When he was a boy Kincaid’s mother would have called it “a fit of the sulks”—the description a little harsh considering Kit’s circumstances. But Kincaid was beginning to find the behavior a bit aggravating.
“—and I left the spare battery for the mobile at the Yard,” he continued to Gemma. “Why didn’t you leave a message? I’d have rung you back.”
“I didn’t want to talk to the bloody machine,” Gemma said, her voice rising in an uncharacteristic quaver.
“Gemma, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“Yes. No. Not really. It’s Hazel.”
“Is she ill? What’s happened?”
“There’s been a death, a shooting, early this morning.
I found the body. His name was Donald Brodie, and he and Hazel were lovers before she was married. She was thinking of leaving Tim—”
“Good God.” Kincaid dumped Sid unceremoniously from the kitchen chair and sank into it. “She was having an affair with this Brodie?”
“Not exactly. At least, not until— The thing is, I don’t know what happened last night, and now I can’t talk to her. The police have everyone else sequestered in the house with a constable until the investigative team gets here from Inverness.”
“And you?”
“They’ve let me stay in the barn conversion—that’s where Hazel and I were sleeping. But she left sometime in the night, and only came back after I’d found him—
Donald.” Gemma’s voice broke, and Kincaid waited while she made an effort to get it under control. “If I’d just talked to her before the police arrived, then—”
“Gemma, I’m sure you did all you could. Look, I’ll get the next train—or the next flight to Inverness—”
“What about the children?”
“I could get Wes to come, or take them to your parents—”
“No. Just wait. But could you see Tim Cavendish? Tell him what’s happened? I don’t mean about Hazel and Donald,” she amended quickly, “just that there’s been a death, so he’ll be prepared.”
“Gemma—surely you don’t think Hazel could have shot this bloke?”
“No,” she said sharply. “Of course not. But—if there’s some connection—what if Hazel is in danger, too?”
Chapter Nine
So you are happed and gone, and there you’re lying, Far from the glen, deep down the slope of seas, Out of the stormy night, the grey sleet flying, And never again for you the Hebrides!
We need not keep the peat and cruise glowing, The goodwife may put by her ale and bread, For you, who kept the crack so blithely going, Now sleep at last, silent and comforted.
neil munro, “The Story Teller” (written on the death of Robert Louis Stevenson) From the Diary of Helen Brodie, Benvulin,
December
This morning’s post brought the news of the death of Charles Urquhart at Carnmore from a virulent fever, contracted on his return from Edinburgh a fortnight ago. Poor Charles! His constitution was never strong, as I recall, and he was caught out in the blizzard that has isolated us here at Benvulin. My heart aches for his poor wife and son. What a loss, a needless loss, of a man in his prime.
I remember Charles as a serious lad, one who
preferred to sit in the corner at dances and talk about books. And yet there was a spark of humor about him, and a kindness in the eyes. For a time, I had thought . . . but that was before he met Olivia Grant. From then he had no thought for anyone else, and rumor had it that Livvy’s father encouraged him, seeking a stable and well- connected marriage for his daughter.
How will Livvy Urquhart manage now, I wonder, with sole responsibility for the distillery? We must do something for her, and hope that Charles showed more wisdom in the matter of Pattison’s than my dear brother.
That brings me to the day’s other ill tidings. Not that it was unexpected, of course, but it still came as a shock to see it written in the Edinburgh newspaper. Pattison’s, the Edinburgh firm of blenders, has indeed failed, due at least in part to the profli-gate spending of the Pattison Brothers.
What this will mean for Benvulin I dare not think.
Rab, like our father before him, has always been inclined to invest recklessly (although, unlike Father, Rab’s weakness is the distillery itself, rather than the house) and he has committed to several
“joint adventures” in which he has sold whisky to Pattison’s without payment, in expectation of a price rise; a price rise that will now never occur.
I assure myself that we shall weather this crisis, as we have others, but I cannot help but wish that my brother had not spent his wife’s funds quite so readily. Margaret, the belle of Grantown society little more than a decade ago, has become fat and indolent in the security of her marriage. She has no
knowledge of the business and no interest in anything other than the vagaries of fashion or the latest gossip.
Nor does she give proper attention to the children, who have become wayward from lack of dis- cipline or schedule. Rab plays only the occasional game of cricket with little Robert, and of poor wee Meg he takes no notice at all.
How different might things have been if he had followed his heart rather than his pocketbook? A woman who challenged his intellect and his character might have made a different man of him, and perhaps a different father as well.
The snow grows heavier as I write, and I can no longer see the river from my window. Benvulin will soon be cut off again in its own little world, a state I used to anticipate with pleasure as a child, but have come to loathe. Only early December, and already a second fierce storm afflicts us. I fear this is a harbinger of a bad winter.
The knock came just as Gemma was ending her call to Kincaid. Opening the door, Gemma found Constable Mackenzie hovering on her doorstep, her hand raised to knock again.
“Ma’am—”
“Has the investigating team arrived?” Gemma asked.
Among the police cars parked half on the lawn, leaving a clear path for the scene-of-crime and mortuary vans, she saw two new unmarked cars. Poor Louise, she thought with a pang of sympathy as she noticed the tire tracks in the soft turf.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mackenzie answered. “It’s Chief Inspector Ross, from headquarters in Inverness.”
“He’ll be wanting to talk to me, then. I’ll just—”
“Ma’am.” Mackenzie colored slightly. “The chief inspector’s asked that I escort you to join the other guests.”
