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O the disgrace of it!—The scandal,the incredible come-down!
—Sir Max Beerbohm
Hamish Macbeth awoke to another day. His dog, Towser, was lying across his feet,snoring rhythmically. Sunlight slanted through the gap in the curtains. Thetelephone in the police office part of the house shrilled and then the answeringmachine clicked on. He should rise and go and find out what it was. It was hisduty as a police constable of the village of Lochdubh and part of thesurrounding area of the county of Sutherland. But all he wanted to do was pullthe duvet over his head and go back to sleep.
He could not really think of any good reason for getting up to face the day.
He had, until his demotion from sergeant back to constable and the end of hisengagement with Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, daughter of a local hotelier, beenvery popular, a happy state of affairs he had taken for granted. But somehow thestory had got about that he had cruelly jilted Priscilla, she who had been toogood for him in the first place, and so, when he went about his duties, he wasmet with reproachful looks. Although Chief Superintendent Peter Daviot had alsobeen angry with him over the end of the engagement, that was not why Hamish hadbeen demoted. He had solved a murder mystery by producing what he firmlybelieved was the body of the murdered man to elicit a shock confession from theguilty party. The ruse had worked, but he had had the wrong body. It had turnedout to be a fine example of Pictish man and the police were accused of beingclod-hopping morons for having so roughly handled and used such a prime exhibit.Someone had to be punished, and naturally that someone was Hamish Macbeth.
Hamish was not an ambitious man. In fact, he was quite happy with his lot asordinary police constable, but he felt the displeasure of the village peoplekeenly. His days before his disgrace had pleasantly been given up to moochingaround the village and gossiping. Now no one seemed to want to spend the time ofthe day with him, or that was the way it seemed to his gloomy mind. IfPriscilla, whom Hamish considered remarkably unaffected by the end to theromance, had stayed around to demonstrate that fact, then he would not be in badodour. But she had left to stay with friends in Gloucestershire for an extendedvisit, so as far as the villagers were concerned, Hamish had driven her off andshe was down in "foreign" parts, nursing a broken heart.
Mrs. Halburton-Smythe did not help matters by shaking her head and murmuring"Poor Priscilla" whenever Hamish's name was mentioned, although what Mrs.Halburton-Smythe was sad about was that she was beginning to believe that hercool and aloof daughter did not want to marry anyone.
With a groan, Hamish made the effort and got up. Towser gave a grumbling soundin the back of his throat and slid to the floor and padded off towards thekitchen.
Hamish jerked back the curtains. The police station was on the waterfront andoverlooked the sea loch, which lay that morning as calm as a sheet of glass.
He washed and dressed and went through to the police office. The message wasfrom headquarters in Strathbane reminding him he had not sent in a fullstatement about a break-in at a small hotel on the road to Drum. He ambled intothe kitchen and made himself a breakfast of bread and cheese, for he hadforgotten to light the stove. Priscilla had presented him with a brand-newelectric cooker, but he had childishly sent it back.
He fed Towser and stood on one leg, irresolute, looking like a heron broodingover a pond. Depression was new to him. He had to take action, to do somethingto lift it. He could start by typing that report. On the other hand, Towserneeded a walk.
The phone began to ring again and so he quickly left the police station withTowser at his heels and set out along the waterfront in the hot morning sun. Andit was hot, a most unusual state of affairs for the north of Scotland. He pushedhis peaked cap back on his fiery-red hair and his hazel eyes saw irritationheading his way in the form of the Currie sisters, Jessie and Nessie.
The eyes of the village spinsters constantly accused him of being a heartlessflirt. He touched his cap and said, "Fine morning."
"It is for some. It is for some," said Jessie, who had an irritating habit ofrepeating things. "Some, on the other hand, are breaking their hearts."
Hamish skirted round them and went on his way. Resentment and self-pity warredin his bosom. He had once helped the Currie sisters out of a dangerous jam andhad destroyed evidence to do so. Damn it, he had helped a lot of people in thisvillage. Why should he be made to feel guilty?
His thoughts turned to Angela Brodie, the doctor's wife. Now she had notturned against him. He walked up the short path leading to the doctor's house,went round the back and knocked at the kitchen door. Angela answered it, thedogs yapping at her feet. She pushed her fine wispy hair out of her eyes andsaid vaguely, "Hamish! How nice. Come in and have coffee."
She cleared a space for him at the kitchen table by lifting piles of books offit and placing them on the floor.
"I don't seem to have had a chat with you in ages," said Angela cheerfully."Heard from Priscilla?"
Hamish, who had just been lowering his bottom onto a kitchen chair, stood upagain. "If you are going to start as well ..." he began huffily.
"Sit down," said Angela, startled. "Start what?"
Hamish slowly sat down again. "You haff been the only one who hass not gone onabout Priscilla," he said, his Highland accent becoming more sibilant, as italways did when he was angry or upset.
"Oh, I see," said Angela, pouring him a mug of coffee and sliding it across thetable towards him. "I only asked about Priscilla because I assumed that you andshe were still friends."
"And so we are!" said Hamish. "But ye wouldnae think so with this lot inLochdubh. You would think I wass some sort of Victorian philanderer the way theygo on."
"It'll blow over," said Angela comfortably. "These sort of ideas spread throughthese villages like an infection. Mrs. Wellington started it." Mrs. Wellingtonwas the minister's wife. "She started it by complaining that you were a fecklesswomanizer and things like that. You know how she goes on. But you brought thaton yourself!"
"How?"
"She happened to overhear you doing a very good impression of her to delight theboy scouts."
"Ah."
"And so she got a resentment to you and shared it around. Resentment is veryinfectious. It has always fascinated me the way, for example, one malcontent canbring a whole factory out on strike and keep everyone out on strike until thefirm folds and they all lose their jobs. Also, you're going around being sogloomy. That fuels it. You look like a guilty man."
"I'm a bit down," confessed Hamish. "The fact is I've taken a scunner taeLockdubh and everyone in it."
"Hamish! You love the place!"
"Not at the moment."
"You're due some leave, aren't you? Get right away on holiday. You could get oneof those cheap holidays in Spain. Or some of the African package holidays arevery cheap."
"I'll think about it," said Hamish moodily. "I might just take a wee holidaysomewhere in Scotland, seeing that the weather's fine."
Angela got up and began to rummage through a pile of old magazines on a kitchenchair. She extracted a battered Sunday-paper colour supplement. "What about thisplace?" she said, flipping open the pages. "Skag. Have you been...
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