at her and then at each other.

  Faro knew that she spoke the truth, as Vince would. Some day, but not now. That knowingly endangering a future generation with family madness was the one unforgivable sin. For madness was like ripples in a still pool. It was not only those nearest it affected but all in its orbit.

  And Faro remembered Sarah the gentle wife who had been struck down and killed by her husband in his temporary madness.

  At last Grace looked up, wiped her eyes. Rose to her feet and regarding them sadly, removed Vince’s ring from her finger.

  ‘Keep it,’ he said harshly.

  ‘No—’

  ‘Keep it. To remember me by.’

  ‘I need no ring for that,’ she said, her eyes welling with tears. I shall never forget you, never. I shall always love you, Vince.’

  Vince rushed forward. ‘Then forget all this. Marry me. And to hell with the future. We needn’t have children. Then all your arguments are futile.’

  ‘No. We both love children. Marriage for us would be a farce without them. And if I were your wife I would want your child.’ And pulling away from him, she said: ‘I have made my decision.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I am going to Africa.’

  ‘Africa! For God’s sake—’

  ‘Yes. With Stephen.’

  ‘Stephen? Your cousin?’

  ‘I am not going to marry him. Believe me when I tell you that I am not to marry him or anyone. He is not your rival, so don’t look like that, Vince. But by going away from Scotland I can serve some useful purpose in the world. I can sort out my feelings—’

  ‘Promise me something then—’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Promise me that if you ever change your mind you will come back to me.’

  Grace smiled. ‘There is no other man I would come back to. You have my word on that.’

  ‘Then give it a year, two years. And if by the end of that time you still want to be my wife, I will be waiting. I promise—’

  Faro went out and slowly closed the door. He could no longer bear to witness the sufferings of the young couple whose happiness was dear to his heart.

  Instead of fulfilment and joy, what he had dreaded had happened. The evils of the Langweil past had caught up with them and Grace was right too. For
not only caught up but overwhelmed, the guilty and the innocent alike. And he thought of that unborn baby, the child of Adrian and Freda who would carry on the Langweil strain. At least Adrian and Grace were guiltless of bloodshed, but who could tell what repercussions lay in store for future generations, if as Adrian suspected evil as well as good could be inherited.

  The Langweil case was almost closed. There were no more revelations to destroy them. He had one last call to make.

  He was going to Priorsfield, where Barbara Langweil was waiting for him.

  ‘Adrian will have told you that I am leaving Priorsfield.’

  Barbara smiled sadly. ‘This is a house of sad memories. I still cannot believe that I lived here for twelve years with a man I loved so deeply, and never knew or suspected the terrible crime he and Cedric had committed.’

  She paused. ‘Do you think it is possible to love that much, and yet never know a secret like that? And yet if he were to walk in the door this moment, I would do the same again. I would do more, I would lie and cheat to save him from the gallows. That is the kind of woman you see before you, Mr Faro. With few moral principles, alas, beyond the workings of her own heart.’

  ‘When are you leaving?’ he asked.

  Gesturing towards the already shrouded furniture, she said: ‘As soon as I have made the final arrangements.’

  ‘You do not care to stay with Maud then?’

  ‘Without Theo my final link with Edinburgh - and this country - is broken. Although I might live here in Priorsfield in comfort for the rest of my life, what kind of life would that be, I ask you, Mr Faro?’

  He could think of no reply.

  ‘I am thirty. I still have, with good health and barring accidents, half of my life before me.’

  Looking round the room, she stood up, gathered her shawl from the chair. ‘This room depresses me. Too many memories. I still see Theo everywhere. Let us go into the garden. The roses are blooming. They are such cheerful flowers, I find it impossible to be sad among roses.’