M.C. Beaton - Death of a Charming Man

“Why?” asked Priscilla. “Do you think they’re going to tell him, or that he’ll ever find out?”

The chorus of women backed Nancy and then exited right, leaving her alone on the stage. At the end of the song Nancy sailed off the stage with all the aplomb of a diva, but before the scene could switch to Dick Whittington and his cat, there was a scream from off-stage and the sound of a heavy fall.

Hamish ran forward, leaped on the stage, and ran to the exit stairs where Nancy had gone down. Nancy was lying at the foot of the stairs, her face contorted with pain.

“Don’t move,” he called.

He went down and crouched over her. “Easy now. Where does it hurt?”

“All over,” groaned Nancy.

“Here.” He put an arm behind her shoulders and eased her up. “Move your arms.” She cautiously did as she was told. “Now your legs, right and then left. That seems all right. Now, I’m going to help you up. Take it easy.”

He lifted Nancy to her feet. “There, you’re all right,” he said with relief, “although I’m sure you’ll have some bruises. What happened?”

“Something seemed to catch at my ankles,” she said, bewildered, “and over I went.”

“Come to the dressing-room and sit down,” said Annie Duncan. “I’ve got a flask of tea. Ailsa, tell the rest we’ll leave the rehearsals until the same time tomorrow.”

“Right,” said Ailsa, and Hamish saw her give a mock Gestapo salute behind Annie’s back.

Priscilla, ever efficient, had appeared to help Nancy along to the dressing-room. The rest of the women disappeared and Hamish was left alone.

He crawled up the stairs on his hands and knees, examining every inch. No sign of any string having been tied across the stab’s, nothing on the thin iron banister.

He went back down and stood to one side of the staircase and reached through. Yes, someone could have stood here easily and caught at Nancy’s ankles. The chorus had gone off to the right. But one of the women could easily have nipped round under the stage and waited for Nancy to come down. Another accident? Spite? Had Nancy broken a leg, she would have been out of the production. He felt a sudden fury against the inhabitants of Drim. And then he saw it, lying in a dark corner. It was one of those old–fashioned window-poles with a hook at the end for reaching the catch of windows high up in a church or a hall.

Now that, he thought, thrust through the banisters as Nancy came down, could have sent her flying. He longed for it to be an official case. He would even have gladly put up with Blair in order to get a forensic team to go over that pole for fingerprints.

Priscilla appeared behind him, making him jump. “You don’t think it was an accident, do you, Hamish?”

“Maybe. I think someone could have taken this pole and thrust it across the staircase just as Nancy came down. Who could it be?”

“Well, Nancy was alone on the stage apart from the pianist Let’s go back and ask Edie if she saw anything.”

Edie, when appealed to, looked startled. The women, she said, had sort of bunched together off the stage. Some had remained standing at the top at the right, watching Nancy, but she couldn’t be sure which ones. She herself had gone down to the large dressing-room shared by the chorus to put on some powder. Oh, and she had seen Jock Kennedy.

“And what was himself doing there?” asked Hamish.

“Annie had asked him to call in to help with the props. We haven’t any scenery yet, but she wanted to go over the lighting and stuff with him.”

“But he wasn’t anywhere in the hall,” exclaimed Priscilla. “I would have noticed!”

“There’s a door at the back which leads under the stage,” said Edie. “Anyone can come in that way.”

Anyone, thought Hamish bleakly, anyone in the whole of Drim, including Nancy’s husband. But it would have to be someone who had been there, who knew that Nancy would come down the stairs at exactly that time.

“What’s all this anyway?” demanded Edie, a trifle huffily. “It was just another accident.”

“Another one too many,” said Hamish grimly.

He surveyed Edie. Who, looking at her, could imagine her having an affair with a young man? Had Heather made up that list of names to throw him off the scent?

“Edie,” he began, “how close were you to Peter?”

Her face took on a guarded look. “We were friends,” she said cautiously. “He said I was the only one he could talk to.”

“And did you have an affair with him?”

Edie blushed painfully and her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” said Priscilla. “Everyone has affairs these days.” Hamish glared at her. Except you, he thought.

Edie nodded wordlessly. There was an awkward silence.

“I don’t want to upset you,” said Hamish gently, “but you must have known you weren’t the only one.”

“I thought I was,” said Edie piteously. “He let me think I was. “Don’t come to the cottage unless I ask you to, Edie,” he said, but then he stopped inviting me and I…I got all dressed up one night. I couldn’t believe he had gone off me, after all that he had said, after all we had done.” She choked and then regained some composure. “I should have knocked. Like the fool I was, I thought I would surprise him, I’d been into Strathbane that day to buy a bottle of champagne and I had it under my arm. I opened the door, it wasn’t locked, and went in. The ladder was there, up to the bedroom. I climbed up. And then I heard them. Betty Baxter and Peter. I couldn’t believe it. I went on up. Well, they were fortunately too busy to see me. I crawled back down the ladder and left as quietly as I could. I was so wretched I felt like killing myself. Betty Baxter! If it had been someone like her” – she jerked a thumb at Priscilla – “I could have borne it better.”

“But when I asked you about Peter, you were quite’…er…kindly about him,” said Hamish.

“When he left,” said Edie, “and the days passed and he did not return, I built up a dream about him. I put that awful night out of my head. I talked myself into thinking I was the only one. I remembered all the nice things he had said to me. It was easy with him not being here. It’s better to dream, it’s safer to dream.”

Hamish looked at her bleakly, thinking in that moment that he had been happier when he had only dreamed about Priscilla, for now that she was engaged to him, however unofficially, she seemed more remote than she had ever been.

“And was there anyone else that you know of?” asked Priscilla quietly.

“Not for sure, but jealousy makes the senses awfully sharp. I began to notice that Ailsa was beginning to look triumphant and that Betty’s eyes were often red with crying.”

“But how could Ailsa get a chance to have an affair?” asked Hamish. “Aren’t she and Jock together all day?”

“When Jock has his cronies in for a drink in the evening,” said Edie, “Ailsa often goes out to visit some of the women in the village. Alice MacQueen was her friend for a while, but that is finished. Oh, they still talk, but in a funny sort of cold way.”

“Did you ever confront Peter with the fact that you knew he had been sleeping with Betty Baxter?” asked Priscilla.

Edie shook her head. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to hear him admit it. What’s the point in all this? He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Hamish quickly. “Do you think he’s dead?”

“Dead?” Her surprise appeared totally genuine. “Why would Peter be dead?”

“Why not?” put in Priscilla. “Don’t you think with the way he’s been going on, that some irate husband might not have bumped him off and that’s why no one saw him leave?”