Read The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) Online
Authors: Alanna Knight
The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) (8 page)
The picture of Cedric greedy for life did not fit the picture of the desperate man who believing he was dying, panicked, thought Faro as he thanked the doctor for his help.
Returning to the Central Office Faro realised that the interview he most dreaded could no longer be delayed or avoided.
He must talk to Barbara Langweil, who had also been present in Priorsfield when her brother-in-law died.
Faro was more than usually nervous about the procedure,
anxious not to upset that beautiful sensitive woman by any hint
that she was responsible for Cedric’s unfortunate demise under
her roof. Or since the evidence pointed to his having been
murdered that her hand might have been capable of administer
ing the fatal dose of arsenic.
Gathering together the notes that he had written on the case
so far, Faro leaned back in his chair, his back rigid as he closed
his eyes and his mind tightly against such a thought.
That his goddess might also be capable of murder.
Walking rapidly in the direction of Duddingston, Faro
was again aware of the historical drama of Scotland’s
past surrounding him.
To his left the sun glanced off the rolling fields out
lining the parallel lines of the old runrig system of
agriculture. Begun with the monks and discontinued
long ago, its evidence was still visible also on the upper
reaches of Arthur’s Seat, whose towering mass overhung
the road on which he walked.
Samson’s Ribs, they called it. Out of sight lay Hunter’s
Bog, where once the Young Pretender had camped with
his troops, certain of victory. Looming darkly on the
horizon above Duddingston Loch, Craigmillar Castle. Within those now ruined and roofless walls the Prince’s
thrice-great-grandmother Mary Queen of Scots had,
according to legend, let the besotted Earl of Bothwell whisper in her ear a plan to rid a wife of a loathsomely
diseased and unwanted husband.
As Faro entered the iron gates of Priorsfield he was
again aware that an air of mysteries unsolved, lost in
time, clung to the great house before him. He would not have admitted to his colleagues in the Central Office, or to a great many other people, his belief that as well as
bricks and mortar houses were built of the lives of the
generations who have lived there, their memories of
good and evil, their scenes of sadness and joy absorbed
into the stones.
What then was the strand linking Prince Charles Edward Stuart’s fortune with the humble alehouse that had been Priorsfield? And the mystery never to be solved of French gold that might have changed the destiny of the Stuart monarchy? And what of the skeleton dug up a century later with a knife in its ribs?
Sometime he must talk to Grace about her ghost. Children were sensitive to such things and for his money, Priorsfield, secret in its nest of trees, seemed haunted by more than raucous crows.
Out of sight, the peacocks screeched a warning.
He shuddered. He didn’t like peacocks, they offended his sense of justice that an unfeeling Creator had crippled such beauty by a terrible voice.
Gimmond opened the door to him. As usual they exchanged a minimum of words.
‘I will see if the mistress can see you.’
Waiting in the hall, Faro rehearsed his opening speech to Barbara with such elaborate anxiety he decided it would be a relief if she were unable to see him.
He was almost surprised when Gimmond returned. ‘Will you come this way, sir. Mrs Langweil will receive you in the library.’
Barbara was seated by the window, overlooking the drive. She must have seen his approach and as always, at that first glance, her beauty took him by the throat, rendered him speechless.
Unlike her sister-in-law, deep mourning became her, the veils and jet adding vulnerability, enhancing the luminosity of her skin, the brightness of her eyes. Where grief blotched other faces, eyes reddened, here was a woman who cried and became even more beautiful.
More desirable. His eyes avoided the slightly heaving bosom, the tiny hand-spanned waist. He tried to glance at her sternly, painfully aware of the honey-coloured hair, of amber eyes that changed colour. Her hands were very white, with long tapered fingers. Her handshake was lingering, cool.
She dismissed his apologetic, stammering reasons for ‘this unexpected visit’ with a smile.
‘It is necessary, I quite understand. In the distressing circumstances of my brother-in-law’s death I realise you must interview all members of the family who were present in the house. You must do your duty, Inspector Faro, however unpleasant.’
Another smile, brilliant this time, revealed small exquisitely white teeth, lips very red against the ivory skin. ‘Please go ahead, I am quite ready. I thought it was quite vital that you should see these, for instance.’
With the important air of a conjuror producing rabbits from a hat, she took from the side table cards on which were written the menus for that fatal evening’s dinner party.
Faro was more interested in the list of the wines.
‘Will they help in your enquiries?’
‘A little.’
‘How else can I assist you then? Please do not hesitate to ask - anything. And I will try to answer.’
She was very anxious to please, but the answers to his routine questions were valueless.
Did she know of any reason why someone should poison Cedric Langweil? No. Did he have any enemies? No.
And the more searching: ‘Were the relations between your husband and his brother amicable?’ And softening the blow, ‘Any business troubles, perhaps?’
He thought that question brought a fleeting shadow, the merest hint of a frown. The instant later it was gone.
‘I know of none. My husband told me you had asked him if Cedric had any enemies, if there was a family feud.’
She looked at him boldly. ‘I can only confirm what he said to you, Mr Faro, add my assurance to his. You must believe us when we tell you that in this family we are all devoted to one another. And loyal too.’
Aye, and there’s the rub, thought Faro. Loyal. That’s the
insurmountable barrier all policemen stumble over, again and
again, hampering any enquiries. Whatever the stratum of society,
rich or poor. Family loyalty so fierce and protective that getting
at the whole truth and nothing but the truth was an impossibility.
‘Do you consider the absence of a suicide note significant?’
She looked thoughtful, a fleeting expression as if something
had occurred to her. A moment later it was gone.
‘Surely it would have saved the family a great deal of anxiety and such enquiries as this would have been quite unnecessary if
such a note had been written,’ Faro prompted her.
She looked away, shook her head. ‘I suppose so.’
It wasn’t the answer he had hoped for. And, again feeling she
had not been completely honest with him, he handed back the
menu, which was impeccable, its ingredients innocent of venom.
They had all eaten the meal, shared the same dishes. As for the wines served at the meal, they were innocuous, otherwise more than her brother-in-law would be now lying in Greyfriars Kirk.
The fatal dose had been administered during that last hour Cedric
and Theodore spent together.
And in this room.
All the time he was thinking: She could have done it easily. Slipped into this shadowy room unobserved. The serving table conveniently placed just inside the door, in order that an unob
trusive butler could attend to decanters and glasses without
disturbing the two men sitting on either side of the fire.
The armchairs Faro noticed had high backs, too, concealing the
occupants from draughts and intrusions.
He reconstructed the scene. A noise, a door opening quietly,
and neither man would have made the effort to sit up and look round, dismissing the newcomer as a soft-footed servant—
No, that would not do. What if Theodore had picked up the
wrong glass?
If indeed Cedric had been poisoned by the claret, then his
murderer had to have an accomplice. And if this lovely woman
before him was the guilty one, then she had to have someone
who would make sure that Cedric got the right glass. Someone
she could trust.
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 proclama
tions 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.
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 oppor
tunity 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.’