Milly began to cry, tears running down her face. A chair was found for her. Ailsa rushed off to the kitchen at the back and returned with a mug of tea into which she had put a generous slug of whisky. “Put that down ye,” she ordered.
When Milly had recovered, she said, “You are all so kind, but as to the cleaning, I am sure Philomena will not allow it.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Ailsa. “Everything fixed up wi’ the lawyer?”
“Oh, yes.”
“That would be Byles and Cox in Strathbane?”
“Oh, no, Tarry and Wilkins in Inverness.”
More women came into the shop, crowding around Milly and offering support. Ailsa nipped quietly into the back shop and phoned Philomena. “This is Tarry and Wilkins, solicitors,” she said in a prim voice. “Mr. Tarry has a letter left for you by Mr. Henry Davenport with instructions it was to be handed to you personally on his death.”
“Is it another will?” asked Philomena hopefully.
“That we don’t know, Miss Davenport. Only you can open the letter.”
“I’m setting off right away,” said Philomena.
Hamish returned with Milly to her home, followed by six women carrying dusters, mops, and brushes. Milly was terrified. She felt sure that Philomena would order them all away.
But her car was not there, and there was a note left for her on the kitchen table.
“Dear Milly,” she read. “Called away on urgent business. Back this evening.”
Hamish was amused. He was sure Ailsa had something to do with it.
“Mrs. Davenport,” he said, “I will call on you tomorrow. Do try to find me a list of your husband’s friends.”
“I promise,” said Milly, and Hamish left behind him a cheery clatter of gossiping women.
When Hamish got back to the police station, he walked into his office and immediately sensed that everything had been searched.
Tolly came in and stood waiting. “Who are you spying for?” demanded Hamish. “Blair?”
“I would not stoop to do anything so low,” protested Tolly. “I am a Christian and I always do my duty.”
“Then you can start now. Get yourself over to Drim and stand guard on that house all night. I’ll relieve you in the morning.”
“I haven’t had any sleep, sir!”
“Get to it or I’ll put in a report on you. Do you think I don’t know when my papers have been searched? Go to it!”
Philomena arrived back from Inverness in a rage after having been firmly told that there was no letter for her, nor had they phoned. Milly was seated in the drawing room, watching television. She cringed when Philomena shouted, “What’s been going on here?”
The once dingy room smelled fresh and clean. Several pieces of the Swedish-type furniture had been removed and replaced with shabby but comfortable chairs the ladies of Drim had found in the attics. Milly switched off the television and said, “The local ladies came to help me clear the house. I never liked that modern furniture, and it never suited this room.”
“It was my poor brother’s choice. Get it back.”
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” said Philomena grimly. She opened the door and glared down at Tolly, who gave her an ingratiating smile. “I’m here to guard the house,” he said. “I wondered if I could be having a chair to sit on and maybe a cup of tea.”
“No,” said Philomena, and slammed the door in his face.
When she returned to the drawing room, Milly was just replacing the phone receiver. “Who was at the door?” she asked.
“Just some policeman. He says he’s here to guard the house. Who were you phoning?”
“Really, you go too far,” said Milly. The doorbell rang again. Milly darted past her sister-in-law. “That will be for me.”
It was Ailsa. “Everything all right?”
“Sort of,” said Milly.
“Don’t let her bully you. See you tomorrow.”
“Who was that?” demanded Philomena.
“Just a friend,” said Milly.
“Now, listen to me,” said Philomena, looming over her. “My brother believed in people knowing their place. He would turn in his grave if he thought you were consorting with the villagers.”
Milly sighed. “He’s not in his grave yet.” And with a sudden spurt of courage, “If you go on nagging like that, Philomena, someone will murder
Philomena slowly backed away. “I’m going to my room,” she said. She felt suddenly nervous. What did she really know of Milly?
Tolly had retreated to his police car and started the engine and heater running. When he felt warm again, he switched the engine off. He had hidden the police car a little way down the hill where he could still get a good view of the house. His eyes began to droop. The night was very still. Then he thought he saw a black shadow approaching the house. He straightened up and slowly got out of the police car without slamming the door behind him.
Taking his baton, he crept towards the house, his heart beating hard. He knew all of a sudden that he had been neglecting his duty by sitting in his car some yards away from the entrance.
He scurried up the short drive, looking to left and right. Tolly decided to call for backup. He wanted to stay alive to collect his pension in four years’ time. He took out his mobile phone. Then from behind him, the police radio in the car—which he had forgotten to switch off—crackled into life reporting a burglary down at the docks in Strathbane. “I need backup,” he yelled into his phone. “Intruder at Drim!”
Something heavy struck him on the back of the head and he fell unconscious.
Lights went on in the house. Milly had heard Tolly’s call; it had awakened her from an uneasy sleep. Philomena joined her on the landing. “Call the police,” she whispered.
“Haven’t you got a mobile?” asked Milly.
“It’s downstairs in my handbag.”
“Mine, too, and the phone’s in the hall. What are we going to do?”
Hanging on to each other, they crept down the stairs. Milly grabbed the phone in the hall and called the police.
Hamish Macbeth was awakened by the shrill sound of the telephone. He struggled out of bed, ran to the office, and listened in alarm when he was told there was something bad happening at the Davenport house in Drim.
When he got there, the small figure of Tolly was being carried into an ambulance. Police Inspector Mary Benson was in charge of operations. She was a matronly looking woman whose grey hair and rosy cheeks belied a ruthless efficiency.
“What on earth happened to the wee man?” asked Hamish.
“Someone bashed him on the head,” said Mary. “He was just shouting something into his phone about an intruder when it happened.”
“Is he bad?”
“Looks bad. We can only hope for the best. You should have done the job yourself, Macbeth. His police radio was blaring away, enough to alert anybody that the house was watched.”
“Whose fault is it that I was sent a dangerously inept policeman, ma’am?”
“Don’t get cheeky with me. Join the search.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Hamish gloomily.
“We’d best get these women off to a safe house for a bit.”
Hamish went up the drive and round to the kitchen door, shining his torch on the ground, searching for
