Free Death of a Gossip by MC Beaton Page B

village hall tonight. Second showing, ten o’clock. Wouldn’t it be
a shriek if we went to it?’
    Hamish smiled. ‘My dear lassie, it is Bill Haley and his Comets in Rock Around the Clock, which was showing a wee bit before you were born, I’m thinking.’
    ‘Lovely. Let’s go after whoever you’re speaking to speaks.’
    ‘I cannot think Colonel Halburton-Smythe would like his daughter to go to the pictures with the local bobby.’
    ‘He won’t know.’
    ‘You have not been long in the Highlands. Give it a day, give it a week, everyone around here knows everything.’
    ‘But Daddy doesn’t speak to anyone in the village.’
    ‘Your housemaid, Maisie, is picture daft. She’ll be there. She’ll tell the other servants and that po-faced butler, Jenkins, will see it as his duty to inform the
master.’
    ‘Do you care?’
    ‘Not much,’ grinned Hamish. ‘Oh, Rory, it is yourself.’
    He listened intently. Priscilla watched Hamish’s face, noticing for the first time how cat-like his hazel eyes looked with their Celtic narrowness at the outer edges.
    ‘Thank you, Rory,’ said Hamish finally. ‘That is verra interesting. I am surprised that fact about her is not better known.’
    The voice quacked again.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Hamish gloomily. ‘I may be in the way of having to report a wee murder to you in the next few days. No, it is chust my joke, Rory.’ Hamish’s
accent became more sibilant and Highland when he was seriously upset.
    He put down the phone and stared into space.
    ‘What was all that about?’ asked Priscilla curiously.
    ‘Gossip about a gossip,’ said Hamish, getting to his feet. ‘Wait and I’ll just lock up, Miss Halburton-Smythe, and we’ll be on our way. I’ll tell you about it
one of these days.’
     
Day Four
    Above all, when playing a big fish, stay calm.
    – Peter Wheat,
    The Observer’s Book of Fly Fishing
    It was a very subdued party that met in the lounge in the morning. Heather Cartwright was visibly losing her usual phlegmatic calm. Her plump face was creased with worry, and
her voice shook as she asked them to be seated.
    Lady Jane was absent, but everyone seemed to jump a little when anyone entered the room. John Cartwright, in a weary voice, said he felt they had not all learnt the art of casting properly and
so he would take them out to the lawn at the back to give a demonstration. His eyes turned to the major to make his usual remark, that those with experience could go ahead, but somehow he could not
bring himself to say anything.
    They stood about him, shivering in the chill, misty morning air as he demonstrated how to make the perfect cast. He warmed to his subject but his little audience fidgetted restlessly and moved
from foot to foot.
    Finally, their unease reached him, and he stopped his lecture with a little sigh. ‘Enough from me,’ he said. ‘We will go to the upper reaches of the river Anstey. I’ll
leave word at the desk for Lady Jane. There is no point in disturbing her if she’s sleeping late.’
    Like the day before, the warmth of the sun began to penetrate the mist. ‘Bad day for fishing,’ said the major knowledgeably, and Alice could only envy the quick way in which he had
recovered from his humiliation.
    ‘I like the sunshine,’ she said, and then could not resist adding, ‘and I hope Lady Jane doesn’t turn up to spoil it.’
    ‘Got a feeling we won’t be seeing her,’ said the major cheerfully.
    And then it was as if they all had the same feeling. Everyone’s spirits began to lift. John Cartwright smiled at his wife and pressed her hand as he drove up the twists and winds to the
river. ‘I’ve a feeling we’ve been worrying too much about that woman,’ he murmured to Heather. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see to it she doesn’t plague us
anymore.’
    Alice gave a little sigh of relief. Obviously the Cartwrights were going to tell Lady Jane to leave. She grinned at Charlie, but Charlie was looking white and sick