Hamish rang the brass bell set into the wall beside the door. When he found himself looking down at Mrs. Anderson when she opened the door, he was surprised. He realized he had seen her about the village, had exchanged a few words with her in the general store, knew she was Mrs. Anderson. But he had forgotten, and had conjured up a picture of a grim matron.
Mrs. Anderson was small and neat with permed hair and a rosy face. She looked startled at the sight of Hamish. “Nothing wrong?” she cried.
“Just a friendly call,” said Hamish.
“Come in. My husband’s in the sitting room.”
They followed her into the sitting room which was large and dark, high-ceilinged, full of heavy furniture and impeccably clean.
“Josiah,” said Mrs. Anderson, “here’s our policeman and Miss Pease, Morag’s schoolteacher.”
He rose to greet them. He was wearing a charcoal grey three–piece suit with a white shirt and striped tie. His black shoes were highly polished. He had thinning grey hair, thick lips, small watchful eyes and tufts of hair sprouting from the nostrils of a large nose.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Just a friendly call,” said Hamish again.
“Sit down, sit down, Officer. Mary, get tea.”
“It’s all right,” said Hamish. “We won’t be long. We’re on our way for lunch.”
They all sat down. Hamish looked at Maisie as a signal for her to begin.
“Christmas is very important for little children,” said Maisie.
“That is because each year they are brain-washed into a state of greed,” said Mr. Anderson.
“I don’t think that’s true,” said Hamish. “There’s an innocent magic about it. I hope Morag isn’t going to be left out.”
Mrs. Anderson opened her mouth to say something, but Mr. Anderson held up his hand. “Our Morag is a sensible girl. She knows such things as Santa Claus and presents are pagan flummery.”
“It’s a bit of a burden to put on a wee girl,” protested Hamish. “All her friends at school will be excited about it.”
“I see you will need to talk to Morag herself. Get her, Mary.”
Mrs. Anderson went out to the foot of the stairs and called, “Morag, come down here a minute.”
They waited until Morag came into the room. She looked at Hamish and her face turned white and her eyes dilated.
“Now, then, Morag,” said her mother quickly, “there’s nothing to be afraid of. Constable Macbeth and Miss Pease have called because they are worried you might be feeling left out of the Christmas celebrations.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Morag faintly.
In the rest of the modern world, when people didn’t understand what you were saying, they said “What?” or “Excuse me?” But in the Highlands, they still used the old–fashioned “I beg your pardon?”
“They’re worried that you might feel different from the other children because we don’t have anything to do with Christmas.”
Morag stood there and slowly color returned to her face. “Oh, no,” she said softly. “I don’t bother about it.”
“Are you sure?” asked Maisie.
“Oh, yes.”
“There you are,” said Mr. Anderson. “You’re a good girl, Morag. You can go to your room.” He turned to Maisie. “You may think we’re a bit hard about Christmas but we have our religion and we live by it. Morag gets plenty of presents on her birthday.”
Maisie looked helplessly at Hamish. He indicated to her that they should leave. But as Mrs. Anderson was showing them out, he turned and looked down at her. “Did you never think it might not be a good idea to let Morag make up her own mind about what she wants to believe in when she’s older?”
“No, children need to be guided young. As you can see, she is not troubled at all. She has everything a little girl could desire. She has her own room and bathroom and a little sitting room at the top of the house where she can entertain her friends.”
“Does she bring friends home?”
A shadow crossed Mrs. Anderson’s face. “Not yet, but she will when she is older. She is a very happy, self- sufficient girl. She does all the housekeeping for her part of the house herself. She volunteered. And she even asked if she could cook some meals for herself.”
They thanked her and left. As they drove towards the Tommel Castle Hotel, Hamish said, “That was one very frightened little girl.”
“People are always frightened by the sight of a policeman.”
“Not of me. She saw me in the classroom and I was with you. I thought for a minute she was going to faint.”
“I tell you what it could be. Mr. Patel? He sometimes catches little kids stealing sweets from his store. He doesn’t call you, he calls me. I see the parents and the matter’s settled. Maybe Morag took something and thought the forces of law and order had descended on her. I mean, imagine her parents’ reaction if they found their precious child was a thief.”
“Could be. There’s such a thing as a child being
“No, she’s bright and she likes learning. She has a terrific imagination. She writes very colorful essays.”
“I’d like to see some of them.”
“You’re worrying too much, Hamish. How did you ever get time to catch all those murderers I’ve heard you arrested if you fret so much over a wee schoolgirl?”
“I’m curious,” was all Hamish would say.
¦
When they entered the dining room of the hotel, the maitre d‘, Mr. Jenkins, who had once been butler to the Halburton-Smythes, ushered them to a table. “You’re to have the cock a leekie soup, followed by the venison,” he said. He flicked a napkin open and spread it on Maisie’s lap and departed.
“How odd,” said Maisie. “Don’t they give you a menu here?”
“It must be a set meal for lunch.”
Maisie glanced around. Some diners were holding large leather-bound menus. She decided not to comment on it. Perhaps the maitre d‘ knew that Hamish liked the set menu.
“Would you like some wine?” asked Hamish.
“That would be nice. Can you drink and drive?”
“Not really and I shouldn’t be driving you around in the police vehicle, either. But I’ll get us a couple of glasses. Excuse me a minute.”
Hamish went through to the hotel office and said to Mr. Johnston, “It’s kind of you to give me lunch. I want to order wine but that snobby scunner Jenkins’ll make a fuss.”
Mr. Johnson laughed. “You don’t want your date to know you aren’t paying for it. Okay, I’ll bring you something.”
Hamish returned and sat down. Soon Mr. Johnston arrived, bearing a bottle of claret which he deftly opened. Hamish introduced him to Maisie. “We keep a special claret just for Hamish,” said Mr. Johnston.
“I hope you’re not going to live on baked beans for a month after paying for this,” said Maisie.
“Och, no. I’ve got a bit saved up.” Hamish thought about his bank account, which was sinking rapidly into the red after his Christmas shopping. Maisie was just gathering courage after they had finished their soup to invite Hamish out for a meal, when he said suddenly, “Are you doing anything on Christmas day? I mean, are you going to be with your family?”
“No, my parents are dead and my sister’s in Australia. I was going to cook a small turkey and toast myself. Would you like to join me?”
“If you’ll join me in something first.” He told her about the old folks home in Inverness and ended by saying, “I thought of dropping down there on Christmas day to hear the concert.”
“Of course I’ll come,” said Maisie delightedly, “and then when we get back you can join me for Christmas
