Hamish Macbeth Omnibus (Books 1-4) by M.C. Beaton

Author:M.C. Beaton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2018-07-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Methought I heard a voice cry, ‘Sleep no more!

Macbeth does murder sleep.

– Shakespeare

Summer lay dying outside Tommel Castle. A chill wind blew across the moors and rattled the windows and sent puffs of smoke from the fire belching out into the drawing room.

They were all gathered for afternoon tea, even Freddy Forbes-Grant, who had been released from prison. He had stoutly maintained he had confessed to the murder only because he thought his wife had committed it. There was not enough hard evidence to hold him. Blair swore the gloves had not been in Freddy’s room when it was first searched, and Anderson and MacNab backed him up. Freddy’s moustache drooped, and he looked thoroughly miserable. Mary Halburton- Smythe poured tea with a steady hand and tried not to think it would have been more decent of Freddy to have mourned in his room instead of crawling about downstairs like the skeleton at the feast.

Priscilla felt the nightmare would never end. Henry had apologized. He had said his jealousy had got the better of him and he should have realized Hamish had only a brotherly interest in her. Colonel Halburton-Smythe had taken him aside and explained everything. So much for the adult talk with her father, thought Priscilla bitterly. She was once more wearing her engagement ring. How Hamish would despise her! She felt trapped, and yet did not feel she could summon up enough courage to deal with Henry until the shadow of murder had lifted. It would be easier to cope with him in London where everything was lighter and more fickle.

The guests had been told they could leave for their respective homes on the following day, provided they did not travel anywhere else or leave the country.

‘Cake?’ said Mrs Halburton-Smythe brightly, holding out a plate of sliced seed cake to Pruney.

Pruney turned pale and shook her head. Everyone was drinking tea with cautious little sips, eyeing the others warily.

There came the clump of official boots and voices from the hall.

‘Not again,’ groaned Lady Helmsdale. ‘I’ve made so many statements, I’ve given fingerprints, I’ve watched coppers searching my undies – I feel like shooting the lot of them.’

The door opened, and Chalmers came in. Behind him came Blair, Anderson and Mac- Nab, who took up positions round the room. Then came Hamish Macbeth, followed by what looked like a shorter, squatter version of himself – Rory Grant.

Priscilla wondered if Hamish was ill. A thin sheen of sweat filmed his face, and his eyes were hard and fixed.

‘Go ahead, Macbeth,’ said Chalmers quietly.

Hamish knows the identity of the murderer, thought Priscilla hysterically. He hasn’t once looked at the teapot.

‘It’s been a difficult case,’ said Hamish quietly. ‘So many of you had reason to want Bartlett dead. But only one of you had the nerve, the lack of morals, and the sheer cunning to kill not only Bartlett but Mrs Forbes- Grant as well. And one of you had exceptional luck. These crimes were the work of a gifted amateur.

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