Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam (21 page)

‘You nearly got killed because you told Mrs Trumpington-James that you thought Paul Redfern was a blackmailer, which happened to be the truth.’

‘It only just occurred to me,’ said Agatha huffily. ‘How could I tell you anything when it had only just occurred to me?’

‘Remember in the future to keep your nose out of police business.’

‘If we had kept our noses out of police business,’ snapped Agatha, ‘then you would still be looking for a murderer. If you want any more damn statements, you’ll find me in Carsely. I’m going home.’

Agatha was still raging when she was joined by Charles. ‘Never mind,’ he said, seeing her furious face. ‘I had a rotten time of it as well. You would think they might at least have been grateful. Let’s get something to eat and then go and see Lizzie.’

‘Why the hell should we see Lizzie?’

‘Come on, Aggie, it would be a nice thing to do.’

Agatha bitched and grumbled her way through lunch about the iniquities of the ungrateful police.

Then, after lunch, as they were approaching Lizzie’s flat, Agatha saw Mrs Tite, the woman she had given twenty pounds to during her fictitious market-research survey into coffee. ‘Coming to see me again?’ asked Mrs Tite.

‘I was actually going to call on Mrs Findlay.’

‘Oh, nice little Mrs Findlay has left.’

‘Do you know where she’s gone?’

‘She said something about going to relatives in the country.’

They thanked her and walked away.

‘I bet she’s gone home,’ said Charles suddenly.

‘Why on earth should she?’

‘I always thought she would.’

‘But she’d escaped. A new life.’

‘She’s been in chains too long,’ said Charles. ‘It’s the Stockholm syndrome. The hostage gets to love the hostage taker.’

‘You think you’re so right about everything. I bet you a fiver she hasn’t gone anywhere near the captain.’

‘You’re on.’

Sure enough, at Breakham, Lizzie answered the door to them. She was wearing an apron and there was a dab of flour on one cheek. ‘Come into the kitchen,’ she said. ‘I’m baking for the church sale.’

‘Where’s the captain?’ asked Agatha nervously.

‘Oh, somewhere round the farm.’

‘Why on earth did you return to him?’ asked Agatha.

Lizzie bent down and took a tray of little sponge cakes out of the oven. ‘I knew Tommy couldn’t do without me.’ She was wearing a pair of bright blue contact lenses and her hair was done in a soft, pretty style. ‘It’s done him the world of good.’

‘So you’re not going to sell the Stubbs and leave?’

‘Oh, no. We’re going to sell the Stubbs, yes, but the roof needs repairing and then maybe we’ll go on a cruise. Do you want coffee or something? Although I’m actually very busy.’

Outside, Agatha took out a five-pound note and handed it to Charles. ‘I still don’t believe it,’ she said.

‘They’ll never go on that cruise, you know,’ said Charles. ‘He’ll gradually get control of her again and there won’t be a next time for Lizzie.’

‘Serves her right,’ said Agatha. ‘I never liked her anyway.’

In Fryfam, Agatha called the estate agent and said she would be leaving in the morning and that she wanted her deposit and the remainder of the rent refunded. Mr Bryman said the deposit could be refunded but not the remainder of the rent. But by the time Agatha, glad to vent her spleen on someone, had told him what she thought of Fryfam and its murders and that she would take him to the small-claims court, he caved in and said he would send her a cheque.

Agatha was still cross with Charles. She felt the fact that he’d taken Rosie to bed diminished her own night with him. She thought constantly of James.

That evening, Charles was asleep in front of the dying fire. Agatha decided to go down to the garden shed to get more logs.

She went into the frosty back garden. Then she stood and stared. Little multi-coloured lights were dancing around at the bottom of the garden. She thought she could hear faint laughter, which seemed to be half inside and half outside her head.

She went back inside and phoned Harriet. ‘Those Jackson children are up to their tricks again,’ she complained. ‘Shining lights at the bottom of my garden.’

‘It can’t be them,’ said Harriet. ‘The children have been taken off to Mrs Jackson’s sister in Kent. Must be the fairies. I say, what do you think about Lucy being guilty after all?’

But Agatha answered automatically. She could somehow still hear that strange elfin laughter.

When she finally replaced the receiver and looked down the garden, there was nothing there.

But Agatha Raisin found she was too frightened to get any logs. She left Charles asleep in front of the dying fire and went to bed.

The next day, Agatha could not bear to tell Charles about the strange lights. He would just say, if it hadn’t been the Jackson children it might have been some angry villager. Agatha remembered a woman chief constable saying that a murder left everyone scarred.

And sure enough, as she was packing, the phone began to ring. Angry anonymous voices with strong local accents accused her of being an interfering busybody who had probably done the murder herself. After the third, she unplugged the phone from the wall.

Charles came downstairs, carrying his suitcases. ‘People ringing to congratulate us?’

‘Locals ringing out for our blood.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we got their dear, sweet Mrs Jackson banged up. Will you lead the way in your car, Charles? I’m frightened of an ambush.’

They loaded up their cars, Agatha tenderly placing the cats in their travelling boxes on the back seat.

As they emerged from Pucks Lane to circle the village green and take the road out of Fryfam, Agatha saw Rosie standing with a group of villagers. As Charles’s car approached, Rosie’s beautiful face became contorted with fury. She threw a half-brick straight at his car. The window on the passenger side smashed. Charles accelerated, and so did Agatha.

Soon they were speeding fast out of Fryfam. After several miles Charles pulled in at a garage. Agatha pulled in behind him.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, getting out of the car and going up to inspect the damage to his.

‘I was lucky I wasn’t cut,’ said Charles.

‘Here’s my phone. Call the police.’

‘No, Rosie must feel used. She’ll know that I got the police on to Barry. I’ll phone up the glass-repair people when we stop for lunch. They’re pretty nippy these days. I’ll keep the brick as a souvenir.’

‘Then let’s drive on,’ said Agatha. ‘I’m afraid they might come after us.’

They stopped for lunch a few miles down the road. Charles phoned and ordered the glass to be repaired.

Over lunch, Agatha eyed him narrowly. ‘You didn’t tell Rosie you loved her, or anything like that?’

‘Not exactly. Stop glaring at me like that, Aggie. Who knows who’s been sleeping with who in that accursed village.’

‘You should keep that half-brick as a reminder to keep your pants on next time.’

‘Oh, really? And who saved your life, you ungrateful cow?’

‘I s’pose . . .’ mumbled Agatha.

‘Glad to be going home?’

‘I am.’

‘James waiting for you?’

‘Let’s not talk about James.’

‘I think we should,’ said Charles. ‘Look, go and see that therapist I told you about.’

‘I don’t need a shrink.’

‘When it comes to James Lacey, you need your head straightened out.’

‘Don’t nag me. I’ll think about it.’

The glass repair-man came in with the papers for Charles to sign and said he’d have the window fixed in a matter of minutes.

‘Time to go,’ said Charles at last. ‘I wonder if you would mind paying the bill, Aggie. I’m a bit short.’

Agatha was weary by the time she turned down the winding country lane into Carsely. Somehow, she had pictured that in Carsely it would be warm and the sun would be shining, but night had already fallen and frost was glittering on the branches of the trees that spanned the road.

She turned into Lilac Lane. There were lights on in James’s cottage and a suffocating feeling of excitement engulfed her. But fear of a cold reception kept her from stopping outside his cottage and rushing in to see him.

Agatha had phoned her cleaner, Doris Simpson, to warn her of her return. When she let herself in, the cottage was warm. Doris had switched on the central heating. On the kitchen table was a casserole with a note of welcome from Mrs Bloxby.

‘Why did I ever leave?’ said Agatha aloud. She let the cats out of their boxes and then went out to get her suitcases.

A tall blond woman was just leaving James’s cottage. This then must be Mrs Sheppard, thought Agatha sourly. The woman came towards her. ‘Welcome home,’ she said, ‘You must be Agatha Raisin. I’m Melissa Sheppard.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Agatha, looking anything but pleased.

‘Can I give you a hand in with your luggage?’

Agatha opened her mouth to say a fierce NO, but then changed her mind. She simply had to find out how close this woman was to James.

‘Very kind of you,’ she said instead.

Melissa Sheppard was blond, forty-something, slim but not the siren Agatha had envisaged.

‘Just leave that case in the hall,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ll unpack later. Coffee?’

‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

‘None at all. Come into the kitchen.’

‘I’ve just been calling on your neighbour,’ said Melissa. ‘I took him some of my sponge cakes. These bachelors don’t know how to look after themselves.’

‘I’ve always found James pretty self-sufficient,’ said Agatha, plugging in the kettle.

‘He told me you had investigated several crimes together. Too exciting! And you’ve been involved in another murder. “Poor old thing,” I said to James, but he said, “Don’t worry about Agatha, she’s formidable.”’ And Melissa gave a throaty laugh.

‘I’m suddenly very tired,’ said Agatha. ‘Do you mind if we leave coffee to another day?’

‘Not at all. I’m always at James’s, so we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.’

Agatha saw her out and then slammed the door with unnecessary force behind her.

Then she picked up the phone and dialled Charles’s number. When he came on the line, she said, ‘What’s the name of that therapist?’

The following day, Agatha walked along to the vicarage. It was as cold as Fryfam. Perhaps people damned the weather in Norfolk in the hope of consoling themselves that winter in Britain was lousier somewhere else.

Mrs Bloxby greeted Agatha with delight. ‘Come in. I am dying to hear all about your adventures.’

Agatha settled happily into an armchair in the vicarage sitting-room in front of the log fire. ‘I’ll get tea,’ said Mrs Bloxby.

Agatha had made an appointment with the therapist for the following week. She now dreamt of coming back to Carsely from a visit to the therapist cured of her obsession with James Lacey.

Mrs Bloxby came in carrying a laden tea-tray. ‘The fruit-cake’s very good. It’s a present from Mrs Sheppard.’

‘Oh, her,’ said Agatha. ‘I met her last night. She seems to be setting her cap at James.’

Mrs Bloxby’s conscience pricked her. She should tell Agatha that James felt he was being hounded day and night by Mrs Sheppard. But Mrs Bloxby knew how miserable James had made Agatha in the past. She also knew that James had initially ‘come on’ to Mrs Sheppard, as that nasty modern phrase so well described it, and so it was his fault that she was chasing after him, but she said nothing about it, asking instead, ‘Now tell me all about Fryfam.’

So Agatha did, and when she got to the end of her adventures, she had a sudden compulsion to tell Mrs Bloxby about those fairy lights.

‘“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in our philosophy,”’ said Mrs Bloxby.

‘Who the hell’s Horatio?’ demanded Agatha.

‘It’s a quote from
Hamlet
. I probably didn’t get it right. I mean, that odd things do happen. On the other hand, if, as you say, some of the villagers were angry with you, then it follows they might have been trying to give you a scare.’

‘It could be, but it wasn’t just the lights, it was that odd faint laughter. Half of it seemed to be inside my head.’

‘Well, don’t worry about it. You’re home now. Tell me about Charles. He must be very fond of you to stick by you through everything.’

‘I don’t know what Charles thinks of me,’ said Agatha. ‘This cake is actually very good. Trust that rotten bitch to make good cakes. Yes, I think Charles gets easily bored and that’s why he stayed. The murders provided a diversion for him.’

‘That seems a bit heartless.’

‘I don’t really know what Charles thinks any more than I ever knew what James thought of me.’

‘Plenty of men around, Mrs Raisin.’

‘Not for women of my age.’

‘Rubbish. You’ve been so tied up in thoughts of James, you’ve never really noticed anyone else.’

Agatha was about to tell Mrs Bloxby about the forthcoming visit to the therapist and then decided against it. It seemed such a weak thing to do, to go to a therapist. It would seem like admitting there was something mentally wrong with her and she couldn’t cope on her own.

They talked about parish matters and then Agatha rose to take her leave.

‘You are over James, aren’t you?’ asked Mrs Bloxby on the doorstep.

‘Oh, sure, sure,’ said Agatha, but she would not meet Mrs Bloxby’s eyes, and she hurried away with her head down.

Doris Simpson, her cleaner, was waiting for her when she got back. ‘How’s my Wyckhadden cat?’ asked Agatha. She had brought a cat back with her from one of her previous ‘cases’ but had found three cats just too much and the new cat adored Doris and so Doris had taken it over.

‘Happy as ever,’ said Doris. ‘Do you want me cleaning today?’

‘It looks fine,’ said Agatha. ‘Leave it for a couple of days. I haven’t unpacked most of my stuff yet.’

The doorbell rang. ‘Want me to get it?’ asked Doris.

‘No, it’s all right. Off you go and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Agatha opened the door. Melissa Sheppard stood there. ‘Is James here?’ she asked brightly. ‘I’ve made him a spinach pie.’

Agatha stepped out into the front garden and looked along at James’s cottage. A face glimmered at the window on the half-landing and then disappeared. ‘Did you ring his bell?’ asked Agatha.