Death of a Glutton hm-8

by M C Beaton

  “There’s Seal Bay if I turn down the coast,” said Archie, swinging the wheel. “Usually too rough to get near it, but it should be chust fine the day.”

  Priscilla went back out and joined Maria. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “No one seems interested in the ones I chose for them,” mourned Maria. “I must be losing my touch. And Petal What a disaster. Look, she’s oiling around John Taylor and he’s walked away from her several times.”

  “The others seem all right,” said Priscilla. Sir Bernard and Deborah were holding hands, Peter Trumpington was being charming to Jessica Fitt – Jessica, who had actually managed to find a grey ensemble even for holiday wear; grey blouse with a thin white stripe and grey trousers. Matthew Cowper was showing off to Mary French, who was looking as smug as any woman who thinks she is a combination of Cleopatra and Princess Di usually looks.

  And then Peta abandoned John and lumbered towards Matthew Cowper. “Oh, dear,” said Maria. “Now would you look at her! She thinks she’s irresistible to men, no matter what age. I sometimes think all that food has lodged somewhere in Peta’s brain. She’s barmy.”

  Matthew was backing towards the side of the boat away from Peta, who was flirting and ogling. And then Priscilla saw the sudden naked hatred in Mary French’s eyes as she looked at Peta and shivered despite the heat.

  “You must send her away,” said Priscilla urgently.

  “Peta? My dear girl, I would if I could. We’ll all just need to survive the week.”

  “But she’s repulsive. There’s something awful about her,” said Priscilla. “She’s the sort of woman who gets killed.”

  “No hope of that,” said Maria.

  The boat had swung in towards the shore, bucking up and down in the landswell.

  Soon Priscilla recognized the sandy cove which was Seal Bay. It was a beautiful spot, almost inaccessible from the land and barely accessible from the sea except on rare summer days like this.

  The Jaunty Lass chugged into calm water and then the engines died. Hamish appeared from below and helped Archie to drop anchor and then they lowered the boat’s dinghy, Hamish going first to row the lunch ashore. He had had to do very little preparation. Jenny had fixed everything, even Archie’s breakfast, and Archie, feeling he had had ‘proper’ food, was joining in the holiday atmosphere.

  Peta demanded to go ashore before the rest. By common consent, she was allowed the dinghy to herself. Hamish, rowing her ashore, hoped she would not sink the dinghy, for she was so heavy that the stern was dangerously low in the water.

  She climbed out, wading through the shallows, and then flopping on the sand like a beached whale.

  Soon they were all on shore and Jenny was spreading a white table-cloth on the sand. Peta sat at the edge of the cloth with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, her piggy eyes gleaming. Priscilla was glad of Jenny’s efficient help, although she knew Jenny was doing it all for Hamish. But then Hamish always attracted that limpet type of female, thought Priscilla sourly.

  John Taylor moved around to the far side of the cloth to put a distance between himself and the glutton. But when Peta began to eat, he realized his mistake. He had a perfect view of all that gorging and stuffing. If she would only eat silently, he thought, it would not be so bad. But she snorted and chomped and breathed heavily through her nose.

  “Where’s Crystal?” asked Priscilla, wondering if she could slow Peta down by engaging her in conversation.

  “Asleep, probably,” said Peta through a spray of breadcrumbs. “Very fond of me, she is. Doesn’t like her parents much and I can’t say I blame her. Pair of old bores.”

  “That does not say very much for her,” snapped John. “Children should honour and obey their parents.”

  “You must have come out of the ark, sweetie,” said Peta and then roared with laughter. “You should be a judge. You know, one of those ones who live in the Dark Ages and says things like, ‘What does the witness mean by heavy metal music?’”

  And John, who did not know what heavy metal was but had no intention of betraying the fact, said instead, “You have not been very well brought up, Mrs Gore, or rather, that is my impression.”

  “Wine, anyone?” said Priscilla desperately.

  “Oh, what makes you think that?” Peta batted her eyelashes at him. “I know. You think I am a terrible flirt.”

  “You are indeed a terrible flirt,” he said in his dry, precise voice, “in that you have no delicacy of manner. Your eating habits are disgusting.”

  They all held their breath. But Peta had noticed a spare salmon steak and that was enough to make her temporarily deaf. She reached out and picked it up with her fingers. It began to disintegrate, but she hurriedly crammed it into her mouth. Then she seized the tablecloth to wipe her hands and everyone’s glasses of wine went flying.

  Jessica Fitt found that the very sight of Peta made her feel physically ill. She liked her life to be well ordered. She liked beautiful flowers and beautiful paintings. She did not bother much about the sort of clothes she put on because, like most women of low self-esteem, she did not consider herself worth embellishing.

  “Are you all right?” she heard Peter Trumpington ask.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t let her get to me. But this – ” she waved a hand around the white sandy beach to the clear blue sea “ – it’s so perfect, so beautiful, and there she sits in the middle of it like a great pile of excrement.”

  “You mean the Peta woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to know what to do about her?”

  “There’s nothing up with her that a well-thrown hand-grenade wouldn’t cure.”

  “Come on, Jessica. Spare me. Look at the size of her. There’d be bits of her splattered from here to America. Can you imagine bits of Peta raining down on New York City?”

  Jessica stifled a sudden giggle. “What would you do, Peter?”

  He leaned behind him and pulled a bottle of white wine out of the crate and then picked up a corkscrew. “I’d get drunk,” he said. “Let’s get through this bottle before she gets to it.”

  Something sad and repressed and rigid inside Jessica seemed to melt. She laughed and held out her glass. “Here’s to sanity,” she said.

  “Have you ever thought of committing a crime?” John asked Jenny. His panama hat was pulled down over his face so she could not see the expression in his eyes.

  “Well, no, I don’t think so. I feel like killing her.” She waved a hand in Peta’s direction. “But I mean, it’s just a thought. But you don’t mean murder, do you? Do you mean theft or arson or shop-lifting?”

  “I have dealt with so many criminals,” he said in a tired voice. “Very few of them show any remorse. They are angry at getting caught out, that’s all. They go to prison and the taxpayer has to pay for their keep.”

  “You don’t mean you want to see hanging brought back?”

  “Why, not? Why should we work and slave all our lives to keep them cosseted in jails, to keep them fed, to pay for prisoners’ rehabilitation, to pay for therapists?”

  “I suppose you have a point,” said Jenny diplomatically. She looked longingly in the direction of Hamish Macbeth, but he had gone to sleep.

  “Priscilla’s about to dish out the fresh fruit salad,” she said. “I must help her.”

  “Go ahead,” he said wearily. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “But you’ll miss dessert!”

  “I’ll miss the sight of that swine eating it!”

  He turned and strode off.

  The castle cook, perhaps to ease his conscience, as he had probably decided before preparing the lunch not to go, had made enough fruit salad for twenty, and Peta ate most of it. No one else was hungry. Jessica Fitt and Peter Trumpington were drinking steadily and whispering to each other, snorting with laughter and then looking furtively around like bad children. They were vying with each other over the best way to kill Peta.

  At l
ast, gorged with food, Peta fell asleep. She lay on her back with her mouth open, snoring. Maria thought, she’s going to get a horrendous sunburn, but she did not move. Let her get burnt, and with luck burnt so badly that it puts her out of commission for the rest of the week.

  With Peta asleep, a relaxed air took hold of the party. John returned from his walk in time to join in the general, lazy conversation. Seagulls swooped and dived for scraps of food.

  “Do you remember that film, I forget the one, but where they killed this chap by tying him into a rowing boat and then tied a fish on his head? The cormorants dived for the fish and split his skull open.”

  “What made you think of a gruesome thing like that?” asked Priscilla.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Peter and nudged Jessica, who laughed immoderately and then held out her glass for more wine.

  Priscilla applied sun-barrier lotion to her face and arms and then, with a casual familiarity which grated on Jenny, she walked over to the sleeping Hamish Macbeth and started gently putting lotion on his face and arms. Hamish stirred in his sleep and smiled.

  When she had finished, Priscilla said, “Well, we should think about getting back. Want to help me put the stuff away, Jenny?”

  “Do it yourself,” said Jenny. “That’s your job,” and then blushed scarlet and got up and walked away.

  Damn Hamish, thought Priscilla. She poked him in the ribs. “Wake up. Help me with this stuff.”

  Hamish sleepily struggled up. “Where’s my helper?”

  “If you mean Jenny, she’s gone off after reminding me sharply that packing up is my job. The shy clinging kind certainly go for you, Hamish, and you do nothing to discourage it.”

  “Why should I?” he said maliciously. “She’s a fine-looking girl. Talent’s a bit thin on the ground in Lochdubh.”

  “You having already run through most of it!” Priscilla began to rattle dishes with unnecessary force. Jenny came back, muttered “Sorry,” and began to help.

  Once back on board, Mary French decided to show off her organizing skills by getting them to sing a round song. “You first,” she ordered, as if dealing with a class of backward children. “Then you.”

  “Just like Joyce Grenfell,” said Peter and Jessica shrieked with laughter, then found she couldn’t stop laughing and ended by bursting into tears.

  The boat began to bucket up and down again as it approached the point of land which sheltered the sea loch of Lochdubh.

  Priscilla had just produced afternoon tea – hot scones with Cornish cream and strawberry jam – and spread it on the deck when Peta was suddenly and violently sick over it. Horrified, the rest backed off to the sides while Peta vomited and vomited. A normal person would soon have been reduced to dry heaving, but Peta had a capacious and overloaded stomach. The clients of Checkmate fled to the bow and huddled together, even Jenny, until they were joined by Priscilla and Maria.

  “I can’t take it,” said Maria with her handkerchief to her mouth. “Hamish’ll need to cope.”

  They all stayed there until the Jaunty Lass edged into Lochdubh harbour.

  Still they stayed until they saw Peta being helped ashore. With a sigh of relief, they saw Hamish talking to one of the locals, who had a small pick-up truck, and then he helped Peta into the back of it.

  They edged round to get off the boat. The decks were clean, glistening with water.

  Hamish appeared on board again.

  “Brave man,” said Priscilla. “Did you stack the stuff downstairs?”

  “No,” said Hamish. “I just tied the lot up in the table-cloth and threw it over the side.”

  ♦

  Hamish thought he never wanted to see anyone being sick again, but he found a couple of fishermen outside the local bar that evening being violently ill. It turned out that Archie was regaling the locals inside with such a colourful story of his day out that Peta’s sickness was more horrible in the telling than the actuality.

  He walked on. A new restaurant, run by a Scottish-Italian family, had just opened on the waterfront. He heard the hum of voices from inside and was glad to see it was doing a good trade. He looked in the window and grinned.

  The members of Checkmate had escaped and were enjoying dinner on their own. They were seated round a large table, talking and laughing. He felt sorry for Maria. But surely Peta would not be up to eating any more that day.

  ♦

  But Peta was working her way steadily through the dinner that had been meant for the whole party while Maria looked on with horrified loathing. She wondered why Crystal, who was lazily picking at her own food, was unaffected by her aunt’s behaviour. Once the horrible meal was over, Maria plucked up her courage and followed Peta up to her room.

  “Let’s get down to business,” said Maria firmly, “or what’s left of it. Peta, you have succeeded in driving our clients away. They approached me and said they could not sit through another meal with you and I had to arrange dinner for them at a restaurant in the village.”

  “Any good?”

  “What?”

  “The restaurant?”

  “Never mind that! Listen to me. I want to buy you out.”

  “No need for that. I’m an asset, Maria. And don’t give me that rubbish about them dining elsewhere because of me. You arranged it. And do you know why?”

  “No, do tell me, Peta, darling.”

  “It’s because you’re jealous of me. You know I’ve got a way with the fellows and you’re jealous.”

  “And you’re mad!” shouted Maria, her temper snapping. “And hear this! If I’ve got to kill you to get rid of you, then by God I’ll do it!”

  Jenkins, the maìtre d’hotel, who had been walking along the corridor outside, stopped and listened to this with interest before going on downstairs to irritate Mr Johnson by telling him that if one allowed common-type people into the hotel, then murder would be done, and mark his words!

  ♦

  Jenny Trask woke with a cry during the night and sat up in bed, her heart palpitating. She had just had a terrible dream in which Peta’s dead body had been carried into the hotel dining room by Hamish Macbeth, who smiled at her and said, “Roasted to a turn,” and then he had stuffed an orange in Peta’s mouth before picking up the carving knife.

  The room was stuffy. She got up and opened the window wide and leaned out. Then she gasped, staring at the mountains beyond. A great dark shadow was creeping down the mountains and sliding towards the castle, blotting out everything in its path. Then she realized it was only the shadow of a cloud crossing the moon and drew back with a nervous laugh. But the fear caused by that shadow would not go away. There was something sinister and evil approaching the castle, and no amount of logical thought would seem to make the fear go away.

  ∨ Death of a Glutton ∧

  3

  Some men there are that love not a gaping pig,

  Some, that are mad if they behold a cat.

  —Shakespeare

  Ian Chisholm, the driver of the minibus, was there an hour earlier than had been originally scheduled in response to an appeal from Maria, Maria who was desperate to get her charges out of the hotel before Peta joined them.

  The original plan had been to take them on a tour of the surrounding countryside, returning to the hotel for lunch, back out in the afternoon, and then return for dinner.

  Now she planned to keep them out until late evening. They would go to Ullapool, have lunch there, and then travel to the famous Inverewe Gardens for the afternoon and have dinner at some restaurant or hotel that did not contain Peta. Priscilla came out to see them off, a frown marring the perfection of her face. The other guests were eating at any other establishment but the Tommel Castle Hotel and had complained to the colonel that although the food was excellent, the sight of Peta was putting them off. The colonel had retaliated by blaming Mr Johnson and Priscilla for having Checkmate as guests in the first place, and he was leaving with his wife that morning to visit friends in Caithness and said he would no
t return until Peta and Checkmate had left. Priscilla planned to turn one of the smaller hotel lounges, not often used, into a dining room for Peta to dine alone with her niece, in the hope of luring some diners back. Tommel Castle stood to lose a sizeable sum of revenue if everyone decided to eat elsewhere.

  The weather was still sunny, but there was a brassiness about it and the air had become close and humid. Sean, the cook, was fuming about Peta and planned to go down to the village after breakfast was served, and Priscilla did so hope he did not plan to get drunk.

  Maria was telling the startled driver, Ian Chisholm, that the large fee he was getting from her meant he had to act as a guide as well. Like most of the natives, he knew very little of the history of Sutherland, but being a true Highlander, he planned to make it up as he went along.

  When they were all on board the bus, Maria fairly yelled at Ian to get moving fast and heaved a sigh of relief as the bus rolled out on to the road without any sign of Peta in pursuit.

  They had travelled quite a way south when Maria realized Ian was not doing his job. That is, he had not uttered a word. She saw the romantic ruin of a castle coming up on the right and called to Ian to stop and then, with a steely glint in her eye, said, “Tell us about it.”

  “Oh, Barren Castle,” said Ian, who had not the faintest idea what the building was or what it had been. “That was the home of the Grummet family. They wass supporters of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the redcoats were sure they had been sheltering the prince and tried to drive them off. But the laird said he would never leave, so them bastard redcoats burnt the castle ower his head. The family all perished, yea, and their oxen and cattle, too,” added Ian, who was a regular church attender. “It’s said his daughter, Fiona, still haunts the ruins.”

  “Gosh!” said Deborah, struggling to the door of the bus with her camera at the ready. “Must get a picture.”

  The rest of them followed her but soon quickly retreated to the shelter of the bus, for the midges, those Scottish mosquitoes, had descended in droves. “I forgot to bring repellent,” mourned Maria.