To Kill a Queen (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.6)

by Alanna Knight

  'Every detail. Such as?'

  'There were no terms. Merely the payment. The first deposit of two hundred and fifty pounds had been made in good faith.'

  It all sounded a little cold-blooded and hinted that whoever was responsible for Morag's pregnancy was a man of wealth and importance. As for Lachlan, he was taking this somewhat murky business remarkably well. He was either innocent or he was a very glib liar.

  'All that was required of me was that I declared Morag Brodie as my wife "by habit and repute" before two witnesses in the Scots fashion.'

  'A marriage that would never stand up in a court of law outside Scotland.'

  'Exactly, Inspector, but it would preserve her respectability. So what had I to fear?' said Lachlan cheerfully. 'Besides Morag left immediately to return to her duties at the Castle. There was no consummation, the marriage was to be kept secret until the Queen left for London.' He shook his head. 'I never saw her again and I did not feel inclined to bring up the matter when I was questioned by the police. Johnnie advised me to keep quiet.'

  Faro could understand why, since this dubious undertaking gave Lachlan an even more valid purpose for getting rid of Morag Brodie while retaining her mysterious dowry. Murders were regularly committed for far less monetary gain.

  Inspector Purdie, he was sure, would be very interested in this new piece of information.

  'Johnnie disapproved strongly, but he agreed to be a witness. And Dave Grant. Their discretion can be relied on implicitly,' Lachlan added, 'although they both did their utmost to talk me out of it.'

  'I am not surprised.'

  'I did give it some thought, truly. But the marriage was to be in name only. There was no further obligation. The money was the main temptation. I have been supported by the Brown family all my life until now. Gives me the chance I have always wanted to study the pianoforte.' He smiled sadly. 'A dream was suddenly a possibility.'

  'Did you never wonder why you were chosen for this role in Morag Brodie's life?'

  Lachlan shrugged. 'I have no idea. She was pretty, intelligent and I hope they get whoever killed her. I liked her well enough and I'm sorry she's dead. And not only because of the lost annuity.'

  He laughed bitterly. 'Save your disapproval, Inspector. As a love child myself, abandoned by an unknown father, I realise that the state of idiocy known as being in love requires a measure of blindness. I prefer to keep my eyes wide open.'

  His words brought to Faro echoes of his stepson's railings against his own illegitimacy—except that Vince's mother had been more fortunate in meeting Jeremy Faro.

  'How old are you, Lachlan?'

  'Twenty-two.'

  Almost the same age as Vince, thought Faro, another parallel in two lives that were otherwise poles apart.

  'Have you any family?'

  Lachlan looked at him sharply, was about to speak and then looked out of the window. 'Uncle Johnnie is my family. All I have here. He isn't really my uncle, of course, although I should call him so. He is a kind of fourth cousin twice removed.'

  His smile transformed his face with a shaft of familiarity. Where had he seen this lad before?

  'How long have you lived here?'

  'I was fostered by the Browns when I was still a small child. Orphaned, you know,' he added casually.

  'Do you know anything about your parents?' Faro asked gently.

  Lachlan's eyes shifted to the fireplace, his expression as bleak and implacable as its adornment of solemn china dogs.

  'No.' And with a determined effort to change the subject, he added harshly, 'I had another reason for coming to see you, Inspector. I presume you were part of the police search of my home.'

  'Reluctantly, yes. I don't approve—'

  'Please don't apologise,' Lachlan cut short his excuses. 'I might have expected something of the sort. I have been told Inspector Purdie is very thorough and quite ruthless in his acquisition of evidence. I have nothing to conceal and I might have let it go at that but Johnnie insisted that I tell you. I had five hundred pounds in banknotes in a drawer in the escritoire.'

  Faro remembered it being counted.

  'There is forty pounds missing. Perhap you can throw some small light on that mystery.'

  'No. I can only say that I was present when Inspector Purdie and Sergeant Craig counted the notes and the sum of five hundred pounds was intact.'

  Lachlan nodded. 'Nevertheless four banknotes are missing. In case you are curious, this has nothing whatever to do with my, er—marriage settlement. It represents money I was given, a gift, recently.'

  'How recently?'

  'Very recently,' said Lachlan firmly. 'A legacy. From a source I am not at liberty to disclose.'

  'Has Mr Brown any theories on the money's disappearance?'

  Lachlan hesitated a moment. 'He is as puzzled as I am.'

  'Some passer-by—'

  'No.' Again the voice was emphatic.

  'But your door is left unlocked. Tinkers, for instance?'

  Lachlan laughed. 'Inspector, our doors are never locked and while tinkers might remove—and frequently do remove—objects outside, which they regard as under the sky and therefore any man's fair game, they have scruples—no, fears or superstitions would be more appropriate—about house-breaking. A term of imprisonment locked behind bars is worse than death to them.

  'Besides, there have been no tinkers in the neighbourhood since my last visit to Ballater—' Biting his lip, he cut off too late the betraying words.

  Faro's mind was racing ahead. 'I would like to help you,' he said, 'but unless you are frank with me...'

  'I can tell you no more. I have already told you more than I should.' Lachlan stood up. 'I see my visit has wasted your time. I am sorry—'

  'Before you go. Do you know anything about a lost skean dhu?'

  'A worn blade, horn handle with a cairngorm stone in the hilt?'

  'The same.'

  'Where did you find it?' Lachlan's eager delight made nonsense of this being the murder weapon.

  'Sergeant Craig found it behind the woodpile.'

  'So that's where it was. That is Johnnie's favourite dirk, given to him by Prince Albert. He lent it to me a couple of weeks ago when we were skinning rabbits. I mislaid it. Johnnie was very angry and we searched high and low. We did blame the tinkers. May I have it please?' he said putting out his hand.

  'I'm afraid not. It has been taken away by Sergeant Craig. As evidence,' he added heavily.

  'Evidence?' At Faro's silence, he laughed softly. 'Och yes, I see it fine. It would have its uses as a murder weapon. After all, that was its original purpose—'

  They were interrupted by the arrival of Vince who threw open the door and announced that he had put all his patients to bed and was sorely in need of a dram.

  Lachlan was disposed to be friendly to the newcomer. He talked about the best places to eat and the best places to fish. He was instantly transformed into a knowledgeable and enthusiastic countryman.

  He left shortly afterwards, declining Faro's invitation to accompany them to the Crathie Inn where they were to dine, since Vince had little interest in the birthday party fare on offer. He would however accept a lift in the pony-cart as far as the Bush Farm road.

  At their destination, Faro went over the day's events and the details of Lachlan's visit.

  'He was right, Stepfather. Morag was pregnant, early stages. Dr Elgin told me. That Scots marriage though.' Vince shook his head. 'Very cunningly thought out, don't you think? Could it be that the father was a member of the Royal entourage?'

  Faro gave it some consideration. A well-known method of paying off discarded mistresses, the higher the lady's position on the social scale the more likely the gift would be accompanied by a title or an estate. But in the case of a maid at the Castle, the sum offered to some willing local lad would seem like a fortune.

  'Known as the rich man's hasty exit from an embarrassing situation. I fancy that the Queen must be well aware of such matters.'

  V
ince laughed. 'Despite her pretence that servants do not exist below the waist and that the piano's limbs must be decently covered. You think Lachlan was speaking the truth about this mysterious benefactor?'

  'I do. But I don't know why, lad.'

  'I expect it has occurred to you that his reluctance to reveal the source of this money might well point to a more sinister connection with visits to Ballater.'

  Faro nodded grimly. 'That Ballater might be the present headquarters of the Prince's Party. Is that what you mean?'

  Vince nodded. 'And that Lachlan might be up to his ears in the plot. I think you should look very carefully into that young man's background. Stepfather, especially bearing in mind that he has just returned to Ballater after a long absence. A scholarship to Oxford, no less.'

  'Really?'

  'So Dr Elgin tells me. Can you beat that? What would a ghillie's lad be doing at Oxford? Why not St Andrews, or Edinburgh? Even I never aspired to Oxford.'

  Faro suppressed a smile. Because I could never have afforded to send you there, he thought, even if the idea of an English university had entered my head. This was the 'lad o' pains' with a vengeance.

  Outside the cottage hospital, Vince said, 'I fancy Lachlan's absence would bear looking into, Stepfather, if it hasn't been done already.' Turning, he added, 'I don't suppose it has escaped your notice that his pale skin, so unusual in a country fellow, could be something else.'

  'Prison pallor? Is that what you have in mind?'

  'The same.'

  Settling Steady for the night, Faro went into the darkened cottage. It was late and in due deference to Bella's great age and recent sojourn in hospital, the visitors had gone long since.

  Creeping upstairs as quietly as he could, a board creaked under his foot and his aunt called out:

  'Jeremy? I'm still awake.'

  Turning up the lamp he saw she looked tired, but glowing and happy, like a small child at the end of an exciting birthday party. From underneath her pillow she handed him a silver cigar case.

  'This was my dear man's. He would have wanted ye to have it. Been lying in a drawer for years. Tibbie came on it again when I was away, and she was cleaning. It was all tarnished.' She touched it lovingly. 'See what a bit of polish does. Vince told me ye smoke cigars sometimes. I want ye to have it while I'm still here and can see ye having the pleasure of it. Here, take it.'

  Inside, under the Royal coat of arms, the inscription read: 'To Ben MacVae, a loyal servant. Albert.'

  Thanking her with a hug and a kiss, he put the cigar case into his jacket pocket, resolving to fill it with fine Havanas at the earliest opportunity.

  Faro's first visitor next morning was none other than the Prime Minister. An imposing figure with white hair and side-whiskers, Mr Gladstone bore an anxious expression which was either natural or induced by the gravity of his visit.

  Ushered into the parlour by a curtseying Aunt Bella, Mr Gladstone accepted her offer of tea and bannocks.

  'I would be delighted with a little refreshment. I have been up since six this morning and have already walked ten miles. At a measured twelve minutes per mile,' he added proudly.

  He dismissed Faro's remarks of appreciative amazement. 'I trust you will not take it amiss that I am calling upon you informally. John Brown has alerted me to your presence, sir. Your name is not unknown to me in connection with the visits to Edinburgh by Her Majesty the Queen—'

  His momentary pause, eyes lowered, almost amounted to genuflection, thought Faro with some amusement.

  '—and with security arrangements and dangers to her Royal person averted. All of which you have managed so skilfully to handle. Most skilfully and courageously,' he added in a whisper.

  Did he always speak like this, in the manner of a Member addressing the House or reading a carefully prepared speech? And Faro suppressed a smile, remembering that the Queen's aversion to Mr Gladstone was because of his subservience.

  'I come to you, sir, on this occasion as a supplicant.' Mr Gladstone placed his fingertips together as if about to deliver a sermon. 'A supplicant, sir. In direst need. For time is of the essence. Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen' (again the lowering of eyes and voice), 'Her Most Gracious Majesty's life is once again in mortal peril. Mortal peril.'

  Faro felt a quickening sense of disaster looming ahead. 'You have reliable information to that effect, sir?' he interrupted sharply.

  'Only the merest hint, alas. A young man who was an—er, employed in the capacity of—er, surveillance of the Queen's safety. Very much undercover, you understand, sir. Very much. Discovered a threat to Her Majesty in none other than the Royal Household.'

  Pausing dramatically, his hand upraised, he let the words sink in. 'Other attempts in the open have failed or have been frustrated. But this was daringly planned to take place by the Royal fireside. Such audacity. Breaking the sacred sanctity of hearth and home—'

  'This man, Prime Minister—'

  'I am not at liberty to discuss his identity. Except to say regretfully that he is no longer with us.'

  'Paid off?'

  'Dead,' said the Prime Minister hollowly. 'Pray do not question me further, Inspector.'

  Could this be Lessing, the drowned footman, Faro wondered? If so, that threw a completely new equation into the plot. He would have loved to ask, but had no option but to respect the Prime Minister's wishes.

  'Does your information concern an attempt at the Castle?'

  'Indeed, sir. Have I not made that abundantly clear?' Mr Gladstone added indignantly.

  'I had presumed so. And that this attempt must be imminent.'

  'Imminent, indeed. As Her Majesty leaves Balmoral at the end of the week for the State Opening of Parliament, time is of the essence and we have very little—'

  Too little to waste in verbiage. Faro thought in exasperation, wondering how any urgent business ever got through Parliament past its Prime Minister.

  'You suspect this will come from within, that it is to be a domestic murder attempt?'

  Mr Gladstone winced visibly at the word 'murder'.

  'And from someone close to the Queen? One of the servants perhaps?'

  'Servants, sir. I can hardly believe that one of Her Majesty's staff would commit blasphemy by touching the Royal person. Besides, all the staff are hand-picked, with excellent references. And those at Balmoral are particularly reliable. Most come from families who have served the Royal household since the Castle was built.'

  Drawing himself up to his full height he regarded Faro disapprovingly. 'Loyal to a man, sir. They would willingly lay down their lives for Her Gracious Majesty. As I would, sir. Willingly.'

  Faro felt uncomfortably that these dramatics were rather overplayed. 'I should like to see records of these servants. I presume that their particulars are on file.'

  'Indeed. There is a register of when each one took up his or her position, plus the salary and any information regarding special qualifications for the Royal service.'

  'Is it possible that I might have access to this information?'

  'Indeed, yes. If you think it will help. I shall have it put before you.'

  'No, Prime Minister, that would not do at all. This inspection must be sub rosa. If it is seen that I am carrying out an investigation then we lose out by alerting the assassin.'

  Again Mr Gladstone winced at the word. 'If you wish, sir, but I thought that the true purpose of your visit here was being kept secret. That officially you were merely on a visit to your aunt.'

  'That is what I thought, and hoped, a week ago,' said Faro with a sigh. 'My aunt, alas, is a dear good soul but is not renowned for her discretion. She is inclined to talk about her family and their preoccupations at some length.'

  Mr Gladstone's face fell. 'That is a pity. A great pity.'

  'Indeed it is. I expect that every movement I make is under observation.'

  'In that case perhaps you will accompany me. We might make it look as if we had met by accident while I was taking one of my walks.' />
  'No, Prime Minister. That will not do at all. I would opt for a discreet social visit. In the evening perhaps when there are fewer prying eyes. And with your permission, I shall bring my stepson Dr Laurie, so that it looks as if we have arrived merely for a game of cards.'

  'Capital, capital,' crowed Mr Gladstone delightedly. Then he added nervously, 'Do you play cards for money, by any chance, Inspector?'

  'I would not dare, sir. There is an old adage about lucky at cards, unlucky in love. I seem to be lucky in neither, alas.'

  The Prime Minister nodded eagerly. 'I have in my time tried to exert a little influence on His Royal Highness in the matter of gaming. At dinner at Abergeldie he invited me to play whist. I queried, "For love, sir?" To which he replied, "Well, shillings and half a crown on the rubber." Protocol demanded that I submitted, especially since the Prince's suggestion of such paltry stakes did show a nice point in manners.'

  Faro was spared the search for a suitable response when Mr Gladstone continued, 'Perhaps I should bring to your attention that Sergeant Craig has inspected the servants' register recently in connection with the—er, unfortunate murder that Inspector Purdie of Scotland Yard is investigating.'

  'The Inspector is aware of the Queen's danger.'

  'Fully aware. But since he has not yet had the honour of protecting the Royal person, we consider that you have experience in the matter which might be invaluable to him. Especially as Her Gracious Majesty is acquainted with your methods.'

  As Faro accompanied the Prime Minister to his carriage, he asked, 'What are Her Majesty's commitments outside the Castle before she leaves?'

  'She plans a visit to Glen Muick tomorrow, a picnic followed by a salmon leistering later in the day. The fishermen attract the salmon to the surface by torchlight and spear them.'

  Gladstone frowned suddenly as if the dangerous potential of that wild place at sunset had just occurred to him. 'Perhaps it would be advisable for you to accompany us. I shall arrange it.'

  And leaning out of the carriage window, he added, 'I understand that you are carrying out a minor investigation at Her Majesty's behest concerning the recent decease of two of the Royal dogs.'