'Inga told me he was rather sweet on Mrs Bliss - you know, the housekeeper who drowned. Can you credit that?'
Faro smiled and she continued, 'I expect it was because they both arrived on the island about the same time and being strangers that threw them together.'
Faro remembered how mistaken he had been with his idea of a housekeeper in the mould of his mother or the comfortable homely Mrs Brook at Sheridan Place, both long-time widows of an uncertain age. 'By all accounts, it isn't all that surprising that Mrs Bliss appealed to the lonely old bachelor.'
Mrs Faro regarded him, hands on hips. 'Well, it would, it would indeed, if you'd ever seen her.'
He decided to tease her. 'Why, was she an old witch?'
'Not her. She wasn't much past thirty and very bonny, quite an eyeful, I'm told. The Captain was old enough to be her father. It was all very tragic.'
'You think she might have married him if things hadn't worked out so badly?'
Mrs Faro looked across at Rose and Emily and lowered her voice. 'I doubt it She also had her eye on the minister. Can you beat that? Hers was poor Reverend Erlandson's first funeral on the island, and he was terribly upset.'
And, darting another glance in the children's direction, she whispered, 'Death comes in threes, that's always the way of it. Inga will tell you all about Mrs Bliss, if you're curious.'
Faro was indeed curious as he returned to his bedroom and took out his unfinished notes on the three deaths on Balfray, island of sweetness and light. Three deaths in less than six months.
He was less than ever convinced that Mrs Bliss's death had been an accident. Especially after Inga's revelations regarding the maid Letty who claimed to have seen a seal man drown the unfortunate housekeeper. He didn't believe in seal men, but he did not doubt that a man swimming among seals with wet hair plastered to his head could be mistaken for one of them.
As for Captain Gibb, was his arrival around the same time as Mrs Bliss as coincidental as it looked? Poring over ancient documents when one didn't understand the Latin seemed an unlikely occupation for an old sea-dog vain enough to dye his hair. A genuine historian, or did he have an accomplice on Balfray after bigger game than family papers?
Faro decided it would be worth his while to find out a great deal more about the background of Captain Gibb. His main preoccupation, however, was to have a sight of those priceless emeralds, big as pigeons' eggs. Strange that no one had mentioned them so far, especially as they had been in constant use even during Thora's long illness.
Of more vital importance, where precisely were they now? He hardly thought that such treasures would have been overlooked and forgotten in the ritual of bereavement. But they might well have provided an excellent motive for murder.
He wondered how much Inga knew about the emeralds and, meeting her walking along the tiny beach an hour later, he strongly suspected that she had been following him.
Chapter Thirteen
As they sat on a rock together in the warm sunshine, Faro felt the meeting with Inga, even if somewhat contrived, was also fortuitous. He had little difficulty in leading the conversation to Mrs Bliss.
'Mother tells me that she was very popular with the men.'
Inga laughed. 'True. Captain Gibb was quite besotted and even Saul, I suspect. As for me, it was a pleasant change not to be the object of the island gossips' attention for a while.' She laughed. 'Even John Erlandson used to take long walks with her, although I expect his interest was for the good of her soul,' she added. 'At that time, of course, he hadn't become enamoured of Norma.'
'Ministers are just ordinary men after all, Inga, with the same thoughts and desires,' said Faro. 'It is we who put them on pedestals.'
As he spoke, Inga made patterns with the toe of her shoe in the hard sand. 'They were happy days at Balfray before Thora took ill. The dark cloud of sadness seemed to begin with Mrs Bliss's death.' She sighed. 'As your mother would say, "Death comes in threes." '
Faro smiled. 'That depends on when you start counting. Let's walk, shall we?' He forbore to tell her that there was a quite logical explanation and that, as death was not an infrequent visitor in most large families, one could almost certainly count on another two.
'What happened to all Mrs Bliss's personal effects?'
Inga frowned. 'She had remarkably few. John has plenty of needy people among his parishioners so that disposed of her clothes and so forth. I just remembered, I gave him the tin box with her references and so forth, in case anyone came forward to claim them. All except the notebook your mother found when she was spring-cleaning.'
As they reached the blacksmith's forge she paused with her hand on the gate. 'Can I offer you a cup of tea?'
'I was hoping you would.'
'You know me well enough to ask.'
He followed her into the pretty kitchen where she produced a small red leatherbound book from a drawer. 'In case I forget once again.'
Stirring the fire into glowing embers, she set the kettle to boil and busied herself with the business of buttering scones and setting a couple of tea trays.
To Faro's puzzled 'Four of us?' she replied, 'You're forgetting Troller's wake?' And, nodding towards the upstairs ceiling, explained, 'There are two young people up there keeping vigil. And they will do so day and night until the funeral next week.'
'How very melancholy when they could be outside enjoying the sunshine.'
Inga looked surprised. 'That has always been the custom on Balfray. They come in pairs and many a courting couple enjoy the chance of a little time together. They aren't dismal at all, I can assure you. They sing, play cards, and the girls can be very industrious, they even do a little spinning or knitting.'
She declined his offer to carry the tray upstairs. 'I can manage fine. Unless you wish to pay your respects to Troller.'
He declined and returned to his perusal of Mrs Bliss's notebook which contained measures that indeed suggested recipes, some vague addresses, and what could only be notes, or reminders, about various Balfray residents. The picture that emerged was of an efficient housekeeper and a methodical woman. But there was nothing beyond domesticity until he turned to the end of the book and found a series of names in bold capitals,
BON ESSE BILL BLESS GILES LE BON LEON BLISS.
A code perhaps? And Faro was conscious of a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Aware of Inga watching him, he asked, 'Have you any idea what this means?'
She looked over his shoulder, frowning. 'A code of some sort. Probably a game she was playing.'
As Faro was about to tear out the page, she said reproachfully, 'Please don't mutilate the book, Jeremy. I don't suppose it's important, but perhaps this should go to John as well.'
'I'm on my way to see him. I'll tell him you want to give it to him,' he added with a smile.
'Here ...' she said, producing paper and pen. 'Copy it, if you wish.' She watched him, smiling faintly.
'What is amusing you?' he asked.
'Just the policeman. You cannot bear to be baffled, even by a few meaningless letters in an old notebook. You have to know every mortal thing. Nothing, however unimportant, must be allowed to escape the attention of Detective Inspector Faro.'
He could think of no suitable reply to that.
Next morning, he awoke to the sound of church bells and for a moment thought he was back in Sheridan Place, but it was Mrs Faro and not Mrs Brook who carried in the breakfast tray.
Opening the curtains, she said, 'Look sharp, Jeremy. Or we'll be late for church.'
'Church?' he demanded weakly.
'What else on a Sunday morning?' was the reproachful reply.
Faro lay back with a groan. He could have thought of several other things that particular morning, for his sleep had been disturbed and restless, plagued by strange visions and vivid dreams, the consequence of a gale force wind rattling the windows. At such times living on an island felt somewhat insecure.
'Vince is already up and about, has been for hours.' His m
other sighed. 'He's been attending to poor Dr Francis.'
'Is he ill?'
'He's been ill for weeks now, but no one has had time for his sufferings. I've been telling them, ever since poor Mrs Balfray died... He took a bad turn in the middle of the night'
'What kind of a bad turn?'
'His heart, I think.'
'In that case, perhaps I'd better stay.'
'What good would you do here? You're a policeman, not a doctor. Besides, Rose and Emily will be so disappointed if, on the rare occasions you see them, you don't accompany them to church. They so look forward to a family occasion and it sets them a good example.'
Half an hour later the entire Faro family made its way across the stormy headland to Erlandson's church. To his stepfather's anxious question about Francis, Vince replied, 'I've made him as comfortable as I can.' And, seeing Mrs Faro listening eagerly, he said, 'Nothing too serious.' But the pressure on Faro's arm indicated that there would be more related on that subject later.
The Episcopal Church was a severe shock to Jeremy Faro, reared in the strict Calvinist doctrine of the Reformation. There was more than a sniff of popery, he thought, about Balfray's church, with its incense, the congregation's responses and genuflections. He soon lost his place in the order of service. But his mother, who had adapted with creditable speed from her staunch Church of Scotland roots, took great pleasure in pushing him in the right direction and whispering that it would all be over in less than an hour.
He was interested to see Reverend Erlandson in his elaborate priestly robes; surprised, too, at the inspired oratory of this normally quiet unassuming man who so rarely appeared in the uniform of his calling.
The pulpit indeed endowed him with a new authority and his passionate delivery reverberated through the church, emphasising Faro's first impression of an Old Testament prophet from a medieval tapestry. As Balfray chaplain, John Erlandson also seemed to have a free hand in the matter of family worship.
As Mrs Faro had suggested the fashionably lengthy sermon was omitted and Faro sat back as comfortably as the hard pew would allow to enjoy and absorb this relatively new experience and let that splendid voice pour over him. A moment later, Erlandson's text from the Epistle of Paul to the Romans jolted him into immediate attention.
' "Recompense to no man evil for evil. If it be possible live peaceably with all men. Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest." Paul goes further, dear friends, he continues, "Consider man well. He owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Therefore, I beseech you, owe no man anything, but to love one another." Amen.'
As Reverend Erlandson solemnly closed his Bible and invited worshippers to join in the closing hymn, Vince observed a familiar air of excitement about his stepfather, an almost gleeful elation as they left the church. Vince sighed. Short as the service had been, he had found it somewhat trying, his main concern being to return to the bedside of Francis Balfray.
Greeting Erlandson in his handsome robes, shaking hands with his little flock, as he called them, a proud and doting Norma Balfray hovering at his side, Vince murmured to Faro, 'It would seem that the minister has a less active role in the Episcopal Church.'
'So you noticed that too?'
'Yes, one just needs to follow the order of service slavishly, that's all. Not much room for originality, or much work in preparing sermons, I should have thought.'
Faro didn't answer and Vince, walking between his two stepsisters who proudly clung to his hands, gave his stepfather a curious look. 'You seemed to enjoy it all, despite your reluctance. At least the sermon was gratifyingly short.'
'Short, yes. But an odd choice, don't you think?' was the reply.
'Indeed? Tell me, what was wrong with it?'
It was Vince's turn to be intrigued but there was little chance of discussing the sermon as Inga St Ola was welcomed into the family group.
Faro found that once again he was forgotten by his daughters. He was not alone this time. Their beloved stepbrother Vince was also abandoned and he exchanged a glance of mock despair with Faro as they watched the two little girls who, despite chidings from their grandmother to remember this was the Sabbath, rushed to Inga's side with gleeful cries.
She was looking particularly attractive and elegant, Faro thought, in her Sunday-best shawl with a velvet bonnet capturing the long black hair into a semblance of neat coiffure. The bustle, that rage of Edinburgh, with its tight corseting distorting the female form, had not yet made its appearance in Orkney where women wove their own cloth for homespun simple gowns and shirts for their menfolk. Most of the children wore cut-downs, turned and remade from the adults' outworn or outgrown garments.
Was he becoming used to Inga's place in his family, Faro wondered? Envy and resentment were fast-fleeting, fading. And he did not miss the speculative glances from his mother as he regarded, smiling gently, the pretty trio his daughters made with Inga St Ola.
'Inga usually takes them for a picnic on a Sunday,' said Mrs Faro, 'while I have my afternoon rest. Of course, they won't expect that when their papa is here.'
She was wrong. Even as she spoke, Rose and Emily darted back and seized her hands.
'Can we go with Inga? Please, Grandma.'
'Don't be asking me. Ask your papa.'
Aware of this family stir, Inga came forward and, regarding his unsmiling face, said sternly, 'There won't be any picnic today, not unless your papa comes too.' Then smiling at him she asked softly, 'Will you join us, please, Jeremy?'
Faro frowned, intent on eating his Sunday dinner as fast as his mother would allow and retiring to his room immediately afterwards. There he would spend the afternoon adding his recently acquired information to his notes, and considering some new and very disquieting theories about the Balfray murders.
Now he saw three anxious and very pretty faces regarding him. 'Perhaps I might come along later. How would that be?'
'You do mean it, Papa? Promise.'
'I can't promise, Rose, but I'll do my best.'
'We go to the Troll's Cave, along the shore.'
'We discovered it, didn't we, Em?' said Rose.
'It's our secret,' said Emily. 'But we share it with Inga, 'cause she's special.'
'And Vince and Papa, too, Em. They can come.'
'This Troll's Cave, is it safe?' Faro demanded.
Inga smiled. 'Of course it is, or I wouldn't take them there,' she added reproachfully.
Rose took her hand defensively. 'And we aren't allowed to go there on our own. We promised Inga and Grandma that we wouldn't ever go without a grown-up.'
'There's a fairy wishing pool, Papa,' said Emily temptingly.
Inga put her arm around Rose's shoulders. 'It's a very sheltered spot, even in winter. And they do love it so.'
Faro smiled. 'Very well, I'll try and come later.'
Inga looked pleased. 'Now I must go and give Saul his dinner and pack the picnic basket.'
As she turned to go, Faro murmured in what he hoped was a whisper inaudible to his mother, 'By the way, I'd like another look at Mrs Bliss's notebook, if I may.'
'I thought you had got all the information you needed.' She turned and pointed to the porch where Captain Gibb and the minister were deep in conversation.
'The Captain looked in after you'd gone. He saw the notebook still sitting on the table and he got very agitated. As I told you, he was very upset when Mrs Bliss had her accident. He told me he had given her the notebook and seeing it there brought it all back again. He was quite tearful.'
She shrugged. 'I let him have it, and he said he would hand it to John to put with her other possessions. I rather think he'll keep it, though, a sad memento, poor man.'
'Come along, Inga. 'Bye, Papa.'
"Bye, Vince.'
Faro looked across at his two daughters standing in the kirkyard, their hands raised in farewell, their bonnet ribbons fluttering in the sea breeze. Time had suddenly stood still an
d they had become lifeless portraits painted in a medieval age. The sight made him shiver.
Without them, I am nothing. I am a dead man.
With the feeling of death's angels fluttering near, he was suddenly overwhelmed by his love for them, his yearning to rush over, take them in his arms and protect their gentle trusting innocence against all the world's dangers and evils.
Danger. That was it. That was why the feeling was so familiar and he knew that it was imperative that he crack this case. He must get away from this island of sweetness and light with its underlying cesspool of corruption and hypocrisy. There was no time to be lost, he knew the urgency of the next few hours. At least his daughters weren't in danger, they would be safe with Inga.
When they reached the castle, Vince followed Faro upstairs, where both men were anxious to change into more comfortable clothes and Faro searched for a shabby tweed outfit, somewhat out of date and once sold in Edinburgh under the misnomer, where Faro was concerned, of 'sports costume for gentlemen'.
'This should be suitable for the picnic.'
'So you've decided to go after all,' said Vince. 'In that case, I'll come with you.'
'I have to make some notes, but with luck I'll be ready to bring you my latest findings on our murderer.'
Vince nodded absently. 'I hope Francis is well enough to be left. I'm very worried about him, and I feel the next few hours might be crucial.'
'Crucial? In what way? I didn't realise he was seriously ill, Vince.'
Vince looked unhappy. 'He isn't. I feel it has more to do with the mind than the body. And that is why I don't want him to wake up and find himself alone.
In his terrible despair, he might... well...' With a
gloomy shake of his head, he left the sentence unfinished. 'Tell me about your findings, Stepfather. Some new developments?'
'Yes, Vince. On three deaths. And all of them were murders, beginning with Mrs Bliss—' He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and Mrs Faro looked round the door.
'Your dinner is ready. Come along.'
'I'll go and take a look at Francis,' said Vince.
Killing Cousins (An Inspector Faro Mystery No.4) Page 12