The trial of Henry Withering, with all its attendant publicity, was over at last. Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, who had vague thoughts of returning to her job, stayed on at Tommel Castle instead. Winter was settling down on the Sutherland mountains.
Colonel and Mrs Halburton-Smythe had been shocked and shaken over Henry Withering’s arrest. Their shock had not improved their attitude to their daughter. Fear of what might have happened to her made them treat her more like a fragile blossom than ever. They kept begging her not to return to London, to stay in Sutherland where it was ‘safe’ from doubtful suitors such as Henry.
It was when they said they had invited Jeremy Pomfret to dinner and made it obvious they had begun to look on him in the light of a possible son-in-law that Priscilla decided to make her escape back to London.
Jeremy, who had sworn not to stay at Tommel Castle again, had nonetheless accepted the invitation. He had enjoyed all the publicity surrounding the murder trial and seeing his picture iri the newspapers, and so the cold castle had become endowed with a certain glamour in his eyes. It was small comfort to Priscilla that that glamour obviously did not extend to herself. She had not seen Hamish since the day Henry had been accused of murder. Her parents were, irrationally, furious with Hamish, blaming him obscurely for all the notoriety that had descended on their home.
Priscilla thought Hamish might have gone to Strathbane, for surely the solving of two murders would be enough to give a village constable instant promotion. She was surprised one morning to hear Jenkins complaining that Hamish Macbeth was becoming lazier and ruder every day.
All at once Priscilla wanted to see Hamish, to talk about the murder, to talk as much of it out of her brain as possible. It was a forbidden subject at Tommel Castle.
She drove down to Lochdubh, hearing her car tyres crackle over puddles of ice in the road, seeing the snow-capped mountains glittering against a pale blue sky.
The police station looked deserted and, for a moment, she thought Jenkins might have been mistaken and Hamish had left.
She made her way round the back of the station.
Hamish was just climbing over the fence into his garden from the croft at the back, two empty feed pails in his hands. His red hair flamed in the sunlight and his tall, lanky figure looked safe and reassuring.
He stood for a moment watching Priscilla, and then he walked forward.
“I didn’t think you were going to speak to me again,” he said.
Priscilla smiled. “I’ve been upset and shocked, Hamish. But I’ve got over it now. I’m thinking of leaving for London next week.”
“Aye, going back to the same job?”
“No, I’ve lost that. It was a silly little job anyway with a miserable pay. I think I might train for something – computers or something.”
“Come into the kitchen and I’ll make us some tea.”
Priscilla followed Hamish into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Towser put his head in her lap and gazed up at her soulfully.
“I thought you would have been promoted,” said Priscilla, stroking Towser’s head and watching Hamish as he got the tea-things out of the cupboard.
“Didn’t you hear?” said Hamish. “Poor Mr Chalmers. He died of a heart attack. Blair took the credit for everything. Didn’t you read about it in the reports of the trial?”
“I wasn’t called as a witness,” said Priscilla, “and Mummy and Daddy told the servants to stop delivery of the newspapers.”
“I thought Jeremy Pomfret might have told you,” said Hamish, giving her a sidelong look.
“Jessie’s been gossiping,” said Priscilla.
“Sounded to me like you were going to be Mrs Pomfret.”
“Let’s not talk about Jeremy. Didn’t either of those two detectives tell anyone it was you who was responsible for solving the murder?”
“No, they have to work with Blair.”
“But Rory Grant wrote a dramatic exclusive about how you solved the murder.”
“It was an exclusive. The other papers, and some of them with much bigger circulations, carried Blair’s version. Nobody could write anything until after the trial. Sub judice. By that time Chalmers was dead. I’m glad in a way. I like it here.”
“Yes,” said Priscilla, wondering not for the first time why Hamish’s homely, cluttered police station always seemed a safer, cosier, and more welcome place than Tommel Castle.
He put a cup of tea in front of her. “Bring it through to the living room,” he said. “I’ve been making some improvements.”
Priscilla obediently walked through to the living room and then stood and looked around. There was a new carpet on the floor, a warm red shaggy carpet. The walls had been newly papered and two pretty chintz-covered armchairs were placed in front of the fire.
“This is lovely, Hamish,” said Priscilla. “How on earth could you afford all this? I know you send every penny home.”
Hamish grinned. “I kept a wee bit o’ the grouse money back for myself.”
“The grouse money?”
“Aye, it was the morning of the murder. I found Angus, the poacher, dead-drunk down at the harbour with a brace o’ grouse in his back pocket. I was going to return them to your father. Well, there was the murder and all. That helicopter was standing by, and after I had taken down the pilot’s statement, I remembered Captain Bartlett telling me the pilot had instructions to hand over two thousand pounds for the first brace. So I went to my car where I’d left Angus’s birds and took them and handed them over.”
He beamed at her proudly.
Priscilla carefully put down her cup and got to her feet. “A man had been shot, his chest blown away,” she said in a thin voice, “and all you could think of, you great moocher, was how to turn it to your advantage!”
She turned and ran from the house.
Hamish stood for a moment, staring at the spot where she had been.
Then he sprinted out of the room, out of the house and into the garden.
Priscilla was standing by her car, leaning her head on the roof. Her shoulders were shaking.
He came cautiously up behind her. “Dinnae take it so hard,” he pleaded. “It iss not me who’s the murderer.”
She turned round and buried her face on his shoulder.
“Priscilla,” said Hamish suspiciously, “I have a feeling you’re laughing.” He tilted up her head.
“Oh, Hamish,” giggled Priscilla, “you are the most shocking man I know.”
Hamish rolled his eyes. “Do you hear?” he cried to a passing sea-gull. “Here’s her that gets engaged tae criminals telling the force of law and order on Lochdubh that he’s shocking. Come along ben, Priscilla, and I’ll get us something to eat.”
“What? Grouse?” demanded Priscilla, still giggling.
“Aye, I just might hae a wee bit.”
With a companionable arm about her shoulders, he led her towards the police station, pushed her gently inside, followed her in, and closed the door firmly behind them on the cold outside world.