by M C Beaton
Hamish, although still weak, was able to get out of bed and go for short walks. He pretended to be very frail, however, when Josie and her mother came to call, to hide from Flora his lack of affection for her daughter.
But just as he was pronounced fit to leave, Flora arrived on her own, very agitated. “Hamish, Josie has just told me she is pregnant and it’s beginning to show. You must be married as quickly as possible.”
Hamish looked at her wearily. It was all going to happen anyway. “Make it next week,” he said.
Rapid invitations were sent out again with the new date. Angela stared at hers in dismay. She had been immersed in writing her latest book and had not been out and about to pick up the gossip or she would have heard of the new date before the invitation arrived in the post. Three days’ time! She phoned Elspeth, who listened in horror to her news. In fact it was more like two days, as Angela had not opened her post until the evening.
“I’ll do my best,” said Elspeth. She knew she dared not ask for any time off, so she pretended to faint on the studio floor. The television doctor diagnosed overwork and stress. Elspeth left the studios and drove straight to the airport. She booked herself onto a flight to Aberdeen. At Aberdeen airport, she hired a car and drove to the forensic lab.
She was told they had not yet got around to examining her samples.
Elspeth took a deep breath. She faced the director of the lab and said, “Unless you get me these results fast, a man is going to be tricked into marriage.”
“All right!” he said. “Come along tomorrow morning.”
Elspeth booked into a hotel, barely sleeping that night, and was at the lab the first thing in the morning.
The director beamed and handed her a printed result. “This Hamish Macbeth had taken a big dose of Rohypnol. It’s the first time we’ve had a man with this result. Macbeth…isn’t that the…”
But he found he was talking to the empty air.
With the printout on the seat beside her, Elspeth drove the long way across country to Strathbane.
To her dismay, she found that the surgery would not open until six o’clock in the evening. She tried to find the doctor’s home address but without success.
Impatiently she waited and then, just before six, she donned her disguise. A thin, undernourished-looking girl was just unlocking the door to the surgery when she walked across the road and followed the girl in.
“Are you the receptionist?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I need an urgent appointment.”
“Doctor has people to see before you.”
Elspeth slid a twenty-pound note over the desk. “I need to see him quickly.”
The girl tucked the note into her blouse. “Take a seat. He won’t be long.”
The surgery began to fill up with young men and women, all shabby, all with dilated pupils. He’s still up to his tricks, thought Elspeth. I’ll nail the bastard, but Hamish comes first.
Dr. Cameron arrived, a small, rotund man with a fat face and little gold-rimmed spectacles. The receptionist followed him into his office and then came out again after a few minutes. She jerked her head at Elspeth. “You can go in now.”
Elspeth switched a powerful little tape recorder on, leaving her handbag open, and went in.
“Now, then,” said Dr. Cameron. “What’s all the rush?”
“I want to get married,” said Elspeth.
He grinned. “Can’t help you there.”
“As a matter of fact, you can. You can do for me what you did for my friend Josie McSween. You gave her a certificate to say she was pregnant when she wasn’t pregnant at all. You didn’t even examine her. Josie gave me your name.”
Careful not to disturb the tape recorder, Elspeth pulled five hundred pounds out of her handbag and put them on the desk. “Will that do?” she asked.
He counted out the notes. “Josie McSween gave me one thousand pounds,” he said. “That was the deal.”
Glad she had drawn out a large sum of money earlier, Elspeth took out her wallet and counted out another five hundred.
Again he checked the money. He drew his prescription pad forward. “Name?”
“Heather Dunne.”
“Address?”
“Number six, the Waterfront, Cnothan.”
He scribbled busily and handed the note over.
“Nice to do business with you, Miss Dunne. Don’t come back.”
Elspeth drove to the centre of town and sat in her car. She hated Josie with an all-consuming rage. She could go straight to the police station and hand the evidence to Hamish. But she wanted Josie to suffer as much as Hamish had suffered. She wanted her to be publicly humiliated.
Josie was at the manse, trying on her new wedding gown, altered to fit her larger figure.
“Why did you have to go and put on weight,” fussed Flora, and then flushed nervously as she remembered in time that no one was supposed to know that Josie was pregnant.
“I think she looks a picture,” said Mrs. Wellington, her eyes full of sentimental tears.
All Josie wanted was to get the dress off, get rid of everyone and sneak out into the garden where she had hidden a bottle of vodka. She was suffering from nerves. When she wasn’t drinking, the enormity of the way she had tricked Hamish would hit her. But with drink inside her, all her rosy dreams of domestic life with a loving Hamish came back to her, giving her courage.
Her friend Charlotte and husband Bill were staying at the manse. Charlotte came into the room, wearing a maternity gown, just as Josie was being helped out of her wedding dress.
“Oh, put it on again, Josie. I must have a look.”
Clasping her hands into fists to hide their shaking, Josie struggled back into the gown with the help of her mother.
“You look a picture,” breathed Charlotte. “Do you remember the last time I saw you, Josie? I’d just discovered I was pregnant. And do you know, it was the strangest thing. After you’d left, I searched and searched for that pregnancy kit and I couldn’t find it anywhere.”
Flora, who had bent down to check the hem of her daughter’s gown, suddenly felt a qualm of unease. Would Josie? Could Josie? No, banish the very thought.
“Come on, Hamish,” said Jimmy, “have a dram.”
The kitchen was full of men. Hamish had refused to hold a stag party so the male villagers had all crowded into the police station instead.
“I want to have a clear head,” protested Hamish. He forced a smile. “It’s not every day I get married. Oh, just the one, then.”
How Hamish bore that evening, he did not know. Everyone got very drunk. Angus, the seer, had produced a pair of bagpipes and begun to play. He was not a good player and the horrendous noise filled the kitchen. The flap on the kitchen floor banged as Hamish’s pets fled from the noise. Hamish heard them go. He was worried about them. They had picked up on his distress, and when they saw Josie, the cat would hiss menacingly and the dog would growl.
At last they all left with the exception of Jimmy, who was to be best man. Hamish helped him into the bed in the one cell and then sat down at the kitchen table and stared bleakly into space. The flap banged and Sonsie and Lugs came in. The dog put a paw on Hamish’s knee and stared up at him with his odd blue eyes.
“What’s to become of all of us?” said Hamish.
Josie sat in her room, drinking from the bottle of vodka she had collected from the garden.
As the liquor burned its comforting way down, her hands stopped shaking and the rosy dreams came back. Everything was going to be all right.
Angela desperately tried again and again to call Elspeth. But she was not at the television studio and she had her mobile switched off. She wondered whether to go and see Mrs. Wellington. But what proof did she have? And everyone in the village was very excited about the wedding.
She went to the church-which was never locked-sat down in a pew, and prayed that somehow, something would happen to stop the wedding.
Chapter Twelv
e
*
Behold while she before the altar stands
Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks
And blesseth her with his two happy hands
– Edmund Spenser
The day of Josie’s wedding to Hamish Macbeth dawned bright and sunny. The village buzzed with anticipation. Those who were not married found the whole idea of a wedding romantic, and those who were had a feeling of schadenfreude that some other poor soul was about to be chained in holy matrimony.
Cottage bedrooms reeked of mothballs as rarely used finery was taken out to be put on. Men grumbled that their suits had shrunk and the more tactful wives refrained from pointing out that they had put on weight.
The Currie sisters, each donning a large hat, looked like a couple of small toadstools, for the hats were of brown straw topping their camel-hair coats.
Josie squeezed herself into a body stocking and took a swig of vodka to stop her hands shaking. Her mother came into her room to help her put on the wedding gown.
“Your face is all blotchy!” exclaimed Flora. “You smell bad. Have you had a bath?”
An excess of vodka sometimes does not smell like alcohol but more like a nasty body odour.
“It’s just nerves,” said Josie, spraying her armpits with deodorant. “Help me on with my dress and then I’ll make up my face.”
In the police station, Hamish stood before the wardrobe mirror in his bedroom, dressed in a rented morning suit, and surveyed himself miserably in the glass.
Jimmy came in, similarly attired. “Cheer up, Hamish. It’s your wedding day. And you’re going off on your honeymoon. Think of all that hot sun.”
If only I could win the lottery, thought Hamish. We could live in separate houses. Why on earth did I not just promise to pay maintenance for the child and remain single? But in his heart he knew that in an old-fashioned village like Lochdubh it would be looked on as a scandal. Daviot would never stand for it. Seducing a policewoman!
“I gather we don’t have a limo to take us to the kirk,” said Jimmy.
“It’s only a few yards. We walk.”
“Your ma must be pleased.”
“Aye, she’s looking forward to seeing some grandchildren,” said Hamish. He had been avoiding his family of late, frightened that that strange highland telepathy might pick up on his distress. He had not even introduced Josie to them, making excuses time after time that she was out on a job.
“Well, let’s go,” said Jimmy impatiently. “Want a drink?”
“No.” Hamish made his way to the kitchen door. He bent down and patted Lugs and Sonsie. Angela had promised to look after them while he was on honeymoon.
They walked out of the police station and on to the waterfront. It was a perfect day. Hardly a ripple disturbed the blue waters of the loch. A group of fishermen heading for the church gave a ragged cheer.
Hamish looked around himself bleakly. He felt he was saying goodbye to all the happy times he had known. “Man, you’re as white as a sheet,” said Jimmy.
The church was full to the bursting point. He took his place at the altar with Jimmy at his side and sent one last desperate prayer upwards. “Dear God, if there is a God, get me out of this!”
“You look right miserable,” hissed Jimmy.
“I’m still a bit weak,” said Hamish. Priscilla Halburton-Smythe had sent him a congratulatory message from Australia along with her apologies that she was unable to attend.
There was a murmur of anticipation. Then the choir burst into a rendering of “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” “Yuk,” murmured Jimmy. “Did you think o’ that one, Hamish?”
“Nothing to do wi’ me,” he muttered.
Then Charlotte, Josie’s bridesmaid, hurried up the aisle and said to Hamish, “You’ve got to come outside. Those wretched pets of yours are stopping Josie entering the church. It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is.”
Hamish ran down the aisle and outside. Josie stood there on the arm of her uncle. In front of them, barring the way, stood Sonsie, hissing, fur raised, and Lugs barking like mad.
“That’s enough!” shouted Hamish. “Off home the pair o’ ye.”
They slunk off and Hamish went back into the church and up to his former position at the altar. The choir, which had fallen silent, burst out into song again.
Hamish stared straight ahead as Josie made her way up the aisle.
Jimmy turned round. “My, she’s got fat,” he said. “Has she got a bun in the oven?”
“Shut up!” said Hamish.
When Josie stood next to him, he stared straight ahead.
Something’s far wrong here, thought Jimmy suddenly. He’s hating this. What can I do now? I can pretend to have lost the ring. Maybe that’ll help.
Hamish did not listen to the opening words of the marriage service.
Then Mr. Wellington said the piece about anyone having any reason against this marriage to speak now or forever hold their peace.
The church doors crashed open and a clear voice said, “I have.”
There was a babble of shocked alarm as Elspeth strode up the aisle.
“Explain yourself,” shouted Mrs. Wellington.
Elspeth faced the congregation. “This woman, Josie McSween,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt, “has tried to trick Hamish into marriage. At one time, I believe, she doped his drink with Rohypnol-it’s commonly known as a date-rape drug. She pretended she was pregnant. Hamish took a urine sample and a blood sample to the forensic lab in Strathbane. They lied to him and told him he was in the clear. I have confirmation from a forensic lab in Aberdeen.”
Her eyes ranged over the congregation and settled on Lesley and Bruce. “Yes, I took the samples out of your lab. So sue me! Josie got a certificate from a shady doctor in Strathbane to say she was pregnant. I wondered whether he would admit to it. Listen to this!”
She switched on the tape recorder. The congregation listened in appalled silence. Josie turned to flee. Charlotte shouted after her, “You stole my pregnancy kit, you wee bitch!”
Flora hurried after her daughter. Josie jumped in the limousine, waiting outside. Her mother climbed in after her.
“ Perth!” shrieked Josie to the driver as the congregation began to stream out of the church.
Lesley and Bruce found Daviot looming over them. “You are suspended from duty pending a full enquiry,” he said. “Not another word.”
As they went off, Daviot turned round and saw Jimmy. “Where is Hamish? This is awful. I am sure he is not recovered from that shooting.”
“He’s down on the beach,” called Angela.
They all rushed to the waterfront wall.
Hamish Macbeth was turning cartwheels along the beach with the dog and cat prancing beside him.
Instead of being delighted that Hamish had escaped being tricked into marriage, a good number of the villagers were feeling positively sulky. They trooped up to the manse to retrieve their wedding presents. They thought that at least the reception might have gone ahead and let them enjoy a party, but Flora had stopped on the road to cancel everything. Because Flora had employed a catering firm who were already packing everything up, there was nothing they could do but mutter that Hamish should have known something was wrong.
In the police station later, Jimmy said the same thing. “Had ye gone daft?” he asked. “Couldn’t you tell when you’d had sex or not?”
“How could I think otherwise?” said Hamish. “I woke up and there she was, in the bed. Then she gets proof she’s pregnant. What else could I do?”
Superintendent Daviot walked into the kitchen without knocking. “This is a bad business,” he said. “I want a full statement from you, Macbeth. Forensic experts are hard to find. There’s to be a full enquiry. Josie McSween is not fit for the police force. She will need to make a statement as well. But I cannot understand how an experienced policeman like yourself came to be tricked.”
Hamish was beginning to wonder the same thing himself bu
t Jimmy leapt to his defence.
“How was he to know, sir?” he asked. “A good copper goes by the evidence, and Josie had all the evidence.”
“Dr. Cameron has been arrested,” said Daviot. “He won’t weasel out of this charge the way he did the last one.”
“How did Josie get the Rohypnol?” wondered Hamish. “Maybe she got it out of the evidence room. There was a case last year where it was used.”
“The press are all gathered outside,” said Daviot. “You’ll need to speak to them or we’ll never get rid of them.”
“Could you do that?” asked Hamish. “You’re awfy good wi’ the press.”
“I will do that now,” said Daviot, who adored getting any sort of publicity. “We’ll put it out that you are still weak after that shooting. Where were you supposed to be going on honeymoon?”
“ Corsica. Tomorrow morning. For a week.”
“Then I suggest you take yourself off there while we sort things out here and return in time for the board of enquiry.”
Daviot left the kitchen and soon his voice could be heard outside, making a statement.
“Where’s Elspeth?” asked Hamish. “I owe her a lot.”
“She’s up at the hotel.”
“Tell Daviot I’ve gone for a walk to clear my head.”
Hamish slid out of the kitchen door followed by Lugs and Sonsie and started the long walk by way of the fields at the back to the Tommel Castle Hotel.
He was directed to Elspeth’s room and knocked at the door. When she opened it, he said, “How can I ever thank you!”
“Come in, Hamish, and bring the beasties with you.”
Hamish sat down wearily. “Thon was one great piece o’ detective work, Elspeth.”
“You need to thank Angela as well. She was worried about you. I guessed because she told me you’d gone to Dr. Brodie for blood and urine tests that you were sure you’d been drugged. Then there’s Josie. Angela was sure you didn’t care anything for her. I just wanted to make sure.”
