‘A puppet government, you mean?'
'Exactly, but better for Luxoria than the ruthless man who has driven the country to the brink of anarchy and financial ruin by his excesses.'
'Surely Gustav has a good case for ruling in his son's minority?'
'You mean, God forbid, should the worst happen?' Julian shook his head, smiled wryly. 'If the lad is his own son, that is.'
Faro's heart beat louder than usual as he said, 'Indeed? The birth was heralded as the child of their reconciliation.'
Julian laughed out loud. 'I have always had my doubts about that. The premature baby, the oldest trick in the world. Remember the carriage accident Gustav arranged. He wasn't afraid that the child would die. In fact, that was probably his intention. Kill two royal birds with one stone - or a broken wheel.'
He shook his head firmly. 'No, I shouldn't be in the least surprised if Gustav knows or suspects the truth.'
'What truth?' Even to his own ears, Faro's questions sounded sharper than was necessary.
Sir Julian's eyes narrowed. 'Let me take you back to that first meeting between Willy and Amelie in '78. She brought the wee lad along with her, she was even then seeking a refuge from her husband. There was something I overheard - '
His eager look vanished. 'No matter, no matter. One must be discreet about such things.'
Faro was very eager to know what exactly he had overheard, but to his questioning glance Julian again gave that shake of the head. 'Whatever was the truth, I think Her Majesty knew what was what. She and Amelie were often closeted together. Once or twice I saw them walking in the gardens, heads down, Amelie clearly distressed, bravely trying to conceal tears. I know enough about women to believe that confidences of a very personal and, I suspect, a highly dangerous nature were being poured into the royal ears, and that Amelie was over in Scotland precisely to take advice from her fond godmother.'
A thought flew unbidden into Faro's mind. Did Amelie come again to Scotland only to seek refuge in Balmoral with her son? Or was it a subterfuge, a yearning to meet him, let him see the child?
'Eliminate the mother first, then the son would be no problem,' Julian went on. 'If Amelie dies as a result of this murderous attack, then I wouldn't give much for the lad's chances of surviving to adulthood. Mark my words, he will be next,' he added grimly. It was a terrible thought. 'You say he's at school over here?'
Julian grinned. 'Yes. Just a few miles from where you are sitting right now. He's at Glenatholl, no less. You might even have met him last night. Now, what's his name?' He frowned. 'John - no, George. Yes, George - a splendidly Hanoverian name for a Luxorian prince, don't you think?'
And Faro knew what had been tormenting him, why the boy had looked so familiar. He had unknowingly solved that particular mystery when he caught a fleeting glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror at Glenatholl that morning.
There were voices in the hall.
Chapter 6
The arrival of Lady Arles, proudly bearing son and heir Augustus to meet Julian's old friend, could not have been timed for a less opportune moment. However, this interval of domesticity for admiration of the new infant, who regarded him with deepest suspicion, was a blessing for Faro, a cover for his confused thoughts.
There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask, revelations that with a little gentle probing and a few more drams consumed by his host might bring forth a great deal more in the way of speculation than Julian was prepared to admit.
How infuriating - Lady Arles was to join them for luncheon. He groaned inwardly. Such a unique opportunity lost, a chance that might never come again.
Later he remembered little of the polite conversation that ensued, beyond Julian's nostalgic comments on days at Balmoral, accompanied by some excellent wine. Rather too much, in fact, Faro thought idly, watching one bottle empty and another appear. He realised he was allowing his glass to be refilled with alarming regularity.
By the time Lady Arles prepared to depart, having wisely refrained from the wine since she had an afternoon engagement (referred to by her husband as 'Another of your good works, my dear'), Faro had accepted their pressing invitation to extend his visit to include dinner, stay overnight and return to Edinburgh the following day. Behind this decision was the fervent hope of more confidences and revelations of royal indiscretions at Balmoral and elsewhere. But he knew this was not Inspector Jeremy Faro at his best. He desperately needed to think and think clearly, no easy task after the reckless depletion of the Arles' excellent wine cellar.
Most of all he wanted to talk about George, the boy in the gazebo at Glenatholl, whose face, a fleeting image, had been familiar. Dear God!
But confidences from Julian were to be further denied him. The estate factor, Lawson, looked in with some papers for signature and Julian, by now somewhat hectic in countenance, decided that fresh air would be a good thing. He wanted to show his guest the stables, the new horses, the old chapel. Faro trotted at his heels inventing ploys to lead his host back to agreeable reminiscences of Grand Duchess Amelie. But far off days in Luxoria were no longer on the agenda.
Julian excused himself. Estate trees to be felled and sold for timber. Lawson needed to show him the woods in question. So Faro went back to the Castle and, in the room they had prepared for him, fell gratefully on to the bed and - thanks to the effects of the wine - slept soundly until the dinner gong alerted him.
Awakening in strange surroundings, his first thought was that it had all been a dreadful nightmare and he had dreamed that the boy he had met at Glenatholl was his son.
He sat
