Blood Line (9 page)

'So short a time,' said Faro. 'Presumably they were disposed of immediately after she married the Earl of Bothwell.'

Mace nodded, rifling through the parchments. 'Indeed, in the circumstances, it's highly unlikely that the Queen would wish to keep any mementoes of her second husband.' Mace paused and looked across at Faro. 'How very strange. The inventory of the jewels. It isn't here in its usual place. Quite extraordinary.' He shrugged. 'Perhaps it is away being catalogued. Yes, that would be the answer. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Inspector. Mr Forster will know. I'll find out from him and let you know.'

'If you would be so kind, a note to the Central Office will find me.'

'Very well. And now, how else can I help you?'

'I'm not sure. You are very knowledgeable about Queen Mary.'

Mace beamed. 'History is my speciality. My own family dates from the sixteenth century. Such a time to live, so rich in romance.'

'And in mayhem and murder,' said Faro, a suggestion which Mace chose to ignore. 'Do you happen to know anything of a child's remains allegedly discovered hidden in the wall of the royal apartments?'

'Oh, that fairy tale.' Mace laughed. 'We know now that it was a practical joke.' 'Surely someone with a rather macabre sense of humour?'

'It was the idea of the officers of the guard apparently, to frighten the workmen repairing the wall.'

'I dare say they succeeded,' Faro remarked drily. 'To be frank with you, a child's body doesn't sound like a practical joke in the best of good taste.'

'But to the uneducated labouring class, Inspector? Take the bones of some small animal, most likely a monkey, wrap them in an old vestment. Tell them these are the mummified remains of a child interred long ago and such information, from their superiors, would be accepted without the least question. Surely you can imagine, Inspector, how irresistible such a prank would seem to young, high-spirited army officers. One knows how gullible Irish workmen are,' Mace giggled, with a touch of malice.

Faro eyed him with sudden distaste. 'A highly reputable newspaper - the
Scotsman
- also accepted the discovery as fact and, indeed, reported it in considerable detail.'

'Come now, Inspector, we are all aware that news reports are prone to exaggeration,' said Mace with a pitying smile. 'Sensational stories are what they rely upon to sell their newspapers. And I don't imagine, for one moment, that the writer was encouraged to examine the contents of the coffin in case he realised that these were not, in fact, the bones of a child at all.'

'Not any child, Lieutenant. The remains were rumoured to be those of a royal prince, the son Queen Mary bore to Darnley.'

Again Mace laughed. 'No scholar would take such a preposterous supposition seriously, Inspector. You are surely not suggesting that King James VI of Scotland and Queen Elizabeth's legitimate successor was an impostor?'

Faro smiled. 'You know, I really hadn't got that far. But now that you mention it, yes, perhaps we have a point worthy of consideration.'

Mace looked nonplussed. 'If this were true, Inspector, then a lot of history would have to be rewritten. And I can assure you that no loyal servant of HM would ever harbour such treasonable and sinister thoughts,' he added severely.

Faro nodded. 'The Castle officials made absolutely certain that no one else would have any opportunity to investigate. The remains were immediately re-interred and the aperture scaled.' He took advantage of the Lieutenant's sudden bewildered expression to add sharply, 'Have you any idea why Colonel Lazenby committed suicide in 1837, at the time of the second discovery?'

'I gather he was involved in some scandal.' Mace's tone expressed contempt and disapproval. 'Why do you ask?'

'As he was in charge of the Castle restorations, I just wondered if there might be some possible connection.'

Mace laughed out loud. 'Good heavens, Inspector, it was nothing to do with a practical joke on some ignorant workmen that drove Lazenby to such dire straits.'

'You think falling off a scaffolding was a practical joke?'

'Of course not, Inspector.' Mace's countenance flushed red with indignation as he added stiffly, 'You are deliberately misunderstanding me. I was referring to our earlier discussion.'

'What about Lazenby then?'

'I understand it was a sordid matter, hushed up by the regiment. Lazenby was involved with a married woman, the wife of a fellow officer. Disgrace to his colours...'

'Oh indeed,' Faro interrupted. 'I understood from his obituary that he had been recently married.'

Mace had recovered. He raised one eyebrow mockingly. 'Since when, Inspector, did such peccadillos influence a man's reasons for making a suitable marriage? When he was challenged by the woman's husband, suicide was the only decent thing left to him to avoid a scandal.' He stood up. 'And now, is there anything else I can do for you?'

Faro sensed by the way he gathered his papers together that Mace's co-operation had been replaced by a somewhat chilly impatience.

'There is one more thing, Lieutenant. My history book contains only one chapter on Queen Mary's reign. I wonder if you have a more comprehensive volume in your library.'

Mace seemed relieved by the request, his good humour restored. 'Of course, Inspector. Over here.' He went to the shelves. 'An excellent account based on contemporary records. The only copy in existence. It's very valuable and I'm afraid it cannot be removed from the building. However, you may consult it here at your leisure.'

Seeing the Inspector settled at a table by the window, Mace shook hands, wished him good day, saying what a pleasure it had been, and promising to be in communication as soon as Mr Forster revealed the present whereabouts of the missing inventory.

Through a regular study of lengthy documents, Faro had acquired of necessity an ability to read fast. He also possessed a remarkable visual memory and, although the prose of the book was stiff and awesome to a modern reader, he knew exactly what he was looking for.

Two hours later, he heard the one o'clock gun fired from the battlements. Armed with copious notes copied from the volume, he was leaving the building when he caught a glimpse of Lucille Haston alighting from a carriage in the quadrangle outside Sir Eric's apartments. As he drew nearer, he saw that she was in the process of upbraiding her maid.

'And stop being so sullen - remember you're getting all my old clothes, so do try to look happy and grateful for once.' Catching sight of the Inspector, Lucille giggled apologetically. 'I am quite exhausted. So much shopping.'

'So I see.' And Faro limped forward gallantly to offer the dour Bet a sympathetic hand as she staggered out of the carriage buried in an assortment of boxes bearing the names of Edinburgh's mantle and millinery shops.

'For heaven's sake, she can manage,' said Lucille, watching him indignantly. 'Men look so ridiculous carrying hat boxes.'

'It seems that you find our shops to your taste,' he said.

'I do indeed. Such rapturous clothes. Quite on a par with London and Paris fashions, I understand. Uncle Eric is away to Balmoral Castle, if you please. At the command of Her Majesty, who didn't see fit to invite his poor niece.'

Bet opened the door for her mistress and as Faro deposited the two large boxes in her charge, Lucille removed her bonnet, fluffed out her hair and sighed. 'Really, Inspector, it is too bad. Here I am positively dying of boredom. If only one had friends of one's own age, it would be bearable.'

And, he thought, regarding him very intently, she added, 'I'm starved. Have you had luncheon? No? Good. Then Bet will find us something.'

'Thank you, but I'm afraid you must excuse me. I am expected home to Sheridan Place. My daughters . . . ' he ended somewhat lamely.

'Oh, I had forgotten. The two little girls.' And wistfully, 'Tell me their names again.'

'Rose and Emily.'

'Rose and Emily,' she repeated slowly. 'I would so love to meet them. I wonder - I wonder, if I might take them to the Botanic Gardens this afternoon. I have the carriage at my disposal.' And laying a hand on his arm, she said, 'Please say yes, I really am quite desperate for company and I have no idea how long Uncle Eric will be absent.'

There was, Faro knew, only one answer. 'Then permit me to invite you to luncheon with us. I am sure Rose and Emily - and my mother - will be delighted to receive you.'

Lucille clasped her hands, jumping up and down with excitement and truth to tell, he thought, looked so ingenuous and charming that she seemed little older than his own daughters at that moment.

'Oh, do you mean it? Really? Oh, I would so love that. Such paradise. I can't tell you how this dreary old Castle gets on my nerves. It isn't a bit as I imagined it. Artists always make it look so romantic - and I suppose it is on the outside. But inside, its exactly like living in a barracks. I so long for female society.' And indicating the carriage. 'Shall we go?'

'Hadn't you better tell your maid?'

She frowned. 'Oh yes, I suppose so. But you had better come with me. Tell her that you are an old and trusted friend of Uncle Eric, and so on.'

Confronted by the stony-faced Bet, Faro was astonished at his young companion's elaborations. Not only was he a family friend of Sir Eric, and a policeman, but Uncle Eric had especially entrusted her into his keeping while he was visiting the Queen.

At the end of this glowing testimony, with only the vaguest indication of when to expect her return, Lucille hurried him out of the door, down the stone steps and into Sir Eric's private carriage, which he soon discovered was a vast improvement on the police vehicle in the matter of interior furnishings. As they trotted briskly down the High Street he was amazed to find that the well-upholstered red plush seats with their buttoned padded backs left passengers quite impervious to the normal jolts and discomfort of travelling over the cobbles.

All the way to Sheridan Place, hardly stopping to draw breath, Lucille prattled happily on a vast assortment of topics, with such speed and diversity that Faro soon lost the thread.

He felt his concentration glazing over, but soon discovered that his silence went unnoticed. A pleasant smile, a nod of approval and an interested expression were enough. When Lucille asked a question she never waited for nor, he suspected, did she even expect an answer.

Handing her down from the carriage and opening his front door, he tried not to observe that his mother's jaw had dropped open at the sight of the pretty young girl at her son's side. A look that was swiftly replaced, he noted with some amusement, by one he knew well. His mother was already hearing the distant chime of wedding bells.

Nor was his mother alone. The same thoughts were obviously running through Mrs Brook's mind.

'No, Inspector sir, of course I can lay another place for luncheon. No, it isn't in the least inconvenient,' she added to his whispered aside. 'Delighted, I'm sure.' The latter was accompanied by an approving though markedly sly look in Lucille's direction.

By the time luncheon was at an end. Mary Faro had summed up Lucille Haston. She had all her case history and was clearly weighing the evidence. Was this a just case for a verdict of marriage? What an admirable detective his mother would have made, thought Faro.

On the other side of the table, Rose and Emily, with Lucille between them, chatted happily.

'Just look at that, son,' said Mary Faro. 'How they've taken to Miss Haston. Why, anyone would think they had known her all their lives,' she added in a tone laden with significance, as the two little girls were sent upstairs to wash hands and faces before the promised outing to the Botanic Gardens.

'You must come too, Miss Haston,' said Emily.

'Yes, Papa has an inside closet, you must use it,' said Rose, always practical.

'Girls - really,' said Mrs Faro in a shocked voice. 'We don't boast about such things.'

Lucille beamed upon her. 'I'm delighted by the information, Mrs Faro. We haven't anything so modern in the backwoods where I come from.'

Faro was waiting when they came downstairs. 'May I beg a lift in your splendid carriage as far as the High Street?'

'Delighted, I'm sure.'

He sat between Rose and Emily, who held his hands with a distinct air of possession and occasionally leaned over to kiss his check while Miss Haston, seated opposite, gave him her undivided attention. The glances in his direction were so unmistakably admiring that Faro felt idiotically happy, out of all proportion to the occasion.

'Why do you smile, Papa?' asked the observant Rose.

'I was just thinking that this is a perfect day for a visit to the Botanic Gardens. I do envy you.'

'Come with us, Papa.'

'Yes, please, Papa.'

'Such a waste to remain indoors on a beautiful day,' was Lucille's reproachful comment.

Faro shook his head. Criminals did not cease from crime because of fine summer weather.

'How lovely the hills look, all shimmering and mysterious,' Lucille continued, opening the window so that a pleasant breeze wafted into the carriage. 'They remind me so of home - I must go there and walk one day before I leave.'

Faro was tempted to make the offer which he felt that this remark with its accompanying glance blatantly invited. However, he remembered that other occasion not so very long ago when he had taken pity on a lonely lady, a stranger to Edinburgh, and how their first excursion together had been to the Pentlands. To think how that had ended . . .