Murder by Appointment: Inspector Faro No.10 (10 page)

Again she looked at her father, appealing for what he had once been able to give her, assurances that they both felt exactly the same about life in general and personal relationships in particular. But his closed-in expression defeated her.

'Silly, isn't it?' she said lightly.

Faro could think of no reply. His heart failed him as he listened to the dreaded word 'kinship'.

'Are you going to see him again? I mean, once he returns to
London.'

She turned to him. 'Of course we plan to meet. And we will
write letters.'

Again his guarded expression worried her. 'Don't you approve of Lachlan?' she asked gently. And when he didn't
respond with the affirmation she wanted, she said crossly, 'I don't understand how anyone—anyone in this world,' she repeated in exasperation, 'could disapprove of him. He's so good and kind—and modest, although he's so clever and talented—'

Faro put an arm around her shoulders, kissed her cheek.
'I'm just a little bewildered by the suddenness of all this, lass.'
He paused before adding gently, 'Once before when we had this sort of chat together, it was about Danny McQuinn, remember.'

'And you didn't approve of him either,' she said sharply. Then, with a sigh, she shaded her eyes and looked across at the gleaming estuary. 'Last time and the times before that, Danny was never mentioned between us and you know full well the reason why.'

Removing his arm from around her, Faro said, 'May I be permitted, as your father, then to bring up the subject again? Are you prepared to tell me honestly what are your present intentions regarding Danny McQuinn?'

Rose sighed deeply. 'Danny wants to marry me. I think you know or must have guessed that. It was the reason I took a teaching post in Glasgow. However, there is one impediment—'

'He's Catholic?'

She shook her head. 'I would never let religion stand between us. We have always said it wouldn't.' Again she sighed. 'You see, Danny wants to go to America. Emigrate. There are McQuinns over there who went after the famine and they've settled in Ohio and done rather well for themselves. One is a priest and the other a sheriff. They keep writing to Danny that America is the land of opportunity.

Danny agrees. He knows he'll have to wait years and years for
promotion to Chief Inspector. So he is seriously considering going.'

She paused. 'Naturally, he wants me to go with him.'

Faro could think of no reply to alleviate the agony of the great shaft that had been driven into the region of his heart.
Rose, his beloved Rose, whom he now could see so regularly
since she came to Glasgow, whose life he expected once again
to run parallel to his own as it had done before Lizzie died. And now she was threatening to go and live in another country. Another continent. As far as Faro was concerned it might as well have been another planet.

Panic seized him. He might never see her again.

At last he summoned up words that sounded like lead. 'And
have you decided?'

She thought for a moment. 'I have given it great thought, Papa. You must know that. I've loved Danny since I was twelve years old. I've never thought of marrying anyone but
him. But—and it's a big but—I don't want to live in America.
I'm not like Danny, I'm not ambitious and I haven't scores of relatives.'

She took his hand, held it tightly. 'I have only Emmy, who is going to stay in Orkney. And Gran who's getting old and frail. There's Vince of course and Livvy. But you're my Pa, you're special,' she added in a whisper. 'Besides I'm not the stuff pioneers are made of. I want to be with my people, with my family. With you.'

Leaning over she kissed his cheek. 'I want to know that you'll always be somewhere near me. I've promised to give Danny my answer, my decision, before he goes.'

'When is that?'

'Soon,' she said sadly. 'We decided that we must have time away from each other so that we could be sure. And when I came here last week, I thought then that I would be going back with my heart saying follow him, wherever he went— that he was my whole life. Now I'm not so sure.'

She smiled wanly. 'As I've said, life is such a great adventure
and I've realized that I don't need to go to America to experience it.'

'Does Lachlan have a role to play in this great adventure?' he asked gently.

She laughed. 'I do most earnestly hope so, Papa. We have so much in common, he's opened up a new exciting world for me—'

Faro felt as if he was going from one agony to another even
more bitter. Terrible as it was to lose Rose to America, perhaps never to see her again, but worse, far worse, was the blow he must deal her new-found happiness with Lachlan Brown.

How he might destroy his daughter's happiness for ever. Cowardice was not among Faro's vices. He was a brave man used to facing deadly foes, but today he felt no longer strong and resourceful. He felt odd and lost and he wanted this moment with Rose to last for ever with church bells echoing across Arthur's Seat from the city below. If only he could freeze time so that he—and she—might never have to walk down the hill and face the bitter truth that lay ahead.

Silently, he walked back with her to Sheridan Place, where
one of Mrs Brook's special meals awaited their return.

Rose skipped at his side, her arm in his, smiling up into his face, happy and relieved that the barriers between herself and
her dear Papa were down at last. Totally unaware of his
preoccupation, she added to his misery with girlish confidences and hopes about Lachlan, Lachlan who had already promised to turn her dreams into reality.

Faro sighed. For once he was glad to find Constable Thomas on the doorstep, flirting gently with May who immediately disappeared indoors.

Thomas waited until Rose went into the house then said: 'I have a message, sir, Superintendent's respects for interrupting your Sunday but there's a visitor he thought you should meet.'

'A visitor. Couldn't that have waited until tomorrow?'

'Apparently not, sir. I never saw the gentleman, but the
urgency makes me think it's something to do with that pair in
the mortuary—'

And Faro turned away from his own door almost with relief
to the investigation of two murders still unsolved.

In Superintendent Mcintosh's office, Faro found Inspector Brewer of the Aberdeen City Police waiting to greet him.

Profuse in apologies for bringing Faro from his fireside on a Sunday evening, he said, 'Tomorrow would have sufficed,
but I'm on my way to my niece's wedding in North Berwick.'

'Inspector Brewer thought it would be a good idea to establish contact in view of the Balmoral connection,' said Mcintosh. 'Seeing that you both have had much experience in dealing with Royalty.'

Brewer eyed the Superintendent in the manner of one who would prefer to make his own explanations. 'Thankyou, sir.'

He turned to Faro who was wondering what all this was about and finding it hard to suppress a growing certainty of
trouble ahead especially when Brewer added, 'I wonder if we
might adjourn to my hotel.'

Mcintosh was included in the invitation as a polite afterthought offered with so little enthusiasm that the Superintendent declined, hardly needing the excuse that, alas, Mrs Mcintosh was entertaining friends to supper.

The Royal British Hotel overlooked Princes Street Gardens
and, comfortably ensconced with a dram between them, Brewer came quickly to what Faro had already guessed was the reason for this meeting.

'This unfortunate business of two Balmoral servants being
found dead. Her Majesty is most upset.' He paused to smile encouragingly at Faro. 'You know how very important the least of her little flock is to her.'

Faro stared at him dismally. He never would have thought it from his visits to the Castle and rumours that had filtered through to him. 'I understand these two left under a cloud.'

Brewer pursed his lips. 'That is so, that is so. Most unfortunate. However, John Brown has stepped in nobly.
Admirable fellow Brown. Can always be relied upon. Made all
the funeral arrangements, I understand, paying for their interment at Crathie out of his own pocket. No expenses
spared,' he added, stifling a hearty laugh with a sombre frown.
'And a nice touch of sentiment, the brother and sister laid to rest together.'

And with all the clues to their deaths unresolved. A nice touch indeed, thought Faro as he listened to the eulogy on John Brown. During their meeting in Lachlan's dressing room all his instincts had told him something was going on that Brown was deuced anxious to keep hidden.

Brewer, however, was a much better actor. He had much more expertise in dealing with mayhem than the Queen's favourite ghillie.

'I understand the two servants were in trouble—pilfering, was it not?' said Faro innocently.

Brewer gave him an anguished glance. 'That is so. That is so.
Bad business. Temptation, alas. Temptation is an unfortunate
part of the human condition, even among the best of us.'

'So Mr Brown informed me,' said Faro drily.

'Oh, indeed.' Brewer's relief was short-lived as Faro added, 'What was it they stole?'

Brewer winced at the word. 'I understand—on the highest
authority—that these were relatively unimportant documents, letters and so forth, which Her Majesty would like
recovered. That's all we're at liberty to say,' he added, closing
his lips firmly.

'Are you at liberty to say whether these, er, documents would be of value to some foreign power?'

Brewer stared at him. 'You've hit it on the head, Faro, by God, you have.' He paused. 'Not exactly foreign, unless you regard Ireland as such. I'm afraid we're up against Fenians again.'

It was well known that the Queen did not like Ireland. She regarded the Irish as 'peculiar rather treacherous people. The lower orders had never become reconciled to the English rule, which they hate! So different from the Scotch who are so loyal.'

As for Fenians, she had been the target of plots, both real
and imagined, since 1867 when the first alarm was raised and
Secretary General Grey hurried to Balmoral with a report from Manchester that the Fenians were after her. A month earlier, in September, five Fenians had attempted to rescue two of their countrymen from a police van and a British constable had been killed. General Grey was determined to surround Balmoral with troops. The Queen would have none of it. She believed in the loyalty and protection of her Highlanders and John Brown in particular.

The 'Manchester Martyrs' as they were called by the Irish, were duly captured and hanged. 'Horrid people,' the Queen wrote to her daughter. 'We shall have to hang some and it ought to have been done before, but it is dreadful to have to press for such a thing.' A deputation pleading for mercy was headed off by Grey and never reached her. However, on the day of their execution she wrote, 'Prayed for those poor men last night.'

Worse was to follow. An abortive rescue attempt at Clerkenwell Prison resulted in a seventy-foot wall being dynamited and many people injured. The alarm was again raised while the Queen was at Osborne and a telegram from Canada reported eighty Fenians heading for the Solent, where they would cast anchor and when she was driving in
the peaceful woods in her pony chaise she would be snatched
from John Brown and he would be murdered.

Stubborn as her statesmen knew her to be, she suspected
that Grey was merely trying to force her out of seclusion. She
refused to leave but accepted extra police, sentries, the Guards
and warships off Osborne. 'Such a bore,' she sighed and when it was later reported that the whole expedition was a myth she
decided other reports of risings 'must be exaggerated' and took the authorities to task for their credulity.