Agatha Raisin and a Spoonful of Poison ar-19

by M C Beaton

  “Of course. They’re being married in Felicity’s home village of Downboys in Sussex. I suppose they’ll arrange accommodation for us all.”

  “I asked about that,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “We’re expected to make our own bookings. There’s the town of Hewes not too far away.”

  “Cheapskates! I hope I can still get a room.”

  “I think you have one. Toni Gilmour has been invited, and knowing you were away and the possible shortage of rooms, she booked a double at the Jolly Farmer in Hewes.”

  _____________

  The days before the wedding seemed, to Agatha, to hurtle past, and soon she was in Toni’s car being driven to Sussex. Agatha had agreed to let Toni drive because her hip was hurting again. A surgeon had told her that she really must begin to think seriously about having a hip operation.

  Toni was wearing a leather jacket over a black T-shirt. A broad leather belt was slung low over her slim hips and her black trousers were tucked into a pair of pixie boots. Her fair hair was cut short and layered.

  Agatha glanced at her sideways and sighed. Her own figure, although she had lost weight, seemed to sag even more these days. She had been neglecting her exercises. Sometimes early fifties felt young enough to her but on days like this, seated next to the glowing youth of Toni and going to her ex’s marriage to a gorgeous girl, made her feel ancient. Agatha’s legs were still good and her brown hair, thick and glossy.

  The countryside sped past. “Half a league, half a league, half a league onwards,” muttered Agatha.

  “Oh, we got that at school,” said Toni. “The Charge of the Light Brigade.”

  Agatha winced. She had forgotten where the quotation came from.

  “What’s in your enormous suitcase?” asked Toni. “We’ll only be there for a couple of days.”

  “Because I don’t know what to wear,” said Agatha, “so I brought as much as I could. I don’t know whether to be dressy or smart casual.”

  “They’ll all be wearing hats like the Duchess of Cornwall,” said Toni.

  “I haven’t got a hat.”

  “Neither have I. You always look smart.”

  “How’s business going?”

  “We’re actually beginning to make a profit.”

  Agatha fought down a surge of competition. Just look where that character defect had got her. Making a right fool of herself. At least she could try to keep clear of James.

  Toni hit that idea on the head by saying, “There’s some sort of pre-wedding party tonight at Downboys.”

  “Why?” moaned Agatha. “The groom’s not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”

  “I don’t think that bothers people these days,” said Toni.

  “Why did you book us in at a pub? Doesn’t Hewes boast a hotel?”

  “It has two. But they’ve been taken over by Felicity’s relatives and friends. I think their accommodation is being paid for. Maybe James didn’t know he was expected to pay for his side of the church. The pub, the Jolly Farmer’s pretty reasonable.”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean a communal bathroom.”

  “No, bathroom en suite promised.”

  “I thought you might have wanted to travel down with Harry Beam,” said Agatha.

  “He’s following us down. As we’re sharing a room, it’s better if we turn up together,” said Toni.

  Hewes was an attractive old market town situated by a river. The pub turned out to be a sort of pub-cum-hotel built round an old courtyard.

  Their room was large and pleasant with a low-beamed ceiling, flowery wallpaper and two comfortable beds. There was even a desk with a plug for Internet access.

  “What time is this party?” asked Agatha.

  “It’s at eight o’ clock this evening. Buffet supper thrown in so we don’t need to bother about food.”

  “How did you find all this out?” asked Agatha.

  “I phoned up for directions and found out about the buffet supper.”

  “I wonder if James hoped I wouldn’t attend,” fretted Agatha. “I’ve a good mind not to go.”

  “Don’t leave me on my own,” said Toni.

  “I thought that by this time you wouldn’t be afraid of anything,” said Agatha.

  “Not when I’m working,” said Toni. “But the English middle classes frighten me when I have to meet them socially. I feel they can see right into my council-estate soul.”

  _____________

  Toni had hardly any time to get a shower and change. Agatha monopolised the bathroom and then covered her bed in dresses and trouser suits, worrying over what to wear. At last she settled for a blue and gold evening jacket with a short black velvet skirt and high heels.

  Toni was wearing a short white chiffon dress and gold leather high-heeled sandals.

  Agatha felt a pang on envy. Oh, to be young and wrinkle-free again!

  Both were nervous when they set out: Toni hoping she did not make some social gaffe or other, and Agatha dreading that James would confront her over her visits to the battlefields.

  “I’ll lie!” she said out loud.

  “About what?” asked Toni.

  “Never mind.”

  The village of Downboys was built around a crossroads. In the centre was an old pub, a church and a small grocery store. It seemed a very gloomy sort of place. Although the evening sky above was still cloudless after a sunny day, the trunks of the trees were black with damp.

  “Let me see,” muttered Toni, squinting down at a piece of paper on her lap, “I turn left at the crossroads, then a few yards and make a right into a cul-de-sac and their house is the villa at the end. I can hear music. They must have hired a band. This is it. Damn! The drive’s crammed with cars. We’d better park here and get out and walk.”

  They walked up the drive towards the sound of the jaunty music. “Isn’t it still usual to have a stag party for the man the night before and a hen party for the women?” grumbled Agatha.

  “I thought it was,” said Toni.

  The Bross-Tilkingtons’ villa was large and Victorian. The front door was standing open. They walked in. A young man wearing nothing more than a bow tie and a leather apron asked them for their invitations.

  “I didn’t know this was fancy dress,” said Agatha.

  “I’m from Naked Servants,” smiled the young man. He studied their invitations and then said, “Go through the house and out through the French windows. The party is in the marquee on the lawn.”

  “God, how naff!” muttered Agatha. “Am I getting old, Toni? That vision didn’t rouse a single hormone.”

  “Cheered me up,” said Toni. “I’m more at home with vulgar people. And a semi-naked servant is definitely vulgar.”

  Agatha hesitated. “Maybe I’ll go back to the pub and drive back later and pick you up.”

  “Not like you,” said Toni, taking her arm. “Let’s face the music.”

  They walked out through the French windows towards a huge striped marquee on the lawn.

  There was another nearly naked young man at the entrance. He took their cards and bawled out their names but his voice was lost in the sounds of a medley from Mary Poppins being belted out by a brass band.

  “Food and tables,” said Agatha. “Let’s grab something to eat and drink and sit down.”

  “Don’t you want to circulate?”

  “No.”

  “I see Bill Wong over there. I’m going to talk to him,” said Toni, “and then I’ll join you.”

  Agatha decided to have a drink first. She ordered a gin and tonic and then carried her glass to a table in a corner and sat down. She was soon joined by the members of her detective agency staff—Phil Marshall, Patrick Mulligan and Mrs. Freedman.

  Phil was in his seventies, and Patrick, early sixties, as was Mrs. Freedman. Agatha, in her early fifties, instead of being glad of their company, felt obscurely aged by it, especially when the crowd of milling guests parted to show her the beautiful bride-to-be, standing with her arm linked in James’s. />
  And then James saw her. He whispered something to Felicity and then made his way to Agatha’s table.

  “I’d like a word with you,” he said.

  “Sit down,” said Agatha, trying to smile but feeling as if her face had been Botoxed.

  “In private—outside. Can’t hear myself think for that band.”

  Agatha was about to protest but at that moment the band launched into the music from The Guns of Navarone. She rose and reluctantly followed him outside.

  He looked the same as ever, thought Agatha miserably—tall and handsome with his blue eyes and his thick hair going a little grey at the temples.

  “I can’t think of a more polite way of putting it,” said James. “But were you stalking me?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Agatha defiantly.

  “Well, let me spell it out for you. I went all the way to Balaclava and saw you fleeing the hotel. Then I went to the Anzac landings—and guess what?—you were just leaving there as well. Were you chasing me?”

  Agatha opened her mouth to lie, to give a furious denial, but then she thought, What does it all matter anymore? He’s getting married.

  “You upset me at that engagement party of yours when you said I had never listened to you. I wanted to prove you wrong. I had a holiday due to me. I’d taken a tumble down the stairs and I think that must have addled my wits. I was going to stun you with my military knowledge.”

  James began to laugh. Then he said, “Oh, Agatha, you are an original. Let’s take a stroll and talk about something else. You’re looking very well. How are things at? Oh, what is it?”

  One of the nearly naked young men had materialised beside them. “Mr. Lacey,” he said, “your fiancee wishes to speak to you.”

  “All right. Tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.”

  “Whose idea was it to hire the Naked Servants?” asked Agatha.

  “Felicity thought it would be fun.”

  “And you were happy with that?”

  “Agatha, don’t needle me. I’ll tell you this,” said James with sudden passion, “if I could think of a way to get out of this bloody forthcoming marriage I would.”

  “Shoot her?”

  “Don’t be flippant. Stop creeping around us!” The latter to a Naked Servant who had appeared beside James and was avidly listening.

  “I only came to tell you that Miss Felicity is wondering where you are,” said the young man huffily.

  “I’m coming,” said James wearily.

  Agatha sadly watched him go.

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