by M C Beaton
‘He must really hate me now,’ said Toni. ‘I don’t have a car, yet. I’m taking a crash course next week. Yes, I would like you to drive me there.’
‘Right, when you’ve finished your drink, I’ll walk you home. I’ll pick you up at around ten o’clock on Saturday evening. We’ll need to find a good place to hide ourselves.’
Toni was relieved when he walked her home chatting away about the estate, because he showed no signs of being interested in her sexually.
‘I’ve just remembered something,’ said Agatha. ‘British sherry.’
‘What about it?’ asked Bill.
‘She said she loved draught British sherry. I don’t think it’s been around for years. So she must have stocked up on bottles and put them in the cellar.’
Bill took out his mobile. ‘I’ll be back in a moment. I’d better tell them to search the whole of the cellar.’
When he had gone, Agatha turned to Charles. ‘Do you plan to stay with me?’
‘That’s the idea, Aggie.’
‘I’m not giving you a set of keys, mind.’
‘Suit yourself, sweetie.’
Chapter Eight
The following day, Agatha phoned Alison and told her that there was no point in her going to the manor while the police were around and asked her if she could possibly get away and come to the office. Alison said she would be there in an hour’s time.
Agatha decided her staff should work on other cases. Toni was sent in search of a missing teenager. She did not tell Agatha anything about the coming Saturday night. She was sure Agatha would refuse to let her go.
Patrick brightened when he was given a case of suspected industrial espionage at a sweet factory. The owners claimed that they were planning the launch of a new chocolate bar. The previous launch of a new health bar had been stolen by their competitors. ‘Anything to get away from divorce,’ said Patrick. Phil sighed. He was stuck with a divorce case.
Charles strolled into the office, helped himself to a coffee, and sat quietly in the corner.
When everyone had left except Mrs Freedman, Charles asked, ‘What now?’
‘Alison should be here soon,’ said Agatha. ‘Better here than up at the manor with police and the enraged Collins prowling around. Now, be an angel and shut up while I get some paperwork done.’
Charles folded his arms on his chest and promptly fell asleep.
‘He must be tired,’ whispered Mrs Freedman.
‘He should be,’ retorted Agatha. ‘He was up all night watching old movies.’
Charles woke up when Alison arrived. Agatha was shocked at her appearance. Her face was drawn and there were heavy bags under her eyes.
She sank down wearily on the office sofa. ‘I don’t know how much longer we can all go on like this. The police are now searching the cellar.’
‘Were any of the other bottles on that rack in the kitchen poisoned?’ asked Agatha.
‘They don’t know yet. George Pyson, the factor, is finding another gardener to fill in in the meantime. He has also found an accountant for us because it turns out Mrs Tamworthy had lots of money salted away in different accounts. If we ever get out of this, we’ll all be very rich indeed. But we’ll never have any peace until this murderer is found. We’re paying some of the villagers to patrol the estate because the press are doing everything they can to get in to interview us. When I drove off, I was nearly blinded by all the flashes from the cameras. Of course, the villagers have been talking, so George says, and it’s probably all a lot of scurrilous gossip.’
‘What you need is a good foreign story,’ said Agatha cynically.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘If there’s a big story abroad, you’ll see the press trying to get back to their offices to buy the foreign editor drinks and free meals, begging, “Send me. I’ve got a visa.”’
Charles laughed. ‘Only Aggie could wish a war on the world for a bit of peace at Lower Tapor,’ he said.
Agatha ignored him. ‘Alison, I know you won’t want to believe this, but if any of the Tamworthys had committed the murder, which one would you think it might be?’
‘That’s awful. Jimmy suffered the most but I can’t see him doing it. I mean, it all looks as if it were carefully planned to hurt the family as much as possible. Poisoning that wine means the murderer was not just after my mother-in-law.’
‘Unless it was done before the murder,’ said Charles. ‘My money’s on Paul Chambers. He seems a nasty bit of work. A man who would try to rape a young girl in the middle of a murder investigation must be a bit unhinged.’
‘Have you heard anything about witchcraft in the village?’ asked Agatha.
‘No,’ said Alison, ‘but then I never had much to do with the place.’
‘I know,’ said Agatha, ‘I’ll phone Phil and send him back to see the Crampton sisters. He seems to have charmed them.’
Phil was delighted to be able to temporarily drop the divorce case. As he drove into Lower Tapor and parked beside the village green, he could see no one about and yet was conscious of eyes staring at him from behind net curtains. He had never considered himself to be imaginative or psychic in any way and yet he could swear he felt the weight of the hidden watchers’ curiosity and animosity.
Cotswold buildings weather very well. It was hard for Phil to guess the age of the houses. Some were thatched and timbered, so were probably seventeenth century or maybe earlier, their little dormer windows under the eaves looking like eyes. Others had slate roofs and lintels over the door in the style of Queen Anne.
He made his way past the pub to the sisters’ cottage and knocked on the door. Once again Doris opened the door to him. She looked wary.
‘I wonder if I might have another word with you,’ said Phil.
Doris leaned forward and looked to right and left and then said reluctantly, ‘Come in.’
This time her sister, Mavis, was in the parlour. Phil was not asked to sit down. They both faced him, work-reddened hands folded over their aprons.
‘I heard a rumour there was witchcraft in this village,’ said Phil.
They stared at him in silence and then Mavis turned and walked out.
‘I don’t know where you heard such rubbish,’ said Doris. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.’
‘Terrible thing about Fred Instick,’ pursued Phil, not wanting to return to the office with nothing to report.
‘That’s what happens to nosy parkers,’ said Doris.
‘You mean he had found something out and someone wanted to silence him?’
‘Look,’ said Doris, ‘Fred was always bragging about what he called gardener’s privileges. One of them was to help himself to a bottle of wine on his road out of the kitchen. He was the only one I knew who would touch the stuff. Mrs Tamworthy did try to sell some at a village fête but nobody liked it. We make the good stuff here. It was sickly sweet and tasted a bit like medicine. I reckon her never allowed it to mature long enough. Now, get on with you.’
Well, that was something to report, thought Phil. It looked as if the poisoning of the old man had been deliberate. He walked back to his car on the village green. Just as he opened the car door, something struck him viciously on the back of the head and he slumped to the ground, red blood trickling through the white hair on his head.
Two minutes later, George Pyson drove into the village. He saw Phil lying on the ground by his car, braked to a halt and got out and knelt beside him. He took out his phone and called urgently for an ambulance.
Bill Wong was the first on the spot. He had been driving to the manor and had heard the emergency call on the police radio.
George had taken a travel rug from the car and wrapped it around Phil. ‘There’s a rock over there with blood on it,’ said George.
Bill phoned Agatha and told her what had happened. Then he asked, ‘What exactly was Phil doing in the village?’
Agatha told him that Phil had gone over to call on the Crampton sisters. ‘
It’s Pear Tree Cottage,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right over.’
‘Don’t,’ said Bill. ‘Stay right where you are and I’ll let you know which hospital they’ve taken him to.’
George said, when Bill had rung off, ‘His pulse is steady enough. Where the hell’s that ambulance?’
It was an agony of waiting until the ambulance arrived. ‘Taking him to Mircester General,’ said one paramedic.
As soon as the ambulance was out of sight, Bill turned to George. ‘Where is this Pear Tree Cottage?’
‘I’ll take you there.’
But at Pear Tree Cottage no one answered the door. Bill flipped open the letter box and listened. He could hear a faint sound of movement from inside. He shouted through the letter box, ‘Police! Open up or I’ll smash the door down.’
Hurried footsteps could be heard on the other side. Then the door swung open and Doris stood there. ‘I was down in the garden,’ she said.
‘The man who was just here,’ said Bill, ‘was struck on the head with a rock. Did you see anything?’
‘That’s awful. No, like I said, I was down in the garden.’
‘Did he ask you about witchcraft in the village?’
‘Yes, that he did. Told him it was rubbish.’
‘Did he ask anything else?’
‘No, I told him I was busy and he left.’
Agatha paced up and down the waiting room of Mircester General Hospital. Phil was being examined. Bill and Charles were waiting with her.
‘Collins is furious with you,’ Bill said. ‘She says you’re complicating the case.’
‘She can get stuffed,’ snarled Agatha. ‘Oh, poor Phil. What if it’s brain damage?’
‘Here comes the surgeon now,’ said Bill.
‘Mr Marshall has suffered a concussion,’ he said. ‘He must have a very strong head. There is no sign of brain damage.’
‘I would like to try to have a word with him,’ said Bill.
‘Make it short. He’ll need a lot of rest.’
Agatha made to follow Bill. The surgeon barred her way. ‘Who are you?’
‘His boss.’
‘Then I cannot allow you to go in. I have to allow the police, but after that only family will be allowed in to see him.’
Deaf to Agatha’s protests, he led Bill away.
‘Oh, God,’ prayed Agatha. ‘Let him be all right.’
‘Didn’t think you believed in God,’ said Charles.
‘It’s just an expression,’ said Agatha. ‘I think I’m an atheist.’
‘Do you know the definition of an atheist?’
‘No.’
‘An atheist,’ said Charles, ‘is someone without any invisible means of support.’
‘Oh, ha bloody ha.’
Bill was gone only ten minutes. ‘He’s very weak,’ he said. ‘But he told me that according to Doris Crampton, everyone seemed to know that Fred often nicked a bottle of wine. I’m going back to pull her in for impeding the police in their inquiries. Agatha, pull your staff off the case for at least a week because we will now be doing door-to-door inquiries in that hellhole of a village.’
‘Are you going to obey him?’ asked Charles as Agatha drove them back to her cottage.
‘I do think I’ll leave it all alone for a few days. Alison had nothing of any interest to tell me. Besides, the place is crawling with press.’
‘I might trot along there tomorrow and blend with the locals.’
‘You!’
‘I’ll go in disguise.’
‘Remember the Crampton sisters have had a look at you. And that posh accent of yours will give you away.’
‘I’ll have you know I can talk mangelwurzel with the best of them.’
‘Charles, look what happened to Phil. I don’t want anything like that happening to you.’
‘Dear me. Our Aggie actually has a heart!’
Charles, wearing some of his undergardener’s clothes and a flat cap, and with his face and hands stained brown and a straggly moustache pasted to his upper lip, arrived in Lower Tapor at lunchtime the following day.
The pub was quite full when he entered. Silence fell as everyone turned to survey the newcomer.
Charles made his way to the bar. ‘Pint o’ Hook Norton,’ he ordered. There was no sign of Paul Chambers. His pint was pulled for him by the gypsy-looking Elsie.
Charles turned round and saw a small table with one chair over by the window. He took his pint over and sat down. He took out a packet of tobacco and rolled himself a cigarette. And waited.
He guessed that curiosity would soon get the better of the locals.
Sure enough, after five minutes a thickset man came up and loomed over him.
‘You’re a stranger here.’
Charles nodded.
‘What you doin’ here?’
‘Mind yer own bizzness,’ said Charles.
This seemed to be a satisfactory reply. Charles had guessed that any sign of friendliness would be treated with suspicion.
The man pulled up a chair and joined him. ‘Had an accident, then?’ he asked, nodding in the direction of Charles’s hands. Charles had bandaged his hands to disguise the fact that they had never done any hard work at all.
‘Yus.’
‘Terrible goin’s-on in this village,’ said the man. Charles looked indifferent. ‘Yes, murders, that’s what we’re having. And it was them up at the manor that did it.’
‘Why you say that, then?’ asked Charles.
‘Cos they did. Wanted the old woman’s money. Then Fred, he was the gardener, he got wise to them so they killed him as well.’
Charles decided it was time to show some animation. ‘Reckon you must all be scared.’
‘Naw, they won’t touch one o’ us provided we keep our mouths shut. We got ways to protect ourselves.’
‘Like what?’ asked Charles.
‘Keith!’ shouted Elsie from behind the bar. ‘You get right over here.’
Charles’s companion got reluctantly to his feet. Elsie leaned over the bar and hissed something at him. He left the pub quickly.
Deciding there wouldn’t be much more to be found, Charles left. But he wondered about those ways of protection. Witchcraft?
Toni felt excited as she dressed in dark clothes on Saturday evening and then waited for George.
She was sure they wouldn’t find anything, but the outing would make her feel like a real detective, stalking and hiding in the bushes.
George arrived on time. ‘This is my new flat,’ said Toni proudly.
‘Where did you get the furniture?’ asked George.
‘Agatha bought it from the owner.’
George looked at the battered sofa and scuffed chairs. ‘You could do better. I’ve got some bits and pieces in the attic. You could come over one day and have a look.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘So let’s go on the witch hunt. I’ve been there already and I’ve found a good place where we can hide out and see what goes on at the top of that hill – if anything.’
There was a glade at the top of the hill surrounded by trees. They hid in the bushes at the side. A full moon rose overhead.
Toni wanted to pass the time chatting but he whispered to her to be quiet because sounds in the countryside at night could carry very far.
By eleven-thirty, Toni was beginning to feel cramped and bored. Then they heard voices. Soon they heard people approaching up the hill.
Toni peered through the bushes and stifled a gasp. Paul Chambers was leading a small group of villagers into the grove. Elsie, the barmaid, was beside him.
At first it looked as if they had all come up for a picnic. Sandwiches and bottles were passed around. Then, just before midnight, Paul said, ‘It’s time.’
They all began to undress until they were stark naked. A CD of some oriental music began to play. They all joined hands in a circle and began to dance. Paul had a good figure but the rest had sagging rolls of white fat. Flaccid breasts ji
ggled, sagging buttocks rolled. Toni could feel laughter bubbling up inside her. She pressed a hand to her mouth. At last she could not contain herself any longer and let out a burst of laughter.
‘That’s torn it,’ said George. He grabbed her hand. ‘Crouch down and run.’
Doubled up, they raced through the undergrowth until George pulled up short. ‘Wrong way,’ he said. They were standing on the lip of a disused quarry. ‘Back into those bushes over there and hope they don’t find us,’ said George.
They lay down flat under the bushes. Toni felt the beating of her heart was so loud that the pursuers must surely hear it.
Then they heard Chambers’s voice: ‘I’ll swear they came this way,’ and Elsie’s reply, ‘Probably kids.’
In the clear moonlight, George could see Paul and Elsie standing on the lip of the quarry. Both were still naked.
‘Forget about them, darlin’,’ said Elsie. ‘Let’s have some fun.’
‘Leave me alone, you silly tart. This is serious.’
‘What did you call me?’
‘I said you were a silly tart and that’s all you are.’
‘You said you’d marry me.’
‘Oh, not again. The things I say in bed. Forget it.’
In front of Toni’s and George’s horrified eyes, Elsie gave Paul an enormous push in his back and he stumbled forward and fell over the quarry. He screamed as he went down and then there was no sound at all.
Elsie peered over the quarry and then turned and ran away.
George could feel Toni shaking and put an arm around her. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the police.’
Agatha was awakened the following morning by the shrill, insistent clamour of her doorbell.
She glanced at her bedside clock. Six in the morning!
She struggled out of bed, wrapped herself in a dressing gown and went downstairs. Agatha opened the door and found a white-faced Toni and a tall man she did not recognize.
‘It’s terrible,’ said Toni. ‘Paul Chambers has been murdered.’
‘Come in,’ said Agatha. And to George, ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m George Pyson, the factor for Mrs Tam-worthy’s estate.’
