M.C. Beaton - Death of a Glutton

∨ Death of a Glutton ∧

4

Into the jaws of death,

Into the mouth of hell

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The landscape had lost its clear sharp colours when the party assembled outside the bus in the morning. They were due to go on a visit to a fish-farm, returning to the hotel for lunch and then a leisurely afternoon playing tennis or croquet in the grounds.

Crystal arrived at the bus despite the early hour. She was wearing a brief sun-suit which left little of her stupendous figure to the imagination. “Auntie’s not coming,” she volunteered. “She’s gone. She’s left a note to say she’s walked down to get the early-morning bus.”

The women looked relieved. “Thank God,” muttered Maria.

Priscilla watched them all drive off, wondering uneasily whether Peta had had second thoughts about Sean’s behaviour. She was joined by the hotel manager, Mr Johnson. “Good riddance,” he said.

“Mrs Gore’s up and gone,” said Priscilla.

“Oh, dear. I’d better tell Sean not to bother preparing lunch for her. I don’t like that fat woman, but she’s worked wonders on Sean. He does everything without complaint. I was even beginning to think she was an asset. Why don’t you take some time off now that she’s left? Your father’s not here to pester us.”

“What about lunch?”

“The waitresses are all on duty. I’m here.”

Priscilla hesitated. Then she said, “I might take a packed lunch and go off somewhere.”

Helped by Sean, who was almost servile, Priscilla packed a picnic hamper with enough for two, hoisted it into the Range Rover and drove down to the police station. Hamish was sitting in his front garden in a deckchair, reading the newspapers.

“I’m glad to see you’ve got the crime wave of Lochdubh subdued,” said Priscilla. “If Detective Chief Inspector Blair could see you now!”

“Well, thon pest’s safely in Spain. What brings you? Everything all right up at the castle?”

“Very much all right. Peta’s gone. She left a note to say she was walking down to get the early-morning bus.”

Hamish slowly put down his newspaper. “That’s odd,” he said.

“What’s odd? I mean, what can be so specially odd in the behaviour of a woman whose whole lifestyle is odd?”

“Well, she probably had heavy luggage…”

“Why? She didn’t dress very well. A few baggy cotton dresses, things like that.”

“A glutton like her would have stashed away some goodies in her luggage, probably had whole hams and sides of beef in there.”

“Well, if she had, she’d have eaten them by now. What are you getting at?”

“For a fat woman like that with plenty of money to get up early and carry her suitcase down to the road to wait for the bus is verra strange. Also, if she was fed up, it would have been more in her nature to tell everyone off before she went. Then she would surely have said something to her niece.”

“You’ve been too long without a crime,” said Priscilla with a laugh. “She’s gone and that’s that. Would you like to come on a picnic with me, just somewhere up on the moors where we can get a bit of fresh air?”

“Love to. I’ll just switch on the answering machine. And I’d best put my uniform in the car.”

“You’re expecting trouble!”

“Just in case. I would hate to run into trouble and then the police from headquarters would come rushing up to find me without my uniform on.”

“It’s this weather,” said Priscilla. “It would give anyone odd ideas. It’s so still and close; it feels threatening.”

♦

When she returned to the hotel with the others, Maria went straight up to Peta’s room. There on the dressing-table was the note, typewritten and unsigned. It said: “Gone off to get the early-morning bus. Fed up with this place.”

Maria frowned down at it. Had something happened to irritate Peta? She opened the wardrobe and then the drawers. All her clothes were gone. She went into the bathroom. The first thing she saw was Peta’s sponge-bag. It was a drawstring one and it was dangling by its strings from one of the taps. She unhitched it and opened it up. It contained deodorant, toothpaste, hairpins, and an expensive bar of soap. But Peta’s toothbrush was not there. She must have at least taken that. Puzzled and yet relieved at the same time, Maria carried it off with her. She could return it to Peta in London.

Jenny Trask sat on a deck-chair on the castle lawn. Things had settled down now that Peta was no longer with them. Mary French was teaching Matthew Cowper to play croquet, her high autocratic voice carrying to Jenny’s ears. From the direction of the tennis courts came the sound of jolly laughter. Deborah was playing tennis with Sir Bernard. Peter Trumpington and Jessica Fitt were walking slowly together along by the flowerbeds. Jenny felt a little stab of irritation. Peter certainly seemed a shallow young man without much in the way of intelligent conversation, but he was handsome and rich and it was strange he appeared to feel so at home with the faded Jessica. Although she had little in the way of self-esteem, she did know that she was by far the best-looking female there, that is if one did not count Crystal, who was lying stretched out on the grass a little way away in a bikini of quite amazing brevity.

A shadow fell over Jenny and she looked up. John Taylor stood there, politely raising his hat. “Mind if I join you?”

“Delighted,” said Jenny politely.

He drew a deck-chair up next to hers and sat down. “Isn’t it odd, Peta taking off the way she did,” said Jenny.

Unconsciously echoing Priscilla, John said, “Everything about her was odd.”

“Maybe, but she was very vain…goodness, I’m talking about the woman as if she were dead. I mean, she seemed to take delight in riling and competing with Maria. I can’t imagine her walking off without blaming someone first.”

“Perhaps this is her way of complaining,” said John lazily. “Maria’s looking worried, and that’s probably the effect Peta meant to create.”

“But to leave without breakfast! Oh, well. At least this visit has got me thinking about a career.”

“In what way?” asked John. “I thought the purpose of your coming here was matrimony.”

“It was. I’m grateful to Peta in a way because she has made the whole business of this dating or marital agency distasteful. I’m thinking of taking my law exams.”

John looked at her in sudden dislike. “And no doubt you will end up a judge. And do you know why?”

“No.”

“Because tokenism is slowly going to destroy the legal system of this country. Someone like you will be made a judge, not because of talent or brilliance or capability but simply because you are a woman. First it was the ethnic minorities, now it’s bloody women.”

“I have not even started to study,” said Jenny in a thin voice, “and yet you are prejudging my ability. Hardly a proper legal outlook.”

“Tcha!” said John and got up and walked angrily away.

Nasty man, thought Jenny, watching him go. Who is he to be so high and mighty? He was smarming around Peta at the theatre.

After a time, she rose and walked into the castle. Mr Johnson and Sean were standing by the reception. Sean was complaining that ‘the fat wumman’ had most certainly had breakfast; in fact, as far as he could tell, she had walked off with one of the castle picnic hampers and various goodies from the kitchen. Mr Johnson pointed out that Priscilla had packed and taken a picnic hamper, but Sean said he knew about that. She was probably off romancing that layabout of a policeman, he said.

Jenny walked on up to her room. So there was something between Priscilla and Hamish. And yet they must have known each other for some time and were not engaged.