Faro 01 Enter Second Murderer by Alanna Knight

Author:Alanna Knight [Knight, Alanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-01-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

As the hired gig drove at a smart pace through villages and fields and smoky hamlets towards Fairmilehead, Faro found his thoughts returning to Alison Aird. He wished he had not decided to make this second visit alone. The day was identical in weather to that first excursion with her and it intensified his longing to see her again.

At every stage of the journey, Faro was haunted by Alison’s presence: here we laughed at the children playing with a kitten; here she quoted Hamlet; here we admired an old water-mill.

The sun disappeared, a chill wind came leaping out of the Pentlands and cut across his shoulders like a cold knife. The walk was sad, as if she was dead and had left him for ever. He could hardly believe that at this moment she was probably sitting happily in her lodgings, sipping tea and going over her script for the next play in the repertoire. He had to steel himself and remember that he had not lost her, that the battle had not yet begun: a battle still to fight is also a battle still to win.

As he opened the gate of Mrs.Wishart’s residence, which to his relief he found without difficulty, Alison’s smiling ghost retreated as the detective swept aside the sentimental would-be lover.

What if there was no one at home and his journey fruitless? The old house stood aloof and shrouded by trees, a short distance from the village. Its windows and front door, its neat garden, spoke of shabby gentility. His second summons brought forth a response and the door was opened by a maid, whose appearance was in keeping with the house. She looked as if she had been serving in the establishment for some considerable time.

“Mrs. Wishart?”

“Who wants her?”

“Who is it, what do you want?” An old lady peered over the maid’s shoulder. “We are not at home today.”

“Mrs. Wishart?”

“That is my name.” She regarded him, frowning, and he half expected the same reluctance as he had received, a stranger, at the Mad Bart’s door. He was soon to discover that her manner was due to deafness rather than hostility.

“I wonder, madam, if you can help me. I’m looking for a young lady. She, er, calls herself Clara Burnleigh.”

“I will deal with this. Go you back to your work.” And dismissing the maid, Mrs. Wishart asked him to repeat the question. At the name, she gave a rather violent start.

“I thought that was what you said.” A faint shadow disturbed the serene face, a slight hesitation. “I know no one of that name.”

“That is a pity. I was advised to make my enquiry to you.”

“Indeed. And who wishes to know?”

Faro decided in his turn to be deaf, and said, “Burnleigh may not be her real name, but I have good reason to believe she comes from this area. A tall pretty girl with fair straight hair,” he added, remembering the Reverend Mother’s description.

The old lady nodded vigorously, as if the description tallied. Then, examining

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