A Quiet Death (14 page)

This carriage was a good idea of yours, Stepfather. We would be getting very wet indeed, wouldn't we?'

Through the window which they had reeled down, they could see the darkness of the river speckled with white horses and Faro remembered ominously Shakespeare's 'Seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.'

The rain had ceased, revealing a full moon drifting through occasional breaks in the clouds. Faro glanced at Vince. Was he remembering its effects on lunatic patients? And a voice inside whispered: 'How then will it affect Rachel Deane?'

Now the occasional boom of sea lapping the shore competed with an eldritch wind, rattling here and there some loose segment on the piers above their heads.

Seven fifteen struck from a church clock nearby and Faro was about to suggest that they wait no longer, when Vince seized his arm:

'Listen.'

A closed carriage approached.

Faro leaned forward expectantly. Could it be Rachel?

'There she is. There she is.'

But the carriage swept past them and stopped twenty yards further down the road near the bridge.

'It must be her. Of course, she was expecting me to be on foot.' He leaped out. 'Rachel, Rachel. Over here.'

Faro watched from the window as Vince ran down the road to greet the girl who emerged from the carriage.

Now she was close enough for Faro to observe in the wavering gaslight that she was in a state of considerable excitement, or distress, or apprehension. Considering the inclement weather she was most inadequately clad, he thought. A light shawl only partially covered a plain dark dress, her hair hidden under a tall bonnet tied firmly under her chin. And that fretful wind, tearing at her gown, revealed light slippers.

Faro sighed. She carried only a small reticule over her wrist, hardly the luggage of a young lady intending to elope. Here was no triumphant mistress, blessed with family approval, coming to meet her lover. Appearances hinted that her departure from Deane Hall had been in some confusion and haste and that she wished to keep her assignation secret.

Vince had reached her side, arms outstretched in a lover's embrace. But again all was not well. Over Vince's shoulder she was staring at the carriage. She had caught sight of Faro and he saw her thrust Vince away so savagely that he staggered off balance and slipped on the wet road.

'Get away from me,' she cried. 'Leave me alone.'

Taken aback by the violence of the girl's reaction, Faro was never quite certain what happened next. Even as he sprang from the carriage to assist Vince to his feet, Rachel Deane ran swiftly down the road.

Vince was doubled up, winded, clutching his stomach. It was obvious, thought Faro grimly, that the innocent Miss Rachel knew something about self-defence too.

'Oh God, why did she do that? I didn't mean to upset her. Where is she? Tell her to come back.'

The gas flares illuminated her flight down the road towards the bridge. Once a cab came along and for a moment she seemed to be trying to make it stop. Then changing her mind she ran alongside the wooden fence. Some six feet high, its purpose was to keep at bay inquisitive children and deter any unauthorised persons from exploring the unfinished bridge.

As they followed her, even the elements turned against them.

With heavy rain renewed and driving into their faces, by the time they reached the gate and discovered it was locked, Rachel Deane had found another entrance.

A tiny figure in a billowing gown, she was already high above their heads, climbing steadily the swaying ladder on the bridge's first pier.

Chapter 12

As Vince shook the gates, shouting: 'Rachel, Rachel, come back,' Faro examined the padlock.

'She didn't go in here. There must be some other way in.'

They found it easily. A few yards away, a broken plank in the fence. A narrow gap that only a very slender girl could have contemplated.

As Vince and Faro tried to squeeze through, a night-watchman, alerted by the voices raised above the gale, appeared from his hut. He carried a lantern and was yawning, obviously just awake.

'What's going on?' he demanded sleepily. 'No one's allowed to come in here.'

'Let us in. Open the door, I am a doctor,' said Vince.

The man glared at him and shook his head obstinately. 'Whatever you are, I canna open that gate without proper authority. More than my job's worth.'

'So is sleeping on duty,' snapped Vince.

'Is that so—'

'Stop arguing,' Faro interrupted. 'Look over there, a girl is climbing on to the bridge.'

'A girl? You must be mistaken. No one's come in here without me seeing them—'

'Use your eyes, man. Over there!'

The watchman raised his lantern. 'She canna do that,' he cried indignantly. 'It's not allowed. She'll get into an awfa' row for that—'

'For heaven's sake, man, don't you see, she's in danger. She could fall to her death, if we don't stop her. Now will you unlock this door?'

As the man withdrew his set of keys, he said: 'I still don't see how she got in—'

'She came through a hole in the fence. Down there.'

The watchman sidled down towards the gap and inspected it, frowning. 'Well now, I'd better get that fixed. Some laddies must have been up to mischief. There'll be trouble when Mr Deane finds out. Very safety conscious, he is.'

'For God's sake, will you open this door,' said Vince.

'Steady on there, sir. Steady on.' And misinterpreting Vince's desperation he said: 'Been at the bottle, have you, laddie? Go home and sleep it off.'

As Vince shook the gate savagely once again, he added sternly, 'Now, now, damage Deane's property and I'll need to get the polis to you.'

That was the key. Cursing himself for not having thought of it before, Faro said: 'I'm an Inspector of Police, and Superintendent Johnston will vouch for me. Dr Laurie here works for Deane's.'

The watchman, who was considerably smaller and slighter than the two men who faced him, now held the lantern high and peered into their faces. 'Dr Laurie. So you are. So you are, sir. You should have said so. I expect it'll be all right to let you in.'

And unlocking the gate, he added sympathetically, 'One of your escaped patients is it, sir?'

But Vince and Faro had pushed past him and were already in headlong pursuit of Rachel. His vociferous protests followed as he tried vainly to keep up with them.

'Wait a minute, gentlemen. I'll need to come with you. I'm not supposed to let anyone on the bridge. It's more than my job's worth.'

But neither heeded him.

'Look. Look. Up there.'

In the gaslight's feeble flare they saw Rachel Deane, now thirty feet above them, a tiny windswept figure clinging to the ironwork. She had reached the first platform of the pier.

'Rachel. For God's sake, come back-'

For a moment she paused, a pale face looked down at them.

'Stay there, Rachel. Don't move. I'm coming up.'

Horrified, Faro caught up with Vince at the base of the ladder. Rachel had discarded her satin slippers to make her climb easier, abandoning her reticule to free her hands. Vince thrust the slippers into his pocket and Faro seized the reticule as they began their ascent of the frail ladder.

'Come back, come back,' shouted the watchman. 'It'll no' hold the lot of you. You'll all be killed.'

Vince remained where he was looking upwards. Rachel had disappeared momentarily, concealed by the frail wooden shield erected to protect workmen from the worst of the weather.

'Wait there, Rachel. It's all right. I'll be with you—'

Even as Vince spoke, she reappeared and began a steady and rapid climb towards the second platform some eighty feet above their heads.

'Rachel, Rachel. Stop, for God's sake, stop.'

But Vince's plea, even if she heard it, did not deter her from her purpose. Now far behind Vince, Faro sighed with relief as he saw her reach the second frail shelter in safety.

'You can't go any further, Rachel. Please stay there.'

He heard the terror and agony in Vince's voice as with one faint cry, Rachel hurtled downwards past them.

Clinging to the ironwork, they felt the violent movement of air as her dark gown billowing out transformed her into some gigantic winged bird.

A second later, the turbulent waters of the Tay blossomed into a white rose of death to receive her. Then the blackness closed over once more and all was still.

Knowing that she could stay alive only seconds in those icy waters, both men began sliding, scrambling down the ironwork, oblivious of torn clothes, bruised and bleeding hands.

On firm ground again, Vince cried out, 'Oh God—oh God—' and discarding his coat raced towards the water's edge.

Faro followed, his mind working coldly, his intention at all costs to prevent Vince from plunging into that swift-moving river with some mad idea of saving Rachel Deane. She was past saving. She could not have survived that terrible fall. As for Vince, an indifferent swimmer at the best of times, any attempt at rescue and he too would be a dead man.

'Let me go to her, damn you, damn you.' But Faro held him firm.

'No. No, I beg you—don't.' As they struggled, Vince cursing. Faro pleading, imploring, the watchman panted alongside.

'See, there's a rowing boat down yonder. Take it. I'll go and get help,' he yelled.

Vince and Faro sprang down the pebbled beach, pushed out the boat, leaped in and seized an oar each. Even with two strong men rowing for dear life, the river almost won that bitter struggle. At last they were near the spot where Rachel had fallen. Or had jumped into the dark waters.

Steadying the boat against the vicious tide, they circled, calling her name.

'Rachel. Rachel.'

But even Vince now knew that the battle was lost. Even if she had survived the fall, too much time had now elapsed. There was no longer the faintest possibility of finding her still alive.

A shadow floated towards them. A body, thought Faro for a heart-stopping moment, as he leaned over and fished out a shawl.

Wordlessly he handed it to Vince who clutched that pathetically sodden garment Rachel had worn. Hugging it to him, he sobbed, whispering her name over and over.

'Rachel, Rachel. Why—why? In God's name—why?'

And still with all hope vanquished, they could not return to the shore. Round and round they rowed the boat, stopping now and then to stare at the waters, at some imagined floating object.

Time had ceased to exist. They were both numb with cold and speechless with shock and horror, when Faro became aware that other vessels had joined them in the search.

A voice called from the dark shadow of a deck above their heads. The lifeboat from Broughty Ferry. 'We'll take over, lads. You return to shore. It's too dangerous. There's a gale blowing up.'

Vince shook his head, shouted: 'No. No. We are going to find her.'

Faro, dazed, realised that his feet and trouser legs were sodden. The boat was already half full of water. He began to steer for the shore.

'We'll get another boat, lad. Yes, we'll go on searching. But not in this one. See, we're sinking rapidly.' Raising his voice against the wind, he shouted down Vince's protests.

As they struck the pebbled beach again, he glanced up at the bridge. It was no longer deserted, there were many lights now as workmen in overalls swarmed over the girders holding flickering torches to assist in the search.

Two workmen in overalls were approaching the very spot where Rachel had fallen, from all appearances carrying out a minute inspection.

Faro cursed. And no doubt getting rid of any damning evidence as to what had caused Rachel's death-fall, he thought, following Vince along the river edge in quest of another rowboat.

Suddenly a shout from the lifeboat about twenty yards from the shore. Torches moved in closer and they watched, sick with horror, as a sodden shapeless mass was pulled aboard.

The lifeless body of Rachel Deane.

'Rachel,' Vince screamed, lunging towards the water.

'No. No, lad,' said Faro and held his stepson, sobbing, while the boat with its dread burden drew ashore.

A small crowd had already gathered and Vince wrenched himself free of his stepfather's restraining arms. Head held high, he waded out into the shallows. From the boatman he gently took Rachel and carried her across to the greensward.

She looked so small, thought Faro, as if death had already diminished her. Tiny feet and hands, the gown clinging to the outlines of a childlike body, the bonnet drenched and shapeless but still tied firmly beneath her chin.

Chafing her hands and feet, Vince put his hands into his pockets and drawing out the satin slippers she had abandoned for that fateful climb, he tried to replace them on her feet, so stiff and cold and unyielding.

The alert had been given, the police van and an assortment of carriages were arriving as Vince bent over her and with considerable difficulty tried to untie her bonnet strings.