by M C Beaton
‘No more trouble, I hope,’ added Hamish as Priscilla returned with a foaming glass. ‘I hope it is not the crime that brings you here.’
‘No, I thought you might like some birds for the pot.’ Priscilla leaned back and crossed her legs, tightening the material along her thighs by the movement. Hamish half closed his eyes.
‘Actually, I’m escaping,’ said Priscilla. ‘Daddy’s brought the most awful twit up from London. He wants me to marry him.’
‘And will you?’
‘No, you silly constable. Didn’t I just say he was a twit? I say, there’s a picture show on at the village hall tonight. Second showing, ten o’clock. Wouldn’t it be a shriek if we went to it?’
Hamish smiled. ‘My dear lassie, it is Bill Haley and his Comets in Rock Around the Clock, which was showing a wee bit before you were born, I’m thinking.’
‘Lovely. Let’s go after whoever you’re speaking to speaks.’
‘I cannot think Colonel Halburton-Smythe would like his daughter to go to the pictures with the local bobby.’
‘He won’t know.’
‘You have not been long in the Highlands. Give it a day, give it a week, everyone around here knows everything.’
‘But Daddy doesn’t speak to anyone in the village.’
‘Your housemaid, Maisie, is picture daft. She’ll be there. She’ll tell the other servants and that po-faced butler, Jenkins, will see it as his duty to inform the master.’
‘Do you care?’
‘Not much,’ grinned Hamish. ‘Oh, Rory, it is yourself.’
He listened intently. Priscilla watched Hamish’s face, noticing for the first time how cat-like his hazel eyes looked with their Celtic narrowness at the outer edges.
‘Thank you, Rory,’ said Hamish finally. ‘That is verra interesting. I am surprised that fact about her is not better known.’
The voice quacked again.
‘Thank you,’ said Hamish gloomily. ‘I may be in the way of having to report a wee murder to you in the next few days. No, it is chust my joke, Rory.’ Hamish’s accent became more sibilant and Highland when he was seriously upset.
He put down the phone and stared into space.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Priscilla curiously.
‘Gossip about a gossip,’ said Hamish, getting to his feet. ‘Wait and I’ll just lock up, Miss Halburton-Smythe, and we’ll be on our way. I’ll tell you about it one of these days.’
Day Four
Above all, when playing a big fish, stay calm.
– Peter Wheat,
The Observer’s Book of Fly Fishing
It was a very subdued party that met in the lounge in the morning. Heather Cartwright was visibly losing her usual phlegmatic calm. Her plump face was creased with worry, and her voice shook as she asked them to be seated.
Lady Jane was absent, but everyone seemed to jump a little when anyone entered the room. John Cartwright, in a weary voice, said he felt they had not all learnt the art of casting properly and so he would take them out to the lawn at the back to give a demonstration. His eyes turned to the major to make his usual remark, that those with experience could go ahead, but somehow he could not bring himself to say anything.
They stood about him, shivering in the chill, misty morning air as he demonstrated how to make the perfect cast. He warmed to his subject but his little audience fidgetted restlessly and moved from foot to foot.
Finally, their unease reached him, and he stopped his lecture with a little sigh. ‘Enough from me,’ he said. ‘We will go to the upper reaches of the river Anstey. I’ll leave word at the desk for Lady Jane. There is no point in disturbing her if she’s sleeping late.’
Like the day before, the warmth of the sun began to penetrate the mist. ‘Bad day for fishing,’ said the major knowledgeably, and Alice could only envy the quick way in which he had recovered from his humiliation.
‘I like the sunshine,’ she said, and then could not resist adding, ‘and I hope Lady Jane doesn’t turn up to spoil it.’
‘Got a feeling we won’t be seeing her,’ said the major cheerfully.
And then it was as if they all had the same feeling. Everyone’s spirits began to lift. John Cartwright smiled at his wife and pressed her hand as he drove up the twists and winds to the river. ‘I’ve a feeling we’ve been worrying too much about that woman,’ he murmured to Heather. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see to it she doesn’t plague us anymore.’
Alice gave a little sigh of relief. Obviously the Cartwrights were going to tell Lady Jane to leave. She grinned at Charlie, but Charlie was looking white and sick and turned his head away.
She shrugged. Again, the sunshine was bleaching away the worries of the night. She was prepared to accept that she did not stand a chance with Jeremy. Let him have Daphne. There was no use fighting it. She would enjoy the exercise and scenery as much as she could. Once more her thoughts returned to Mr Patterson-James. She was sure he would be impressed when she described her holiday.
But when she climbed out of the car and waited for Heather to hand her her rod, she could not help wishing Jeremy would join her as he had done on the other days.
But John Cartwright, with the continued absence of Lady Jane, was once more on form. He was determined his little class should get the proper schooling. He said he was going to give them a demonstration of how to catch a salmon. When they all had their gear on he led the way up a twisting path beside the river at a smart trot. Alice felt the sweat beginning to trickle down her face as she stumbled along after him. Below them, at the bottom of the steep bank, the river Anstey foamed and frothed. At times, delicate strands of silver birch and alder and hazel screened the river from their view, and then, around another turn it would appear again, tumbling headlong on its way to the sea. To the right, the tangled forest climbed up the mountainside.
Marvin Roth put an arm around his wife’s shoulders to help her. ‘Didn’t mean to take you on a survival course,’ he said. Amy shook his arm away and strode ahead of him up the path with long, athletic strides. Marvin hesitated, took off his cap, and passed a hand over the dome of his bald head. Then he replaced his cap and plunged after her.
‘What’s up with you this morning, Miss Alice?’ came Jeremy’s voice behind Alice. ‘Don’t I get a smile?’
Remember, it’s no use, Alice chided herself fiercely. Aloud she said, ‘I haven’t any energy to do anything other than try to keep up. It’s so hot. I didn’t think the Scottish Highlands would be so hot.’
‘It’s like this sometimes,’ said Jeremy, falling into step beside her. He was wearing a blue cotton shirt open at the neck, as blue as the sky above. He smelled of clean linen, aftershave, and masculine sweat. The heavy gold band of his wrist watch lay against the brand-new tan of his arm. Alice’s good resolutions began to fade.
‘What did you think about our major’s little trick?’ Jeremy went on. ‘Not quite the manner of the officer or the gentleman, as our Lady Jane would point out.’
‘I think it was understandable,’ said Alice. ‘It must have been a terrible temptation to lie. Only think the way people go on about cars and horses and . . . boats. It’s surely more in the nature of a gentleman to lie when it comes to sports.’
She gave Jeremy a rather hard-eyed stare. Alice’s better nature was trying to drive him away, but Jeremy only felt she had gone off him and was a little piqued.
‘Didn’t you lie yourself?’ he jeered. ‘Our gossip accused you of lying about the fish you were supposed to have caught.’
Easy tears rushed to Alice’s eyes. ‘I think you’re horrid. How can you accuse me of such a thing?’
‘Hey, steady on!’ Jeremy caught her arm. ‘There’s no need to fly off the handle like that.’
‘I don’t know what’s up with me,’ said Alice, scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I think it’s that Jane female. She’s always hinting things in a spiteful sort of way.’
‘You know,’ said Jeremy, taking Alice�
�s hand in a warm clasp. ‘I don’t think we’ll ever see her again. I feel she’s taken the hint and left. No one can be that thick-skinned – it surely got through to her that not one of us can stand her.’
He gave her hand a squeeze. Alice’s mercurial spirits soared, and her resolution to forget about Jeremy whirled up to the summer sky and disappeared. After they had been climbing about a mile, and Amy Roth was loudly and clearly threatening to call it a day and turn back, John finally came to a stop. ‘Down here to the Keeper’s Pool,’ he called, ‘and be very quiet.’ The tangled undergrowth gave way at their side of the pool where a ledge of flat rocks hung over the water. The pool swirled and boiled like a witch’s cauldron.
It was a joy to watch John casting. He did a roll cast across the pool, landing the fly delicately on the surface. All at once, fishing fever gripped John and he forgot about his class. Suddenly, with a flash of silver scales, a salmon leapt high in the air. Alice clapped her hands in excitement, and everyone said, ‘Shhhhh.’
Now the whole class was as intense as their teacher. Then, just as John was casting, Charlie slipped and nearly fell into the pool. Heather shouted, ‘Look out!’ and caught his arm. John turned to make sure the boy was safe, leaving his line tumbling and turning in the water.
He turned back once he had assured himself that Charlie was all right. He flicked at his line and his rod began to bend. ‘You’ve got one,’ breathed the major.
‘I don’t know . . . I think it’s a rock,’ muttered John. He moved to another angle and tried to reel in his line. He had something heavy on the end of it, something that was twisting and turning.
His heart began to beat hard. Of course, if it wasn’t a rock, it could be a sunken branch, twisting and turning in the churning of the water. He moved back round to where the group was standing on the beach of rocks. Underneath the rock shelf the water was clear and still, a little island of calm just outside the churning of the pool.
He reeled in again, feeling his excitement fade as whatever it was that he had hooked moved from the turbulent water into the still shallows. A log, he thought.
And then Daphne Gore, the usually cool and unflappable Daphne, began to scream and scream, harsh, terror-stricken screams tearing apart the sylvan picture of pretty woods, singing birds, and tumbling water.
Alice stared down into the golden water directly below her feet as she stood on the ledge. And Lady Jane stared back.
Slowly rising to the surface came the bloated, distorted features of Lady Jane Winters. Her tongue was sticking out, and her blue eyes bulged and glared straight up into the ring of faces.
‘She must have hit her head and fallen in,’ whispered Alice, clinging to Jeremy.
John waded into the water, heaved the body up, and then let it fall with a splash. He turned a chalk-white face up to Heather. ‘Get Macbeth,’ he said. ‘Get the police.’
‘But didn’t she just fall?’ asked Heather, as white as her husband.
John prodded at Lady Jane’s fat neck. ‘There’s a leader round her neck. She’s been strangled. And look.’ He pointed to Lady Jane’s legs.
‘Oh, God,’ said Alice, ‘there’s chains wrapped round them.’
‘She could have done it herself,’ said Amy Roth through white lips. ‘Marvin. Help me. I feel sick.’
‘Get the police, dammit,’ shouted John. ‘And get that child out of here. The rest, stay where you are.’
‘If it’s murder, we’d better all stay,’ said Marvin, holding Amy tightly against him.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Heather. ‘It took someone powerful to overcome a woman like Lady Jane and strangle her with a leader. Come along, Charlie. I’ll take you to your aunt’s and then I’ll bring Constable Macbeth.’
‘Take me to your leader,’ said Daphne and began to giggle.
‘Can’t anyone stop her?’ pleaded Amy.
‘Pull yourself together, Daphne,’ snapped John Cartwright.
‘Steady the buffs,’ urged the major.
Daphne sat down abruptly, pulled out a gold cigarette case, and extracted a cigarette with hands that trembled so much the cigarettes spilled out on the rock. Jeremy stooped to help her. Their eyes met and held in a long stare.
‘Go up the hill and wait at the top,’ commanded John. ‘I’ll stay with the body.’
Alice, Jeremy, Daphne, the major, and Marvin and Amy Roth made their way up the path. They moved, bunched together, along the upper path until it opened out into a small glade. They sat down in silence. Major Peter Frame pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered them around.
Marvin was the first to speak. ‘I always knew that dame was a party pooper,’ he said gloomily. ‘She’s worse dead than alive. She was murdered, of course.’
‘Well, it wasn’t any of us,’ said Alice. She tried to speak bravely, but her voice trembled and she rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms.
‘Yeah, she was the sort of woman anyone would have murdered, I reckon,’ said Amy Roth shakily. ‘Was she rich? Maybe one of her relatives followed her up here and bumped her off.’
‘By Jove, I think you’re right,’ the major chimed in eagerly. ‘I mean de mortuis and all that, but she was a really repulsive, nasty woman. Look at the way she kept getting at each of us. Stands to reason she’d been doing the same thing to other people for years.’
‘I suppose the holiday’s over,’ said Daphne, looking once more her calm self. ‘I mean, what’s going to happen to us?’
‘It won’t be left to Macbeth, not a murder,’ said Jeremy. ‘They’ll be sending in some of the big brass. I s’pose they’ll take statements from us, take a note of our home addresses, and let us go.’
‘It’s so unfair,’ drawled Daphne. ‘Just as I was getting the hang of this fishing thing. You know, I felt so sure that today would be the day I would catch something.’
Everyone looked at Daphne with approval. They were not only joined by the tragedy of the murder but bound in fellowship by that old-as-time obsession, the lure of the kill.
‘Well, I’ve paid for this week and I jolly well expect to get full value,’ said the major, ‘or they’ll need to give me my money back. As soon as that oaf of a village copper gets our statements, I’m off to spend the rest of the day fishing, and if John Cartwright isn’t up to it, I’ll take any of you as pupils if you’ll have me.’
‘I’ll go with you for a start,’ said Jeremy, and the others nodded. The major might have lied about his magnificent salmon bag, but he was undoubtedly an expert angler. His line never became tangled in bushes, and he made his own flies, several of which flaunted their garish colours on his hat.
‘I thought of killing her,’ said Alice suddenly. ‘I’m glad she’s dead, and I feel guilty at the same time. I feel I wished her to death.’
There was a shocked silence.
‘Well,’ said Jeremy uncomfortably, ‘may as well be honest. I think we all felt like that.’
‘Not me,’ said Amy Roth. The skin at the corners of her eyelids had a stretched, almost oriental look. ‘We Blanchards are made of pretty strong stuff.’
‘Tell us about it,’ said Daphne harshly. ‘Tell us about the bloody ol’ plantation and massah’s in de col’, col’ ground. Tell us anything in the world, but don’t talk about the murder.’
‘Not if you’re going to be rude,’ said Amy, leaning against her husband’s shoulder and seeking his hand for comfort.
‘I didn’t mean to be rude. I really would like to hear about it. All I can think of is a sort of Gone With the Wind setting, all crinolines and mint juleps.’
Amy laughed. ‘Believe it or not, it was a little bit like that. Of course, that life all went when I was still a child. Pa was a gambler in the true Southern tradition. Well, lemme see. It was a big barn of a place, the Blanchard mansion, like you see in the movies. Pillared colonial front, wide verandahs all round. Green shutters, cool rooms smelling of beeswax and lavender. Flowers evvywheah,’ said Amy, becoming Southern in accent as she warm
ed to her subject. Amy’s normal voice was a light, almost Bostonian accent. ‘And antiques! I decleah, there were more Chippendales and whatyoucallums there than you’d get in one of your English stately homes. We hud been importing them for yeahs.’
‘Listen!’ The major put a hand to his ear in a sort of list-who-approacheth way. Most of his gestures were stagey.
Heather appeared with Constable Macbeth behind her. The policeman was wearing his usual black uniform, shiny with wear. He pulled off his cap, and his red hair blazed in the sun like fire. It was that true Highland red that sometimes looked as if it has purple lights.
‘I will chust go down and look at the body,’ he said placidly. ‘There will be detectives coming up from Strathbane by this afternoon, but I must make sure nothing is touched. If you will wait where you are, I will return in a wee moment and take the statements.’
They waited now in silence. A little knot of dread was beginning to form in the pit of each stomach. It had just been becoming comfortably unreal. Now reality was with them in the shape of the village constable who was down at the pool bent over the body.
A small, fussy man erupted into the glade and glared about him. ‘Dr MacArthur,’ said Heather, ‘I’ll take you down. Mr Macbeth is with the body now.’
‘The procurator fiscal is on his way from Strathbane,’ said the doctor. ‘But I may as well make a preliminary examination. Macbeth’s talking about murder. But the man’s havering. She could have got her own leader wrapped around her neck and fallen into the pool.’
‘And wrapped chains around her legs to sink her?’ said Marvin Roth dryly.
‘Eh, what? Better go and see.’
He disappeared with Heather.
Again, the group waited.
‘I’m hungry,’ said Alice at last. ‘I know I shouldn’t feel hungry, but I am. Would it be too awful if we went back to the cars and had something to eat?’