M.C. Beaton: Death of a Gentle Lady

“How long for?”

“A few months. Mr. Daviot says officers from Strathbane can cover your beat.”

This was worse than the prospect of a night with Aileen, thought Hamish miserably. Blair would work furiously during those months to prove that the station in Lochdubh was not needed.

“It’s verra kind of you,” he said awkwardly. “But I’m afraid I must refuse.”

“Why?”

“I would like to talk to you in private. Maybe afterwards.”

“No, now.” She turned to Aileen. “Would you mind leaving us?”

“Whit!” screeched Aileen. “I’m on a date.”

“Do you want me to phone Superintendent Daviot?” Aileen glared at Hamish, who was studying the tablecloth. Then she threw down her napkin.

“Never, ever speak to me again, Hamish Macbeth.” Hamish got to his feet to help her on with her coat, but she pushed him away. Under the fascinated eyes of the diners, she rushed to the door and slammed it so hard behind her that the whole room seemed to vibrate. Anna sat unmoved.

Hamish began to speak, but Willie arrived with the starters. “I may as well eat what she has ordered,” said Anna. “Your taste in women is not what I would have expected.”

“Let’s get down to this,” said Hamish. “I cannot go. I am begging you not to press the matter. I have fought and fought until I am weary to keep the police station open here. You like my methods or you would not have got this invitation for me. If I go away for several months, they will find a reason to close the station. I will be put on the beat in Strathbane. There will be no one to deal with this vast area, no one to look after the old people in the outlying crofts. They talk about community policing in Strathbane but they really don’t have the first idea how to go about it.

“Did you come all this way just to invite me?” Anna suddenly smiled. “Not exactly. Scotland Yard needed Moscow’s advice on the mysterious death of a Russian in London. You look wretched. Eat your food and we will forget about the matter.”

“But what will Daviot say?”

“I will say I have been called back to London and will approach you about the visit some other time.”

Hamish let out a slow breath of relief.

She began to question him about the death of Cyril and listened carefully while he described how he had discovered that Cyril had stolen Harold Jury’s identity.

“Amazing,” she said when he had finished. “But did you not notice his small feet before?”

“I had no reason to be looking at men’s feet,” said Hamish. “It was seeing him dressed as a woman to play the part of Lady Macbeth that gave me the idea. Also, it was not just that he was good in the part of Lady Macbeth, he almost was Lady Macbeth, if you know what I mean. There was something cold and murderous about him. He was mad, of course. It wasn’t just because of his rotten upbringing. Lots of kids have rotten upbringings and go on to be decent citizens. I think he really was a dangerous psychopath. He’d need to have been to go around killing all those people. But he was clever. He played the part of that author so well.”

“But why, when he had finished what he came to do, murder his mother, did he hang around?”

“I think he fell in love – or as much as a character like that could fall in love – with Priscilla Halburton-Smythe.”

“Ah, the blonde beauty.”

“Then he loved acting, and the production of the play got him close to Priscilla and kept him in the limelight, even though it was only the limelight of a small village. Also he hated me for playing a trick on him.” Hamish told her about the ‘highland welcome.’

Anna laughed. “If he was that clever, why did he fall for a stupid prank like that?”

“Because he was acting the part of Harold Jury. God rest his soul, but I think Harold Jury must have been pretty pretentious.”

At the end of the meal, Hamish asked, “Where are you staying? Can I drive you somewhere?”

“I am staying in Inverness. I have a car and driver waiting.”

Hamish waved her goodbye with relief and started to walk towards the police station. Then he froze. Aileen’s car was still parked outside, and the engine was running. She must be inside her car, running the heater, and waiting for me, thought Hamish. No doubt, she really wants to tell me what she thinks of me.

Huddled in his coat, he set off on the long walk up to the Tommel Castle Hotel to beg once more for a room for the night.

♦

The next morning when he walked back to the police station, snow was beginning to fall. Winter was moving back into Sutherland. It looked as if the spring would never come.

Aileen’s car was gone. He set about doing his chores. The snow became a blinding blizzard.

It raged all day and then by evening, it roared away to the east. Hamish dug a path outside the police station, leaned on his shovel, and looked along the waterfront. Everything was white and glittering under the moon. He felt the village and landscape had been in some way sanitised by the snow, swept clean of murder and strangers and blood.

With a comfortable feeling of being safe at home at last, he went in and locked the door.