The Seal King Murders (18 page)

‘Mrs Traill,’ she repeated, and with something akin to fear in a nervous laugh, ‘I was not aware that you were acquainted with Mrs Traill.’

‘I am not. But she is Jimmy Traill’s aunt, and
I was to convey a message from him.’

Thora nodded vaguely as he said, ‘She has few visitors but she spoke very warmly of yourself.’

Thora studied him intently. ‘Indeed.’

Her voice was expressionless and Faro went on, ‘A worthy lady, thought highly of by the locals. I gathered she had been a foster mother to you and your sister Elsa.’

Thora’s eyes searched wildly. There was panic in her face as she bit her lip and leant against the doorpost as if she might fall down.

Faro felt ashamed that he had caused such distress. Obviously any mention of her sister opened old wounds and renewed bitter grief. He wished he had not mentioned Elsa at all, but now felt that he could not leave it on that unhappy note.

‘She talked about you both most fondly and how sad it was about Elsa leaving.’

The panic in her eyes was clear now. She closed them tightly and abruptly, as if to cut off some unbearable vision, and Faro realised he could no longer prolong this conversation, fast becoming a monologue. He ended lamely, ‘She was anxious for your welfare and would much appreciate a visit some time,’ he added, thinking there was little hope of that. ‘I promised I would pass on the message should we happen to meet.’

Thora recovered, straightened her shoulders and said lightly, ‘That was very kind of you, Mr Faro. I am grateful. Thank you for coming to see me.’ A brief smile and she closed the door firmly, but not before Faro was very aware that the same pungent smell he had encountered in Amos’s house was again in evidence.

The smell of very expensive cigars. In the unlikely event of Thora being a cigar smoker, his guess was that the unseen visitor she was so anxious he should avoid meeting was, in fact, her lover, Josh Flett.

As he closed the garden gate, had he been gifted with eyes in the back of his head, he would have seen the curtain twitch and two heads staring out, watching his progress.

‘He knows,’ she whispered tearfully. ‘He knows!’

And without a word, only a sigh, he took her in his arms and held her.

On his way back to the stables to ride the mare back to Spanish Cove, Faro walked through the kirkyard and looked at the raw, upturned earth of Dave Claydon’s grave, not yet prepared for a headstone.

If only Dave had been alive, he doubtless could have obliged with solutions to the mysteries that were troubling Faro, in particular what was contained in the artefacts he was carrying at the time of his drowning and perhaps, also, the secret of his wife Thora’s missing year.

Finding a shop still open on the main street, he bought chocolates and a couple of carrots, rewarded for the latter by a whinny from the mare who, he was gratified to observe,
recognised him again. She munched happily as the saddle was set upon her, while Faro signed the documents. The stableman grinned.

‘She’s a good, gentle beast, knows people who are kind to her. Never forgets a face this one, and she enjoys a gallop along the road to Kirkwall. Nothing like a good workout for keeping the beasts happy and in fine condition.’

It was an uneventful return journey, and although Faro’s muscles were showing signs of reaction to this unusual activity, having mastered trotting and galloping over the long, empty stretches by the peat bogs, he decided horse riding was an exhilarating exercise on a fine summer evening. Especially with an agreeable mount who seemed to enjoy responding to his commands.

What would it be like to ride in Edinburgh? He toyed with the thought. There were fewer horsemen in Princes Street these days, mostly country folk too poor to own or hire carriages, while farmers continued to use carts to deliver and collect supplies from town and sea. For the ordinary citizens, the convenience of the
horse-drawn
omnibus combined with railway trains, no longer a novelty, promised to extend services to the ever-growing suburbs.

Clattering through the twisting streets of Stromness against a darkening horizon, Faro decided to stay close to the coast road. Below,
a glimpse of sea shone in the mellow evening light, with seals heads bobbing in the waves or reclining on rocks. He noticed once again how their numbers increased as Spanish Cove came in sight. The divers and foreign fishing boats were not the only enthusiasts for its safe waters.

Leaving the mare with another carrot, he patted her nose and was rewarded by having his cheek nuzzled. He felt pleased: this was a new experience as he had never been drawn to horses. Now he realised that, from childhood, he had been a little afraid of them, a feeling doubtless intensified after the death of his father under the wheels of a horse-drawn carriage.

Settled ideas and prejudices can change quickly, and after a couple of hours riding hard, Faro felt as if he was parting from a friend and understood the attachment folk had to domestic pets, something he could never hope to enjoy in his police lodgings. But one day he would love to own a dog, a very big dog, that he could take for walks on Arthur’s Seat.

Before heading for Scarthbreck he would look in on Inga. She was at home. And contrary to his two visits in Kirkwall, he was greeted with no long delay, no frown of dismay. The door opened promptly and, delighted to see him, Inga stood on tiptoe and hugged him, giving him a fond kiss.

‘Good to see you, Jeremy. What an unexpected pleasure. Come in, come in.’ When he told her he had been in Kirkwall and proudly boasted about his horsemanship, she laughed.

‘There’s a first time for everything, even for an Edinburgh policeman who avoids horses.’ Head on one side, she asked, ‘Have you time for a cup of tea or are you in a great hurry to get back?’ She paused, smiling. ‘Baubie’s still with me.’

Following her into the parlour, he decided that this was one guest whose presence did not require being kept secret from visitors.

Baubie was seated in the Orkney chair and stretched out a mittened hand. ‘I am glad to see you again.’

‘Baubie’s going back to South Ronaldsay soon. I shall miss you,’ said Inga, giving the older woman an affectionate glance.

‘You’ve looked after me long enough, my dear. I can’t impose on you any longer.’

‘It’s no imposition,’ Inga protested.

Baubie shook her head. ‘I am quite well now. Well enough to go back to my old life again, thanks to your good nursing.’

‘Thanks to your herbs,’ said Inga.

‘All the herbs in the world can’t take the place or make up for one person’s loving care,’ said Baubie, taking Inga’s hand and laying it against her cheek.

Inga smiled and planted a kiss on the smooth, unfurrowed forehead. ‘You are so good for me.’

And suddenly aware of Jeremy again, she said, ‘Do sit down. You’re not a stranger here.’

In the tiny kitchen, he watched while she prepared a pot of tea. Through the window the sound of seals barking drifted upward from the bottom of the cliffs far below.

‘They are very noisy tonight. How do you ever sleep through that racket?’

She shrugged. ‘I can sleep through anything.’

Faro found that hard to believe. ‘They’re very loud – and shrill.’

‘Very excited. I expect they know that Baubie is about to leave. And they’re planning to follow her.’

As Faro’s eyebrows raised at this extraordinary explanation, she said, ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you that. Forgotten your folklore, Jeremy? Remember, the seals always follow a selkie, keep as close a watch as they can from the sea. At least that’s the popular belief,’ she added hurriedly at his quizzical expression.

He carried the tray of bannocks and cheese into the parlour where Inga served Baubie, buttering a couple and handing her the plate, saying reproachfully, ‘She eats very little, Jeremy, just enough to survive. I can’t get her to eat any animal flesh or fish.’

Jeremy shuddered and Inga laughed, remembering that he wouldn’t touch fish either, despite it being the main source of food on the islands, caught in plenty. A daily catch fresh from the sea.

‘I would rather starve,’ he said.

‘Still? Even in Edinburgh?’

While Baubie looked at him in silent approval, he said, ‘Even in Edinburgh. Or anywhere else in the world.’

Inga glanced at them and shook her head. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing. Selkie blood, they say,’ she added casually, aware from days long gone of the rumour concerning his grandmother.

Munching a bannock, she asked, ‘Have you ever learnt to swim by any chance?’

He shook his head and Inga turned to Baubie. ‘An island lad who couldn’t – or can’t – swim,’ she said mockingly. ‘No one would believe it.’

Baubie smiled. ‘I sympathise. I don’t like water much.’

‘What a pair! Missing all the good things on offer,’ Inga laughed, embracing them both in one affectionate glance.

‘I do eat meat now,’ said Jeremy defensively.

‘Good. That will keep you strong and in fine shape to fight off criminals,’ said Inga. As he drained his cup of tea, she turned to Baubie. ‘Can you tell his fortune, what is waiting for
him on the mainland? And his future,’ she added teasingly. ‘Who he’s going to marry?’

Baubie said nothing, but merely held out her hand for his cup, her face expressionless.

Faro, he had no belief in fortune-telling and despised its rise to popularity, the fashion for seances which was sweeping through Edinburgh.

Cross with Inga, he could hardly refuse. However, if Baubie Finn had supernatural powers, there were many hidden truths about this Orkney visit that he wouldn’t mind hearing, besides those more personal things he was not eager for her to discover.

He prepared to listen. She touched on his childhood which Inga could have told her about, as well as other details of his life, while what he really wanted to know was what had happened to his grandmother Sibella and why his parents had steadfastly refused to talk about her, or how she had died. He often wondered if Sibella had gone back to the sea, a bit of a family scandal, very hard to explain to curious neighbours. Maybe they thought they had the seal skin she shed hidden away safely and, as so often happened in the island’s folk tales, one day Sibella had discovered it in a cupboard and turned back into a seal and swam away to her own people.

It was nonsense, really, and he tried to
concentrate on Baubie, who was twisting the cup and studying the leaves intently. Shaking her head, she sighed and handed the cup back to him.

‘There’s nothing I can tell you about your future that you don’t already know, or any action that you haven’t already decided upon.’

Inga looked disappointed. ‘Is that all? I thought you’d see something. Are you sure, Baubie?’

Baubie was sitting back in her chair. She looked suddenly old, drained and exhausted.

‘It’s past your bedtime,’ Inga said, and Faro recognised the signal that it was time for him to go. He took Baubie’s hand, and feeling as if he was leaving an old friend, he leant over and said, ‘May I?’ She smiled and he kissed her forehead.

She squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you, Jeremy. I shall remember that most gratefully.’

And following Inga to the door, Faro was confused, for that kiss had triggered off a distant memory struggling to the surface of his mind. Sometime long ago, that same tender scene had been played out before.

Inga was saying, ‘I’ll see you on your way,’ and they walked arm in arm along the cliff edge and sat on a boulder overlooking the watchful, noisy seals, all heads turned towards them.

‘She did see something in your cup, Jeremy,’ Inga said solemnly. ‘I know. I can tell. You will take care, back in Edinburgh, won’t you?’

‘As if you care.’

‘Of course I care, don’t be silly. I can’t help it if we’re destined to walk different roads.’

‘That’s nonsense. We can decide our destiny.’

She shook her head. ‘No, we can’t. I would know, feel it somehow, if there was any prospect of a lifetime together.’

Changing the subject, which was so painful, he took a packet of chocolates out of his pocket, and said, ‘Almost forgot, these are for you.’

Thanking him, she pecked at his cheek and, ignoring that, he said, ‘I wish I had a gift – something to give Baubie. She has so little.’

‘She is content.’

‘What does one give a selkie, Inga?’

‘Only love and understanding, Jeremy. That’s all a selkie needs.’

‘Or anyone else,’ he whispered and put his arm around her shoulders. He had to be content with this gesture, and suppress the overwhelming longing to make love to her. He felt such longing for fulfilment, so lost without flesh to flesh, the ultimate giving and receiving of love.

In the sudden laden silence between them, as Inga looked down at the seals regarding them
with such intent, Faro said, ‘I wonder which one is the seal king?’

Inga laughed. ‘I couldn’t tell you that. Did you expect him to be wearing a golden crown or something? I expect there’s only one male down there with a harem of females.’

Lucky man, thought Faro. No problems of what to say to a lady when you want her. Nature made everything so simple, except for men like him.

Inga, watching his serious face, said, ‘Find anything interesting in Kirkwall?’

‘I saw Thora, and that story of the seal king’s bride haunts me. What did he look like when he lured her into his kingdom of the sea? Did he rise from the waves as the handsomest man she’d ever dreamt of, and did she wade out into his arms, ready to leave the world behind?’

Inga chuckled. ‘Well, he was certainly better looking than that lot down there. And the handsomest man I’ve ever met is right here on the island.’

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Who could that be?’

‘Amos Flett, of course, from what I hear.’ She smiled. ‘He might have had a rival if you’d stayed. Did you know the Fletts and Faros are related?’

‘So Amos tells me.’

She looked at him intently. ‘Distant cousins. You’re rather alike, apart from the hair colour … same bone structure. Good looks must run in the family.’

Faro shrugged. Perhaps this remote kinship was the reason why Amos had not seemed like a stranger when they first met on the ferry, as Inga continued lightly, ‘And how was Thora?’

‘She had a visitor. I think she has a lover. Remember I told you about Josh Flett and their secret meeting in the cathedral?’

Inga’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t understand that at all. Thora has never struck any of us as the sympathetic type and Josh is on his deathbed. Where does he get the energy?’

‘You’d better ask her. He also smokes very expensive cigars.’

Inga shook her head. ‘You must be mistaken, Jeremy. That would kill him, his lungs have rotted away. Besides he has never smoked, neither has Amos. Way they were brought up. Grandfather was very stern, religious. Considered smoking and drinking the Devil’s work, first step on the way to damnation; he would have had the hide off them.’

When he explained about the brand, she smiled. ‘Smugglers’ stuff, of course. Well known, but no one admits to it. Dave was also into that, being on the spot as it were, as a gauger.
Everyone guessed he did a little on the side.’

And Faro remembered the luxurious Claydon house, that possibly explained artefacts other than those which had supposedly gone to the bottom of the sea with him.

He felt frustrated, he had failed in his mission. No one would ever know the truth now as Inga went on, ‘Amos must be delighted at Josh’s new lease of life – amazing what love can do.’ She laughed. ‘It’s incredible – a dying man resurrected. Grandfather Flett would have loved that. Praise the Lord, praise the Lord.’

Again she shook her head. ‘I’d like to hear Amos’s thoughts on this Thora affair. Y’know he never talks about Josh these days, maybe that’s why. Disapproval. At one time he was obsessed by Josh, devoted to caring for him, which was the reason he had – so he said – for never getting married.’

Faro knew that too. He would never have anything like Amos’s success with females. A few interludes to keep pace with his unmarried, or unhappily married acquaintances, but never a woman he really wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

He looked at Inga. Except for her, and maybe Lizzie.

He sighed. It was getting late and Inga moved from the shelter of his arm. ‘I must go. Baubie
will be in bed. I like to give her a glass of hot milk.’