Death of a Chimney Sweep

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To Georgie Askew and Dave Tapping and to the staff of the beautiful Cavendish Hotel on the Chatsworth estate who sheltered us one whole winter’s afternoon although we were not guests. Many thanks.

Chapter One

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

—William Shakespeare

The village of Drim in the county of Sutherland at the northwest of Scotland was rarely visited by outsiders. Not even the most romantic member of the tartan lunatic fringe of the lowland cities could claim it to be a place of either interest or beauty.

It was a small village situated at the end of the long arm of a sea loch where towering mountains dropped down sheer into the water so that the loch looked black and sinister even on a fine day. It consisted of a huddle of whitewashed cottages and one general store. There had been a murder committed there some time ago, temporarily bringing in the outside world, but since then Drim had settled back into its usual torpor.

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