by M C Beaton
“Right,” said Agatha when the contract was signed. “You go ahead to the manor, Mrs Tamworthy, and break the news to them that you have employed me and I will follow after, say, half an hour.”
When Alison had left, Agatha grinned. “Great! Nice to get something different from divorces. Toni, I want you to come with me to see if that famous luck of yours can dig up something.”
As Agatha drove towards Lower Tapor, Toni sat in the passenger seat in a state of excitement. She, Toni Gilmour, was going to a manor house! Ideas of grandeur culled from Merchant Ivory films floated through her head. Would there be a butler? Tea on the terrace? Croquet on the lawn? She was wearing a denim blouse and jeans and wished Agatha had let her go home to change into something more suitable.
As they approached the gates, Agatha said, “I want you to study each one of them and give me your impressions. The police will still be there and they won’t be happy to see us, but I’m used to that.”
As Agatha parked the car, she could see Bill Wong’s head through a window of the mobile police unit. He appeared to be interviewing someone.
Alison met them at the door. “Sir Henry is being interviewed again. The rest are in the drawing room. Come with me.”
Jimmy, Bert, Sadie and Fran were slumped in chairs in the drawing room. They all stared angrily at Agatha. Bert said, “I have told my wife that I cannot see what you can do that the police can’t. Waste of money.”
“It’s my money I’m using,” snapped Alison. “Well, we’re not going to cooperate,” said Fran.
Alison strode to the fireplace and stood facing them with her hands on her hips. “Don’t you all see! If this murder isn’t solved, it’ll hang over our heads forever. People will look at us and say, “That’s the family that murdered their mother.” Say we decide to sell. People will try to drive the price down because of our shameful reputation.”
The money bit struck a chord, thought Toni, covertly studying the faces in the room.
There was a long silence. Glances were exchanged. At last Bert said with obvious reluctance, “Oh, go ahead. It shouldn’t bother any of us because none of us did it.”
“Mrs Tamworthy—” began Agatha.
“Call me Alison.”
“Very well. If forensics have finished with the kitchen, I’d like to have a look at it.”
“Come with me,” said Alison.
Agatha swung round to Toni. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit,” she ordered the girl. “I’ll be back presently.”
When she had left, Sadie, Fran, Bert and Jimmy all looked at Toni for a long moment. Then Sadie picked up a magazine and began to read, Jimmy walked to the window and stared out, Fran began to stitch at a tapestry frame and Bert opened a newspaper.
Toni looked around the room. The manor house was not what she had expected. There was no feeling of antiquity. From the outside, it looked like an old building, maybe eighteenth century, made of mellow Cotswold stone. To judge from the drawing room, it looked as if everything old had been ripped out of the house, and an interior designer brought in. The sofa and chairs were chintz-covered and without any sign of comfortable wear. Toni thought it looked like a hotel which had been decorated to look like a manor house.
Her gaze fell on Jimmy. He was standing at the window chewing his fingernails. There was an air of defeat about him. Fran, with her tightly permed hair and discontented face, did not look upper-class. Toni thought that if you put her in a flowered apron and a turban and stuck a cigarette in her mouth, then she would look like one of those northern women in mill towns one saw in old photographs of World War II.
Bert, too, looked out of place with his red face and bald head. And Sadie, small and dumpy, was of a type that could be seen on any council estate. Agatha had told her on the drive to Lower Tapor that she was married to a baronet. Odd. Toni, who had expected them all to be like Sir Charles, was disappointed.
Agatha found there was not much to see in the kitchen. Any makings of salad and any utensils that might have been used preparing the high tea had been taken away for analysis.
She turned to Alison. “Do you know how long the police are going to be here?”
“I think their mobile unit will be leaving this afternoon after we have all signed our statements.”
“And then what are everyone’s plans?”
“We’re all going to the lawyer’s late this afternoon to make sure the will is still the same. That is, divided amongst us four ways. After that, I don’t know. Fran suggested we should all stay together for a few days to decide what to do about the estate. Fran wants to keep it in the family and Sadie would like that as well. But Jimmy wants to sell the place and so does Bert.”
“You see,” said Agatha, “I can’t get much further while the police are here. Can you continue to try to persuade the rest of them that it would be in their interest for me to try to find out who murdered Mrs Tamworthy?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“In that case, I’ll concentrate on the village today. Paul Chambers is the ringleader of the protesters. Where does he live?”
“He owns the pub. He lives upstairs.”
“Does the pub belong to the estate?”
“Yes, and the rest of the village.”
“Now the two women who served lunch. What are their names and where do they live?”
“One is Doris Crampton. She lives in Pear Tree Cottage. The other is her sister, Mavis. They live together. They do the cleaning here and my mother-in-law would engage them when we all met here for meals to wait at table. Oh, it’s all so awful. There are police out scouring the countryside for hemlock.”
“Will they find it?”
“I should think so. It’s pretty common.”
“How do you know that?” asked Agatha sharply.
“We Googled it on Fran’s computer this morning.”
“I’ll collect Toni and be off to the village.”
As Agatha drove out and checked signposts to Lower Tapor as the easy entrance to the manor was in Upper Tapor, she asked Toni, “Well, what did you make of them?”
“I can’t quite believe it,” said Toni. “It’s like a stage set. They don’t belong. I dunno. I mean, they look like a group of people who’ve gone to one of those hotels where they do murder weekends. You know, where they dress up in thirties costumes and one of them plays Poirot. They look as if they’re waiting to put their costumes on and wondering which one of them is going to play the murderee.
“I don’t know anything about manor houses, but I thought they would look more at ease in their surroundings. Of course the place itself is more like a hotel.”
“Evidently Fran and Sadie have grand ideas and both would like to be ladies of the manor,” said Agatha. “But surely not that manor house. But I doubt if either of them would want to buy the others out. Unless, of course, Sir Henry Field is rich. Alison said she has her own money. I wonder just how much she has got. Here we are at the pub. Be prepared to be insulted.”
A few locals stared at them sullenly as they walked into the stone-flagged bar. Paul Chambers was behind the bar sitting on a high stool, reading a newspaper.
He looked up at Agatha and his eyes hardened. “I heard about you,” he said. “Some sort of snoop.”
“I am a private detective employed by the family to find out who murdered Mrs Tamworthy,” said Agatha.
He had unusually pale eyes and a shock of fair hair and fair lashes. “You’re looking in the wrong place,” he said. He looked at Toni. “You employing child labour these days?”
“Watch your mouth, mate,” snarled Toni and Agatha looked at her in surprise.
But Paul grinned. “Feisty, aren’t you? It’s no use bothering me.”
“You were furious at Mrs Tamworthy when you learned she planned to sell the place,” said Agatha.
“Yeah. But I wouldn’t have murdered the old trout. What good would it do? None of that lot has enough money to keep the place going.”
“Wh
at about Bert Tamworthy? He runs the brickworks.”
“Sure, but the brickworks are part of the estate, see?”
“What about Sir Henry Field?”
“Got a little money from a family trust. Enough to keep him from working too hard for a living, but that’s all.”
“How do you know this?”
“Made it my business.”
“Are you sure Mrs Tamworthy had planning permission to build houses on her land?”
“Sure. There’s a field that’s never used other side of the six-acre. There’s ruined houses there. There were about ten of them in the nineteenth century. The manor was owned then by a Jeremy Twistle. He chucked the tenants out because he wanted the extra land for agriculture. But he died before he could do anything about it and the houses fell into ruin. Mrs Tamworthy claimed that as the land had never been used for agriculture, she had a right to build on it and got planning permission. We weren’t having any of that.”
“Why?” asked Agatha. “The countryside is short of housing.”
“It’s damn short of affordable housing,” said Paul. “She’d build houses for rich incomers and we’ve got enough incomers in the Cotswolds driving house prices up so that the villagers can’t afford to live in them.”
“If the villagers would stop selling their homes to incomers,” said Agatha, “then the prices wouldn’t become inflated.”
“What do you know about anything? Shove off.”
“Were you up at the manor house yesterday?” asked Toni.
“No, I wasn’t, cheeky-face.”
“And you can prove it?”
“Course I can, but I’m not going to waste time telling a slip of a girl like you. Tell you what, come back this evening when you’ve got rid of Granny here, and maybe I’ll stand you a drink.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Toni.
Agatha felt very low as they left the pub. She was in her early fifties, her legs were good and her hair glossy, but set against the glowing youth of Toni, she didn’t stand a chance.
She swallowed her pride and said, “Maybe you should take him up on his offer.”
“Where will you be?” asked Toni. “I doubt if there are any buses around here.”
“We’ll interview the sisters and then I think we should go back and pack overnight bags. I’ll find a hotel near here and book us in. I’ll drop you off at the pub and I’ll be able to start work at the manor early the next morning.”
She drove slowly around the small village until they located Pear Tree Cottage.
One of the sisters answered the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “What d’yer want?”
She was, as Agatha remembered her, fat and frumpy. Her hair was tied up in a scarf and she had an old–fashioned flowery apron stretched across her bulk.
“I am a private detective,” said Agatha. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about yesterday.”
The woman raised her voice and screeched, “Doris!” Her sister came into the room. “Here’s a nosy parker come to ask us about yesterday,” said Mavis.
“Cheek!” said Doris. “Get along with you. You ain’t the perleece.” She seized a broom from the corner and brandished it. “Git!”
So Agatha and Toni retreated. Agatha decided to ask Phil Marshall to call on them. He might fare better.
The hotel that Agatha found for them early that evening struck Toni as being more like a manor house than the Tamworthy one. It was very expensive and she tried not to feel intimidated.
When they had checked in, Agatha said, “I’ll drive you to the pub and call back for you in an hour. Then we’ll have dinner. I’ve had nothing but a sandwich all day.”
Toni felt that her luck had run out. The pub was busy and this time there was a woman behind the bar with Paul. She was gypsy-looking with ratty dead-black hair, a thin mouth, glistening black eyes and a formidable bosom.
“Here you are,” Paul greeted her. “What are you having?”
“Tonic water.”
“Have some gin in it.”
“Maybe later.”
“Paul! We’ve got other customers waiting,” shouted the barmaid.
Paul winked at Toni. “That’s Elsie, jealous as sin.”
“Your wife?”
“No, but she’d like to be.”
“Paul!”
“Come back at midnight,” whispered Paul. “Meet me outside. I can tell you a lot.”
“Right you are,” said Toni. She drank her tonic, retreated outside the pub and phoned Agatha.
When Agatha arrived, Toni told her about the proposed meeting.
“Does he know you don’t have a car?”
“Don’t think so,” said Toni.
“We’ll go back to the hotel for dinner and then I’ll come back with you at midnight and drop you near the pub.”
Toni was glad of Agatha’s robust presence in the hotel dining room. The waiter was supercilious until Agatha told him to take that look off his frost-bitten face and give them some decent service. She said this in a very loud voice. He was replaced by a servile waitress.
“They do try to give themselves airs,” said Agatha. “It’s all the fault of the English. They don’t think a place is classy unless they’re being humiliated. Mind you, this pepper steak is excellent. I wonder if they do catering. I planned to cook my Christmas dinner myself but perhaps it might be safer to let someone else do it.”
“Do you have a traditional Christmas?” asked Toni wistfully.
“Not yet. But I’m going to have one this time. I want a real Dickensian one with turkey and holly and, oh, you know—” Agatha waved her arms –
“the whole thing.”
“We never had a proper Christmas,” said Toni. “Well, you can help me with mine. I’m hoping my ex will be back from his travels in time for it”
“Your ex?”
“James Lacey. He’s a travel writer.”
“So it was an amicable divorce?”
“Yes, we’re friends now. But I really think he’s never got over me.”
“Have you got over him?” asked Toni. “Eat your steak.”
Later that evening, Agatha drove Toni near the village pub but where her car could not be seen. Before Toni got out of the car, Agatha handed her a can of pepper spray. “Just in case he tries anything funny. Keep it in your hand.”
Toni got out and walked towards the pub. It was a bright moonlit night. Paul was standing beside a four-wheel drive.
“Get in,” he said. “We’ll go somewhere where we can talk.”
Agatha, who had followed behind on foot, saw Toni getting into the car and ran back to her own.
Paul drove off slowly and quietly and then, once clear of the pub, he accelerated, racing down country lanes until he finally swung off on a farm track and parked in a field.
He switched off the engine and turned towards Toni, putting his arm along the back of the passenger seat.
“What I want to ask you—” began Toni bravely.
“Forget that. Come here. Let’s have a bit of fun.”
“No,” said Toni.
To her horror, he put his hands round her neck and began to squeeze. “You just be a good little girl and be nice to Paul.”
Toni felt she was losing consciousness. With a great effort, she raised the can of pepper spray, thrust it up between them and sprayed it full into his face.
He let out a roar like a wounded bull. Toni pulled open the door and collapsed out on to the grass. Howling and cursing, he stumbled out as well.
“I’ll kill you, you little bitch,” he raged.
And then there came the roar of a car engine. Agatha had desperately followed, glad of the moonlit night because she had been following without lights on, hoping that the sound of Paul’s engine would drown the sound of her own. As soon as she heard his engine stop, she had stopped too.
When she heard him shouting, she accelerated towards the sound of the voice. She saw Toni stumbling to her feet and Paul weavin
g about, his hands to his eyes.
“Stop!” yelled Agatha. “I have a gun.”
Through his bleary painful eyes, Paul saw Agatha Raisin holding a gun pointed at him.
“Get up against the car!” roared Agatha.
“It was a joke, that’s all,” he said.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Muttering curses, Paul did as he was told. Agatha clipped a pair of handcuffs on him. Then she took a belt from her dress and bound his ankles.
“Are you all right, Toni?” she asked.
“He tried to strangle me,” croaked Toni. “I can hardly breathe.”
“Sit down on the grass. I’ll call the police.”
It was to be a long night. Toni made a brief statement and was taken off to hospital for observation. Agatha was taken to police headquarters and grilled. She had removed the handcuffs when she heard the police siren in the distance. She did not know whether it was legal for a member of the public to use them or not, even though the sex shops sold them. She had hurled the pepper spray into the bushes, and had placed a half-empty carton of black pepper on the passenger seat. Pepper spray is illegal, and she always kept the half-empty carton of pepper with her in case she ever had to lie about the use of a spray. She had briefed Toni before the girl was taken off to hospital to say that she had used a carton of pepper.
The hard-faced detective, Collins, was conducting the interview. “How did you get a powerful man like Paul Chambers to stand there with only a dress sash about his ankles while you phoned us?”
“He thought I had a gun.”
“And did you?”
Agatha opened her handbag and produced a water pistol. “Just this. He couldn’t see very well with the pepper in his eyes.”
“Why was your assistant conveniently carrying a carton of black pepper in her handbag?”
“We were eating pepper steak earlier at the hotel. Toni opened her handbag and showed me the carton. She said that, funnily enough, she meant to try to cook pepper steak for herself.”
“I think you are lying,” said Collins.
Agatha lost her temper. “Prove it! Look here, you can see from the marks on her neck that my assistant was attacked. I suggest you concentrate on the real villain and stop wasting my time.”