Death of a Gentle Lady

hearts, and his recent experience with Irena had really soured him.
    ‘I don’t want to go to p-prison,’ wailed Ruby.
    Hamish saw a box of paper tissues on the sideboard and took it over to her. ‘Pull yourself together,’ he said.
    Ruby gulped, shuddered, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes. ‘Can I have a wee dram afore you take me in?’
    Hamish went back to the sideboard where there was a row of bottles. Blair must have been generous, he thought cynically, because Ruby can’t be making much on the streets these days.
    Ruby asked for a rum and Coke. Hamish poured her a reasonable measure and took it back to her.
    She gulped it down. He saw the fear in her eyes and felt a reluctant twinge of pity.
    ‘How did you get into the life, Ruby?’
    ‘I wisnae always like this,’ said Ruby. ‘Ruby McFee is no’ my real name. I was born Mary Ashford and I was a nice child. This was down in Glesca. My dad died and my mother married again. When I was fourteen my stepdad took me round to his brother, Shuggie Leith, saying I had to stay with him for a bit. The brother raped me, his pals raped me, and then they put me on the streets. One o’ my punters fell for me, a nice wee man called Sandy McFee who worked on the Clyde ferries. I ran away with him and we lived in a wee flat in Gourock. We werenae married but I took his name. He called me his ruby and so I became known as Ruby McFee.
    ‘I came back from the shopping one day and he was lying at the foot o’ the stairs leading up to our flat wi’ his throat cut. I didnae call the polis. I was that frightened. I thought they’d think it was me what done it and find out about the hooking.
    ‘I packed up my stuff and came up here. I don’t know if Shuggie and his pals killed Sandy but I never wanted him to find me. Somehow I just drifted back into the life again.’
    Hamish sat staring at her. Here was his perfect opportunity to get his revenge on Blair. Blair as well as Ruby would go to prison. But Daviot, he knew, would blame him for bringing the force into disgrace. Somehow, Hamish would share that disgrace, and a vengeful Daviot might move him to Strathbane.
    Ruby eyed him nervously, finished her drink, and mutely held out her glass for more. Hamish went to the sideboard and refilled it, his brain racing.
    He handed her the glass and sat down and looked at her. ‘How would you like to be a respectable married woman?’ he asked.
    ‘Stop making fun o’ me.’
    ‘I’m serious.’
    ‘That was always a dream I had when I was out in the streets, particularly in the winter.’
    ‘Does Blair know your real name?’
    ‘No. Why?’
    ‘Were you ever charged under your real name?’
    ‘No. When I was hooking in Glesca I was that young, somehow the polis never picked me up.’
    ‘Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to write and sign a confession. Then I want you to go out tomorrow and get yourself some lady-like clothes and dye your hair a respectable brown. Then I want you to phone Blair and tell him he’s got to marry you or you’ll tell all. Don’t mention my name. I’ll keep your confession as security. You’ll tell him that you’ve written a confession and you’ve lodged it with a lawyer with instructions it’s to go straight to the police if anything should happen to you. Tell him about your real name and that no one will associate you with Ruby McFee.’
    ‘He’ll kill me!’
    ‘He can’t. He wouldn’t dare. You’ll never have to walk the streets again.’

Epilogue

    A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.
– Oscar Wilde

    Christmas was over, the New Year’s celebrations were over, and a fine drizzle of snow was falling: tiny little flakes that spiralled upwards in the freezing air.
    Hamish was coming back down to the station from the field at the back after giving his sheep their winter feed when he saw Jimmy standing on the doorstep.
    ‘Let me in out o’ this cold, Hamish,’ said Jimmy. ‘You’ll never believe what I have to tell you!’
    They walked into the kitchen. Hamish took down the bottle of whisky and warned, ‘One dram only, Jimmy. The roads are bad. You could’ve phoned.’
    ‘Not wi’ news like this. Brace yourself, Bridget, as the Irishman said to his missus by way of foreplay.’
    They sat down at the table. Jimmy took a sip of whisky and said, ‘Blair’s getting married!’
    ‘Michty me!’ exclaimed Hamish, affecting surprise. ‘Who to?’
    ‘Decent enough body called Mary Ashford.