M.C. Beaton - Death of a Gentle Lady

“I’ll leave it. He’s got a rehearsal in the village hall tonight, and I’ll go to that. It’s quite fun, really.”

♦

Hamish collected his pets and went back to the police station through the ever-thickening mist.

He did a few chores around his croft, returned to the police station, and checked for messages. There were none.

He was just sitting having a cup of tea and wondering how soon he could get back into that nursery when the phone rang. It was Jimmy. He was exultant. “We’ve got the bastard!” he said. “His employees cracked and said they’d been paid to say he was there all the time. He was actually away for the time covering everything from the family reunion to the death of Irena and the murder of Mrs. Gentle.”

“And does he confess to murdering Mrs. Gentle?”

“Not a bit of it. We finally let him get a lawyer.”

“Jimmy, are you really sure he did it?”

“Oh, don’t start, Hamish. We’ve got our man.” When he had rung off, Hamish sat, thinking hard. He knew why he had proposed to Irena, but other people might think that they had been close, and that she’d perhaps confided something dangerous to him. If he spread that around, the murderer might come after him! But he would need to find a good excuse for sitting on any supposed evidence this long.

He decided to go to that rehearsal and spread the word that he did not think Mark Gentle was the killer – and something Irena had told him had made him suddenly realise it.

∨ Death of a Gentle Lady ∧

8

Let’s briefly put on manly readiness ,

And meet i’ the hall together .

—William Shakespeare

Although he was glad that Anna had not called on him or even contacted him, Hamish, as he walked along to the village hall, was surprised that Jimmy had not rung to give him further news of Mark Gentle. He had tried to phone the inspector but his mobile was switched off and headquarters said he was busy.

The mist was still thick and the lights along the waterfront shone dimly, as if suspended in the air without any means of support.

From the loch, he could hear the gentle plash of the waves and the far-off chug-chug of a donkey engine. And yet he could not get the relaxed feeling he usually had when a case was over.

He decided to go ahead with what he had planned and to put it around the gathering tonight that Irena had told him something important. He knew the news would spread like wildfire all the way to Braikie.

The three witches were in rehearsal. “A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come,” howled Mrs. Wellington as Hamish walked into the hall. A roar of laughter ensued.

“That’s enough!” cried Harold. “We’ll take a break.”

There was a surge towards tables set at the side of the hall which were laden with cakes and sandwiches, a tea urn and cups.

Priscilla came to join him. “This is great fun,” she said. “Everyone’s having a grand time although I gather there’s an arrest and Banquo, that’s Matthew, is over in Strathbane.”

“How do they get Jessie to say her lines without repeating the last words?” asked Hamish.

“Harold decided to ignore it. He’s very patient.”

Hamish raised his eyebrows in surprise. He would have thought Harold too arrogant to be patient about anything.

“I’m still not happy about this arrest,” said Hamish.

“Not happy about the arrest?” boomed Mrs. Wellington, who had overheard him.

“It’s because of something Irena told me.”

“Then you should tell your superior officers.”

“I’ll keep it to myself for a bit.”

“Did you hear that?” Nessie Currie asked her sister. “Thon Russian tart told Hamish something. I heard him telling Priscilla that he wasn’t happy about the arrest.”

They bustled off to spread the gossip.

When the break was over, Hamish collected more sandwiches and tea and retreated to a table at the back of the hall to watch as the rehearsal resumed.

They were all very amateur, including Priscilla, who delivered Lady Macbeth’s lines without passion but with a sort of icy disdain which was quite effective. And together it somehow worked. The mist had drifted into the hall, creating the right atmosphere for a Shakespearean tragedy.

When he went back to the police station, he could feel a light damp breeze beginning to fan his cheek. The dog and cat were out. They came and went by the large, expensive cat flap, a present from a grateful inspector Hamish had worked with on his last case. He knew they were perfectly capable of looking after themselves and that he should no longer plague Angela with them when he was going to be away for any length of time, but he could not stop worrying about them, and felt relieved when the flap banged and the pair finally strolled in.

He was about to go to bed when Jimmy rang. “Good news, Hamish. His alibi doesn’t stand up. He did threaten his employees with the sack if they didn’t back him up. Mind you, he’s screaming innocence. He says he came up before the family reunion to sweet-talk the old girl and make sure he was still in her will. But I can’t get out of him why he thought he needed an alibi.”

“If he gets a good defence lawyer,” said Hamish, “he might easily get off. The evidence is only circumstantial. Was Irena blackmailing him?”

“No, because, I suppose, she died before Mrs. Gentle.”

“Exactly, Jimmy. There’s no real leverage there for blackmail. A lot of folk threaten to kill people when they’re angry.”

“Don’t rain on my parade, Hamish. We’ve got him. Go to sleep.”

♦

The morning dawned sunny and balmy with only thin traces of the previous night’s mist. Hamish decided to go back up to the castle. The family would be preparing to leave. He wanted to take another look in that nursery. He fed Sonsie and Lugs and forced himself not to phone Angela and ask her to look after them.

When he arrived, they were all getting into their cars. “What is it now?” asked Andrew.

“I’m just going up to look at that nursery again.”

“We don’t want to wait around for you. Here’s the key. Lock up when you leave. Here’s my card. Post the key to me.”

Hamish went into the castle and climbed the stairs to the nursery. He carefully removed the tape from across the door, opened it, and went in.

The room was in chaos. It looked as if it had been torn apart. Even teddy bears had been ripped open. The police had made a thorough search.

He imagined Irena sitting by the fire, trying to keep warm. She must have been terrified of going back to her old life or she would not have put up with such treatment.

There did not seem to be much point in his searching for anything now. He cleared some toys off a chair by the window and sat down to think. Why had she been carrying around that small, expensive tape recorder? What had first led her to think there might be someone worth blackmailing? Why had Mark’s voice been the only one on the tape?

There was a crash from somewhere below. Hamish rose and left the room, darting for the stairs. He gained the last stretch of stairs leading to the hall, leaping down the stairs three at a time.

He searched all over. A heavy pot was lying on its side on the stone flags of the hall. That must have been the crash he had heard.

He ran outside and looked down the drive. No one was in sight.

He made his way back into the castle and began to walk slowly up the stairs. He stopped dead before he reached the first landing. A wire was stretched across the second step. If he had not been leaping down the steps but taking them one at a time, he could have tumbled down and broken his neck on the stone flags of the hall below.