Faro pursed his lips obligingly and stared at the blank wall in what he hoped was the manner of an insurance assessor giving his subject deep and earnest thought and doing a careful assessment by a process of mental arithmetic.
Poppy Elrigg helped him out. 'I can't help you, I'm afraid I know absolutely nothing about paintings, valuable or otherwise. The one of old King George was of historic importance, I expect, but he was such a clown - all that ridiculous tartan on such a figure.' Her giggle was infectious, looking from one to the other, inviting them to abandon their sober expressions and join in her mirth.
When they continued to watch her, solemn as owls, she added, 'I suppose the one of the Prince of Wales with his foot on one of our wild bulls could possibly be of some value, of course - to anyone who had a personal concern.'
Faro looked at her quickly. Did she know of the Queen's interest?
Again she shrugged, a dismissive but elegant gesture. 'If a painting or an ornament is pretty and it pleases me, whether it cost a few pence or a few thousand pounds, well, that's all I care about. But Archie was different. Valuable things were his domain. He was so knowledgeable, a great collector. We have attics full of the weirdest assortment that took his fancy from every place he visited, I imagine, all over the world.'
Pausing, she smiled at them, her sidelong glance impish. 'He couldn't resist beautiful things.' Her lip curled gently as, pretty as any picture, she added slowly, 'And he was prepared to pay a great deal for what he wanted, you know. One could say beauty was an obsession with him.'
She gave Faro a slightly arch glance, daring him to come to his own conclusions about that strange marriage and turning from the empty spaces about them, she laughed again, that echoing sound at once carefree and infectious and totally inappropriate for a wife so recently bereaved.
Unhampered by her voluminous skirts, she walked quickly ahead of them, long-legged and graceful, moving her hands in light gestures as she talked. She was, thought Faro admiringly, a sheer delight for any man to watch.
The police were notified, I expect Archie told them, or you wouldn't be here,' she said, her quick glance demanding confirmation.
As he nodded vaguely, Mark muttered agreement. 'Yes, of course. Talk to them.' He sounded suddenly eager, relieved to shed any responsibility for the pictures' disappearance.
When his stepmother said nothing, leading the way towards the great hall, he fell into step after them mutely. But glancing suspiciously at Faro his manner was loyally protective, indication that should this strange man threaten her in any way, he was ready to spring to her assistance.
Suddenly apologetic, Poppy Elrigg turned to Faro: ‘We should have made more of it, I know, but then... the accident - you know...' Her voice trailed off.
The very next day. Put everything else right out of our minds,' said Mark with a glance of stern reproach in Faro's direction as Lady Elrigg took out a lace handkerchief and sniffed into it dutifully.
Faro, watching the touching scene, murmured sympathetically and prepared to take his leave.
‘I shall be staying at the Elrigg Arms for several days, while my inquiries continue. My stepson is arriving at the end of the week, we plan to spend a few days walking. Presumably my business will be finished by then.'
The two listened to him glumly, their faces expressionless, their minds clearly elsewhere.
He had to go. There was nothing else for it. He could hardly expect to be invited to supper. A mourning widow, that lace handkerchief being twisted in delicate fingers was a reproach, a reminder of her grief which provided a very good excuse for terminating the interview.
In a last stab at politeness, she smiled wanly, offering the pony trap to take him back to his hotel.
He declined, saying that he preferred to walk. Their relief at his departure was so obvious he guessed that they were even less happy in their roles of grieving kin than he was at presenting himself as a noteworthy and really reliable insurance assessor of valuable works of art.
Walking briskly down the drive, he went carefully over the scene he had just left. What evidence, if any, had been revealed during that brief meeting?
First, and most important, he had seen enough to know that Sir Archie had left no grieving spouse and that some powerful emotion existed between his stepson and his young widow.
As for the paintings, their disappearance during the Prince's visit confirmed Faro's earlier suspicions. Poppy Elrigg's statement that her late husband was obsessive about possessions had a certain kinship with the childlike greed that was one of the Queen's characteristics. As far as Her Majesty was concerned, merely to comment, to enthuse aloud, was to demand.
Did her son also believe in the divine right of kings to their subjects' good and chattels? Was he on the wrong track and had the Prince's quarrel with his equerry been a wrangle over two paintings of indifferent merit but of sentimental value to Her Majesty?
Most important of all, what was the relationship between the Prince and Lady Elrigg? He would need to know a great deal more about the stage that had reached before he could set the scene with accuracy. One would have imagined that the recent Mordaunt divorce might have given the Prince reason for caution, especially when he was named in Sir Charles's petition against his twenty-one-year-old wife. Lady Mordaunt had thereupon tearfully confessed that she had 'done wrong with the Prince of Wales and others, often and in open day'.
The press had leaped with joy upon such a scandal and the Prince's letters had been printed in The Times. There were many prepared to read very diligently between the lines of what appeared to be simple gossipy letters and come
