The Evil That Men Do.(Inspector Faro Mystery No.11) (5 page)

Chapter Five

Faro watched while the Orkney boat docked at Leith, his spirits downcast by the icy wind blowing across the River Forth.

Vince and Grace had insisted on accompanying him. Leaving them in the carriage, both pretending that nothing in their lives had changed, he wished more than ever that he could have delayed or postponed Rose’s arrival.

He had an ominous feeling whatever the outcome of the official enquiry into the circumstances of Cedric’s death this domestic tragedy must inevitably touch and indeed even engulf his own household.

His mind was so absorbed by his misgivings that he failed to recognise immediately the young woman who was waving to him so frantically from the boat rail.

It took him several seconds to realise that this was his daughter Rose. A new Rose in a fashionable blue velvet cape and bonnet. As she ran lightly down the gangway and he clasped her in his arms, he realised that his little lass had vanished for ever.

Their embrace told him that this Rose was already rounded in early womanhood: It came as a considerable shock that the six months that had elapsed since their last meeting could have brought about such changes, giving much and, alas, taking much away.

As she kissed him, and clinging to his arm hurried towards the waiting carriage, he had only time to warn her that Grace had lost her father before the two leaped from the carriage to greet them.

And now Faro saw his own astonishment mirrored in Vince’s ryes. Having hugged her stepbrother, Rose was shyly greeting
Grace. Watching the two girls, Faro and Vince exchanged glances,
delight on Vince’s face, bewilderment, even a little resentment on Faro’s, for to the casual observer, Rose, well-rounded, and Grace
,
slightly built, seemed little different in age.

And Faro saw too with a pang of loss that Rose was going to be as curvaceous and bonny as her mother his dear Lizzie had been, except that she was taller, and her resemblance to Vince, the same blond curls and bright eyes, was steadily increasing with the years.

As they headed for Sheridan Place, Rose spoke gently to Grace,
offering
her condolences. Grace’s eyes filled with tears while Vince and Faro too felt the echoes of that anguish, the full depths of the tragedy which had robbed her of a beloved papa and had stricken that happy carefree family to the heart.

Grace looked across at Vince and said sadly, ‘Our wedding, alas, has had to be postponed.’

But Grace was too sensible and practical a young person to let her own deep sorrow cloud over Rose’s arrival in Edinburgh. Straightening her shoulders, she dabbed at her eyes and tried a brave smile. ‘You know, of course, that I was once a pupil at the Grange Academy for Young Ladies. In fact, it was on my recommendation that Vince chose it for you. They have an excellent client reputation in the department of foreign languages.’

She spoke enthusiastically about the teachers and the rules. But like all schoolgirls, it was the uniform that concerned Rose most of all. ‘Is it becoming?’ she asked anxiously.

My dear, I would never have recommended it otherwise.’ Rose smiled gratefully at Vince. But such trivialities had not been the reason for his choice. Certain that marriage into the Langweil family would open up all manner of splendid
matrimonial chances for his pretty stepsister, Vince felt the acquisition of a little extra culture and learning would not come amiss in the circles in which they would move.

Rose’s reasons were quite different, her ambitions more modest than those of her stepbrother. Her heart long set on becoming a governess, she fancied this was the way for a young lady to enjoy foreign travel. And the acquisition of French and German would be to her advantage.

‘The Queen has made Scotch governesses very popular among European royalty,’ said Grace encouragingly. ‘Especially when so many of them are related to her. And we have lots of very distinguished contacts in foreign embassies, have we not, Vince?’

Grace, smiling, tried to include him in the conversation, while Rose listened wide-eyed to the prospects opening before her.

When at last Rose and her father were deposited at Sheridan Place, Grace declined the invitation to join them for tea.

‘I do not care to leave Mama on her own just at present,’ she said apologetically. ‘But very soon you shall come to tea with your father and I will take you to all the best shops in Princes Street.’

Delighted with such a promise, hugs were exchanged under the approving eye of Vince. Then the door of 9 Sheridan Place opened and Rose was delivered into the welcoming arms of the housekeeper Mrs Brook. Her ‘bairn’ was home again.

‘Let me look at you, Miss Rose. My, you are a young lady now. How you’ve grown. I’d never have recognised you, not even if we had passed one another in Princes Street. Isn’t she lovely, Inspector? Aren’t you proud of your little girl? And you, Dr Vince, what have you to say?’

The two men murmured the replies expected of them as Rose, sparkling-eyed, was swept upstairs to her room by Mrs Brook. ‘Now tell me all about Miss Emily—’

As they sat down to dinner that evening, Faro too wished for news of his younger daughter, feeling guilty that she had not accompanied her sister.

Rose shook her head. ‘Emily does not mind in the least. She is happy and content in Kirkwall. She is clever with her hands, not like me; she thrives on cold winds and stormy days,’ she added with a shudder. ‘Edinburgh frightens little Emily, Papa. She loathes sea voyages and besides, she says she would hate to live in a great city. I think she will be quite content to settle down with an Orkney farmer some day. And she shouldn’t have much trouble finding a husband. Already the young men have an eye on her, much to Grandmama’s distress.’

Leaning across the table, she smiled at him. ‘We aren’t a bit alike really. I take after you, Papa. You’ve always said that. And now I see it’s true. I’m eternally curious, I want to know everything about everything ...

Faro was inordinately proud of Rose, as they walked arm in arm along the Princes Street Gardens after church on Sunday, aware of admiring glances in her direction and delighted to introduce her to several acquaintances who were more ardent churchgoers than himself.

Conscious that religion played a very small part in his own life, Faro felt that like marriage it seemed too complicated for a policeman to handle successfully. But shy of admitting such a fact to his daughter, he had accompanied her to St Giles where - it seemed only a few years ago - she had been christened.

Walking in the warm sunshine, his present anxieties about the Langweils retreated to a safe distance, banished by Rose’s enthusiasm. Her energy limitless, she insisted on visiting all her favourite places again.

Calton Hill, the Castle, and Holyrood Park. From the top of Arthur’s Seat they looked on Edinburgh spread out before them, the distant prospect of the Bass Rock, the East Lothian coastline.

Rose clapped her hands excitedly. ‘Well, Papa, where now?’

‘No more, I beg you,’ Faro groaned. ‘Unless you want to carry your poor father home.’

The promise of afternoon tea, with scones and cakes delectably prepared by Mrs Brook, was all the temptation a healthy young appetite needed.

As they ate together, and laughed and reminisced, he realised that his brief sojourn in the happy world of domesticity was almost over. Tomorrow loomed unpleasantly near. And tomorrow he would be Detective Inspector Faro again, with all that implied.

When, early on Monday morning, Faro entered Charlotte Square and walked up the front steps of the Langweil town house to talk to Cedric’s widow, he was in time to encounter Dr Wiseman taking his departure.

The doctor greeted him nervously, eyeing him with some suspicion.

‘I trust you are not here in an official capacity, Inspector. My patients are understandably shocked and upset.’

‘Quite so, Doctor. This is just a routine matter.’

As he walked away, the doctor turned. ‘For your information, Inspector, I cannot think of any reason why Cedric Langweil should have pretended to be seriously ill. He would never have needlessly distressed his family. Or anyone else. He was a kind father and husband.’

‘Then who told him that he was a dying man? He must have consulted someone?’

‘I haven’t the least idea who he consulted. Except that it wasn’t myself. You are the detective, sir. Perhaps if you could find the missing doctor, you might get more results than plaguing his unfortunate family.’

‘I appreciate your sentiments, Doctor, but I am not conducting this enquiry for my own pleasure. My stepson and Miss Langweil are shortly to be married. They - and I - are intimately concerned in the outcome of this enquiry. I assure you we are all distressed by this unhappy turn of events—’

‘Is that so?’ Wiseman interrupted sharply. ‘Then all I can say is that Dr Laurie might have handled the whole affair with more discretion.’

‘By discretion, am I to presume you mean ignoring the obvious?’

Dr Wiseman smiled bitterly. ‘I can assure you, Inspector, that what you call the obvious has been done by many in the medical profession before today, and I dare say will be done often again, and for no more sinister purpose than to spare the family.’

‘Suppressing dangerous evidence, Doctor. Is that what you are implying?’

Wiseman shrugged. ‘Surely it is not beyond the bounds of possibility even for you to imagine that a man who feared he was gravely ill might decide to take his own life.’

‘Except that by suicide his family would forfeit any insurance claim.’

‘I doubt that the matter of an insurance made forfeit would weigh very heavily upon the fortunes of the Langweils. As for Mrs Cedric Langweil, it is no secret that she is very well connected.’

Pausing to let that information sink in, he said: ‘And I understand that Miss Langweil inherits a comfortable income on her twenty-first birthday. By which time she will be the wife of Dr
Laurie.
All going well in that direction, of course,’ he added significantly. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

For a physician who rarely attended the Langweils, Wiseman was particularly well informed about his patient’s prospects, Faro
thought
as he waited in the extravagantly furnished hall with its marble statues, staircase, and lofty cupola.

Town houses in an expanding Edinburgh were no longer a
necessity
for the rich. With better roads Priorsfield House was easily accessible; the long and tortuous coach journey to Dud
dingston, liable to be snowbound in winter, was a distant memory. Considering the size of Priorsfield a separate establishment for the younger brother seemed excessive, especially at a time when all over Edinburgh less fortunate families shared one bedroom and the poor of the High Street tenements lived out their lives in one room.

Doubtless Cedric had his own reasons for not wishing to reside in one vast wing of the family home.

‘Perhaps the reason that they have a close business relationship makes living apart desirable. Or possibly their wives wish to be independent,’ Vince had told him. ‘Grace tells me that her parents moved into Charlotte Square soon after Theodore remarried. Now don’t you feel that is significant? The young wife with new young ideas. I fear Maud is a little conventional, rather rigid in her outlook.’

Alerted by footsteps above, it was Grace Langweil who stared down at him from the upper floor. Running lightly down the stairs to greet him, he fancied that she kissed his cheek with less enthusiasm than she had done hitherto.

‘I was expecting Rose to be with you. I hoped to take her shopping with me. I presume it is Mama you wish to see.’

Faro was aware of a coolness about his future stepdaughter-in-law that he regarded ominously. He had hoped that the pleasant interlude of Rose’s arrival had put them back on their former easy footing. However, her manner said plainer than any words that he was already regarded as the one to blame, the instigator of the reign of terror her father’s unfortunate demise had inflicted upon the family.

‘Rose was still abed when I left the house. She will be arriving later.’ And taking her hands in a determined manner, he asked: ‘And how are you this morning, my dear?’

‘None of us is sleeping well. That’s hardly to be wondered at.’ Her reply and slight withdrawal from him indicated that asking after her health was lacking in tact and sensitivity.

‘You will need to return later if you wish to see Mama.’

‘Dr Wiseman has prescribed a sedative. You must realise how terribly upset she is, by all this - this business,’ she added reproachfully. ‘Bad enough for her knowing how ill dear Papa was for months, without these ridiculous suggestions that he has
been
poisoned.’