by M C Beaton
“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 warmed 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?”
“Better wait,” said the major. “Can’t be very long now.”
But it seemed ages. They could hear people coming and going. The sun was very high in the sky, and flies droned and danced in the green quiet of the glade.
At last, Hamish Macbeth appeared looking hot and grim.
“We’ll all just be going back to the hotel,” he said. “I’m getting this path closed off until the big brass arrives. The water bailiffs have said they will stand guard.”
A moment before, each one of them had felt he would give anything to be able to move. Now they were overcome by a strange reluctance. There was one large fact each of them had to face up to sooner or later, and each one was putting off the moment.
They all gathered in the hotel lounge. Constable Macbeth surveyed them solemnly.
“The manager has given me the use of the wee room off the reception, so I’ll take you one at a time. You first, Mr Cartwright.”
“I’ll come too,” said Heather quickly.
“No need for that,” said the constable easily. “This way, Mr Cartwright.”
Heather sat down, flushed with distress. She looked like a mother seeing her youngest off to boarding school for the first time.
John followed Hamish Macbeth into a small, dark room furnished simply with a scarred wooden desk, some old filing cabinets, and two hard chairs. Hamish sat down behind the desk, and John took the chair opposite.
“Now,” said the policeman, producing a large notebook, “we’ll make a start. It is the doctor’s guess that Lady Jane was in the water all night. When did you last see her?”
“At dinner last night,” said John. “We were celebrating the major’s catch.”
“Or rather, the major’s find,” murmured Hamish. “And was she wearing then what she was wearing when she was found dead?”
“Yes, I mean no. No, she was wearing a flowery trouser suit thing last night with evening sandals. She seemed to be wearing her usual fishing outfit when…when we saw her in the pool.”
Hamish made a note and then looked up. “Did you know Lady Jane’s job?”
“Job?” said John. “I didn’t know she worked.”
“Well, we’ll leave that until later. Did your wife know the nature of Lady Jane’s job, I wonder?”
A faint line of sweat glistened on John’s upper lip. There was a silence. Hamish patiently repeated the question.
“No,” said John, suddenly and savagely. “Look here, Macbeth, what is this? You know us both. Do you think either of us would kill her?”
“That is not for me to say,” said Hamish. “But I willnae get to the person who did it if I don’t start to eliminate those that did not. Now what were you doing late last night?”
“How late?”
“She was last seen going up to her room at ten-thirty, according to the hotel servants.”
“I went to bed,” said John, “and Heather too. We’d had a fairly exhausting day.”
“Did anyone in the group seem to hate Lady Jane?”
“No, we all loved her,” said John sarcastically. “Good God, man, use your wits. Nobody liked her, not even you.”
“Mphmm. Lady Jane had a nasty habit of making remarks. Did she say anything to you?”
“Nothing in particular. Just general carping.”
“Aye, well, that will do for now. If you’ll just send Mrs Cartwright in.”
As John entered the room, Alice was saying with a nervous giggle, “Just think. One of us must have killed her. I mean, it stands to reason…”
It was out in the open now, put into words; that thought they had been keeping resolutely at bay since Lady Jane’s body was discovered.
“He wants to see you,” said John to Heather. He added in a low voice as he held open the door for her, “I told him we didn’t know what she did.”
The door to the lounge opened, and a small, anxious-looking woman dressed in a lumpy, powder-blue dress fussed in, dragging Charlie with her. “I’m Mrs Baxter, Tina Baxter,” she announced, staring around the room with rather bulging blue eyes. “I only arrived today. My poor boy.” She tried to hug Charlie, but he flinched away from this public demonstration of maternal affection.
“You should keep the boy away from this,” said John. “There was no need to bring him along.”
“There was every need,” said Una Baxter. “I was told the police wanted to interrogate the whole fishing class and nobody is going to frighten my little boy with a lot of questions.”
She proceeded to tell the bemused company about her divorce and the difficulties of rearing a boy single-handed, and that Charlie had written to her saying this Lady Jane was a cruel and evil woman. Her words began to tumble out one over the other in an increasingly unintelligible stream.
Then she stopped suddenly and stared at the door with her mouth open. Hamish’s big brass had arrived from Strathbane.
A big, heavyset man draped
in a grey double-breasted suit introduced himself as Detective Chief Inspector Blair. He was flanked by two other detectives, Jimmy Anderson and Harry MacNab. Jimmy Anderson was thin and wiry with suspicious blue eyes, and MacNab was short and dumpy with thick black hair and wet-looking black eyes.
“Which one of you runs this school?” demanded Mr Blair. He spoke with a thick Glaswegian accent.
“I do,” said John. “Constable Macbeth is talking to my wife at the moment.”
“Where?”
“In there,” said John. “I’ll show you the way.”
“No need,” said Blair. “We’ll introduce ourselves.”
Hamish got to his feet as the three men entered the small office. Heather gratefully escaped.
“Macbeth, is it?” said Blair, sitting down in the chair Hamish had just vacated. “We’ve got a real juicy one here. Bit out of your league, Constable. The boys and the forensic team are combing the ground. Good bit of work on your part to get the water bailiffs to stand guard.”
He smiled at Hamish and waited for a look of gratitude to appear on the constable’s face at the compliment. Hamish looked stolidly back, and Blair scowled with irritation.
“Yes, well, I suppose they all know they’re supposed to stay put until I’m satisfied that no one in this school did it. School, indeed. All that money and fuss just to catch a fish.”
“I think it would be better if I told them they are not to leave Lochdubh at the moment,” said Hamish. “Them not having the ESP.”
“Enough of that,” snapped Blair. “Before I have the rest in, what do you think the motive was for this murder?”
“I think it had something to do with Lady Jane’s job,” said Hamish slowly.
“Job? What job?”
“Lady Jane Winters was, in fact, Jane Maxwell, columnist for the London Evening Star.”
“That rag! Well, what’s so bad about being a columnist?”
