'Have you ever excavated the site?'
Hector's face darkened. ‘I’ve tried to. I'm certain there is evidence to link the date of the stones with the hillfort, perhaps they were part of a religious ceremonial or the burial site of some important tribal chief. But I've been denied that right.'
He paused and regarded Faro suspiciously for the first time. 'Wait a moment. I have seen you before. At the police station.'
'That is so.'
When Faro did not offer any further explanation, Hector continued: 'Are you here to register for the archery contest?'
'Alas, no.'
'A pity. You have the look of a man who might be handy with weapons,' he said, surveying him candidly.
But Faro refused to be drawn.
Hector continued to regard him curiously. 'You seem remarkably well informed, sir. What exactly brings you to these parts?'
'Insurance business, alas.' Faro tried to sound casual. 'All rather boring, I'm afraid.'
'Connected with my late uncle, I presume.'
'Yes.'
'He was a bastard and he deserved to die. A few acres of his precious ground, a chance to discover the secret of the stones. That's all I've ever wanted, all I ever asked him for. He owed me a lot more than that - a damned lot more.'
He stopped, shrugged. 'I won't bore you with the details. It's a very long and sordid story. All I can tell you is that they're a rum lot up at the Castle.'
'In what way?'
Hector stared at the horizon. 'Oh, you know. The young and beautiful actress who marries an old man for his money. Brings one of her London actress friends with her as companion. Can't blame her insisting on that as part of the deal. Life would be pretty intolerable for her otherwise. But her friend, Miss Kent, I don't know how she sticks it. A far cry from the stage. Poppy must have made it worth her while - Miss Kent was never a great beauty with all the world and the Prince of Wales at her feet.'
He looked at Faro as he said it. So he knew the identity of the visitor at the time of Sir Archie's fatal accident. And as Faro listened and watched Hector's expression change to one of wistfulness, he realised that the nephew might also have a motive of jealousy, mesmerised by Poppy Elrigg too, although he might qualify only for one of 'all the world'.
'It would have made more sense for Mark to fall for the companion, wouldn't it?' Hector went on. 'But no, it's the stepma he wants. Miss Kent would have been much safer.'
'How safer?'
Hector laughed and, ignoring the question, he said: 'I've nothing against young Mark. Like the boy, I must say. We've always got along splendidly. I even gave him his first archery lessons. He saw me as a kind of latterday Robin Hood. Used to come and watch me dig when he came home from boarding school. He was intrigued by the possibilities of old graves and skeletons, the usual schoolboy preoccupation with buried treasure and that nonsense. I gave him a spade and a bit of encouragement.'
He smiled at the remembrance before adding: 'He didn't like his stepfather even then and their relationship didn't improve with time. Poppy's arrival was probably the last straw -'
And Faro wondered how much Mark's young life had been influenced by Hector's grudge against Sir Archie. He could well imagine the impressionable schoolboy with a case of hero worship for this romantic relative who searched ancient ruins for buried treasure.
Hector was eyeing him candidly. 'Insurance investigator, you say?' Without waiting for Faro's reply, he continued, 'If you'd been a policeman, I'd have said there are one or two who'll be mightily pleased that Uncle Archie got his just deserts. He killed a beater once. Drunk he was, should not have been in charge of a loaded shotgun. An accident, everyone covered up like mad. Young lad about twelve.'
'From these parts?'
'No. From Durham somewhere. He was staying with relations, farmers over Flodden way. Can't remember the details, illness in the family, something of the sort. An only child. Went to school here for a while and got on well with young Mark, the two of them used to come to the dig. His aunt and uncle were so upset by the tragedy they couldn't settle afterwards and moved away. Felt guilty, although it was none of their fault, poor souls.
'And then there's Dr Brand, his daughter drowned herself, suicide. Plenty would say she was driven to it.'
Faro recalled the doctor's words as Hector went on.
'She was a bright, clever girl, working for the summer on cataloguing family documents for my uncle. She left in a hurry. Rumour had it that she was pregnant - and the whispers were that it was Uncle Archie's bairn. Later it came out that the factor had been dallying with her. He'd been sacked for embezzlement, bolted for London before he could be arrested, leaving her in the lurch.'
He sighed. 'She walked into the ornamental lake by the walled garden. My uncle showed some finer feelings - or some remorse, by having the lake drained.'
'So all this will go to Mark now?'
Hector did not seem perturbed. 'That is so, since there is no issue, legitimate or otherwise. Mark's mother was ten years older than my uncle, plain but very wealthy. Nice woman, kind too. Coal owner's widow. There were no children. He was out of luck with Poppy too. Five years and no sign of an heir.'
A childless marriage, a barren wife. How often Faro had heard that. The bane of rich men and noble lairds with much to leave and desperate for a son to leave it to. Kings had murdered their queens and lords abandoned their ladies for just such a reason. In the new society even rich merchants keen to establish a dynasty had been known to be crafty and
