Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

by M C Beaton

  “Right,” he said in a choked voice. He drove up to the back part of the town and parked outside a trim bungalow. Like two people squaring up for a fight, they walked up the path side by side, the tension rising between them. It shouldn’t be like this, thought Agatha. We should still be laughing and giggling.

  He led her into the bungalow, neat, sparse and brightly lit. “The bathroom’s there,” he said. “I’ll use the other one.”

  “Two bathrooms,” said Agatha, striving for a light note. “How posh.”

  “I took in lodgers at one time. Now I can’t be bothered.”

  Agatha went into the sparkling-clean bathroom with its Nile-green bath and loo. She undressed and ran a bath. She wished she had a night-gown or dressing-gown. She finally emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing more than a black lacy slip.

  “Where are you?” she called.

  “Here!”

  She followed the sound of his voice and found herself in a bedroom. Jimmy was lying in a double bed, the duvet up to his chin, his face grim. Oh, well, here goes, thought Agatha. At least I’m about to prove Janine wrong.

  She climbed into the bed beside him. The sheets were slippery and cold and his body was cold. She began to kiss him.

  At last he turned away from her. “I’m sorry, Agatha. I can’t. Not yet. I thought I could but I can’t.”

  “I’ll go, then,” said Agatha in a small voice. He did not reply. She climbed out of bed and looked back from the doorway. He was scrunched up on his side, his eyes tight closed.

  Agatha found her way back to the bathroom. She put on her clothes and went into the hall, where she had seen a phone and phone books. She looked up taxis in the Yellow Pages and phoned for a cab. They asked for the address. Fortunately for Agatha, it was stamped on one of the phone books because she did not have the slightest idea where she was.

  As she waited for the cab, she wondered whether she should go in and console Jimmy. But she felt rejected, felt a failure. What a rotten day.

  She heaved a sigh of relief when she heard the cab pulling up. As it cruised through the silent night-time streets of Wyckhadden, she felt small and grubby and unwanted. Stay for the seance and then go home, home to Carsely.

  Agatha went down for breakfast the following morning. They all, with the exception of Jennifer and Mary, greeted her amiably enough. Mary’s eyes looked puffy with weeping.

  I’m too upset about myself to worry about her, thought Agatha, angry with herself for still feeling guilty about Mary. I’m the dream murderer, she said to herself. First Mary then Jimmy, and all in one day. Damn that Janine. That’s what made me rush Jimmy.

  She ate a light breakfast of poached eggs on toast. Again, as she sipped her coffee, she thought longingly of how good a cigarette would taste. There was no cigarette machine in the hotel—nothing so vulgar. But there was one on the pier which had, remarkably enough in these wicked days, not been vandalized.

  A good walk would take her mind off things. She walked miles that day along the beach by the restless sea. Then she returned to the hotel to tell the manager that she would be checking out on Saturday, in two days’ time, and to get her bill ready. The sudden relief that she had made a definite decision to go home brightened her up.

  As she was getting ready to go out for the seance that evening, there was a knock at the door. Agatha looked round the room for something to use as a weapon, decided she was paranoid, and opened the door and backed away from it quickly when she saw Jennifer standing there.

  “I came to apologize,” said Jennifer gruffly. “You only did it to help Mary. She had to know.”

  “That’s all right, then,” said Agatha, relieved. “Looking forward to the seance this evening?”

  “Not particularly. Though I wouldn’t mind exposing her as a fraud.”

  “But I thought you believed in her mother’s medicines!”

  “There’s a lot to be said for old country remedies. But when it comes to fortune-telling and seances, I’ve never believed in that tommy-rot.”

  “Neither do I,” said Agatha, who had no intention of telling Jennifer she’d had her palm read. “But that’s why I think it will be quite fun—I mean, to see what tricks she gets up to. Daisy believes in seances, I gather.”

  “She did for a bit, but then she decided that Francie was a charlatan.”

  “How did she come to that conclusion? I wonder. It was she who sent me to Francie in the first place.”

  “Oh, I think she believed in her potions. I’d better go and get ready. What are you wearing?”

  “I don’t feel like dressing up tonight,” said Agatha. “The weather’s turned awfully cold. I wish I still had my fur coat.”

  “A lot of people don’t approve of the wearing of fur,” said Jennifer. “It could happen again if you got another.”

  “You’re right,” said Agatha ruefully. “They’ll soon be stoning us in restaurants for eating meat, and all the animals will be killed off and we’ll be left with only token species in zoos.”

  “Samuel Butler said if you carried that sort of argument to its logical conclusion, we’ll all end up eating cabbages which have been humanely put to death.”

  “Who’s Samuel Butler? Someone in this nanny government we’ve got?”

  “He was a Victorian philosopher.”

  “Oh,” said Agatha uncomfortably. She hated having the vast gaps in her literary education exposed.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” Jennifer held out her hand. “No hard feelings?”

  “None at all.” Agatha felt her hand seized in a crushing grip like a man’s.

  After Jennifer had left, and Agatha had just finished dressing, her phone rang. She ran to answer it. “Jimmy?” she said.

  “No, it’s Harry here,” creaked the elderly voice. “We’re all ready to leave. The colonel’s booked two taxis. Too cold to walk.”

  “Be right down,” said Agatha. She replaced the receiver. Jimmy might at least have called.

  They set out in their taxis. Agatha wondered what had happened between Mary and Jennifer to heal the breach. Mary was looking quite cheerful and once more she and Jennifer seemed the best of friends. Well, thought Agatha, I suppose Mary’s too old to change the habit of a lifetime.

  Janine’s husband ushered them in. They crowded in the small hall removing coats and hats. Then he guided them through to a back room. It was brightly lit and furnished only with a round table covered in a black velvet cloth.

  They seated themselves round it. “This is jolly exciting,” said the colonel. “If it looks like ectoplasm, it’s probably our Agatha having a sneaky cigarette.” They all laughed except Agatha who said, “I haven’t had a cigarette in ages. I’m cured.”

  The room became filled with strange sounds. “What on earth is that?” asked Harry.

  “Whales,” said Daisy. “It’s a tape of the noises whales make. You can buy one in these Mystique shops.”

  Mary gave a nervous laugh. “I never knew any whales.”

  “I saw some performing dolphins in Florida once,” said the colonel. “Jolly clever beasts. Do you know …”

  He broke off because Janine had entered the room. She was dressed in a long white muslin gown, very plain, with long tight sleeves and a high neck. Agatha eyed her curiously. How could she hold this seance, agree to this seance, with her mother so recently dead? And yet, thought Agatha, peering at her closely, despite her heavy make-up, her eyes had the red, strained look of someone who had done a lot of weeping recently.

  “Shall we begin?” she said, sitting down. “Please hold hands and keep holding hands. The circle must not be broken.” The overhead lights were turned off. Now there was only a bluish light shining down on Janine and spotlights that lit up their joined hands around the table, but leaving their faces in darkness.

  Agatha was between Daisy and the colonel.

  There was a long silence. The whale sounds died away. Janine sat with her head back.

  Then she closed her ey
es and said in a crooning monotone. “Who is there?”

  And then a man’s voice said, “Hullo, Aggie?”

  Agatha tensed.

  “It’s me, your husband Jimmy Raisin.”

  Agatha’s skin crawled. Jimmy’s accent had been a mixture of Cockney and Irish, just like this voice. Her mind raced. Of course his murder had been in all the papers and his background.

  “I’m waiting for you, Aggie,” he said. “It won’t be long now.”

  “Can I ask him something?” said Agatha.

  Janine sat with her eyes closed. So Agatha said, “Do you remember our holiday here in Wyckhadden, Jimmy? That’s why I came back.”

  “And that’s how I knew where to find you,” said the cocky voice cheerfully.

  Agatha relaxed. She and Jimmy had never been in Wyckhadden.

  “That’s funny,” she said. “Because we were never…”

  “Someone else wants to get in,” intoned Janine.

  There was a long silence. A gust of wind suddenly howled down the lane outside. Appropriate atmospherics, thought Agatha cynically, and yet she was aware of the tension building in the room, of the colonel holding her hand so tightly that she could feel her wedding ring digging into her finger. Silly and old-fashioned to keep wearing a wedding ring, she thought inconsequentially. She cleared her throat. Nothing was happening. The woman was a charlatan. It was time to leave.

  And then a low moan escaped Janine’s lips and she began to rock backwards and forwards. A thin line of grey smoke escaped from between her lips and hung in the bluish light above her head. Can’t be cigarette smoke, thought Agatha. Wonder how she does that? But there was something eerie and unearthly in the moaning. Janine’s eyes were tightly closed. Then a thin voice sounded from Janine’s lips.

  “Hello, daughter. I have now completed my journey to the other side.”

  “Mother. How are you?”

  “Restless,” wailed the voice. “My death is not yet avenged.”

  “It will be, mother. Who killed you?”

  “I know who killed me.”

  There was a tense silence and then Mary screamed and leapt to her feet. “What is it?” asked the colonel. “What’s up, my dear? Dammit, I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” He walked over to the door and switched on the light.

  “Someone kicked me hard,” said Mary.

  “You have broken the circle and broken the spell,” said Janine furiously. “I cannot do anything more.”

  “You can’t expect us to fork out two hundred pounds for this charade,” said the colonel.

  Janine’s husband came into the room. “What’s going on?”

  “These people broke the circle just when I had got in touch with mother and now they’re refusing to pay.” Janine suddenly buried her head in her hands and began to cry.

  Cliff suddenly looked menacing. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Yes we will see about that,” said the colonel wrathfully. “Either we all leave peacefully or I will call the police to escort us out of here.”

  “Let them go,” said Janine, drying her eyes. “Let the bastards go.” They made for the door. “I put a curse on you all,” said Janine.

  Daisy gave a terrified little squeak and pressed against the colonel.

  “We may as well walk,” said the colonel when they were all gathered outside. “What did you think of all that, Agatha? Did that sound like your husband?”

  “It did a bit,” said Agatha, “but he was murdered and the murder background was in all the papers. Besides, I’d never been in Wyckhadden before and neither had he.”

  Daisy shivered as they walked along the prom which was glittering with frost. “She cursed us.”

  “She only cursed us because she didn’t get any money,” said the colonel soothingly. “I think what we all need is a drink and a quiet game of Scrabble.”

  While they played Scrabble, Agatha began to wonder about that supposed conjuring up of Francie’s spirit. Surely it meant that Janine suspected one of them. And had someone really kicked Mary? Or had Mary been frightened that she was about to be exposed But Mary was a dainty little thing. Agatha could not imagine her striking such a blow as to kill Francie. And yet a desperate woman could have struck that blow. But why was Francie’s door unlocked? Had the murderer a key and then gone away, leaving the door unlocked? Jimmy had said nothing about the body having been moved. Therefore whoever had killed her, had killed her in her bedroom.

  So her thoughts raced on and she got chided by the others for playing badly. None of this elderly lot could be guilty, thought Agatha. Just look how they all concentrated on the game.

  At last they all went up to their respective rooms and were enclosed in the hotel’s usual expensive night-time hush. When Agatha passed the reception desk on her road up, she noticed the night porter was asleep on a chair behind the desk. Anyone could come or go without his noticing, thought Agatha bitterly. He had probably been asleep when that wretched girl walked in and sabotaged my coat.

  The morning dawned, clear and frosty with a pale sun shining down on a calm sea.

  After breakfast the colonel, who seemed in good spirits, suggested they all take a stroll along the pier. “I want to show you a bit where the pier is becoming definitely unsafe,” he said. “These old Victorian piers are part of Britain’s heritage. Perhaps, if you all agree with me, we could get up a petition.”

  Well wrapped up, hatted and gloved and wearing warm coats, they all walked along the pier—like some geriatric school outing, thought Agatha.

  The colonel stopped them half-way along. “Now I want you all to lean over and look down at the piles. They are covered in layers of seaweed but definitely rotted in some parts. The sea is very calm today, so you should all be able to get a good look at what I’m talking about.”

  They dutifully leaned over. Glassy rolling waves surged under the pier.

  “What’s that white thing in the water?” asked Jennifer.

  “Where?” asked Mary.

  “Just there.” Jennifer pointed. Then she said huskily, “Oh, my God.”

  The white thing rolled over on a wave and the dead face of Janine stared up at them, her blonde hair floating out about her head, her muslin dress floating about her body.

  FIVE

  MARY was sobbing into Jennifer’s flat chest. She’s not wearing that padded bra I recommended, thought Agatha numbly. Daisy was trembling and weeping. Harry Berry was sitting on the boards on the pier, his old head in his hands. And the tall figure of the colonel could be seen striding off down the pier to call the police.

  Agatha fumbled in her handbag for her change purse. She extracted three pound coins and a fifty-pence piece and walked to the cigarette machine. She put in the coins and pressed a button. A cigarette packet rattled down into the tray below. Agatha picked it up, stripped off the wrapping, extracted a cigarette and put it in her mouth. She lit it up and took a deep draw. Her head swam and she felt dizzy. She staggered to the rail and hung on, but she took another puff. A sea-gull alighted on the rail next to her and gazed at her assessingly with its beady prehistoric eyes.

  Some teenagers came down the pier, laughing and chattering. One of them spied the figure of Harry and stopped. “What’s up, guv?” he called. “Want us to call a doctor?”

  Harry shook his head. “There’s a body in the water,” he said hoarsely.

  “Cor!” The teenagers ran to the rail.

  If it wasn’t that husband of hers, it was one of us, thought Agatha. Surely we were the last to see her.

  The wail of police sirens tore through the air. Blue lights flashed at the end of the pier. The tall figure of the colonel came into view. Beside him walked Detective Constable Ian Tarret and Detective Sergeant Peter Carroll. Behind them came more police.

  “Stand back!” ordered Tarret. “Who spotted the body?”

  Agatha found her voice. “We did. Us from the hotel.”

  His eyes bored into her. “You again. Move along,” he said
to the teenagers. “The rest of you stay where you are.”

  Agatha began to shiver. Then she saw Jimmy hurrying along the pier, his long black coat flapping. Tarret led him to the rail and pointed down.

  “If I may make a suggestion?” said the colonel.

  “Yes?” Jimmy looked at him, his eyes first sliding past Agatha. “As none of us had anything to do with this outrage, I suggest as we are all elderly and the day is cold, we should be allowed to return to the hotel where we will await your questions.”

  Agatha, despite her shock, did not like being including in that “elderly.”

  “Very well,” said Jimmy. He called forward a policeman. “Go with them and keep a watch on them until I can get to them.”

  They helped Harry to his feet. Then they followed the policeman down the pier past gawping onlookers and so to the hotel. Mr. Martin, the manager, came to meet them. “What now?” he cried. In a few succinct sentences, the colonel told him. “We will all foregather in the lounge,” he said. “Is the fire made up?”

  “Not yet.” Mr. Martin rubbed his hands in distress. “This is terrible, terrible.”

  “Get someone to light the fire,” barked the colonel.

  They trooped into the lounge and collapsed into chairs around the fire. “I think tea with a lot of sugar,” said the colonel, pressing the bell on the wall.

  Agatha lit another cigarette. I quit once. I can quit again, she told herself with the true optimism of the addict.

  Mary had stopped crying but she was very white. Daisy kept letting out odd little whimpers of distress and looking to the colonel for sympathy. But the colonel was watching the hotel servant lighting the fire, his head sunk on his chest.

  Through the long window, Agatha could see Janine’s husband hurrying along the pier. He would tell the police about the seance. She turned to the others. “I wonder if it was the husband after all.”