Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam (16 page)

She ignored him and turned to the detectives. ‘You wished to see me?’

Hand turned to the captain. ‘If we could see your wife alone . . .?’

‘Balderdash. There’s nothing you can say to Lizzie you can’t say to me.’

‘Let him stay,’ said Lizzie. All her terror of her husband had left her. She did not know if that will had been found, if there had even been such a will, but she had made up her mind that very morning to leave her husband.

‘Very well,’ said Hand. ‘Please sit down.’ Lizzie sat neatly on the edge of a leather armchair by the fire and the detectives sat down on an old horsehair sofa.

‘The Stubbs has been recovered,’ he began. He went on to describe how it had been found in Agatha’s kitchen with the will taped to the back. ‘The new will,’ he said, ‘was witnessed by Paul Redfern, gamekeeper, and Mrs Elizabeth Jackson, cleaner, and I will be asking them why they told me nothing of this. As I said, it is pretty much the same as the old one except the Stubbs had been left to you, Mrs Findlay.’

‘I must say that was jolly good of Tolly,’ said the captain.

Lizzie looked straight at him. ‘The Stubbs was left to me, not you. How soon can I get it, Inspector?’

‘It will take some time. We need to get further ahead with this case and make sure no one is profiting from the murder. Where were you on the night Mr Trumpington-James was killed, Mrs Findlay?’

‘I was here. I have no witnesses other than my husband and I do not know whether he was at home or not, for we have separate bedrooms.’

‘We will be speaking to your husband in a little while. Why would Mr Trumpington-James leave you such an expensive painting?’

‘That’s easy,’ said the captain from behind his desk. ‘Tolly was mad about the hunt. Probably meant it for both of us.’

‘We were having an affair,’ said Lizzie, her carefully enunciated words dropping like stones into the gloomy study.

‘Have you gone raving mad?’ spluttered the captain.

‘As I said,’ went on Lizzie with that deadly calm, ‘we were having an affair. He was going to get a divorce and I was going to get a divorce, but I don’t think he ever really meant to divorce Lucy. He did not want to pay her alimony, you know.’

‘And how long had this been going on?’

‘Over a year.’

‘And where did . . . er . . . you . . . where did your liaison take place?’

‘Here and there,’ said Lizzie vaguely. She looked directly at her husband. ‘It really got going when you went to Canada. If you remember, you wouldn’t take me. You said it wasn’t worth the extra expense.’

The questioning went on. Did she know anyone with a cut-throat razor? Had Mr Trumpington-James mentioned any enemies?

And Lizzie answered every question with that same calm. When the questioning was finally over, she rose to her feet and said, ‘I am going upstairs to get my belongings and I would be grateful if you two gentlemen could wait here until I leave. I will tell you where I am going but I do not want my husband to have the address. He is a violent man.’

‘Violent enough to kill?’ asked Hand.

Lizzie gave a little smile and sank the final metaphorical dagger right into her husband’s breast. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, and then she left the room.

‘Now, sir,’ said Hand to the captain, ‘where were you the night Mr Trumpington-James was murdered?’

The captain began to answer the questions in a dull voice. His colour was muddy and his voice flat and expressionless.

When they had finished questioning him, they went out into the hall, where Lizzie was sitting with two large suitcases. ‘Are we ready to go?’ she asked brightly. ‘I’ve written my address down for you.’

‘I think you should accompany us to headquarters first,’ said Hand. ‘Detective Sergeant Carey will travel in your car with you.’

‘Too kind,’ murmured Lizzie. ‘Mr Carey, if you could help me to my car with the cases? Thank you.’

Agatha and Charles had spent a frustrating day. They had gone to call on the gamekeeper, only to find he had been taken off in a police car. ‘So maddening not to know anything,’ mourned Agatha. ‘Maybe the gamekeeper did it. Maybe Lucy was having an affair with the gamekeeper.’

‘How Lady Chatterley of her if she was,’ said Charles. ‘What about les girls?’

‘You mean Harriet et al?’

‘Exactly. Gossip runs round this village like wildfire.’

‘I know where she lives. Let’s go.’

Harriet was at home and her friends were with her, their husbands being, as usual, in the pub.

‘Come in,’ said Harriet eagerly. ‘I was just thinking of phoning you. Such news! Fancy the Stubbs turning up in your kitchen!’

‘How did you hear?’ asked Agatha, following Harriet into her sitting-room, where Polly, Amy and Carrie were quilting.

‘One of the policemen went into the pub for a pint and got talking to Rosie, and Carrie met Rosie on the village green and she told her. And guess what? Mrs Jackson and Paul Redfern have been taken off in police cars. Do you think they did it?’

‘No,’ said Agatha. ‘What reason would they have? Gosh, I know. I bet they witnessed that will.’

Four pairs of eyes goggled at her. Charles tried to give Agatha a warning kick but she was off in full gossipy flight. ‘There was a will attached to the back of the painting. I believe it leaves the Stubbs to Lizzie Findlay.’

‘That figures,’ said Polly.

‘Why?’

‘Well, I always said there was something going on there, didn’t I? Last hunt dinner, I said to Peter I could swear they had been playing footsie under the table and he said, “Don’t be disgusting.” Wait till I tell him this.’

‘Oh, I don’t think anything was going on,’ said Agatha.

‘So loyal, so late,’ murmured Charles.

‘I think the police have arrested Lizzie,’ said Amy.

‘Why would they do that?’ asked Charles.

‘Sloppy Melton, who works on the farm the other side of the road from the captain’s land, said he went up to see the man who runs the captain’s farm, that’s Joe Hardwick, and while they were talking, Lizzie comes out with suitcases and gets in her car, but there was a detective beside her and another following.’

‘If they’d arrested her,’ said Agatha, ‘she wouldn’t have been allowed to leave in her own car and with suitcases. I think she’s left the captain.’

‘She wouldn’t dare,’ breathed Carrie. ‘She was terrified of him.’

‘What if the captain thought his wife was having an affair with Tolly,’ said Agatha, and then coloured as Charles glared at her. ‘I mean, the whole idea’s ridiculous, but he might have believed she was and gone and murdered Tolly.’

‘You don’t know hunting,’ said Polly. ‘It’s not a sport, it’s a religion. The captain would have given Tolly his wife if it kept the funds coming in.’

‘But why on earth would Mrs Jackson and the gamekeeper keep quiet about the will?’ asked Agatha.

‘That’s easy,’ said Carrie. She smiled. She was wearing an attractive shade of pink lipstick and her eyes kept drifting to Charles.

‘What’s easy?’ demanded Agatha crossly.

‘It stands to reason that when it transpired, the solicitors had a will leaving everything to Lucy, and no mention was made of any other will, they would assume that was the only will.’

‘Or,’ said Harriet, ‘it could be because they were just told to put their signatures down at the bottom of the will and didn’t bother reading it. Why would they? Tolly would simply say he wanted their signatures, and they would sign, because he was the boss.’

‘What do you think of your fairies now?’ asked Agatha, keeping her eyes on Carrie. ‘I mean, don’t you feel rather silly finding out that it was only Mrs Jackson’s children?’

‘There’re strange things go on in old parts of Britain like this, but you wouldn’t understand,’ said Polly dismissively. ‘Now you’re here, Agatha, would you like to do some quilting?’

‘We’ve got to get going,’ said Agatha. ‘Come along, Charles.’ She marched to the door of the sitting-room. She heard a burst of laughter and whipped round. Charles was creeping after her, touching his forelock. When he saw her glaring he said meekly, ‘Coming, missus. Don’t beat me.’

‘Clown!’ said Agatha, when they got outside.

‘Don’t order me around like a dog, Agatha. If you go on like that, they really will think I’m your toy boy.’

‘You can’t be a toy boy,’ said Agatha nastily. ‘You’re too old and you haven’t got muscles.’

‘Let’s go to the pub and see if we can pick up any gossip.’ Charles set off rapidly across the village green, leaving Agatha to follow him.

When Agatha went into the pub, Charles was already at the bar, smiling at Rosie and ordering drinks. Agatha joined him. ‘There you are,’ said Charles. ‘One large gin and tonic for you. Oh, look, there’s Framp over there. Let’s join him.’

The policeman was sitting alone at a corner table. As they walked to join him, Agatha was aware of three pairs of hostile eyes. While the wives were quilting, the husbands were back in the pub. She wondered about Henry Freemantle. He had threatened her and seemed to have a filthy temper. She must find out more about him.

Framp’s glass was nearly empty, so Charles offered to buy him another. ‘Don’t tell her anything until I get back with your drink,’ said Charles.

‘I’m not allowed to tell anyone anything,’ said Framp moodily.

When Charles returned with the policeman’s pint of beer, Agatha said, ‘I cannot understand why Mrs Jackson and Redfern signed a will and didn’t tell you about the new will.’

‘I can tell you that,’ said Framp, mellowed by the sight of the large pint. ‘It’s simple. They said they didn’t read the will, and as far as they were concerned that was the only will.’

‘Oh.’ Agatha was disappointed.

‘Why do you think the Stubbs landed up in your house?’ asked Framp. ‘And how did they get in?’

‘Everyone seems to have keys to everywhere in this village,’ said Agatha.

Charles looked guilty. ‘I forgot to tell you, Aggie. I didn’t lock up.’

‘What?’

‘Fact. I meant to, but it slipped my mind. You’d gone up to bed first and I thought I’d watch a bit of television and then lock up, but I didn’t.’

‘Still, he’s got a point,’ said Agatha. ‘Why leave it with us?’

‘I shouldn’t be telling you this.’ Framp drained his pint and looked at the empty glass soulfully. ‘I’ll get you another,’ said Charles quickly. He returned with a brimming pint and asked eagerly, ‘What aren’t you supposed to tell us?’

‘It’s like this. Hand thinks it’s odd that Mrs Raisin here should have been writing a book called
Death at the Manor
in which a chap gets his throat cut with a razor, and bingo, we’ve got Mr Trumpington-James with his throat cut. So he’s beginning to think that no one put that Stubbs in your kitchen. You two stole it and got rattled and decided to concoct a story about someone having left it there.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Agatha was pink in the face with outrage.

‘He’s looking into your finances to see if you were badly in need of money.’

‘This gets better,’ said Charles, looking amused. ‘So after we steal the painting, Tolly guesses it’s us, and phones us up or something and we panic and nip up there and slit his throat with a cut-throat razor which we just happen to have with us.’

Well, Hand says that county types like you, Sir Charles, often use an old-fashioned open razor.’

‘You know what I think,’ said Agatha. ‘I think someone panicked – not us – but knew the way Hand’s mind was working and decided to get rid of a painting they didn’t have the know-how to sell and make us look guilty.’

‘Far-fetched, that,’ said Framp.

‘Thinking we’re murderers is a damn sight more far-fetched,’ raged Agatha.

‘Calm down,’ admonished Charles. ‘It’s a hoot.’

But Agatha was suddenly thinking of James. Was he back? And how could she leave this village now that she was a murder suspect? She had not thought of him much, but now she did not have the freedom to leave Fryfam any time she wanted, he came rushing back into her mind.

‘I’ve left my cigarettes,’ said Agatha, rising to her feet. ‘I’ll nip home and get them.’

‘I’ll get you some at the bar. Sit down,’ said Charles.

Amazement at this new generous Charles momentarily diverted Agatha, but as he returned with her cigarettes, she remembered she had her mobile phone in her handbag.

‘Got to go to the ladies’ room,’ she said brightly. ‘Where is it, I wonder?’

‘Over there, under that sign saying “Ladies”,’ replied Charles, looking at her suspiciously. Why was Agatha such a mixture of excitement and guilt?

Agatha went into the old-fashioned Ladies with its giant Victorian wash-basin, brass taps, and toilet with the huge brass pull-chain hanging down beside it.

She dialled Mrs Bloxby’s number. The vicar’s wife answered. ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice a little distant. ‘How are you?’

Agatha told her about the finding of the Stubbs and then asked, ‘James back?’

‘Well, yes, he came back today.’

‘Have you seen him?’

‘As a matter of fact, he’s just left.’

‘Did he ask for me?’

‘He asked about the murder. He’d read about it in the newspaper.’

Agatha clutched the phone tightly. ‘Nothing James likes more than a mystery. He’ll be coming here, I suppose.’

‘He said he wouldn’t be.’

‘What? Just like that? He said, “I will not be going to Norfolk to see Agatha”?’

‘I can’t remember the exact words. I’ve got to go. Alf is calling me. ’Bye.’

Agatha was so miserable that she joined Charles and Framp still holding the mobile phone in one hand. Charles stared at it, and Agatha blushed and thrust it into her handbag.

Mrs Bloxby went into her sitting-room and sat staring at the fire. Was it a sin to lie when that lie was for someone’s good? James Lacey had actually said, ‘I miss Agatha. I think I’ll take a trip to this Fryfam place.’

And Mrs Bloxby remembered herself saying, ‘She’s with Sir Charles.’ And the way James’s face had gone a bit set and grim and how he had gone on to talk of other things.

But Mrs Bloxby was fond of Agatha and she felt that James Lacey would destroy Agatha’s independent spirit. But, she thought miserably, she should not have told James about Charles. James would have gone to Fryfam and it would be obvious there was really nothing going on between Charles and Agatha. Anyway, there was an age difference of about ten years between them, thought Mrs Bloxby naïvely, and that meant there could not possibly be any affair. Mrs Bloxby sighed. Telling James about Charles had been interference in Agatha’s life and she had no right at all to interfere. If she had said, ‘Charles is over there with her,’ then that would have been all right because James must have seen Charles’s name in the newspapers. But to say, ‘She’s with Sir Charles,’ abruptly and in that
warning
way. That was lying. She heard her husband come in.