Death of a Gentle Lady by M. C Beaton

Author:M. C Beaton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Police Procedural, Fiction, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781845296483
Publisher: Constable Crime
Published: 2007-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

Eight

Let’s briefly put on manly readiness,

And meet i’ the hall together.

—William Shakespeare

Although he was glad that Anna had not called on him or even contacted him, Hamish, as he walked along to the village hall, was surprised that Jimmy had not rung to give him further news of Mark Gentle. He had tried to phone the inspector but his mobile was switched off and headquarters said he was busy.

The mist was still thick and the lights along the waterfront shone dimly, as if suspended in the air without any means of support.

From the loch, he could hear the gentle plash of the waves and the far-off chug-chug of a donkey engine. And yet he could not get the relaxed feeling he usually had when a case was over.

He decided to go ahead with what he had planned and to put it around the gathering tonight that Irena had told him something important. He knew the news would spread like wildfire all the way to Braikie.

The three witches were in rehearsal. “A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come,” howled Mrs. Wellington as Hamish walked into the hall. A roar of laughter ensued.

“That’s enough!” cried Harold. “We’ll take a break.”

There was a surge towards tables set at the side of the hall which were laden with cakes and sandwiches, a tea urn and cups.

Priscilla came to join him. “This is great fun,” she said. “Everyone’s having a grand time although I gather there’s an arrest and Banquo, that’s Matthew, is over in Strathbane.”

“How do they get Jessie to say her lines without repeating the last words?” asked Hamish.

“Harold decided to ignore it. He’s very patient.”

Hamish raised his eyebrows in surprise. He would have thought Harold too arrogant to be patient about anything.

“I’m still not happy about this arrest,” said Hamish.

“Not happy about the arrest?” boomed Mrs. Wellington, who had overheard him.

“It’s because of something Irena told me.”

“Then you should tell your superior officers.”

“I’ll keep it to myself for a bit.”

“Did you hear that?” Nessie Currie asked her sister. “Thon Russian tart told Hamish something. I heard him telling Priscilla that he wasn’t happy about the arrest.”

They bustled off to spread the gossip.

When the break was over, Hamish collected more sandwiches and tea and retreated to a table at the back of the hall to watch as the rehearsal resumed.

They were all very amateur, including Priscilla, who delivered Lady Macbeth’s lines without passion but with a sort of icy disdain which was quite effective. And together it somehow worked. The mist had drifted into the hall, creating the right atmosphere for a Shakespearean tragedy.

When he went back to the police station, he could feel a light damp breeze beginning to fan his cheek. The dog and cat were out. They came and went by the large, expensive cat flap, a present from a grateful inspector Hamish had worked with on his last case. He knew they were perfectly capable of looking after themselves and that he should no longer plague Angela with them

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