by M C Beaton
All Alison's thoughts of asserting herself and getting rid of Mrs. Todd disappeared. It was lovely to be mothered.
But as soon as Mrs. Todd had switched out the light and left, Alison began to tremble. Which one of them would kill her for the money? Money was so important. She couldn't sleep. The wind sighed through the trees outside, a mourning sound. She shivered despite the centrally heated warmth of the room.
And then she heard a soft sound outside her door. She switched on the bedside light. The door handle began to turn. Alison opened her mouth to scream but the door opened quickly and revealed Peter Jenkins.
"What do you want?" asked Alison harshly.
He came and sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her. "I couldn't sleep," he said. "That detective made me feel like a criminal." Peter was wearing a paisley silk dressing gown over his pyjamas and his hair was tousled. Alison found she could not feel afraid of him.
"I'm awfully scared," she said. "I can't sleep either."
He took her hand in his. "I'll sit with you for a bit."
"Thank you," said Alison shyly.
They fell silent, looking at each other. Then Peter slowly bent his head and kissed Alison gently on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around him and the next thing he was lying on the bed and a few kisses later, in the bed, and a few more and they had both managed to divest themselves of their nightwear with that strange agility of people who are determined to make love.
Their lovemaking was brief but satisfactory to both. Heaven, thought Alison just before she drifted off to sleep in Peter's arms, almost as good as driving.
7
Madam, I may not call you; mistress, I am
ashamed to call you; and so I know not what
to call you; but howsoever, I thank you.
—QUEEN ELIZABETH I
Hamish realized on the following day that he was letting his admiration for Donati stop him from thinking clearly about the case. In the past, he had relied on gossip and his own intuition. He decided to follow his nose and go out to the bungalow and see what he could see.
He parked his police Land-Rover out on the road. The air was clammy and still and the sea was silent. The midges, those stinging Scottish mosquitoes, were out in force, and he automatically felt in his pocket for the stick of repellent he always kept handy.
He walked quietly up to the kitchen door and then paused as he heard the animated sounds of conversation from within. He walked to the window and cautiously peered in. Mrs. Todd and PC Mary Graham were seated at the kitchen table, talking nineteen to the dozen.
He swore under his breath. He should have guessed that Strathbane would send a policewoman rather than a policeman to guard Alison.
He returned to his car and drove back down the road a little to one of those red telephone boxes you find in the isolated parts of the Highlands. This one was perched precariously on the edge of a cliff. He phoned the bungalow and, disguising his voice, asked for Alison. "Who is speaking?" demanded Mrs. Todd sharply.
"Ian Chisholm," said Hamish, and then waited.
When Alison answered the phone, he said quickly, "It's Hamish. I'm at the phone box down the road. Can you come down and meet me?"
"I can't, Hamish," said Alison airily. "I'm busy right now."
"It's very important," said Hamish. "It won't take long. And don't tell anyone where you're going."
"All right," said Alison and put down the receiver.
About ten minutes later, Hamish saw the little red mini, Alison's new pride and joy, nosing its way down the cliff road.
He waited until she had parked and then climbed into the passenger seat beside her.
"What's PC Graham doing inside the house?" asked Hamish. "She's supposed to be on guard outside."
"Well, she did ask for a cup of tea when she arrived but Mrs. Todd told her she was supposed to be on duty at the gate. The policewoman went off and started marching up and down like a sentry on duty. Mrs. Todd was fussing about the kitchen. She seemed edgy. She kept looking out of the window at ... Mary, is it? Then she said, "Come to think of it, I'd feel safer with her in here," and called her in and in about a few minutes time, they seemed to be the best of friends."
"And why was that, do you think?"
"If you must know, Mrs. Todd opened the conversation by saying she was glad it was a sensible policewoman and not that idiot, Macbeth, and Mary said you were a layabout and they fell to tearing you to bits. What did you want to see me about?"
"It's about that book. When Donati asked you if there was anything about the four men in that book, you said no, but you looked startled."
"I'd just remembered something," said Alison. "I didn't want to tell Donati, because I felt like a spiteful fool. You see, I let them all think they were in it."
"Oh, my! Now about the people you remembered in the book, you said Maggie had had one friend but you couldn't quite remember the name. You said it was Glenys something."
"It's funny. I remembered during the night." Alison blushed furiously. Hamish's eyes sharpened. Alison was wearing a soft green silk blouse tucked into one of her old skirts but with a broad green leather belt with a gold clasp at her waist. She was also wearing sheer tights and high heels. She had put on eye make-up and lipstick and Hamish couldn't flatter himself all this effort was for him. So Peter Jenkins managed to score, he thought privately.
"I just remembered all at once," said Alison. "It was Glenys Evans."
"And where did she live?"
Alison shook her head.
"Anyway, I might be able to find her. Now the sooner this murderer, or would-be murderer, is caught, the better for you, Alison. I am sure all these men are rushing around you hoping to marry your fortune."
"Some of them may just like me," said Alison sharply.
"Aye, but you could talk to them and find out if any of them bore a grudge against Maggie." For the first time Hamish turned the full force of his charm on Alison. "It would be our secret."
"Oh, yes," said Alison, forgetting Peter for one glorious moment.
Hamish phoned Donati and gave him Glenys's name. But later on, his Highland curiosity got the better of him: He had an urge to talk to this woman himself. He went straight down to the post office and demanded the London telephone books. There seemed to be a great number of Evanses. He slid his thumb down the list and then stopped in surprise. For there it was in clear type, Glenys Evans, Harold Mews, London Wl.
He went back to the police station and put through a call. An autocratic voice answered the telephone and identified itself as Glenys Evans.
"It is Hamish Macbeth from Lochdubh police in Sutherland," began Hamish.
"Then you can stop right there," said Glenys. "I've already had some pig of a detective around here this morning with a most offensive manner."
Of course, thought Hamish quickly, Donati would telephone the Yard and they would have a man on the job first thing.
"I'm very sorry a lady like yourself had such a nasty experience," said Hamish. "But you see, I hae a personal interest in the matter. I wass very fond o' Mrs. Baird and I would like to get my hands on the villain who tried to murder her."
"What! That clodhopper said she'd died of a heart attack."
"A heart attack induced by someone rigging up her car so that it burst into flames when she turned the key in the ignition. She had four guests at the house, Crispin Witherington, James Frame, Peter Jenkins, and Steel Ironside at the time, and her niece, Alison."
"I didn't know she had any relatives." There was a long silence. "All right," said Glenys at last. "If you come down here, I'll see what I can do to help."
"I don't know if that is possible," said Hamish cautiously.
"In that case, forget it."
"I'll come," said Hamish quickly. "I'll get the sleeper down tonight and be with you in the morning."
She gave him directions to her address and rang off.
If Blair had been on the case, thought Hamish, then he would just ha
ve disappeared off to London without saying anything. But Donati was a different matter.
Donati was staying at the Lochdubh Hotel. Hamish made his way there.
The detective listened to him in silence and then said colourlessly, "You stepped out of line. It is certainly unfortunate the Yard sent along someone tactless who put her back up. Do not take such actions again without my permission, do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir." Hamish looked down at Donati, who was sitting in an armchair in the hotel lounge, with a tinge of surprise. "Now I suppose you'd better go. We must put personalities aside and if this woman can give you anything useful, it will be worth your fare. You may go."
And Hamish left. Blair never would have given him permission to go. Blair would have practically foamed at the mouth.
So why was it that he suddenly missed Blair?
Alison set about helping Hamish Macbeth. She felt she had everything in the world she had ever wanted except security. While the criminal remained at large, there was no peace, and every evening shadow held menace and every footstep on the stairs was that of an assailant. Unlike most bungalows, this one had most of the bedrooms on an upper floor with dormer windows. Peter Jenkins, Mrs. Todd, and James Frame slept on the same floor as Alison, with Steel Ironside and Crispin Witherington in bedrooms off one of the two corridors that ran off the large sitting room. The dining room which adjoined the sitting room was little-used since Maggie's death, the guests preferring to eat their meals in the more cheerful kitchen. Another incentive to help was that despite her blossoming love for Peter Jenkins, Alison felt restless and wanted something to do to occupy her time. The efficient Mrs. Todd had made all the arrangements for Maggie's funeral and Alison had weakly left it all to her.
Alison had replied to PC Graham's questions about where she had been that morning by saying evasively that she had felt upset and so had gone for a little drive. Mary told her sharply not to leave the house again without saying where she was going, leaving Alison feeling more like the hired help than the lady of the house. Mrs. Todd added her own admonitions. Alison resented Mrs. Todd all over again and kept away from her as much as possible, unfairly blaming her for Mary's high and mighty manner.
Alison took pencil and paper into the dining room to start making notes on what she already had gleaned about the men's relationships with Maggie. There was a better chance of being undisturbed in the dining room than in the study.
But no sooner had she started than Steel walked in.
"Feel like getting out of this place and going somewhere?" he asked.
Alison looked at him and thought he might still be quite presentable if he shaved and wore ordinary clothes. His shirts were always open to the waist showing that repulsive mat of hair.
"Where did you think of going?" she asked. "Up the hill at the back. Get some fresh air."
"All right," said Alison.
To PC Graham's sharp question, Alison told the policewoman where they were going.
The couple walked past the garage and through a little gate in the garden fence and up a winding path that led to the top of a heathery hill behind the house. A stiff breeze had sprung up blowing warm air in from the Gulf Stream. They paused at the top of the hill and looked at the view. Great clouds were rolling in from the Atlantic and down below, the restless sea was green with flying black shadows as the clouds passed overhead.
"Can you lend me any money?" asked Steel abruptly.
"I'll need to consult my lawyers. I don't have the money yet."
"They'll advance it to you if you ask," said Steel crossly. "You've already got enough for that car of yours."
"Well, it is my money now."
"Look," wheedled Steel, "I've got this great song. I need money to launch it. I could pay you back with interest."
"Let me think about it," said Alison. "Isn't the view pretty?"
"Bugger the view," he said morosely.
"You must still be very upset by Maggie's death," said Alison, seizing on what she hoped was the one subject that would divert his mind from money.
"I was shocked, but not particularly upset," he said. "She'd changed. Used to be all fun and games. God! The amount of money that harpy took from me, now I think of it. At least you could say she did something for it. It's just fallen into your lap and all you do is screw around with Jenkins."
"That's not true," said Alison, her face flaming.
"Aw come on , you could hear the pair of you all over the house."
Alison rounded on him. "You can't have any money, not ever," she shouted.
As she ran down the hill, his jeering voice followed her, "Just mind how you go, sweetie. With you out of the way, there wouldn't be any trouble in us getting our hands on it."
Alison walked into the house. Donati was in the kitchen, telling off PC Graham. He had just been reminding her it was her duty to keep a watch on Alison and not to sit drinking coffee.
He subjected Alison to another long interview before taking his leave.
Alison went into the sitting room and James Frame rose at her approach. "Where's Peter?" asked Alison.
"Gone down to the village for cigarettes, I think," said James. "I've been wanting to have a talk with you."
"What about?" asked Alison, although she was sure she knew what was coming.
"Fact is, I need a bit of financial help and wondered if you could let me have a few thou'."
"No," said Alison. "Why should I?"
"Because I think you should pay me back some of the money Maggie got out of me in the past. She was insatiable. The things I had to do to find money to keep her." His voice took on a faintly cockney whine. "Come on, darling, you wouldn't miss it."
"I don't know," said Alison desperately. "Leave me alone for just now. In fact, now I think of it, I think you should all leave after the funeral. It's my house and I can turn you all out when I want to."
"Well, that's downright inconsiderate. I took leave and I need a holiday."
"I shouldn't think you would want to stay under the circumstances."
"I've got a strong stomach."
"I'm telling you now," said Alison as Crispin Witherington walked in. "You've all got to leave right after the funeral and that's that."
She walked back to the dining room and stood there, feeling strangely exhilarated. She couldn't remember standing up for herself before.
Then she sensed someone standing behind her and swung round. Crispin Witherington was there, a little smile curving his mouth though his eyes were hard.
"So the chips are down, are they?" he said. "No money for any of us, except perhaps what Jenkins gets for laying you. Do you know why we all rushed up here? Money. Maggie's money. Do you really think one of us gave a damn for that tart after all those years? She cheated us and conned us rotten and we all wanted some of our money back. It makes me sick to think of a wimp like you with your prissy ways walking off with that old tart's fortune. If I were you, I wouldn't walk along any dark roads for some time to come."
"Mrs. Todd!" screamed Alison.
Both Mrs.Todd and Mary Graham erupted into the room as if they had been listening outside the door.
"He threatened me," said Alison shakily. "Oh, Mrs. Todd, you've got to tell them all to go home after the funeral." And with that, Alison burst into tears, while PC Graham took out her notebook to question Crispin, and Mrs. Todd moved quickly forward, saying, "Come along, now. You'd best go up to your room and leave us to sort matters out here."
Alison stumbled out.
But she did not go to her room. She went out to the garage and wrenched open the doors. Driving, that was it, her only solace, her only comfort.
She roared off down the precipitous cliff road, her eyes blurred with tears. The road ran along the edge of the cliff and as Alison raced along, she realized dimly that she was going too fast to take the hairpin bends and pressed on the footbrake. Nothing happened. A corner hurtled towards her and she scr
eeched round it and down the next stretch, her hands sweating on the wheel. Another corner was looming up. She screamed, wrenched into a low gear, and seized the handbrake and pulled with all her might. The car skidded off the road and slithered to a stop, the little front wheels of the mini hanging over the cliff edge.
Alison sat there, numb with shock. Below her the sea heaved and sucked at the base of the cliffs. She gave a whimpering sound and released her seat belt. Although she moved only slightly, the car gave a creak and seemed to dip. She twisted her neck. It was a two-door car and so she could not climb into the back seat and escape that way. It was out of the question to try to struggle through one of the back windows for they were too small and any effort to escape that way might overset the car.
She sat there for what seemed like ages while the screaming seagulls wheeled overhead. The wind was rising, she realized numbly. If she sat there much longer, one good gust would tip the little car into the sea.
Praying loudly, she grasped the door handle and pressed it down. The door swung open. Immediately below her was the sea and just behind, springy turf.
With a yell, she flung herself out of the car, twisting sideways, her fingers scrabbling at the springy turf. She lay face down, her legs dangling over the edge of the cliff. Beside her, with a sad little creak, the mini slowly slid over the edge of the cliff and plunged down into the sea.
Sobbing and grasping grass roots, Alison pulled herself forward on her belly. She heard a car drive up and a car door slam, but still she continued to ease forward until she was well clear of the cliff edge. Then she looked up.
Peter Jenkins was standing there, his hands on his hips, looking down at her.
"Whatever are you doing?" he asked. "Playing games?"
Hamish Macbeth could never understand why mews cottages, those old converted carriage houses, should be considered chic. They had been built for carriages and coachmen out of the poorest of brick and usually faced north. The cobbled way outside mews cottages always seemed to be a magnet for dog owners who allowed their pets to use it as a lavatory.
