Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam (12 page)

So it was with something like surprise that Agatha opened the door one morning to Harriet and Polly.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked nervously.

‘Yes, you can,’ said Polly. ‘We are all getting together to clean up the village green.’ She handed Agatha a roll of garbage bags.

Glad to be no longer ostracized, Agatha agreed. She called to Charles to come and help but he appeared to have become suddenly deaf because there was no reply to her calls. She went off with Harriet and Polly. ‘I’m sorry about that fairy business,’ said Agatha. ‘It just slipped out.’

‘Well, you’re no longer the culprit, everyone in the village seems to have spouted off about fairies to the television cameras,’ said Polly, sour because no one had asked her about them. ‘Has Mrs Jackson been cleaning for you?’

‘Not yet,’ said Agatha. ‘She’s been due to call several times but she always says she’s poorly. Has anyone seen Lucy?’

They both shook their heads. ‘We hear she’s up at the manor and the lawyers have called,’ said Polly, ‘and the police are still there the whole time.’

‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Agatha as they came upon the full horror of the village green.

‘That’s not all,’ said Harriet with gloomy relish. ‘Those travellers were using the pond as a toilet, so we’re getting someone down from the Department of the Environment to advise us how best to purify the water.’

Several other villagers were working alongside them. ‘This is all the fault of that Lucy Trumpington-James,’ complained a stout countrywoman to Agatha.

Agatha straightened up from her rubbish collection. ‘How’s that?’ she asked.

‘If she hadn’t have murdered him, then these dirty folks wouldn’t have come here.’

‘But she was in London.’

‘So they say, but don’t you believe it.’

‘Was Tolly Trumpington-James having an affair with anyone?’ asked Agatha.

‘Why shouldn’t he?’ demanded the woman, her red hands on her broad hips. ‘Wasn’t much fun being married to her.’

‘So who was he having an affair with?’ said Agatha eagerly.

‘I never said nothing,’ retorted the woman angrily and walked quickly away to another part of the green.

I must find out more about this, thought Agatha. She called to Polly and Harriet, who had been joined by Carrie, ‘When you’re ready for a break, we can go back to my place for coffee.’

‘Right,’ said Harriet. ‘We’ll let you know.’

Agatha was just wondering if she would ever walk straight again when Harriet called, ‘Wouldn’t mind that coffee now.’

Agatha straightened up with a groan. Her back was aching. Her fingers were numb because the day was icy cold.

When they were all seated around the kitchen table – still no sign of Charles – Agatha said, ‘A woman on the green told me Tolly was having an affair.’

‘Who would that be?’ wondered Harriet. ‘I mean, who told you that?’

‘Big, broad woman, rosy cheeks, frizzy grey hair.’

‘Oh, that would be Daisy Brean. I wonder what she was on about. I never heard anything about Tolly having an affair. I mean, who would want Tolly?’

‘We could ask about,’ suggested Agatha. ‘I mean, if she knows something, maybe someone else does. And that would mean there might be some angry husband who wanted rid of Tolly.’

‘I saw Charles the other day,’ said Carrie, ‘and he took me for a drink. He said you were thinking of leaving soon but that he might stay on.’

Agatha realized that she had been able to put James out of her mind for over a week.

They had played endless games of Scrabble, gone to the cinema in Norwich, gone shopping and had kept away from the villagers as much as possible. Charles had said it was best to keep clear until the fuss died down and the press moved on to juicier stories. So when had he met Carrie? Then she remembered; she had decided to wash and set her hair and he had said he would go out for a walk. Carrie was slim and attractive. Damn Charles, and thank God she hadn’t gone to bed with him. She was now determined to stay on longer. If Fryfam could take her mind off James, then it was worth hanging on for a bit. Charles’s suggestion that she see a therapist still rankled.

‘I’ll be here for a bit,’ said Agatha. ‘By the way, I like that rose scent that Rosie Wilden uses. Is it a commercial one?’

‘No, she makes it.’

‘Does she sell any?’

‘I think she’ll give you some if you ask her. She says it’s from an old recipe,’ said Carrie. ‘I suppose I’d better be going.’

The others rose as well. As Agatha saw them out, Charles was just returning.

‘What now?’ she asked.

‘Eat something and then we’ll go out to the manor to present our condolences to Lucy.’

‘I’m tired of thinking about meals,’ said Agatha crossly.

‘Doesn’t seem to trouble you much. Just bung it in the microwave. Let me see what we’ve got. I’ll make something. Let’s see. Eggs, bacon, sausage. That’ll do. A nice fry-up.’

‘I needn’t worry about my weight,’ said Agatha. ‘I must have lost pounds picking up that rubbish.’

‘Sit there while I make with the frying pan.’

‘Are you usually so domesticated?’

‘Only around you. I’m driven into it.’

After lunch, they headed out to the manor, Agatha refusing to walk, saying she had endured enough cold air to last her for the rest of the day. There had been a hard frost during the night and patches of it still lay unmelted on the ground.

‘If anyone talks to me about global warming, I’ll puke,’ grumbled Agatha. ‘It was a rotten summer as well.’

‘The rest of the world was burning up,’ said Charles. ‘Here we are. Gates open. No policeman on duty.’

They went up the drive. It all seemed very quiet.

Charles rang the doorbell. They waited for what seemed a long time, until Lucy’s voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the door. ‘Who is it?’

‘Charles Fraith and Agatha Raisin.’

The door opened. ‘I thought it might be the press,’ said Lucy. ‘Come in.’

They followed her into the drawing-room. She was wearing a silky trouser suit and was highly made up, as if about to go on television.

‘We were very sorry to hear of Tolly’s death,’ said Agatha.

‘Were you?’ Lucy raised thin eyebrows. ‘You barely knew him.’

There was an awkward silence. Then Agatha said, ‘Have you any idea who would murder your husband?’

‘No,’ said Lucy, suddenly looking weary.

‘But you wanted me to find out if Tolly had been having an affair.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes,’ said Agatha crossly. ‘You thought he was having an affair with Rosie Wilden. Remember? All about the rose perfume in the bedroom and the fact that Tolly had washed the sheets?’

‘Oh, that.’

There was a silence.

‘Well?’ prompted Charles.

‘Well, what? Oh, I see. Nothing seems to matter much.’

‘But don’t you see,’ said Agatha eagerly, ‘if Tolly was having an affair, then the murder might have been committed by a jealous husband.’

‘Rosie doesn’t have a husband.’

‘It doesn’t need to be her. She might give that perfume of hers to people who ask for it.’

‘Truth to tell, I’ve been so shattered by this,’ said Lucy, ‘I haven’t been able to think clearly. You’ve got an idea there.’

‘Didn’t you say anything to the police about your suspicions?’ asked Charles.

‘Them! That man, Hand, went on and on as if I’d done it. I had to have all my wits about me sticking to my alibi.’

Agatha wanted to ask her why Mrs Jackson had said that she and Tolly had been laughing about her suspicions and why they had ridiculed her, Agatha. But Lucy might freeze up. And there was still hope of getting gossip out of Mrs Jackson – that is, if she ever turned up to clean.

‘Did Tolly ever seem to favour any woman?’

‘Apart from Rosie, no. He would suck up to wives at hunt dos, ones whose husbands he wanted to ingratiate himself with.’

‘Like who?’ asked Charles.

‘Oh, like that dreary old bag, Mrs Findlay.’

‘Captain Findlay’s wife?’

‘Yes, her. I call her the battered bride. She always trembles every time her husband looks at her. He probably beats her.’

‘And the police have no idea where the Stubbs went to?’

‘None at all. It’ll probably turn up in some mansion in South America.’

‘I assume you get everything,’ said Charles.

‘Yes.’

‘Good solicitors?’

‘Old-fashioned and solid. Tomley and Barks in Norwich.’

‘Tomley,’ said Charles. ‘There was a Tristan Tomley in my form at Eton and he came from over here.’

‘Could be,’ said Lucy indifferently.

‘What will you do now?’ asked Agatha.

For the first time, Lucy seemed animated. ‘I’ll sell up here and move to London. Thank God this place and the grounds are worth something. Tolly didn’t leave much else. That damn hunt must have been bleeding him dry. I never want to see another horse or hound again.’

‘We’ll do all we can to help,’ said Agatha.

Lucy gave a little shrug. ‘I don’t see what you can do. But thanks anyway. I’m sorry I haven’t offered you anything, but I’m a bit busy at the moment, so . . .’

Agatha and Charles rose to their feet. ‘Find your own way out?’ Lucy remained seated.

They said goodbye and walked out to the car.

‘What now?’ asked Agatha.

‘The solicitors in Norwich.’

‘They won’t tell us anything.’

‘They might – that is, if the Tomley part of the business is the one I went to school with.’

The city of Norwich was shrouded in mist, slowly thickening into fog. ‘Hope it doesn’t get worse than this or we’ll need to stay the night here,’ said Charles. ‘Do you know, the fairies have disappeared. No more petty theft.’

‘That’s true. Do you think someone stole the petty stuff and flashed lights around to make everyone frightened as a blind, when all the time he really meant to steal the Stubbs?’

‘Could be. But there’s something about the petty thefts which smacks of the work of children. We never saw Mrs Jackson’s children, apart from the gardener.’

‘And that’s a mystery,’ said Agatha as Charles eased into the car park. ‘How on earth did a woman like that manage to get married two times?’

‘No accounting for taste.’ Charles flashed her a wicked look. ‘Is there, Aggie?’

‘Stop calling me Aggie and let’s find this solicitor.’

The solicitors’ offices were in a pleasant old sixteenth-century flint building in a courtyard off Lower Goat Lane. ‘Let’s hope it’s the Tomley I knew and that he’s here and not in court,’ said Charles.

He gave his card to a motherly looking receptionist. She smiled at them, told them to wait, and said she would see if Mr Tomley was available.

They sat down in comfortable leather armchairs in front of a low table covered in glossy magazines.

The receptionist returned, smiled again, and said, ‘Mr Tomley is on the phone. Will you wait? He should only be a few moments.’

Agatha picked up a magazine about country houses and flicked through it. The offices were very quiet, protected from the sound of traffic by the courtyard outside. Her eyelids began to droop and soon she was fast asleep.

She awoke with a jerk half an hour later. Charles was shaking her by the shoulder. ‘Come along, Aggie. We’re going for a drink. This is Tommers.’

Agatha stood up and blinked blearily and focused on a plump, well-tailored man with a red shiny face and thick grey hair. ‘You should have woken me, Charles,’ she admonished.

‘You haven’t missed anything,’ said Charles cheerfully, ‘and you look so beautiful when you sleep, snoring gently and with your mouth hanging open.’

‘And you make noises like a dog hunting rabbits in
your
sleep. Whoop, whoop, shiver, whoop,’ said Agatha nastily.

Then she blushed as Tristan Tomley surveyed both of them with bright-eyed interest.

‘Let’s go,’ said Charles, his good humour unabated. ‘Where’s the pub, Tommers?’

‘Round the corner. The Goat and Boots.’

As they walked out into the freezing, foggy air, Tommers said, ‘I doubt if the pair of you will get back tonight. Fog’s bad. I feel in my bones it’s going to be a bad winter.’

The pub was relatively quiet. They took their drinks to a corner table. ‘Well, Charles,’ said Tommers, ‘what’s this all about? Or did you come the whole way here to reminisce about our school-days?’

‘Not quite. You see, I’m staying with Agg–Agatha in Fryfam.’

‘Aha. The Trumpington-James murder. Why should you be interested?’

‘We like to solve mysteries,’ said Charles. ‘Wanted to ask you about the will.’

‘I don’t mind telling you about that. All straightforward. Everything goes to the wife.’

Agatha had then what she considered as being a sudden flash of intuition. ‘Aha,’ she said, her bearlike eyes boring into the lawyer’s. ‘But what about the
other
will?’

‘What other will?’

Agatha leaned forward eagerly. ‘The one Tolly was threatening to make just before he was killed. The one in which he cut out his wife and left the money to . . . someone else!’

Tommers surveyed her with amusement. ‘You mean like in books?’ He burst out laughing. ‘Nothing so sinister. Only one will and no threats of cutting the wife out. I say, Charles. Do you remember old Stuffy?’

Agatha relapsed into gloom as the reminiscence went on. What a waste of a journey! What a foggy freezing place to land up in, only to be made to feel ridiculous.

At last, after what seemed an age, Tommers said he had to be getting home. ‘Would invite you,’ he said, ‘but my mother-in-law is in residence and she’s a bit crotchety, to say the least.’

After he had left, Charles said, ‘Did you really think there might have been another will?’

‘I hoped there might be the threat of one, or even some mysterious woman who got something in the real will. Now I feel stupid.’

‘I must admit I was hoping for the same thing. So what do you want to do? Shall we find a hotel?’

‘Let’s at least try to get back. We can always stop somewhere on the way home. In fact, we can at least stop somewhere for dinner. I don’t like to leave the cats on their own. I left some hard food for them and they’ve got plenty of water, but they will worry about me.’

‘I think Hodge and Boswell keep each other amused, Aggie.’