M.C. Beaton - Death of a Gentle Lady

“I was angry and then I was relieved,” said Elspeth. “And while we’re on the subject of jilted people, how are you getting on with Priscilla?”

“I cancelled the engagement,” said Hamish. “Not her. I havenae seen much o’ her. She’s traipsing around the hills and heather with that Irishman.”

“Not any more. He’s left, and she’s too busy rehearsing her part with that writer. I’m still amazed you actually got around to proposing marriage to someone, Hamish. That Russian, I mean.”

He sighed. “I thought I was doing the right thing, Elspeth. I did it to keep my police station. And the idea was that we’d divorce after a while.”

“It’s wonderful how you got permission to marry her so easily. They’re clamping down on these arranged marriages. There was a woman down in England who charged a hefty fee to marry foreigners. When they caught up with her, she’d married five and not a divorce paper in sight.”

Hamish suddenly remembered the day he had bought an engagement ring to present to Elspeth, only to find out that she had promised to marry her fellow reporter.

He had bought Irena another ring. He wondered what had happened to it. Inspector Anna had arranged to have the body flown back to Moscow for burial. Why she had persuaded her bosses to go to that expense, he did not know.

He suddenly decided to take the plunge. “Excuse me a minute,” he said. He went into the bedroom and took the ring in its little box out of his bedside table. His heart was hammering.

Just as he walked into the kitchen, the door opened and Priscilla walked in.

Hamish stuffed the box in his pocket and shouted, “Damn it, don’t you ever knock?”

“I’m off,” said Elspeth hurriedly.

“I’ll come with you,” said Priscilla. “It seems I am not welcome.”

Say something, yelled a voice in Hamish’s head. But he stood there, frozen, as they both walked off.

♦

He walked along to the Italian restaurant to be told that his animals had been fed and then had gone away.

By asking people on the waterfront, he learned that they had been spotted heading for Angela Brodie’s cottage.

Angela opened the door to him. “I’ve sent them home,” she said. “The poor things seemed so hungry that I fed them first.”

“Angela, they’ll be as fat as butter. They’ve already been stuffing themselves at the Italian restaurant.”

“Oh, well, they say that pets take after their owner, and you always were a moocher, Hamish. I suppose you want a coffee.”

“No, I do not. I haff the verra good coffeemaker. Elspeth gave it to me.”

“Did she, now. You ought to marry that lassie, Hamish.”

Hamish stared down at her, his mouth slightly open and a vacant expression on his face.

“What’s up?” asked Angela. “You look as if you’ve been struck by lightning.”

“I’ve been struck with a flash o’ the blindingly obvious,” said Hamish.

He turned and ran to the police station, got into the Land Rover, and sped off to the Tommel Castle Hotel.

He erupted into the manager’s office. “Where’s Elspeth?” he asked. “Which room?”

“Oh, she’s gone. Left about ten minutes ago. Coffee?”

Hamish slumped down in a chair in the office.

“Why not?” he said.

♦

When he left the manager’s office, he stood in the reception wondering whether to chase after Elspeth. But that sudden desire to ask her to marry him had faded. He sighed. Perhaps when this case was solved – if it ever was solved – he might take a trip down to Glasgow.

“Got over your bad temper?” asked Priscilla, interrupting his thoughts.

“Sorry about that,” said Hamish. “This case is getting to me. Murderers are usually stupid and have nearly got away with it before because they were lucky amateurs and the last people you would suspect. But this one isn’t an amateur. The only amateur attempt was that wire on the stairs.”

“I’ve heard weird and wonderful stories about what happened up at Grianach.”

“Still no odd strange woman booked in here?”

“No, only Polish maids. Do you know the Northern Times has brought out a free Polish newspaper?”

“Maybe the Highland Times will do the same.”

“Not enough up here as yet. Have dinner with me and tell me about it.”

Hamish hesitated. Priscilla smiled. “Sonsie and Lugs will be fine. Gosh, it’s like dealing with a man with a possessive wife waiting at home.”

“All right, then. That would be grand.”

♦

Over dinner, Hamish told her all about the happenings in Grianach. When he had finished, Priscilla said, “You must still be in shock. Have you considered that?”

Hamish stared at her for a long moment. Was he? Was that what had prompted his sudden desire to propose to Elspeth? And it was hard to think of Elspeth with the cool beauty of Priscilla facing him across the table.

“I might be,” he said.

“I called on your mother the other day,” said Priscilla.

“I was over in Rogart and thought I would look her up. You should go home a bit more often, Hamish.”

“I’ll try. I bought presents for her in Grianach. Oh, I’ve one for you. Ma was so upset about the wedding. She made me feel ashamed, particularly when it got out that Irena was a prostitute.”

“So what happens now?”

“I think I’ll spend the next few days writing down everything I know. They might give me time off. I’m tempted to go down to London and talk to Kylie Gentle. I can’t ignore the fact that it must, somehow, have something to do with that family.”

∨ Death of a Gentle Lady ∧

11

I think for my part that one half of the nation is mad – and the other half not very sound .

—Tobias Smollett

Hamish was granted leave. Daviot seemed relieved that he would be out of the way. Jimmy said that the van had been stolen from outside a croft near Grianach. He supplied Hamish with Kylie Gentle’s address in London but warned him that he was on his own. He would need to cover his own expenses.

Jimmy had a further bit of astonishing news. Blair was back on the job and sober. “He’s found God,” said Jimmy. “He keeps a Bible on his desk and lectures us all on our sins. He was a nasty bully when he was drunk and now he’s even nastier. The man’s a right religious maniac.”

“Won’t last long,” said Hamish cynically. “One setback and he’ll be screaming that God doesn’t exist and straight down to the pub.”

Anxious not to leave his pets too long, Hamish drove to Inverness and took an early plane to London. Kylie and her husband lived in a flat in St. George’s Mansions in Gloucester Road in Kensington.

He took the tube to the Gloucester Road tube station and walked along until he reached St. George’s Mansions. He rang the bell marked GENTLE, hoping his journey wouldn’t turn out to be a waste of time with them gone on holiday somewhere. But Kylie herself answered on the intercom. When Hamish announced himself, there was a little gasp of surprise, and then he was buzzed in.

Kylie, looking like an elegant stick insect, stood in the doorway to greet him. “What’s happened now?” she asked crossly. “The police have already been round asking if any of us have been near a place called Grianach. I told them we’d never even heard of it. Come in.”

Hamish, feeling uncomfortable in all the glory of his best suit, collar, and tie, followed her into a pleasant living room.

“It’s got nothing to do with that,” he said. “I can’t help feeling that something happened at your family reunion that maybe gave Irena the idea she could blackmail someone apart from Mark.”

“Sit down,” said Kylie. “Didn’t we go through that all before?”