Death of a Sweep - M. C. Beaton [5]
‘Suits me,’ said Hamish laconically, turning sausages on a frying pan balanced on a camp stove outside his tent.
‘Aye, but there’s something else. You’d better clear out that spare room at the station. You’re to get a constable. His name is Torlich McBain and he’s a wee sneak. I think he’s supposed to keep an eye on you and report to Blair. He’s a bit o’ a Bible basher. He’ll preach you the word.’
Milly Davenport had enjoyed a few days of what she guiltily thought of as freedom. The women from the village were kind. She loved the gossip over cups of tea, and she loved the company.
They worked like a pack of guard dogs to keep the press away from her and give Blair a hard time. Blair had worked out a scenario in his fat brain where Milly had a jealous lover and would have browbeaten her had not the women sent a letter of complaint to Daviot.
But on the morning that Hamish Macbeth returned to his police station, Captain Henry Davenport’s sister, Miss Philomena Davenport, arrived at Milly’s house. ‘I’m come to stay with you, Milly,’ she said. ‘It’s what my dear brother would have wanted.’
Philomena was a tall woman with big hands and feet. She had cropped grey hair and slightly prominent pale green eyes. She was dressed in gear she considered suitable for the Highlands: knee breeches, lovat wool socks, a green army sweater, and a leather fleece.
She disapproved of Milly ‘consorting with the local peasantry’ and so banned them from the house.
Milly felt she had lost one bully only to find another.
Hamish watched sadly as a scrap dealer from Alness drove off with the contents of his spare room: an old fridge, bits of a plough, rusting screwdrivers, two old televisions, and myriad iron bits and pieces. Although he had previously cleaned it out, when the female constable who had nearly tricked him into marriage was supposed to take the room and was billeted at the manse instead, he had just put everything back in again. Mrs Wellington, the minister’s wife, arrived with a cleaning squad. A bed, wardrobe, and side table were delivered from a Strathbane shop, the bill to be footed by the police.
Torlich, nicknamed Tolly, arrived to take up residence. He had never risen in the ranks due to failing all the necessary exams. He was small for a policeman, with a wrinkled, sagging grey face and weak watery eyes.
‘I’ll let you get settled in,’ said Hamish. ‘I’m off to Drim to have a word with Mrs Davenport.’
‘That should be left to your superiors,’ said Tolly.
He had been told Hamish Macbeth was an easy-going layabout. But the hazel eyes that looked down into his own were as hard as stone. ‘You will do what you are told, Constable,’ said Hamish. ‘In future, you address me as “sir”. You have the day to get your things unpacked.’
He turned on his heel and marched out, followed by Sonsie and Lugs. Tolly decided to spend the time going through Hamish’s papers and belongings. If he was a spy, then he would be a good spy. God had given him this chance to prove his mettle.
Hamish drove to the captain’s house in Drim and rang the doorbell. A tall tweedy woman answered it. ‘I am Miss Davenport, my poor brother’s sister,’ she announced, ‘and Mrs Davenport has had enough of the police. Good day to you.’
The door began to close. Hamish put his boot in it.
‘Neffer let it be said that a lady like yourself is impeding the police in a murder inquiry,’ remarked Hamish, the sudden sibilance of his highland accent showing he was annoyed.
‘Who is it?’ Milly appeared behind her sister-in-law. ‘Oh, I remember you. Please come in.’
‘Milly, I do not think you are up to any more questioning,’ said Philomena.
‘As long as it isn’t that man called Blair, I don’t mind. Come in. Please leave us, Philomena.’
She led the way into the kitchen. ‘My name is Hamish Macbeth, from Lochdubh,’ said Hamish.
‘Yes, I remember. I phoned you.’
‘You’re probably tired of questions …’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Milly, ‘so long as you don