'A note, sir. Duffy can't write. There's nothing wrong with his sums though. He can certainly add up.' Bowden grinned. 'It was something important he wanted to get off his chest, that's for sure.' Bowden gave Faro a significant wink. 'And knowing Duffy, like I told you, I'd take any bet you like that it has to do with money.'
'Did he say when he'd be back?'
'Told me to tell you he'd be in at six again tomorrow evening. I was to tell you to be here because he had vital information to give you.'
Faro felt exasperated at having missed the poacher a second time. Was it no more than a ruse to extract money from a stranger by offering him some stolen booty, or did he know something vital about Sir Archie's death that he was willing to sell to the insurance mannie?
Later that afternoon, Faro set off for the Castle. On his way through the village, his conscience prompted him that he should send a postcard to his daughters in Orkney and write a long overdue letter to his mother.
Opposite the one church which catered for all Elrigg's spiritual needs was the one shop which catered for all their material ones, from food to farming implements.
Purchases in hand, Faro waited for some time behind a customer buying boiled sweets from a large selection of glass jars. Her choice involved a great deal of indecision.
Turning to him, she smiled apologetically and he recognised the elderly schoolteacher, whom the shopkeeper addressed very civilly as Miss Halliday.
'My apologies, sir, these are rewards for good conduct and good marks for my children. Yes, that will do nicely, thank you.' As she awaited the weighing out and summing up of pennies, she continued: 'Are you enjoying your visit? I observed you outside the school railings and deduced that, as you were not a parent and therefore known to me personally, you must be a visitor.'
'I am indeed,' Faro smiled inwardly. What splendid detectives these local people would have made. His strict rules of observation and deduction might well have been invented by them.
The teacher obviously expected some further enlightenment and Faro found it difficult to give the kind of response that the woman's shrewd and eager expression demanded. He still wore his recently acquired persona like an ill-fitting suit of clothes, about which he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and self-conscious. A poor actor, he was certain that everyone in Elrigg had seen through his disguise and knew it for a lie.
'If you are staying for a while, perhaps you would care to come to our charity concert, the day after the Archery Contest? The children are performing well-known scenes from Shakespeare's plays and I can guarantee an evening of lively entertainment...'
As she warmed to her subject, waxing ecstatic about her small actors and actresses, Faro listened bleakly. How he dreaded and assiduously avoided amateur theatricals, the worst of all being school plays. His role of fond and indulgent parent had its limitations and he was thankful that his daughters Rose and Emily had never exhibited even hints of latent acting abilities.
Thanking Miss Halliday graciously but remaining vague about his immediate future in Elrigg, he made his escape.
Relying on his forged credentials and the fact that the further inquiries of an insurance investigator might be accepted as natural, Faro walked briskly towards the Castle.
At the lodge Imogen Crowe was at home, busily hanging curtains in the kitchen window. Pretending not to notice, and staring hard in the opposite direction, he hurried past, head down, eager to avoid any further communication with her.
An impossible woman.
Chapter 17
The day was warm and sunny and Faro concentrated on what he was going to say to Lady Elrigg and her stepson. The aged butler opened the door and looked down his sharp nose at Faro. As usual he was left waiting on the doorstep for some time while the old man enquired as to who might be at home.
It was all very tiresome, thought Faro, his good nature evaporating rapidly as he wondered if his presence had been forgotten.
At last the door was reopened. 'Her Ladyship is not at home but Mr Mark is willing to see you.'
Faro was relieved to see Mark appear behind the butler at that moment.
'Good day to you, Mr Faro. Shall we stroll in the gardens?'
Faro smiled. Perhaps it was crediting the young man with too much subtlety to have realised that emotions are easier concealed strolling in a garden than sitting face to face across a table. And a much less unnerving experience.
'The paintings haven't turned up, I'm afraid,' Mark volunteered.
Faro would have been surprised if they had, having long since determined their fate.
'I suppose you have documents for us to sign?' Mark continued.
Faro hadn't thought of that.
'Sir Archie didn't tell me - as you know. All a bit of a shock, what happened.'
‘I’m sorry. You were close to him?' Faro said boldly.
Mark shrugged. 'As close as anyone. He was good to me and I enjoyed better relations with him than most,' he added frankly. 'He could be a devil sometimes, you know, he believed in the old traditions of the gentry, tried to run Elrigg like a medieval warlord. He refused to believe that times were changing. He yearned for the old-style barony courts, with absolute power of life and death, the droit de seigneur - all that sort of thing. He liked the idea of summoning his tenants once a quarter - to dispense justice and administer punishment.'
They had reached the edge of the walled garden. Ahead of them stretched a large expanse of boggy, heavily weeded marshland, quite out of the keeping with the neat paths and well-trimmed garden.
That was once an ornamental lake. We used to sail boats on it, have picnics. Then there was an accident, a girl drowned. Sir Archie wouldn't tolerate that sort of thing on his land. Had it drained. He was like
