Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam (13 page)

‘But the cottage will be cold.’

‘Then they’ll probably end up under your duvet.’

Agatha grabbed his arm. ‘Look!’

‘Look at what?’

‘Oh, she’s gone.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘It was there at the end of the street, just in front of that shop window,’ said Agatha. ‘I thought I saw the captain’s wife, Lizzie Findlay.’

‘Well, what’s so exciting about that?’

‘She looked different, all smartened up, heels and trouser suit and make-up.’

‘How could you see anything in this fog?’

‘It parted a bit and the shop window’s brightly lit. A bus passed and sent the fog swirling. It probably wasn’t her. It was someone who looked the way she would look if she were smartened up. I suppose I’m seeing things because I don’t want this nasty cold outing to be entirely wasted. And, damn, I am worrying about those cats.’

The rush-hour was building up. Charles eased out into a lane of traffic. ‘Maybe we should stop somewhere for a bite soon,’ he said, ‘and then we can have a clearer road.’

‘Anywhere you like,’ said Agatha. ‘And put the heater on. I’m freezing.’

As they eased out of Norwich, the commuter traffic grew less, and the surrounding countryside, blacker and foggier. ‘I need a break,’ muttered Charles. ‘There’s a lit-up sort of building ahead, I think, but with this fog I don’t know if it’s a factory or a pub. Ah, a pub.’

He turned right into a car park. He got out of the car and held up one finger. ‘I think there’s a breeze, Aggie. Just like a faint breath of air. Do you know what the forecast is?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, well, let’s see what they’ve got in the way of food.’

The pub turned out to have a small dining-room. The food was of the chicken-in-a-basket, scampi-in-a-basket type of meal, along with various sandwiches and baked potatoes with different fillings.

They both ordered chicken and chips. The chicken turned out to be hard and dry and coated in orange breadcrumbs, and the chips were of the nasty frozen variety. But food was food. They washed it down with mineral water, Charles saying that he didn’t want to be charged with being over the limit, and as he couldn’t drink, he didn’t see why Agatha should have that pleasure. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘people who drink on their own are terribly suspect.’

They ate in silence. Charles, to Agatha’s amazement, paid the bill. Outside, the fog was as bad as ever. ‘Going to be pretty hopeless getting back,’ commented Charles as damp fog swirled about them. ‘We should try to get back to Norwich for the night.’

‘I’ll drive,’ said Agatha grimly. ‘My cats.’

‘Damn your pesky cats,’ said Charles in a rare fit of bad temper. ‘You’re turning into an old maid.’

‘I’m turning into a caring human being,’ snapped Agatha, ‘which is more than I can say for you.’

‘Get in the car. I’ll do my best.’

‘Where’s that precious wind of yours?’ asked Agatha, as she fastened her seat-belt.

‘God knows. Well, here we go into the black nothingness of Norfolk.’

They made their way along the road at a steady thirty miles an hour.

‘Can’t you go faster?’ complained Agatha.

‘No. Shut up.’

After several miles, Charles said, ‘The wind is rising at last, and just for the moment, it’s making things worse.’

Odd pillars of fog danced in the headlights in front of his tired eyes, like grey ghosts. He crested the top of a small hill and suddenly they were out into a clear starry night.

‘Amazing,’ muttered Charles, accelerating.

At last they reached Fryfam and turned into Pucks Lane. ‘A large brandy, I think, is called for,’ said Charles, parking alongside the hedge. Agatha fished in her handbag for the enormous door key.

She stopped short on the threshold. ‘Charles,’ she said, ‘the door’s open. Did we leave it like that?’

‘Of course not. Don’t go in, Aggie. There may be someone still there. I said don’t go –’

But with a cry of ‘My cats!’ Agatha went straight inside.

Then Charles heard a scream of dismay from Agatha and darted in after her. She was standing in the sitting-room. Everything had been turned over. The drawers in the desk were hanging open. ‘Hodge and Boswell?’ asked Agatha through white lips.

‘Wait here. I’ll look upstairs.’

Charles went upstairs and into both bedrooms. Someone had gone through everything.

He came back down. ‘I’m phoning the police. Where you going?’

‘To look for the cats.’

Agatha went into the kitchen. Cupboards opened, drawers opened. What had they been searching for?

She went down the garden, calling desperately for her cats. But there was no welcome glint of green eyes in the darkness.

Agatha searched and searched, until Charles came up behind her. ‘The police are here, Aggie. I’m sure the cats are all right. They’re great survivors. Come in out of the cold.’

‘I should never have left them.’ Agatha began to sob.

‘Here, now.’ He put an arm round her. ‘Where’s my brave Aggie? It’s only old Framp. The heavy mob will be along shortly.’

He coaxed her into the sitting-room, where Framp was standing in front of the fireplace.

‘Just a few preliminary questions,’ said Framp, opening his notebook.

‘Sit down,’ said Charles, pressing Agatha down on to the sofa. ‘Wait a moment and I’ll answer all your questions. She’s in no fit state. I’ll get her a brandy.’ Charles went over to the cupboard where Agatha kept the drinks, pulled out a brandy bottle and poured her a stiff measure. ‘I don’t suppose you drink on duty,’ he said to Framp.

‘It’s a cold night, sir, and a beer wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘We haven’t got beer. Here, Aggie. You drink that. We’ve got whisky, gin, vodka, and a bottle of elderberry wine.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a whisky, sir.’

‘Right you are. Soda?’

‘No, just straight.’

Charles gave Framp a glass of whisky and poured himself a brandy. ‘Sit down,’ he said to Framp. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’

After half an hour, Hand and Carey arrived. ‘You’re lucky,’ said Hand. ‘They got us when we were out on another case not far away.’ Framp deftly slid his glass behind the television set.

Charles answered all the questions over again. Again he simply said they had been shopping in Norwich and had been late arriving home because of the fog. No, he didn’t know what anyone could possibly be looking for, or who could have got in without forcing the door. Agatha was roused to go upstairs with Carey to see if all her jewellery was still there. She moved like an automaton, fretting all the while about her lost cats. Then she returned to the sitting-room with Carey.

‘Nothing missing, sir,’ said Carey.

‘We’ll have the fingerprint boys along soon,’ said Hand with a sigh. ‘Now, you,’ he said to Agatha. ‘Have you been going in for any detecting?’

Charles threw Agatha a warning look. ‘No,’ lied Agatha. ‘What about my cats?’

‘I’m sure they are somewhere about.’

But Agatha was sure they were dead. She should never have brought them here. She should never have run away from Carsely. She promised God she would do anything if only those cats came back. A forensic team arrived and dusted the place for fingerprints. Despite her misery about her cats, Agatha could not help comparing Fryfam to Carsely. Had this happened in Carsely, all the villagers would have gathered to offer sympathy and support. But the fairy-believers of Fryfam stayed in their burrows like hobbits.

By three in the morning, police and forensics packed up and left. Agatha and Charles sat side by side on the sofa. Agatha shivered. ‘It’s so cold,’ she said.

‘Tell you what,’ said Charles. ‘You stay there for a bit and I’ll light this fire and get us warm and then I’ll light the fires in the bedrooms.’

Agatha watched dully as he put fire-lighters, paper and logs on the fire and sat back on his heels, watching it blaze up. Then he picked up the empty log basket. ‘I’ll go out to the shed and get some more logs. You be all right?’

Agatha nodded. She stared at the dancing flames. I’m a silly woman, she thought. Why didn’t I mind my own business? Why did I come to his hell-hole just to destroy my cats? Who cares who killed Tolly?

She heard the kitchen door crash open. She heard Charles come in and then he said gleefully, ‘Look what I’ve got, Aggie.’

She twisted her head around and then jumped to her feet. For Charles was carrying Hodge and Boswell.

‘Oh, thank God,’ cried Agatha, the tears of relief running down her face. She patted both cats. ‘Bring them into the kitchen, Charles, and I’ll give them something special.’

Charles waited in the kitchen, amused, as Agatha proceeded to open a tin of pâté de foie gras and then one of salmon.

‘Don’t kill them with kindness,’ he said, and then went back down the garden, whistling, to get the logs.

Agatha was awakened by the ringing of the doorbell downstairs. She looked at her bedside clock and groaned. Eight in the morning! She struggled into her dressing-gown and hurried downstairs and the bell rang and rang. She opened the door to confront the unlovely features of Mrs Jackson.

‘Came to do yer house,’ said Betty Jackson, pushing past Agatha. Agatha collected her wits. She wanted to tell this woman to get lost, but there was all that fingerprint dust.

‘We had a break-in last night,’ said Agatha, ‘and the police were here, so there’s fingerprint dust everywhere. I must go back to bed. Don’t bother about the bedrooms. Just clean downstairs. Oh, and do the windows.’

‘I don’t do windows.’

‘Do what you can,’ said Agatha crossly. ‘And don’t bother my cats. In fact, I’ll take them with me.’ She looked at the cleaner curiously. ‘You don’t seem over-surprised.’

‘It’s incomers,’ said Mrs Jackson, taking off her coat. ‘Never had nothing like this afore the incomers came.’

And coming from a woman who was married to a jailbird, that was a bit thick, thought Agatha. But she was too weary to argue. She scooped up her cats and went upstairs with them and plunked them on the end of the bed, climbed in herself and drifted back into sleep.

When she awoke again, it was eleven o’clock. She hurriedly washed and dressed and went downstairs, followed by the cats. She could hear Charles’s voice coming from the kitchen and guessed he was talking to Mrs Jackson. She took a look in the sitting-room. It was polished and gleaming and free of dust and the fireplace had been cleaned out and the fire reset. At least she can clean, thought Agatha.

She went into the kitchen. The conversation stopped abruptly when she opened the kitchen door. Mrs Jackson was rinsing out a cloth at the sink and Charles had the morning papers spread out in front of him.

‘Nearly finished here,’ said Mrs Jackson. ‘Want me to do upstairs?’

‘Yes, if you please,’ said Agatha.

Charles rose. ‘We’re going out, Betty. Just let yourself out and lock the door.’

‘How can she do that?’ asked Agatha. ‘I’ve got the key.’

‘I went down to the estate agent’s and got another,’ said Charles. ‘I’ve paid Betty. Come along, Aggie. You can eat later.’

‘So it’s Betty now,’ said Agatha. ‘What did you get out of her?’

‘Get in the car and I’ll tell you.’

‘Wait a bit. Will the cats be all right?’

‘I let them into the garden. They’ll be fine.’

‘What does she do with her children when she starts so early?’

‘They get the early school bus. The school supplies free breakfasts to the children of working mothers provided they’re poor enough.’

‘So what did you get out of her?’

Charles pulled into a lay-by and switched off the engine. ‘It’s what I didn’t get out of her that fascinated me. She says Lucy was a good employer.’

‘Was? Isn’t she working for her any more?’

‘No, she says that Lucy paid her off and very generously, too. Seems as if our Lucy is going to put the house on the market as soon as she can and says she’ll get a commercial firm in to do the whole place over. But you would think that someone like Lucy would want someone in the meantime to wash the dirty dishes and Hoover. Mrs Jackson doesn’t talk much about Tolly but sticks to her story that they were a devoted couple.’

‘Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe they were.’

‘Come on. You don’t believe that.’

‘No, I suppose not. Where are we going?’

‘A little of Betty Jackson goes a long way. There’s something about that woman that makes my flesh creep. I’ve been thinking about Lizzie Findlay.’

‘The captain’s wife? Because I thought I saw her all glammed up?’

‘I suppose it’s because I’m restless and can’t think of anything else. Remember Lucy said something to the effect that Tolly was crawling to Lizzie.’

‘Yes, but surely that was only to ingratiate himself with the captain?’

‘I don’t know. Take Lucy, for instance. She must spend a fortune on her appearance and she’s as hard as nails. There’s downtrodden Lizzie, everything that Lucy is not.’

‘But she’s so dowdy and faded!’

‘We don’t know how she shapes up if she takes a bit of care with her appearance.’

Agatha thought about Lizzie. She had not really noticed her. Myopic, wispy hair, figure hidden in shapeless garments. She shook her head. ‘Not possible.’

‘Let’s go for a long shot. Let’s drive to the captain’s house and hide the car somewhere and keep an eye on things.’

The sun was shining but there was a stiff breeze blowing. ‘Not for long, then,’ said Agatha cautiously.

They set off again. Charles turned off a country lane near the captain’s house.

‘I don’t know how we’re going to spy on her,’ complained Agatha. ‘There’s that long drive past the farmhouse before you even get to the captain’s house.’

‘Don’t be defeatist. We’ll think of something. Look,’ said Charles, ‘if we trespass on the captain’s property and cross that field, we can hide in that stand of pine and get a good view of the entrance to the house.’

‘What if someone sees us! We’ll be awfully exposed crossing that field.’

‘We’ll risk it.’

‘What about the dogs?’

‘They like me.’

‘What excuse are we going to give if we’re caught?’

‘We’ll say we saw a rough-looking trespasser or one of those New Age travellers, and inspired by neighbourly duty we set across the field to clear them off.’