Hamish Macbeth 02; Death of a Cad

“And did she use it?” asked Hamish, sitting back on his heels.

“I don’t know. Ask her.”

“You’d better come along with us. She thinks we’re muggers pretending to be policemen.”

“What are you getting at?” said Chalmers.

“Mrs Forbes-Grant loved cakes,” said Hamish. “Everyone knew that. She was eating all she could in the kitchen this morning. Someone may have made a special batch of cakes, just for her, and put something like this roach powder in them. This powder contains, or did contain when the box was full, sodium fluoride. There were cake crumbs found in her room.”

“We’d better get a box and take everything,” said Chalmers heavily, “disinfectants, cleaners, the lot.”

Mrs Wellington persuaded Mrs Mackenzie to open her door. Mrs Mackenzie blinked at the packet of roach powder.

“I mind that American lady giving it to me,” she said. “I didnae like to disappoint her by saying we didn’t have any roaches. I just put it under the sink with the other stuff.”

“And you never used it?” asked Chalmers.

“No. I did not have any reason to.”

Carrying the box with the contents of the school-kitchen cupboards, Chalmers and Macbeth made their way back to their cars.

“That murderer must be laughing at us,” said Chalmers bitterly. “Not content with poisoning Vera Forbes- Grant, he, or she, put that grisly dummy up above the bed first.”

“Och, no, that was done for different reasons.”

“Who did it?”

“I should think that terrible pair, Jessica and Diana. It’s funny, when I first saw them I thought they were a typical couple of country girls. Now I think they’re silly and vicious. I’m sure they strung up that dummy.”

“Why? the woman had just seen her husband accused of murder.”

“Because Vera had an affair with Bartlett, and they’re still jealous of her. Because Vera probably milked the last little bit o’ drama out of our accusing her husband.”

“Or maybe you’ll find we were meant to discover it was them who played the dirty trick on her. That way, we might not suspect them of the murder.”

Priscilla Halburton-Smythe thought the night would never end. One by one they were called into the colonel’s study to make their statements, and each person seemed to be gone an hour. By the time it was Priscilla’s turn, she was too exhausted to think clearly. She felt she was living in a nightmare where she was doomed to sit in this study, making statements to the police over and over again. Hamish, still in evening dress, was sitting over by the window. He looked elegant and remote. She wished he were wearing his usual scruffy old clothes or worn uniform. He did not look like the Hamish she knew.

At last she was dismissed. Henry was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

“How did it go?” he asked sympathetically.

“As usual,” said Priscilla bitterly. “I’m an old hand at making statements.”

“Well, I’ve made mine, and dawn is breaking. Let’s go to bed.”

Priscilla looked at him warily. “Look, darling,” he said, “surely this is not the night to play the prude.”

“Henry, the last thing on my mind at this moment is sex. I don’t believe for a moment that Freddy shot Peter. I think the murderer is one of us – or the murderess. The only thing I’m taking to bed tonight is a hot-water bottle.”

“Very well,” he said coldly. “But it’s beginning to appear to me as if there’s every possibility of this rubbish going on after marriage. You may be lousy in bed for all I know. In a way, you’re asking me to buy the goods before I see them.”

Priscilla clutched hold of the banister. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said wearily. “But I am still going to my room alone and I am locking the door behind me.” She turned and went up the stairs.

“I suppose if that village bobby comes knocking, you’ll open your door, and your legs, soon enough,” he shouted after her.

Priscilla put her head down and ran up the remaining stairs. She collided with the solid bulk of Lady Helmsdale.

“What were you doing in my room?” cried Priscilla.

“I was looking for an aspirin,” said Lady Helms-dale.

Although Priscilla was tall, Lady Helmsdale seemed to loom over her in the darkness of the corridor.

Lady Helmsdale had pale eyes and they were fixed on Priscilla’s face in an unnerving stare.

Fear gripped Priscilla. She realized she had never really known Lady Helmsdale. In fact, what did she know of any of the guests, even Henry?

She gave a choked sob, pushed past Lady Helms-dale into her room, and slammed and locked the door.

But although she undressed, got into bed and clutched the hot-water bottle, she could not seem to get warm.

A timid knock at the door made her heart leap into her mouth.

“Who is it?” she called.

“It is I – Pruney.”

“Pruney, I’m exhausted. Is it very important?”

“Yes.”

Priscilla sighed. She climbed out of bed and opened the door.

Pruney stood blinking at her behind her enormous glasses.

“I’ve got to talk to someone,” she whispered.

“Come in,” said Priscilla. “I’m too cold to sleep anyway.” She left the door unlocked, hoping Pruney only intended to stay a couple of minutes.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and Pruney sat next to her, twisting a handkerchief in her nervous fingers.

“What is it?” asked Priscilla gently.

“He loved me.”

“Who?”

“Captain Bartlett. He loved me,” said Pruney, striking her bosom, which was covered by the embroidered yoke of her old–fashioned nightgown.

“Did he actually say so?” asked Priscilla.

“Not in so many words, but his actions… He was so kind to me at that party, and…and…later when I went upstairs, I saw him. He said he was going to talk to Vera. I said, “Won’t Freddy object to that?” He laughed and said, “Freddy won’t know. I just rap once on the door and walk quickly away. She knows that’s the signal to come to my room.” ”

“But didn’t that tell you that Peter was a philanderer?” said Priscilla awkwardly.

“No, no,” said Pruney eagerly. “He explained. He said, “You must think me an awful flirt, but those days are over. I just have to see her on a matter of business. I’m thinking of mending my ways and settling down.” And then he raised my hand to his lips and he kissed it,” said Pruney, holding her right hand against her cheek. “I looked into his eyes and saw a decent love and concern there, and knew I had been instrumental in making him decide to reform. I have had to listen to rubbish from Jessica and Diana, implying they both had affairs with him. It cannot be true. He wouldn’t look at them. And Vera! That gross, horrible woman. She has a husband…”

“Had,” said Priscilla. “Vera’s dead. Remember?”

“And good riddance,” said Pruney with sudden venom. “She was probably bumped off by one of the servants. She’s the sort of woman who has affairs with servants and milkmen and people of that class. Vera was a murderee.”

She clutched Priscilla’s arm in a powerful grip. “Peter loved me,” she cried. “You do believe me, don’t you? Someone has got to believe me.”

“Is everything all right, Miss Halburton-Smythe?” came a cool voice from the doorway.

Pruney gasped and jumped to her feet.

Hamish Macbeth stood on the threshold.