wife called on Priscilla with details of a house for sale and Priscilla told her that you appeared to have no interest in settling down.”
Although Hamish was used to the Highland bush telegraph, he was always amazed at its speed. Harry Baxter, he thought, Harry would tell the other fishermen in Lochdubh and the word would speed up to Tommel Castle Hotel.
“If we could put my personal life on one side,” said Hamish. He explained his reasons for staying in Drim, his reasons for suspecting both the absence of Peter Hynd and the death of Betty Baxter. He ended up with his request to get the papers from the lawyers in Inverness.
The superintendent leaned back in his chair and surveyed the tall, gangling sergeant. He had tolerated his wife’s social ambitions while privately thinking Priscilla much too good for Macbeth. Hamish had proved a clever if unorthodox policeman in the past, but Mr. Daviot thought he was hellbent on this wild-goose chase in order to stay away from Priscilla. What man in his right mind with a gorgeous fiancee like Priscilla Halburton-Smythe would choose to spend his holidays in a place like Drim? It showed a dangerous instability. Mr. Daviot preferred the plodding, obsequious type of policeman, which was why Blair, despite all his gaffes, had never been reduced to the ranks. Also, Mr. Daviot was a proud member of the Freemasons, as was Blair, and he remembered that Hamish had refused an invitation to join. “I cannot control what you choose to do on your holidays, Macbeth,” he said, “except to point out to you that you will get no help from me in this non-case. Peter Hynd, wherever he is, has sold his house and signed the papers. Betty Baxter had an unfortunate accident. That is that. I would like to suggest to you that you return to Lochdubh and pay more attention to Priscilla, but your private life is no concern of mine.”
“Exactly,” put in Hamish, turning red with annoyance.
“Do not waste valuable police time again, Macbeth. You may go.”
Hamish left the room, walking as stiffly as an outraged cat. As he drove out of Strathbane, he felt miserable and guilty about Priscilla. And yet he had no reason to feel guilty. She had brought it on herself.
But instead of turning off on the road that led to Drim, he went on to Lochdubh. As he drove along the waterfront he could feel curious eyes following his progress. “There goes the mad and fickle Hamish Macbeth, who prefers to spend his holidays in a place like Drim,” they seemed to be saying. There was a new receptionist at the Tommel Castle Hotel, a plain, middle-aged woman. “Where’s Sophy?” he asked.
“If you mean Miss Bisset, she just walked out. I was working over at Cnothan and Mr. Johnston offered me the job if I could come immediately, so I did.”
“Where is Miss Halburton-Smythe?”
“In the gift shop.”
Hamish walked over to the gift shop. Priscilla was kneeling? on the floor, unpacking a box of china. She looked up and saw him and her face hardened. “How are the sunny shores of Drim?” she asked. “You wouldn’t come on holiday with me,” said Hamish.
“I chust have to make my own amusement and that’s trying to find out what happened to Peter Hynd.” She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. “While making a fool of me in the process?”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone in the village now knows that the oh-so loving Hamish prefers to spend his holidays in a village a mere stone’s throw away rather than be near me.”
“And did you tell all these nosy folk you preferred to work rather than spend any time with me? Don’t blame me for your fear o’ intimacy, Priscilla.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Then come to bed wi’ me…now.”
“I happen to be very busy.”
“Spoken like a woman in love. Och, this is hopeless…absolutely hopeless.” Hamish stormed out. He hurt so badly, he wondered bleakly if he was going to have ulcers.
All he had left in life was this mad case. And he would solve it even if it meant taking the whole village of Drim apart!
He stopped off at the police station to get extra clothes and I make sure he really had switched everything off. The new cooker gleamed in the dark corner. He gave it a savage kick. And then the bell at the front door sounded. He had an impulse to let it go on ringing. After all, there was that notice on the door telling people that all inquiries were being handled from Cnothan. But curiosity beat sloth and he went and opened the door.
Mrs. Hendry, the schoolteacher’s wife, stood there, her face blotched with tears.
“I saw the police car,” she said in a choked voice. “I’ve got to speak to you, Mr. Macbeth.”
? Death of a Charming Man ?
8
Good Lord, what is man! for as simple he looks,
Do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks,
With his depthsand his shallows, his good and his evil,
All in all, he’s a problem must puzzle the devil.
—Robert Burns
“Come in,” said Hamish. “Come ben to the kitchen. It’s not formal as the police office.”
He put an arm about her shaking shoulders and led her through.
She sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. “I can’t go on,” she said. “I’m so weary.”
“He’s been beating you, hasn’t he?” asked Hamish.
She nodded dumbly.
“And what about the children? How many have you got?”
“Two. Ann and Paul. Ann is twelve and Paul thirteen. I had them late. I had given up hope of haying any children. He doesn’t touch them…yet. But he runs the house like a military academy. They have very little freedom. Paul’s starting to get into trouble, playing truant, mixing with a crowd of rough boys.”
“Does your husband drink?”
“That’s the trouble. Lately it’s been getting worse. Dr. Jekyll turns into Mr. Hyde.”
“Has he tried Alcoholics Anonymous?”
“I called him an alcoholic last night and this is what he did.” She raised her sweater. There were red weals and bruises on her body.
“So you want to register an official complaint?” She shook her head and began to cry again, so Hamish rose and put on the kettle and busied himself making tea until she was under control again.
“I can’t,” she said. “The next thing the social services would be round to take the children away.”
Hamish looked at her bleakly. Ever since the famous Orkney case, where the social services and police had raided homes on the island at dawn and taken the children away to the mainland, mothers were terrified of having anything to do with them.
“So what can I do?” he asked.
“Perhaps you could have a word with him?”
“Perhaps I could. But the word I’ll be having with him is not for the record books. I’ll go back with you and wait for him. Keep the children away for an hour.”
“You’ll not hurt him?”
Hamish looked at her in grim amusement. “Only his ego,” he said untruthfully. “You chust leave it to me.”
He followed her car to Strathbane. She parked outside a trim bungalow. He waited, hearing her calling to the children.
Then she reappeared and put the children in the car and drove off.
He waited a few moments and went up and rang the bell. Mr. Hendry answered the door. Hamish immediately smelled whisky. The schoolteacher blinked up at Hamish and said, “Oh, it’s you. Come about the house?”
