Read Online 6 The Queen of Scots Mystery by Cecilia Peartree - Free Book Online
Authors: Cecilia Peartree
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a pensioner, but she seemed to have adopted pensioner ways early in life and to have decided to stick to them from then on. He supposed it made things simpler in the sense that she wouldn’t then have to bother dyeing her hair when it went grey, or buying new clothes except when they wore out. It had made her and Liam, the eternal teenager, an extremely odd couple, but of course they hadn’t been a couple for some time now.
‘But she isn’t happily married this time either,’ said Maisie Sue, nodding. ‘Or she wouldn’t have taken up with Liam.’
‘But how did you know, Penelope?’ said Jemima. She directed a certain gaze on the other woman: Christopher recognised it as the one she wore when she was absorbed in family history detective work. He had last seen it a few weeks ago in the computer room at the Cultural Centre, when she was on the brink of discovering a certain ancestor’s whereabouts at the time of the 1841 census.
‘How did I know what?’ said Penelope, who had evidently got lost somewhere in her own narrative. Looking at the rest of the audience, Christopher suspected some of them were also lost. He was particularly suspicious of Rosie and Darren, whose overtures to Charlie Smith’s dog had resulted in it coming out from the curtains , putting its head on the coffee table in the window and fixing both of them with a mournful stare, of Jan from the wool shop, who was glaring at a piece of knitting she had taken out of a bag that seemed too small to contain it, and of Dave, whose glazed look suggested he was about to fall asleep.
‘How did you know the woman was carrying on with Li am?’ said Jock, who tended to pursue things that caught his attention like a terrier, persisting long after any reasonable person would have lost interest.
‘Well, she was talking to one of her friends in that wee café in Inverkeithing – you know the one near the bus stop – I had popped in there because it was so cold and I had a while to wait for my next bus. I heard her saying something about Liam.’ Penelope paused, and her face got even redder. ‘I think she had just come back from spending the weekend with him. She was a bit – tired.’
They all digested this in an embarrassed silence.
‘But how did you know it was your Liam she was talking about?’ said Jock, who in Christopher’s experience was more or less immune to embarrassment.
‘Well, after that I seemed to see them together everywhere,’ said Penelope. ‘Not in Aberdour, of course – her husband would have noticed something – but at the pictures in Dunfermline, and down by the harbour here, sitting on a bench in the cold – you’d think they would have frozen to death.’
‘But they had their love to keep them warm,’ said Maisie Sue with a wistful sigh.
‘Lust!’ said Jock McLean , sounding rather like an old-fashioned preacher. ‘That’s all it was. Animal lust. They should have been ashamed of themselves.’
Jan from the wool-shop had looked up from her knitting now and was nodding along with his words. Perhaps it was the word ‘lust’ that had attracted her attention. But after a moment her gaze drifted back to the needles and wool. She held it up and squinted at it, as if wondering if she had made a mistake. Christopher wondered how anyone could tell. Knitting was one of life’s great mysteries, as far as he was concerned. He thought of Amaryllis and her attempts to master it. He tried to push the memory of the scarf out of his mind but it seemed to get larger as if haunting him, with its multitude of primary colours and the holes that could have formed some sort of a lacy pattern but which she had confessed were dropped stitches. He sighed heavily, and re-focussed on the conversation.
‘You’ve got to tell the police all this,’ said Charlie Smith. ‘You do realise why, don’t you? Mrs Johnstone?’
Penelope raised her eyes to meet his. She nodded slowly.
‘They might need to ask you some uncomfortable
‘But she isn’t happily married this time either,’ said Maisie Sue, nodding. ‘Or she wouldn’t have taken up with Liam.’
‘But how did you know, Penelope?’ said Jemima. She directed a certain gaze on the other woman: Christopher recognised it as the one she wore when she was absorbed in family history detective work. He had last seen it a few weeks ago in the computer room at the Cultural Centre, when she was on the brink of discovering a certain ancestor’s whereabouts at the time of the 1841 census.
‘How did I know what?’ said Penelope, who had evidently got lost somewhere in her own narrative. Looking at the rest of the audience, Christopher suspected some of them were also lost. He was particularly suspicious of Rosie and Darren, whose overtures to Charlie Smith’s dog had resulted in it coming out from the curtains , putting its head on the coffee table in the window and fixing both of them with a mournful stare, of Jan from the wool shop, who was glaring at a piece of knitting she had taken out of a bag that seemed too small to contain it, and of Dave, whose glazed look suggested he was about to fall asleep.
‘How did you know the woman was carrying on with Li am?’ said Jock, who tended to pursue things that caught his attention like a terrier, persisting long after any reasonable person would have lost interest.
‘Well, she was talking to one of her friends in that wee café in Inverkeithing – you know the one near the bus stop – I had popped in there because it was so cold and I had a while to wait for my next bus. I heard her saying something about Liam.’ Penelope paused, and her face got even redder. ‘I think she had just come back from spending the weekend with him. She was a bit – tired.’
They all digested this in an embarrassed silence.
‘But how did you know it was your Liam she was talking about?’ said Jock, who in Christopher’s experience was more or less immune to embarrassment.
‘Well, after that I seemed to see them together everywhere,’ said Penelope. ‘Not in Aberdour, of course – her husband would have noticed something – but at the pictures in Dunfermline, and down by the harbour here, sitting on a bench in the cold – you’d think they would have frozen to death.’
‘But they had their love to keep them warm,’ said Maisie Sue with a wistful sigh.
‘Lust!’ said Jock McLean , sounding rather like an old-fashioned preacher. ‘That’s all it was. Animal lust. They should have been ashamed of themselves.’
Jan from the wool-shop had looked up from her knitting now and was nodding along with his words. Perhaps it was the word ‘lust’ that had attracted her attention. But after a moment her gaze drifted back to the needles and wool. She held it up and squinted at it, as if wondering if she had made a mistake. Christopher wondered how anyone could tell. Knitting was one of life’s great mysteries, as far as he was concerned. He thought of Amaryllis and her attempts to master it. He tried to push the memory of the scarf out of his mind but it seemed to get larger as if haunting him, with its multitude of primary colours and the holes that could have formed some sort of a lacy pattern but which she had confessed were dropped stitches. He sighed heavily, and re-focussed on the conversation.
‘You’ve got to tell the police all this,’ said Charlie Smith. ‘You do realise why, don’t you? Mrs Johnstone?’
Penelope raised her eyes to meet his. She nodded slowly.
‘They might need to ask you some uncomfortable
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