by M C Beaton
Agatha talked to Patrick about the Tamworthy case and then realized it looked as if she were pointedly ignoring James and turned back to him. He said he had been out of touch with the news on his travels, so Agatha told him about the murders.
"Toni?" he asked when she had finished. "Is she here?"
"She's the blonde girl talking to Bill Wong."
"Very young and beautiful," commented James. "I hope Bill doesn't get his heart broken."
Agatha felt a stab of jealousy. Bill Wong was her friend, her very first friend. Oh, well, if he took Toni to meet his mother and father, that would be the end of that. The dinner finished with three cheers for Agatha and then they all moved back to the marquee, where liqueurs and mulled wine were being served.
It was hard to feel dismal, thought Agatha, when everyone, even the knuckle dragger, kept telling her what a marvellous evening it had been. Even the vicar, a little bit tipsy, confided in her that he hadn't wanted to come but it had all been so wonderful, he was glad he hadn't missed it.
James was constantly at Agatha's side. Charles noticed that although Agatha looked happy, she didn't have that look of anguished exhilaration she used to have whenever James was near.
Agatha said to Mrs Bloxby, "Your gorgeous gown doesn't seem to have suffered."
"Guess what, Mrs Raisin. Alf and I are going on holiday at the New Year. It's only a package deal to Tunisia, but just think! Sunshine and no complaining parishioners."
At last the bus arrived to take the Mircester crowd home. Agatha stood outside her cottage to wave them off. She noticed that Bill was sitting next to Toni and Harry Beam next to Jade while George had a seat on his own.
As the bus rolled away, George reflected that he had a chance of a job on an estate in Sussex. He had dreamed of taking Toni with him as his wife. But Toni seemed to have forgotten his very existence.
James tried to kiss Agatha goodnight and looked surprised when she quickly turned her cheek. Charles and Roy were staying the night.
"Now, Roy," said Agatha when James had gone. "How could you do that to me?"
"We both did it," said Charles. "If Roy hadn't hit the wrong button, it would have been a great success. But look at it this way. No one is ever going to forget Agatha Raisin's Christmas dinner!"
Epilogue
The Mircester guests arrived the following morning and were served with coffee and Alka-Seltzer in the marquee. Agatha felt sorry for George. Toni was obviously trying to be polite to him but kept breaking away and returning to Bill Wong.
James arrived to say he was leaving for his sister's and would stay there over Christmas. He longed to ask Agatha to go with him. After avoiding her for so long, he found he could not bear her new indifference--but he knew his sister did not approve of Agatha.
He said a reluctant goodbye, not even trying to kiss her this time, afraid of a rebuff.
Bill came up to Agatha, his eyes shining. "Toni says she'll come to my home for Christmas dinner." And that will be that, thought Agatha. His parents will soon see Toni off.
After the bus had left, Agatha, Roy and Charles went into the cottage. Agatha stared in dismay at the mess. The caterers had taken away the spare tables and cloths, but fake snow still lay on the floor and on the decorations.
"I thought the stuff was supposed to be biodegradable," said Charles.
"But it is," said Roy. "We can vacuum it all off the floor. Where's the sitting-room furniture, Agatha?"
"It's in storage, and thankfully so are the pictures, ornaments and fiddly bits. I'll give you the vacuum, Roy. What about the stuff all over the walls and decorations?"
"That washes off."
Both Charles and Roy were desperately thinking of ways to get out of cleaning it up, but Agatha stood over them while they groaned and worked. The minute the place was comparatively clean, both said they must rush off.
Agatha said goodbye and then collected her cats from Doris.
After all the hustle and bustle of the previous days, the cottage felt empty and lonely. "Six days to Christmas," said Agatha gloomily to her cats, "and nowhere to go."
On Christmas Day, Agatha went out for a long lonely walk. She decided to take the decorations down when she returned without waiting for Twelfth Night. So depressing to sit on one's own and stare at all the baubles. She wondered with a grim smile how Toni was surviving Christmas dinner with Bill's parents.
"This is Toni," said Bill proudly, as his mother opened the door. Mrs Wong peered at Toni through thick glasses and wiped her red hands on her apron.
"I didn't know we were having extra company," she said. "Oh, well, take her into the lounge."
Mr Wong was sitting reading a newspaper. He lowered it reluctantly when Bill introduced Toni. Bill served sweet sherry in tiny glasses. Mr Wong had the same almond-shaped eyes as Bill but the rest of him was depressed British, from his droopy moustache to his ratty cardigan and carpet slippers. He raised his newspaper again. Toni saw nothing odd in his silence.
"How clever of your mum," she said to Bill, "to keep the plastic covers on her three-piece suite. She'll never have to worry about getting it dirty."
"My mother's very house-proud," said Bill.
Then there was a long silence. Mr Wong rattled his newspaper nervously. He was used to Bill's girlfriends chattering to fill up the silence. Toni didn't bother.
"Dinner," shouted Mrs Wong.
Mrs Wong was usually a dreadful cook. Toni was in luck. The soup was tomato out of a can. Toni loved tomato soup. This was followed by a turkey already roasted at the local supermarket. Toni ate with relish. The Wongs did not seem odd to her. If one comes from a dysfunctional family, then the unacceptable becomes acceptable.
After the dinner was over, Toni insisted on following Mrs Wong into the kitchen. Although there was a large dishwasher, every plate had to be scrubbed clean before being put into the machine. Toni talked happily about the murder case.
When it was time to leave, she flung her arms around the startled Mrs Wong, hugged her, and said, "Thank you for a wonderful meal."
And Mrs Wong said for the first time in her life, "Call again."
Agatha was just taking down branches of fake holly when her phone rang. She rushed to answer it in the hope that someone actually wanted her company.
It was Alison, her voice breaking with hysteria. "They killed him! The villagers have killed him."
"Calm down. Take a deep breath and speak slowly," ordered Agatha. "Who's been killed?"
"Jimmy. They hanged him in that room above his shop, put a black candle under him and all sorts of cabalistic drawings painted in red on the walls."
"Have you called the police?"
"Yes."
"I'll be right there."
Alison met her in the hall. "They're all in the drawing room, except Sadie. She's being interviewed by the police in the dining room. I can't take any more of this, Agatha."
Agatha went into the drawing room. Sir Henry Field was staring out of the window. Bert was slumped in a chair, staring sightlessly ahead. Sadie came in. "Your turn next, Alison."
Alison sighed and got to her feet.
"It's awful," said Sadie. "Those villagers and their witchcraft." She stared at Agatha. "What are you doing here?"
"Alison sent for me."
"She had no right to do that. You are nothing but a muckraker. Get out!"
"When Alison tells me to."
"This is not Alison's house and I am telling you to go. God, I need a cigarette."
Sadie bent down and unclasped her handbag. Agatha stiffened. She had caught a glimpse of an envelope in Sadie's bag, and under one of Sadie's nails was what looked like red paint.
"Who found the body?" asked Agatha.
"Sadie did," replied Bert.
"And you are sure it was not suicide?"
"How could it be?" demanded Sadie. "Poor Jimmy would hardly hang himself and then light a candle and paint the walls."
"He could have done all that beforehand," said
Agatha.
"Don't be so silly. I do wish you would go away."
"Right," said Agatha. She got to her feet and walked out.
But she went straight to the dining room. A policeman on guard outside tried to bar her way but Agatha pushed past him. Wilkes and Bill were interviewing Alison. They looked at Agatha in surprise as she struggled to get free of the policeman's grasp.
"It's urgent," said Agatha. "I must speak to you now."
"All right. But it had better be good. We'll call you back when we're ready, Mrs Tamworthy."
Agatha said to Alison, "Don't tell them I'm still here."
"Now," said Wilkes severely, "explain yourself."
"There is an envelope in Sadie's handbag," said Agatha.
"So?"
"And there is what looks like red paint under one of her nails."
Wilkes studied her for a long moment. A policewoman was sitting in a corner where she had been making notes. "PC Gold," said Wilkes. "Bring Lady Field back in here and make sure she brings her handbag with her."
Soon they could hear Sadie's voice raised in anger as she was escorted across the hall. "This is police harassment. I shall speak to my Member of Parliament."
The door of the dining room opened. Sadie's face turned red with anger when she saw Agatha. "I want that woman out of my house," she yelled.
"Sit down, Lady Field," ordered Wilkes. "Put your handbag on the table. Now spread out your hands."
Sadie spread out shaking hands. "What is that red under your fingernail?" asked Wilkes.
"Oh, that. Nail varnish. Now, if you're finished..." Then she let out a squawk of alarm as Wilkes opened her handbag and stared in. Under Sadie's terrified gaze, he put on a pair of latex gloves and extracted a letter from the bag. "This says quite clearly on the front 'To Whom It May Concern'. May I ask you what is in it?"
"No, you may not," panted Sadie. "It...it's my will. Have you a search warrant?"
"No, not yet. But either you let me open this or I will take you to headquarters and lock you in a cell until I get it. Take your pick."
Sadie seemed to shrivel. "I couldn't bear it," she whispered. "Poor Jimmy."
"Is that a yes?"
Sadie nodded miserably.
Wilkes opened the letter. He read it and then looked sternly at Sadie. "This is clearly from your brother, Jimmy Tamworthy. He states he cannot go on living. So I believe it was you who placed the black candle under him and it was you who painted the walls."
Between sobs, Sadie told them she had always hated the villagers. She didn't want the world to know that Jimmy had committed suicide.
"Take her down to headquarters," said Wilkes, "and inform her husband."
Sadie was led off by Bill and PC Gold.
Wilkes said to Agatha, "You have really surprised me this time, Mrs Raisin."
"Why?"
"Finding out that Fran was the murderer has been a bit of a joke around the station. You had no forensic evidence, you had no proof at all, and yet you blunder on happily, getting the woman to call on you, and accusing her of murder. If she had not been slightly deranged, she could have let you witter on and got away with it.
"But I must admit, you do have a sharp eye--and the luck of the devil. I'd better get after them and wind this up."
"What will happen to her?" asked Agatha.
"Nothing, I would guess. She'll get a top psychiatrist to say her mind had been turned with all the tragedies. She can afford the best QC. Oh, yes, she'll get off with a slap on the wrist."
When he had gone, Agatha joined Bert and Alison. "When are you leaving this damned place?" she asked.
"We don't need to move until the end of January," said Bert.
"Move now!" howled Agatha. "Get out. Get away."
"I was staying out of respect for Mother's memory," said Bert.
"You're stark, staring bonkers. Read my lips. Your mother was a murderess. She reared a mentally sick family. So Fran killed her and poor Jimmy was too weak and pathetic to let himself live."
"Just go," said Bert in a tired voice.
Alison followed Agatha out. "I've had enough," she said. "If I stay with Bert I'll turn out as mad as this family."
"Where will you go?"
"Anywhere. Out of the country would be a good idea. I've been corresponding with an old friend who lives in Spain. I'll take a holiday and go and stay with her."
"What a horrible woman Phyllis Tamworthy was," said Agatha. "She murdered Jimmy just as if she'd strung him up herself."
Agatha hailed the new year with relief. Back to work. Back to taking on unsavoury court cases to make up for all the expense of Christmas.
She could hardly wait to ask how Toni had got on with Bill's parents. "They're so sweet," said Toni. "They invited me back for New Year."
"Are you and Bill an item?" asked Agatha. Toni blushed. "We are, rather."
Agatha's heart sank. She could imagine what would happen if Toni married Bill. She would lose a good detective and one best friend all in one go. She had been hurt that Bill had not called to wish her a Happy New Year. Now she knew the reason.
And how had Toni managed to charm Bill's parents when all she had ever had from them was rudeness?
Charles hadn't phoned, but then he had never bothered in the past. Nor had Roy. Agatha had expected that the suicide of Jimmy might have prompted one of them to call her. Mrs Bloxby was away on holiday.
Agatha sighed. Work was the answer. Work had always been the answer.
A cold wet winter dragged on into a cold wet spring. And then, at the end of April, the sun shone again, drying the countryside and bringing colour to the gardens and hedgerows.
Roy descended on Agatha one weekend. He had not even bothered to phone and she was tempted to tell him she was busy, but she was too glad of his company to send him away.
"Why the long silence?" asked Agatha. "I thought you might have phoned up about Jimmy, or to wish me a Happy New Year."
"I was very busy," said Roy huffily. "And the phone works both ways, you know. Anyway, it's gorgeous weather. What about a trip in the countryside?"
"Funnily enough, I was thinking of taking a run over to Lower Tapor."
"Why on earth? Haven't you had enough of that place?"
"I just wanted to see what this theme park looks like. Evidently it's up and running."
"Okay. Let's hope nobody murders anyone. How did Toni get on at that court case? You know, the woman who pushed the publican over the cliff."
"Very well. Elsie got life. Oh, there's another thing. Bill and Toni are dating."
"That's great."
"Won't last," said Agatha hopefully. "I keep having a feeling Toni's trying to work up courage to tell me something."
"Probably that she's going to get married or that she's pregnant."
"Don't even think about it! Let's go."
They had to pay an entrance fee and park in a field, still muddy after all the rain, and walk a good distance into the village. "Walk, walk, walk," groaned Roy. "Do you remember the first time we came here?"
They walked into the village and down on to the village green. A maypole had been erected and sulky-looking children were dancing around it. In front of the pub, morris men were dancing lethargically. The locals were wandering about dressed in cod eighteenth-century clothes. They looked as sulky as ever. Doris Crampton was sitting outside her cottage staring mulishly at a spinning wheel.
"The only thing eighteenth-century about this place is the atmosphere," grumbled Roy. "Oh, look at that."
At a corner of the green stood a horse and carriage with a notice pinned on one carriage door: "Five pound carriage ride to the manor"
"Daylight robbery," said Agatha. "Let's go anyway."
The fee turned out to be five pounds each, but Agatha was too interested to see what had happened to the manor to protest.
They jolted along and then through the farm gates they had encountered on their first visit. In one field, a man was ploughing with horse
s.
"You know, I bet all the villagers hate this," said Agatha, "but if they don't start smiling and doing their jobs, this place will soon close down."
They were set down outside the manor. The stables now bore a large sign, "Authentic Olde Englishe Teas."
A white sign outside the entrance door bore the legend, 'Next tour: Five minutes'.
"This gets worse and worse," said Roy. "There can't be anything worth seeing."
"Let's go anyway. People are already lining up."
The line soon began to shuffle forward. Inside the door, Doris's sister, Mavis, was sitting behind a desk with a roll of tickets. Her stout figure was encased in a black gown and she had a mob cap on her head. "Two pounds each," she said.
"We've already paid a fortune for the bleeding carriage," snarled Agatha.
"Oh, it's you," said Mavis. "Doesn't matter. That'll be four pounds altogether."
Agatha paid up and walked into the hall which was lit by candlelight. And standing in the hall was their guide with a white powdered wig on and a panniered gown. It was Alison.
"What are you doing here?" exclaimed Agatha.
"Shhh!" admonished Alison. "I've got a break after this tour. I'll take you for tea and tell you about it."
The tour began. Unlike the villagers, Alison seemed to be throwing herself into her role. "We will start with the dining room," she said, "which is haunted by the ghost of Mrs Tamworthy, the late owner, who was foully murdered--with hemlock!"
The dining room was now panelled and a small Victorian fireplace had been ripped out to be replaced with a large Georgian one where a log fire blazed.
Alison described the murder in gruesome detail. Agatha reflected that Alison was very good at her job. She led her tour from room to room. The kitchen had been remodelled into a period one and the visitors were interested in all the old kitchen equipment. A grumpy man was turning a leg of lamb over a spit.
Upstairs, the rooms had been re-enlarged to their original size and boasted four-poster beds.
