Free Killing Cousins by Alanna Knight Page B

other side of the room, Captain Gibb had apparently collapsed into a chair with Mary Faro hovering anxiously over him.
    'Look lively there, lad,' said Faro.
    Vince needed no second bidding. He sprang into immediate action, applying one of his instant remedies from his emergency bag. It was perfectly obvious from the man's colour and difficult breathing that if someone didn't do something sharpish then they would have yet another candidate for the kirkyard.
    Troller's brother Saul was there, too, seated on a hard chair at a respectful distance from his betters. If looks could be judged then no doubt he was feeling that death would be too good. Red-eyed with shock, he had scarcely emerged from the effects of the night's debauch and was incoherently demanding, 'Wha' ha-happened to Jack?' and 'Don't believe it', almost in the same breath. Sometimes he attempted to spring up, pugnacious in his bewildered grief, and was with difficulty restrained.
    Behind his chair stood Inga, her hand on his shoulder. She limited her remarks to 'Hush, hush, my dear' which had little effect on the bereaved sibling.
    And hovering in the background was Mary Faro, trying in vain to offer her cups of tea and plates of toast to keep up everyone's strength for the ordeal that lay ahead.
    Within moments of entering the room, Vince and Faro were bombarded with frantic but quite relevant questions for which they had not had the least opportunity to prepare satisfactory and consolingly logical answers.
    Frith's statement that Troller had fallen down the cliff was being dismissed as a tragic but unfortunate accident, the result of too many drams at the wake. The removal of Mrs Balfray from her coffin was a different matter. A terrible shock, of course, but a situation they were prepared to accept as within the bounds of possibility from a young man of known unsound mind, further unhinged by grief for his beloved patroness.
    But no one, thought Faro, had asked Frith how Troller had managed this single-handed, injured as he was, before conveniently expiring at her side. Or, more significantly, what exactly lay behind the Romeo and Juliet death scene so elaborately staged on the Odin Stone?
    Erlandson cleared his throat and exercised his ministerial powers by inviting everyone to bow their heads in prayer, a comforting homily Faro recognised as straight from the service for the burial of the dead. This was immediately followed by delicate but practical suggestions for the next few hours.
    Faro and Vince left him to it. Erlandson was accustomed to dealing with family bereavement as the vast and elaborate panoply of mourning so firmly established by Her Majesty moved into operation.
    'Even on this small island,' Vince told him later, 'the proprieties of death must be observed. Mourning bands for the villagers, wreaths, a church service, black-edged cards, ostrich plumes.'
    Could Troller be removed to his own home for the kisting? Saul asked. Vince and Faro exchanged glances. To keep him in the vestry until the Procurator Fiscal arrived would arouse suspicions of foul play. The brother was obviously very distressed but Vince had to explain that they would have to await the arrival of authority.
    'Where will they get black ostrich plumes here?' murmured Faro as he and Vince thankfully made their escape.
    At the bottom of the staircase, Faro put a finger to his lips and steered Vince in the direction of the front door. He wasn't quick enough. From the dining room emerged Mary Faro, obviously lying in wait for them.
    'I thought you two were up to something. I insist that you sit down in my kitchen and have some breakfast before you do anything else and before all the food I've cooked is completely ruined. You must keep your strength up in this hour of trial, Jeremy.'
    'We'll be back directly, Mother. Just going for a constitutional. Brisk walk round the grounds.'
    Vince grinned at her disarmingly. 'Do us good. Clear our heads. I'll take care of him,