Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

by M C Beaton

  “Must be an exceptionally high tide,” Agatha heard the colonel say. “We’d better leave by the back door.”

  The audience were filing out, apart from a few stalwarts who had put their feet up on the seat in front. The film was still running. They all filed outside into the pouring rain.

  “Let’s have a look at the sea,” said Jennifer. “We’re all wet anyway.”

  They walked down a side street towards the promenade. Huge waves were crashing onto the promenade and sweeping up the street.

  “Does this often happen?” asked Agatha.

  “Every so often,” said Mary. “It’s a wonder the foundations of that cinema haven’t been removed.”

  They made their way to the hotel around the back streets. “Will the hotel be flooded?” asked Agatha.

  “The sea is never so ferocious along at the pier,” said Harry, “and the staff always put out sandbags.”

  They walked down a side street leading to the hotel. “Look at that!” cried Agatha as a huge wave crashed right over the dance hall at the end of the pier. “Surely it can’t withstand a battering like that.”

  “Tide’ll be turning soon,” said the colonel.

  Sure enough, sandbags had been piled up in front of the hotel. Agatha went up to her room to change into dry tights and shoes. How very British we all are, she thought as she dried her feet. No one demanded their money back. I bet no one’s even written to the newspapers suggesting the cinema should be located at the back of the town. No, all they’ll say is, “We often have weather like this. It doesn’t last long. Mustn’t grumble.”

  There was a knock at the door. Agatha slipped on a pair of slippers and opened it. Daisy stood there. “Oh, you wanted a word with me,” said Agatha eagerly. “Do come in.”

  Daisy came in and closed the door behind her. She sat down in a chair by the window. “Such dreadful rain,” she murmured.

  “Would you like tea or something?” asked Agatha.

  “No, I just want to talk.”

  Agatha sat on the bed. “So talk, Daisy.”

  Daisy looked out again at the pouring rain. “Did you enjoy the film?”

  “All right until we got washed out. Is that what you wanted to discuss? The film?”

  “No, no, of course not.” Daisy plucked nervously at her skirt. She’s a bag of nerves, thought Agatha. It must be something about the murders.

  Agatha waited patiently. Then Daisy said, “You went off for a drink with the colonel last night.”

  “I did not,” said Agatha crossly. “Last night I was freezing to death at the top of a Ferris wheel.”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot. Of course, it was the evening before that. I saw you go off with the colonel.”

  “We went for one drink, that’s all.”

  Daisy clasped her hands and looked beseechingly at Agatha. “Are you keen on him?”

  “Colonel Lyche? No, frankly. Too old for me.”

  “But why did you go off with him?”

  “I wanted to ask him about the murders. Look here, Daisy, I find it most odd that there have been two murders committed and yet none of you ever want to discuss them.”

  “Murder is not a thing ladies discuss,” said Daisy primly.

  Agatha looked at her in exasperation. “Is that really all you wanted to talk to me about? I mean, to warn me off the colonel.”

  “I never—”

  “I mean,” said Agatha, her tone softening, “you are keen on the colonel and you thought I might take him away from you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, the colonel has no interest in me whatsoever.”

  “But I saw you walking on the pier and he took your arm.”

  “He’s a gentleman. It was a gentlemanly thing to do. That’s all. How long have you been keen on the colonel?”

  “Years,” said Daisy sadly.

  “Have you ever thought of asking him out for a drink?”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t!”

  “Why?”

  “Ladies don’t.”

  “This is the nineties. They do now,” said Agatha. “Look, that Gilbert and Sullivan company has moved to Hadderton. You could get a couple of tickets and say they were given to you by a friend, and would he like to use the other ticket?”

  “I’ll try that,” said Daisy, her eyes shining.

  “Do you ever read any magazines?” asked Agatha curiously.

  “Yes, I read newspaper supplements and sometimes Good Housekeeping.”

  “Not Cosmopolitan?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Just wondered,” said Agatha, who had been thinking about all the raunchy articles on sex that appeared in women’s magazines these days. “Go for it, Daisy. At least you’ll have an evening on your own with him.”

  Daisy had just left when the phone rang. It was Jimmy, who said he was downstairs and would like to see her.

  Agatha deftly applied a fresh coat of make-up, put on high heels instead of her slippers and made her way downstairs.

  “How are you?” asked Jimmy with that warm smile of his which always lifted Agatha’s heart.

  “I don’t seem to have suffered any damage at all,” said Agatha cheerfully. “Although I do seem fated to get wet.” She told him about her visit to the cinema.

  “Let’s go into the lounge and have a drink,” said Jimmy. “I took a look. No one’s in there now.”

  They walked in and sat down in front of the fire. “I’ve got an exciting bit of news. Someone’s turned himself in.”

  “You’ve got the murderer!” The waiter appeared. Jimmy ordered drinks. When he had gone, Jimmy said, “No, not the murderer. Some small-bit actor has confessed doing voices for Francie and Janine. They would describe the sort of voice they wanted. We found a pretty elaborate sound system in a lockup that Francie had rented on the outside of the town.”

  “Has he been charged?”

  “Yes, with conspiracy to defraud. But he’ll probably just get a fine. He didn’t really know he was doing anything wrong and he needed the money. He works for a repertory company over at Hadderton.”

  “Did he know them well? I mean, can he shed any light on why someone would want to kill both of them?”

  “I’m afraid not. He’s quite old. Been doing bits for them on and off for years. He said he needed the money and as far as he was concerned, seances are only another form of theatre.”

  “I keep thinking and thinking about it,” said Agatha. “So many unanswered questions. To go back to the first murder, why was Francie’s door unlocked? Did you ask Cliff about that?”

  “He says he doesn’t know anything about it,” said Jimmy. “But this is usually a very safe town.” He grinned. “Or rather, it was before you came along. A lot of people don’t bother locking their doors.”

  “Yes, but I can’t help feeling Francie must have been up to something to get herself murdered. And she had cash in that box.”

  “You forget. She really did have a reputation as a witch in this town. Normally no one would have dared to go near her.”

  Agatha frowned. “There’s something else that keeps nagging away at the back of my mind. Wait a bit. I’ve got it! When you first told me that Francie kept records and you described what that lot at the hotel had consulted her about, you said that Jennifer of all people had asked for a love potion.”

  “Yes. So?”

  “But this is Jennifer we’re talking about. She’s practically married to Mary. Why would she want a love potion? Did you ask her?”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said slowly.

  “I wonder if she’d tell me,” said Agatha.

  “Let’s talk about us.” Jimmy put his hand over Agatha’s. “When this is all over, I don’t like the idea of you disappearing out of my life.”

  “Well, I’ll come back and see you.”

  “I was thinking of something more permanent.”

  Agatha thought longingly of James Lacey. He should have been holding her hand and suggesting something
more permanent.

  “Can we leave it a bit longer, Jimmy? I’m very fond of you, but I feel I need a little more time.”

  “We’ll take it easy, then.” Jimmy turned slightly pink. “It’s not because of my failure to …”

  “No, no,” said Agatha quickly. “You’ll find that side of things comes back easily.”

  “Have you had a lot of experience?” he asked wistfully.

  “Hardly any,” said Agatha, “but women talk to each other the way men don’t.”

  “Then that’s all right then. By the way, that girl who savaged your coat was charged.”

  “What did she get?”

  “Sixty days community service and ordered to pay fifty pounds compensation.”

  “What! That coat cost a mint.”

  “I’m afraid the magistrate, Mrs. Beale, is a vegetarian and does not approve of fur coats. You can pick your coat up at the police station”

  Agatha shuddered. “I don’t want to see it again. You can have it, Jimmy. Give it to some charity.”

  “I had a look at it. All it needs is the paint cleaned off and the slashes sewn up.”

  “Not worth it. Someone else would probably have a go at me. That coat did mean a lot to me once. I saved and saved for it.”

  “You could always use the fur to line a coat.”

  “No, you have it. Give it away.”

  “All right. What about Sunday? I don’t know if I can get the time off with all this murder. But now the super’s in charge, I’m taking a back seat.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?” asked Agatha curiously.

  “No, these things happen in a big case like this. With all the press breathing down our necks, I’m glad in a way not to be totally responsible for solving the case. I’d better be getting back.”

  Agatha walked down to the promenade. The tide had receded. She walked to the sea-wall and looked over. The shingly beach was a mess of driftwood and debris: Coke cans, plastic cups, plastic wrappers, and even less savoury items of modern civilization, as if the whole sea had regurgitated all the unnatural mess on the beach.

  And picking its way through the debris came a battered-looking white cat. Was that Francie’s cat? Agatha made her way to a flight of stone steps leading down to the beach.

  The cat came towards her and stopped. It was painfully thin and its white fur was matted and dirty.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” said Agatha. She crouched down and held out her hand. “Kitty, kitty.”

  The cat gave a dry, rusty mew. Agatha tentatively stroked the wet fur.

  Then she gathered the cat up in her arms and headed for the hotel.

  Mr. Martin met her as she walked into the reception area and said severely, “No pets allowed.”

  “It’s only for a little while,” said Agatha defensively. “Look, I’ll make sure it doesn’t mess anything and I’ll pay the fall hotel bill.”

  Mr. Martin hesitated. He had been regretting his offer to pay her bill in compensation for the coat. And now, with this second murder, who knew when Agatha Raisin would leave?

  “Very well,” he said. “But do tell the others this is a one-off situation.”

  Agatha carried the cat up to her room. She picked up the phone and ordered milk and a dish of canned tuna fish.

  When it arrived, the cat ate greedily. I’d better go out and get a litter tray and stuff, thought Agatha.

  She went down to reception and asked for the name of a car-rental company, and having secured it, ordered a taxi which drove her to the car-rental firm. She chose a small black Ford Fiesta, drove into the centre of the town and asked around for the whereabouts of a pet shop and was told there wasn’t one, but that she could get most things at the supermarket. She bought cans of pet food, a litter tray, bags of litter and a brush.

  When she had carried all the stuff up to her room, it was to find the cat in the middle of her bed, busy washing itself. “I wonder what you are called?” said Agatha. “I’ll have to call you something. And what am I going to do with you? I’ll need to find a home for you. It’s not fair on Boswell and Hodge if I take you home. And aren’t you mild and friendly? Not at all like the horror who flew at me.” Talking away, she sat down and began to brush the cat, which stretched languidly and purred. “I know, I’ll call you Scrabble. I’ll always think of Scrabble when I think of Wyckhadden.”

  As she brushed the cat, Agatha’s thoughts turned to Jennifer. How was she to get her alone? She always seemed to be with Mary.

  * * *

  The following day, it was Jennifer herself who offered the solution. She was alone, eating breakfast when Agatha walked into the dining-room.

  “Where’s Mary?” asked Agatha.

  “Got a bit of a migraine. She hasn’t had one in ages. I’ve given her pills. She’ll have a bit of a sleep and then she’ll be all right.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Please.”

  Agatha sat down. “You’re in the morning papers,” said Jennifer. “All about you getting trapped on that Ferris wheel. The fairground people are sticking to their story that the wheel got stuck.”

  Agatha walked over to the sideboard where the morning papers were spread out and picked up the Hadderton Gazette. She carried it back to the table and scanned the news item.

  “They make light of it,” said Agatha, putting the paper down. “Jimmy had to climb down from the top in that storm. He could have slipped and been killed. I could have frozen to death.”

  “They’re all frightened of the gypsies around here,” said Jennifer. “The police usually don’t do much. Jimmy Jessop was the only one who occasionally went after them. They’ll probably get off with it. Some safety inspector will look at the Ferris wheel and then they’ll get a smack on the wrist and told to be more careful, that’s all. Agatha, I wonder if you’d come to Marks with me. There’s a trouser suit I want you to look at.”

  “That’ll suit me fine. I’m not doing anything this morning.”

  After breakfast, they set out in Agatha’s car. “I got fed up with walking in the rain and getting taxis,” said Agatha.

  She drove into the central car-park, which was next to Marks & Spencer.

  “It’s over here,” said Jennifer, leading the way through brightly coloured racks of clothes.

  Agatha put her head on one side. “No, I don’t think so. Very smart. But rather masculine. I mean … maybe you like things masculine.”

  “Not really. But I’m not a pretty person and I’m old.”

  “Like to try something new?”

  “Anything to brighten me up.”

  Agatha chose a fine black wool skirt, a soft-yellow silk blouse and a long black velvet waistcoat. “I see you’ve been letting your hair grow a bit,” said Agatha. “Suits you, a bit longer. And … er … if you don’t mind me saying it, you’re getting a bit hairy.”

  “What do I do about that? Go back to Jerome?”

  “No, we’ll go to Boots and buy a depilatory.”

  But as they walked out of Marks, Agatha saw a poster in Wyckhadden’s one expensive department store advertising the services of a make-up consultant. “Let’s try that. I could do with some advice myself,” said Agatha.

  After an hour, with a bag of new cosmetics each and newly painted faces, they went to the store restaurant for lunch. Agatha looked at the non-smoking signs and sighed. The very sight of them made her long for a cigarette.

  “Never been interested in any men?” asked Agatha bluntly. Jennifer paused, a forkful of salad half-way to her mouth.

  “One is from time to time,” she said frostily. “I’m not a lesbian, you know.”

  Agatha decided to take the bull by the horns. “It was just that someone said something about you ordering a love potion from Francie.”

  Jennifer chomped angrily on her salad and then said, “I suppose by someone, you mean that inspector of yours.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “The police have no right to go about gossiping with ev
eryone and anyone.”

  “I’m a close friend of Jimmy’s. It just came out.”

  “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. We get visitors at the hotel in the summer and at Easter. There was this retired doctor, very charming, a widower. We used to go for walks. I was frightfully keen on him. I could see the end of his stay approaching and I felt I would do anything to make him take a deeper interest in me.”

  “Did it work?”

  “I never got a chance to find out. I’d confided in Mary. To my horror, she told him about it, made a joke of it. ‘Better watch what you drink,’ that kind of thing. He was terribly embarrassed.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Agatha faintly.

  “He left the next day without saying goodbye. I had a terrible scene with Mary and she broke down and cried and said she was frightened of losing me, so I had to forgive her. We’ve been together so long.”

  “Good heavens,” said Agatha. “I’d never have thought it of Mary. I mean—forgive me—I thought you were the one that kept Mary away from people. I mean, she told me that she never made any friends at work because you were always waiting for her.”

  “That’s not true!” Jennifer poked at a piece of lettuce on her plate. “How do these things happen, Agatha? I’ve never been an attractive woman. When I took care of Mary during her breakdown, she was so pathetically grateful. She said I had brought her back to life. No one had ever appreciated me before. I knew she was really very clever, not like me. She was—is—one of those all-round clever people who can turn their hand to anything. She was a good computer programmer. But people in her office didn’t like her, and that’s the truth.”

  “Why?”

  “I went to an office party once and one of the men told me that I should get Mary to stop plotting and planning. Although she’s very clever, Mary really had no confidence in herself, and so she always was afraid she’d lose her job, so if anyone bright came along, she would spread gossip, little poisonous things, near enough the truth to damage.”

  “But why didn’t you leave her?”

  “She wants me, she needs me, and no one else does. I think if I left her, she’d kill herself and I couldn’t have that on my conscience. I’m sorry I got so angry with you over the Joseph Brady business, but Mary told me you forced her into it and then told her she was silly.”