Killing Cousins (19 page)

Kirkwall, discernible as a whale-like shape on the horizon when visibility was good, seemed tantalisingly near. Lying twenty minutes away by boat, it might as well have been two hundred miles away. Balfray relied on the mailboat twice per week, or else made the short journey by acquiring a small craft with, mercifully, a boatman skilled in the ways of those treacherous waters.

Mrs Faro was taken aback at her son's rash decision, which she considered was totally irresponsible, especially as his experience of rowing boats and navigating them across dangerous channels was nil. 'But I'll be getting the bairns ready for their bed shortly. Taking them but at this time of night. Can't it wait until morning? A peedie note to the teacher - after such an adventure, she'll surely excuse them coming in late.'

Faro shook his head. 'No, mother. Such an excuse would be a lie. Look at them,' he added, regarding the two girls curled up rosy and warm before the fire, with a tender smile. 'See for yourself. They are none the worse for their experience. Haven't taken a bit of harm.'

Mrs Faro continued to frown and he patted her cheek gently. 'Don't worry about them, dear. They'll enjoy this new adventure. Don't you see?'

Apparently oblivious to the conversation between their elders, Rose looked up briefly. 'Can we really stay up late, Papa, and go sailing with you... ?'

'Just like grown-up ladies - at night?' echoed Emily in tones of awe.

'Just this once,' he said, watching them leap to their feet with yells of delight, demanding boots and capes, fussed over by their grandmother.

He could not tell her the truth but he was more frank with Vince who also urged him to wait until Monday morning. Faro waved aside his protests. 'Look, I'm going and that is all there is about it My scalp prickles and I still sweat with fear when I think what might have happened this afternoon. I can't devote all my powers of deduction to facts in this case that are staring me in the face because I'm so afraid of what harm might come to my children.' He shook his head. 'I want to make sure they are quite safe and that our murderer cannot again make them innocently serve as a weapon against me.'

'Again?' demanded Vince. 'You mean he has done so already?'

'He, or she, Vince,' Faro said solemnly and then shaking his shoulders he added, 'So I intend to go, even if I have to row the boat across myself.'

Watched anxiously by Vince, he threw some clothes into a bag.

'I should come with you, Stepfather. You're such a rotten sailor. I don't like the idea of you being in charge of a boat.'

'Precisely. If I am in charge, it will be an excellent cure for seasickness, in that I won't have time to think about it.'

'That's all very well, but...'

Faro laid a hand on his shoulder. 'But me no buts, lad. Every hour is crucial to our murderer. So one of us must stay and your presence here is needed most, to keep an eye on Francis.'

'I don't know what you'll do, if the weather turns rough.'

But, remaining true to its record of unpredictability, Balfray rounded off its day of storms with a sunset of towering majesty, turning the sea to wine, filling the large windows of the castle and spilling through its rooms the rose-glow of a dying day.

Downstairs Mrs Faro, recognising her son's steely inflexibility, remembered that Annie's young brother was courting a lass in Kirkwall and he had his own boat.

'And he'll be delighted to take you with him, Jeremy,' she said, breathless after running upstairs. 'But you'll need to look sharp.

'And I'll be a lot happier, I can tell you,' she muttered to Vince, watching the trio gather in the hall.

'Me, too, Grandma,' whispered Vince, giving her a hug.

On the doorstep, Faro turned to Vince and said, 'By the way, try not to leave Francis alone more than is absolutely necessary.'

As they set off it seemed that they sailed in a painted boat across a painted sea. Calm as glass, the sunset had been replaced by huge moving curtains of light, with every colour of the kaleidoscope drifting over the sky.

'It's the Merry Dancers, Papa,' said Rose, watching the pale streamers shot with shafts of brilliant colour.

No wonder ancient people had lived in fear of the aurora borealis, Faro thought, imagining that this signalled the end of the world, a prelude marking the descent of angry gods to the earth.

Looking back towards Balfray, the island seemed insubstantial. Swaying between earth and sky it floated, illuminated by the lighthouse's intermittent beam and a full moon which arose carving a path of silver across the water. Above their heads an arch of stars stretched out to eternity.

In answer to his question, yes, they knew the names of the stars, did his clever little daughters. As their far ancestors had once steered their dragon-headed warships from across the sea to the Orkney Isles by the chart of the heavenly bodies, so were these small children still schooled in the ways of planets and distant stars, ways already long forgotten in the lamplit streets of Edinburgh.

Faro fell silent, an arm around each, holding them close, suddenly inordinately proud as they solemnly pointed out Orion the hunter, Sirius the dog, Castor and Pollux the shining twins, and the Seven Sisters.

'And over there in the west, Papa, the very brightest of all, that's Venus, first to rise and last to set.'

The earthbound red stars on the horizon became identifiable as gleams from lamplit windows in Kirkwall. As they stepped ashore on the quayside where sailors and fishermen Sunday-evening walked, Faro listened again to the familiar accent that had once been his own. A lost world of dialect, where harbour sounds and clear air brought back the past with heart-searing clarity and he entered again a world of senses.

Touch, sight, and long-forgotten smells of ships and sea brought back vivid recollections of days buried under the drift of years, reviving their joys and their sorrows. He found himself once more briefly captive in that magic girdle of a childhood where those who died went safely to Heaven.

The wickedness of man belonged to ogres in the story books. Only in fiction could innocent children be left to drown, unwanted wives poisoned and a crazed young man brutally murdered with a spade. In the world he had lost long ago, such evil as he had left in Balfray never happened to you or to the people you loved.

Aunty Griz's cottage was a step away from the quayside and whoever brought the children back to Kirkwall could be relied upon to see them safely to her door, which was never locked. Indeed, if there had ever been a key to it, she had never seen it in her lifetime. She threw down her knitting and looked up in wonder as Faro stepped across the threshold. A moment later she exclaimed in shrill delight and threw her arms about him.

'I was wondering who the big handsome man was. I declare you get better looking with every passing year, lad.'

Hospitality in the form of tea, bannocks and oatcakes was immediately forthcoming, as important in this humblest of abodes as in the laird's castle he had just left.

Rose and Emily rushed to set the table with instructions whirling round their heads and he was touched to find his unexpected visit was a gala day for Aunty Griz.

'No, lambies, one of my nice tablecloths, if you please.'

It was one she had embroidered herself forty years ago for her marriage chest, but no husband had ever come to claim her and she would die, he did not doubt, as she had lived all her life, a virgin.

'Rosie lass, never those old cups, what are you thinking about?' she said with a look of apology in Faro's direction as the offending cups were speedily replaced with the delicate best china. A teaset brought back long ago by her sea captain father from some exotic seaport far from Stromness.

Remembering with shame how irritated he was with his mother's fussing, Faro found himself, at the end of a long and sorely troubled day, very happy to be cosseted and waited upon, sitting in front of a large peat fire and listening to tales of his past.

'I mind it well, even as a peedie lad, you were always that determined, always on the move, always wanting to be somewhere else. Never a bit of patience...'

Even to his own ears, they hardly sounded the right attributes for his chosen mission in life where patience, the ability to bide one's time until they made another mistake, was the rule for catching criminals.

And, at the end of an alarming list of his shortcomings, despite the telling with wry humour, Faro was surprised to meet himself as a somewhat disagreeable child. When he said so, Aunty Griz smiled. 'Aye, but you were always that clever and kind, especially to poorer bairns and animals. You were a bairn yourself for a shorter time than most,' she added with a sigh and picked up her knitting again.

'You seemed to have grown-up sense when your mother came back home after your poor dear father died. "I'm going to take care of her, Aunty." That's what you said.' Her laughter crackled. 'And you not yet started the school. So protective and loving. You haven't changed, by all accounts.'

Guiltily aware that it wasn't true and that he, for long periods, neglected his mother and bairns, he said lightly, 'It must run in the family, Aunty Griz. We must get it from you for you've been so good to all of us.'

She looked across at Rose and Emily and nodded. 'They're fine bairns you have, fine bairns, Jeremy Faro. You must be proud of them.'

Faro chuckled. Thank God, Rose and Emily take after their mother.'

'Aye, poor Lizzie. I only met her the once, ten years ago, was it? You were on your honeymoon and Rose not even thought of.' She shook her head. 'I could see yon was a very special lass. Right for you.'

As the silence threatened to throw them into sorrowful remembrance, Aunty Griz laid aside her knitting and said briskly, 'It's time those bairns were getting to bed, Jeremy. It won't be like this in the morning, I can tell you. Long faces, cross tempers too - the trolls will have taken away the little angels you see tonight and replaced them with their own nasty-tempered bairns.'

'We'll go, Aunty Griz, if Papa will read to us,' said Rose sweetly.

'Now there's a good girl. Your bed's warmed and there's been a fire lit since teatime.'

From the white depths of the great bed where she and Emily slept, Rose handed him
Tales from Shakespeare
, one of his gifts he noted with pleasure that, judging by its rather battered condition, was in constant use.

'It's our favourite book, Papa. And Emily coloured all the pictures, aren't they nice? Emily's very good at drawing too.'

As paintings of flowers were also shyly produced for his inspection, he put his arm around her and Rose said, 'I wish I was good at painting. Isn't she clever?'

'She is indeed,' said Faro, wondering where this new talent had sprung from. 'What shall I read to you?'

'King Lear and his horrid daughters,' said Rose quickly.

Faro suppressed a smile. Rose wasn't as sweet as she looked by any means, that sharp little mind held a taste for gore not unmixed by drama. She would perhaps grow up to be an actress, he thought, as she already knew pieces from Shakespeare she could recite by heart.

Actors had to have a sense of drama, an essential, too, in other professions. Politicians had it, so too had the clergy. And as he dutifully knelt down beside them while they recited the Lord's Prayer, his mind flew back to Balfray church earlier that day, remembering Reverend Erlandson and his sermon. He smiled faintly. Given an old man's wig, the minister could even have risen to King Lear, the part would have suited him well.

Faro slept without dreams that night and awoke to hear the sounds of a table being laid and appetising cooking smells issuing from downstairs. He was in time to walk his two daughters along to the school, enjoying the unaccustomed role of proud father meeting all their special chums and being shown off to their teacher, whom he doubted would last long at the school. She was too pretty by far, he thought appreciatively, not to be snapped up by some eager young bachelor.

Goodbyes said, hugs exchanged, with promises to see them again soon, he watched them out of sight, carried away in the midst of their friends. He waited at the gate's railings, hoping for a final wave, but he was already forgotten, and with him that family world they had briefly touched together. Turning away with a sigh, he decided it was better so. Knowing they were happy made separation easier.

Maybe he made too much of his own guilt as a father and he felt strangely reassured that Rose and Emily were well and happy, content with a loving grandmother and Aunty Griz. Far better off, he told himself than they would be in Edinburgh with his uncertain life, its constant dangers.

And danger reminded him sharply of the reason for his visit to Orkney. Walking back down the road to the Procurator Fiscal's office he was told that the Fiscal had not returned but was assured that Sergeant Frith's message would be given to him immediately when he did. With that Faro had to be satisfied. He was not in all truth disappointed, sure that he was well on the way to unmasking the Balfray murderer. But there were a few ends left to tie together, a few enquiries to make with Vince's help, for that signing of the death certificate put his stepson's future in jeopardy.

Clearing Vince of any suggestion of negligence was one of Faro's main anxieties and he hoped fervently that in the next few hours they might put together the final fragments of the pattern before officialdom took over. Thoughtfully he walked back to the cottage and, on the off-chance that Aunty Griz was acquainted with everyone in Kirkwall, or by repute on Balfray, he determined to enquire about the maid Letty.