by M C Beaton
“That would only be of use if the minister murdered his wife,” said Hamish. Heather was now up on the stage getting her instructions, listening intently, holding the script, her eyes shining.
“And the villagers say Heather hasn’t shed a tear,” went on Priscilla. “Something wrong there, Hamish. It’s unnatural. I wish she would crack and break down and cry.”
“I’ve never seen a child further from tears,” said Hamish cynically.
Annie Duncan’s voice could be heard suggesting they all now read their parts in the first act. “And just here, after the first scene,” she said to Nancy, “you exit left where the steps go down to the dressing-rooms.”
“Dressing-rooms?” queried Hamish. “In a community hall?”
“Oh, this place is quite well-appointed,” said Priscilla. “One of those projects built quite recently by the Highland and Islands Development Board. There’s even a star dressing-room. Wonder who’s got that. Nancy, probably.”
In the first act, Nancy, the alderman’s daughter dreaming of the famous man who would one day marry her, sang an Andrew Lloyd Webber song. “Heavy royalties, that,” murmured Hamish.
“Why?” asked Priscilla. “Do you think they’re going to tell him, or that he’ll ever find out?”
The chorus of women backed Nancy and then exited right, leaving her alone on the stage. At the end of the song Nancy sailed off the stage with all the aplomb of a diva, but before the scene could switch to Dick Whittington and his cat, there was a scream from off-stage and the sound of a heavy fall.
Hamish ran forward, leaped on the stage, and ran to the exit stairs where Nancy had gone down. Nancy was lying at the foot of the stairs, her face contorted with pain.
“Don’t move,” he called.
He went down and crouched over her. “Easy now. Where does it hurt?”
“All over,” groaned Nancy.
“Here.” He put an arm behind her shoulders and eased her up. “Move your arms.” She cautiously did as she was told. “Now your legs, right and then left. That seems all right. Now, I’m going to help you up. Take it easy.”
He lifted Nancy to her feet. “There, you’re all right,” he said with relief, “although I’m sure you’ll have some bruises. What happened?”
“Something seemed to catch at my ankles,” she said, bewildered, “and over I went.”
“Come to the dressing-room and sit down,” said Annie Duncan. “I’ve got a flask of tea. Ailsa, tell the rest we’ll leave the rehearsals until the same time tomorrow.”
“Right,” said Ailsa, and Hamish saw her give a mock Gestapo salute behind Annie’s back.
Priscilla, ever efficient, had appeared to help Nancy along to the dressing-room. The rest of the women disappeared and Hamish was left alone.
He crawled up the stairs on his hands and knees, examining every inch. No sign of any string having been tied across the stab’s, nothing on the thin iron banister.
He went back down and stood to one side of the staircase and reached through. Yes, someone could have stood here easily and caught at Nancy’s ankles. The chorus had gone off to the right. But one of the women could easily have nipped round under the stage and waited for Nancy to come down. Another accident? Spite? Had Nancy broken a leg, she would have been out of the production. He felt a sudden fury against the inhabitants of Drim. And then he saw it, lying in a dark corner. It was one of those old-fashioned window-poles with a hook at the end for reaching the catch of windows high up in a church or a hall.
Now that, he thought, thrust through the banisters as Nancy came down, could have sent her flying. He longed for it to be an official case. He would even have gladly put up with Blair in order to get a forensic team to go over that pole for fingerprints.
Priscilla appeared behind him, making him jump. “You don’t think it was an accident, do you, Hamish?”
“Maybe. I think someone could have taken this pole and thrust it across the staircase just as Nancy came down. Who could it be?”
“Well, Nancy was alone on the stage apart from the pianist Let’s go back and ask Edie if she saw anything.”
Edie, when appealed to, looked startled. The women, she said, had sort of bunched together off the stage. Some had remained standing at the top at the right, watching Nancy, but she couldn’t be sure which ones. She herself had gone down to the large dressing-room shared by the chorus to put on some powder. Oh, and she had seen Jock Kennedy.
“And what was himself doing there?” asked Hamish.
“Annie had asked him to call in to help with the props. We haven’t any scenery yet, but she wanted to go over the lighting and stuff with him.”
“But he wasn’t anywhere in the hall,” exclaimed Priscilla. “I would have noticed!”
“There’s a door at the back which leads under the stage,” said Edie. “Anyone can come in that way.”
Anyone, thought Hamish bleakly, anyone in the whole of Drim, including Nancy’s husband. But it would have to be someone who had been there, who knew that Nancy would come down the stairs at exactly that time.
“What’s all this anyway?” demanded Edie, a trifle huffily. “It was just another accident.”
“Another one too many,” said Hamish grimly.
He surveyed Edie. Who, looking at her, could imagine her having an affair with a young man? Had Heather made up that list of names to throw him off the scent?
“Edie,” he began, “how close were you to Peter?”
Her face took on a guarded look. “We were friends,” she said cautiously. “He said I was the only one he could talk to.”
“And did you have an affair with him?”
Edie blushed painfully and her eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” said Priscilla. “Everyone has affairs these days.” Hamish glared at her. Except you, he thought.
Edie nodded wordlessly. There was an awkward silence.
“I don’t want to upset you,” said Hamish gently, “but you must have known you weren’t the only one.”
“I thought I was,” said Edie piteously. “He let me think I was. “Don’t come to the cottage unless I ask you to, Edie,” he said, but then he stopped inviting me and I…I got all dressed up one night. I couldn’t believe he had gone off me, after all that he had said, after all we had done.” She choked and then regained some composure. “I should have knocked. Like the fool I was, I thought I would surprise him, I’d been into Strathbane that day to buy a bottle of champagne and I had it under my arm. I opened the door, it wasn’t locked, and went in. The ladder was there, up to the bedroom. I climbed up. And then I heard them. Betty Baxter and Peter. I couldn’t believe it. I went on up. Well, they were fortunately too busy to see me. I crawled back down the ladder and left as quietly as I could. I was so wretched I felt like killing myself. Betty Baxter! If it had been someone like her”—she jerked a thumb at Priscilla—“I could have borne it better.”
“But when I asked you about Peter, you were quite’…er…kindly about him,” said Hamish.
“When he left,” said Edie, “and the days passed and he did not return, I built up a dream about him. I put that awful night out of my head. I talked myself into thinking I was the only one. I remembered all the nice things he had said to me. It was easy with him not being here. It’s better to dream, it’s safer to dream.”
Hamish looked at her bleakly, thinking in that moment that he had been happier when he had only dreamed about Priscilla, for now that she was engaged to him, however unofficially, she seemed more remote than she had ever been.
“And was there anyone else that you know of?” asked Priscilla quietly.
“Not for sure, but jealousy makes the senses awfully sharp. I began to notice that Ailsa was beginning to look triumphant and that Betty’s eyes were often red with crying.”
“But how could Ailsa get a chance to have an affair?” asked Hamish. “Aren’t she and Jock together all day?”
“When Jock has his cronies
in for a drink in the evening,” said Edie, “Ailsa often goes out to visit some of the women in the village. Alice MacQueen was her friend for a while, but that is finished. Oh, they still talk, but in a funny sort of cold way.”
“Did you ever confront Peter with the fact that you knew he had been sleeping with Betty Baxter?” asked Priscilla.
Edie shook her head. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to hear him admit it. What’s the point in all this? He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Hamish quickly. “Do you think he’s dead?”
“Dead?” Her surprise appeared totally genuine. “Why would Peter be dead?”
“Why not?” put in Priscilla. “Don’t you think with the way he’s been going on, that some irate husband might not have bumped him off and that’s why no one saw him leave?”
“Oh, no.” Edie shook her head. “We may have our difficulties in Drim, but there’s no one here who would do a thing like that.”
“But Drim had never been subjected to such as Peter Hynd before,” said Hamish bitterly. “Sorry to have upset you, Edie. Come along, Priscilla. We have a call to make.”
“Where are we going?” asked Priscilla when they were outside.
“I think we’ll try Alice MacQueen, and then I’ll tackle Jock Kennedy and Jimmy Macleod on my own.”
“I hate this,” said Priscilla as they walked side by side to the hairdresser’s.
“Then don’t come.” Hamish slanted a look at her. “All this unbridled passion must be foreign to you.”
“Don’t get at me, Hamish.”
“Maybe you’d best leave Alice to me. Why not visit Annie Duncan yourself, Priscilla? She must have known what was going on. Goodness knows, she was there when I tried to warn the minister.”
“Yes, sir,” said Priscilla and turned and walked off in the direction of the manse. He stood for a moment watching her go, debating whether to run after her and give her a good shake. Then he shrugged and went on his way.
§
Alice MacQueen opened the door to him. “I was just about to watch a show on the telly,” she said defensively. “I’ve come about Peter Hynd.”
She backed away from him, her hand to her mouth. “So he’s been found,” she said. Hamish followed her in. “What do you mean by that?”
She sat down in one of the hairdressing chairs. “I meant, has he come back?”
“Now why do I think that wass not what you meant at all?” said Hamish, his voice suddenly sibilant. “What would you be saying if I told you that the body of Peter Hynd had been found in a peatbog?”
“He can’t be dead,” wailed Alice.
Hamish relented. “No, he hasn’t been found.”
She goggled at him and then said furiously, “Why are you playing nasty games with me?”
Hamish sat down. “I want to get at the truth, Alice. Some thing’s wrong in Drim. Peter Hynd leaves and no one sees him go. Betty Baxter meets her death on the beach after she went out to meet someone, and someone tried to injure Nancy Macleod today.”
“That was the accident,” panted Alice. “She’s too heavy and she looks ridiculous playing the lead.”
“Well, let’s begin at the beginning. Let’s have a talk about Peter Hynd. Did you haff the affair wi’ him?”
She shook her head. “You’re sure about that?”
Her eyes flashed. “It was nothing like that. It was innocent. A boy-and-girl thing.”
How old was Alice? wondered Hamish. There was a puffiness under the eyes and little wrinkles radiated out from around her mouth. Fifty-five?
“Describe this boy-and-girl thing.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, suddenly weary. “We talked a lot and went for walks on the moors. He…held my hand. He said he could talk to me. He said I wasn’t like I the otter women. He said…he said he had never met anyone like me. And then Betty Baxter with her great gross body took him away.”
“You mean she had an affair wi’ him?”
“She took away his innocence,” said Alice, all mad logic. “But herself always was a slut. It’s Ailsa I can’t forgive.”
“Ailsa?”
“We were friends. I began to guess what was happening when Jock asked me one day, casual-like, if the video had been any good. I said, ‘What video?’—‘Oh,’ he says, ‘the one you were watching last night with Ailsa.’ I realized I had to cover for her for some reason, so I said it was great I waited until I saw Ailsa next and asked her what it was about. She came home with me. She said she had a great secret to tell me. She was all excited. I should have known then what it was, but she was so excited and happy, I thought maybe she’d had a win on the football pools. She told me she had been with Peter…in bed. I was hurt and horrified. I said I had told her about my romance with Peter and how could she do such a thing? ‘Romance,’ she jeered. ‘What romance? Wandering about the heather holding hands? Grow up, Alice,’ she said. ‘I’m a real woman to him.’
“I told her he would betray her as he had betrayed me, but she went on laughing and laughing. And when he went away, she wanted to be friends again, and what could I do? You know what a small village is like, it’s not like the city. You have to get on with people. But Ailsa and I, we can’t be friends anymore like in the old days. In fact there were the five of us, Betty, Nancy, Ailsa, Edie, and me. We were close. We had a lot of laughs: When Peter Hynd first came, well, that was a laugh, too. They’d come to get their hair done and Edie’s exercise classes were a big success and we competed with each other to see who had talked to Peter last, but it was all friendly, all joshing. Then it all turned sour. I don’t really think I can go on living here.”
Not for the first time did Hamish Macbeth curse Peter Hynd under his breath. “Alice, did Peter know that you were all the best of friends?”
“Oh, yes. I used to tell him how lucky I was.”
And Peter promptly set out to turn one against the other, thought Hamish. He felt suddenly tired. If only Peter Hynd were alive and well so that he could punch him on the nose!
§
Priscilla wondered, as she sat in the manse, if Hamish Macbeth would one day float away on a sea of tea and coffee. Every house one went into in the Highlands, one was offered some form of refreshment, and to refuse would be saying that one did not like one’s host. She was glad the minister had left them alone. For some reason she could not fathom, Priscilla had found herself disliking him intensely. When the minister left, Priscilla felt the rather chilly air of the manse parlour lightening perceptibly. “We’ll have some more coal on that fire for a start,” said Annie, rising and suiting the action to the words. “I hate the way Callum rations it. I sometimes wish we had one of those new council houses, the ones with the central heating.”
Priscilla studied her hostess. She looked much younger than her years, she must be at least fifty, but with her long hair worn down her back and her well-spaced features she could easily have been taken for a woman in her thirties, and early thirties at that. Her figure was slim and well-shaped. Her dress was surprisingly Bohemian for a minister’s wife, Bohemian in a sort of old-fashioned way. She wore a white ‘peasant’ blouse with patchwork skirt and fringed calfskin boots.
“Do you think the pantomime will be a success?” asked Priscilla.
“Oh, I think so. It doesn’t look much like it at the moment. I’m borrowing costumes from the theatre in Strathbane. Once they see the costumes, they’ll get excited. Fortunately the girl who played the lead in the same pantomime in Strathbane last Christmas was on the heavy side, so there shouldn’t be that much of an alteration to get Nancy into it.”
“Why Nancy?” asked Priscilla curiously. “She’s hardly sweet sixteen.”
“She’s got a beautiful voice and that’s all that matters. People get irritated when the lead has a tinny voice. Look at those huge opera singers. No one bothers about their size when they start to sing.”
“But,” said Priscilla tentatively, �
��your choice of Nancy seems to have caused a certain amount of animosity. I mean, someone could have caused her to fall down those stairs.”
“Oh, believe me, I have survived here by never paying any attention to the squabbles of the village women.”
And in that sentence, thought Priscilla, Annie had betrayed that she looked on the women of the village as some strange tribe of aborigines whose jealousies and feuds had nothing to do with a civilized being. How could she have lived here so long, marvelled Priscilla, and maintained that attitude? Priscilla knew most of the women in Lochdubh and liked quite a few of them.
“Did you know this Peter Hynd who started all the trouble?” asked Priscilla.
“Yes, he was a frequent visitor to the manse. We both liked him.”
“He seems to have been a very manipulative young man, setting one woman against the other, and quite deliberately, too.”
Annie looked amused. “Your fiancé is cursed with a Highland imagination. Your Highlander is an incurable romantic. Peter caused a bit of a flutter, that was all.”
“I think there was more to it than that. No, no more tea for me, thank you. I gather he had affairs with at least five of them—Betty Baxter, Ailsa Kennedy, Nancy Macleod, Edie Aubrey, and Alice MacOueen.”
“Now, I really must take you to task, Priscilla. I may call you Priscilla, may I not? No one is formal these days. You have been listening to wild gossip and perhaps stupid bragging on the part of these women. Do you know who you are dealing with here? They believe in fairies in this village. Nancy Macleod leaves a saucer of milk outside the door every night for the fairies.”
“And do they drink it?” asked Priscilla, momentarily diverted.
