Agatha Raisin and The Murderous Marriage ar-5

by M C Beaton

  "Oh, Agatha," he said, looking at her, pity in his eyes replacing the anger. "I really thought Helen Warwick might have had something else to say, something useful. But if I had known it would upset you so much..."

  Agatha sat down wearily. "The vanity of men never ceases to amaze me. I did not go out and get sozzled because my heart was broken, James dear. Roy and I dressed up and went down to the packing-cases of Waterloo, where we spent the night. We found out something useful. Jimmy had a bag of stuff which a woman called Lizzie took away. We're going to get Roy's detective to try to track her down. Now all I want is to sleep. I nearly drove off the road on the way down here. Enjoy your visit to Helen?"

  "No," said James curtly. "Big mistake. Gold-digger."

  Agatha gave a little smile and headed for the stairs.

  "And burn those clothes," yelled James after her.

  EIGHT

  SUDDENLY it seemed to Agatha that, after that adventure, everything went quiet. Mrs. Hardy begged an extra week. She had found a place in London but needed the extra time until the flat became available. The Bugle finally learned about the attempted shooting and ran some of the original interview with Agatha. At first there was hope that someone who knew something about Mrs. Gore-Appleton would come forward, but no one appeared to know anything of any importance. In fact, several people had contacted the police, people who had worked for her charity on a voluntary basis. But their descriptions did not add very much to what the police already knew. Bill Wong privately thought that Mrs. Gore-Appleton was probably settled comfortably in some foreign country where they could not reach her.

  He called round one evening, saying dismally to James and Agatha that he was beginning to fear they would never get her now.

  "What's this Fred Griggs was saying about the murder of Miss Purvey not being connected with the case?"

  "There have been a couple of random stabbings in that cinema and we got some nutter for them. He says he strangled the Purvey woman."

  "And you believe him?"

  "I don't, but everyone else seems determined to have one of the murders solved. Have you two found out anything?"

  James looked at Agatha and Agatha looked at James. Agatha was still smarting over the Maddie episode. She did not know Maddie was off the case. If she told Bill about Roy's detective looking for the mysterious Lizzie, then the police would take over, Maddie might get some of the credit, and Agatha felt she could not bear that.

  "No, nothing," she said. "I'm moving back next door."

  "When?"

  "Just under three weeks now. It would have been sooner, but Mrs. Hardy begged the extra time. She's found a place in London."

  "Did that article in the newspaper not prompt anyone to come forward with information about Mrs. Gore-Appleton?" asked James.

  "Yes, it did. Mostly rich, retired ladies who did volunteer work for her. Some had contributed quite a lot of money to the charity, but others hung on to their wallets when they realized that Mrs. Gore-Appleton only made a few token visits down among London's homeless, dispensing clothes and food. The description is pretty much what we had before - hard, middle-aged, muscular, blonde."

  "Didn't she have any friends among them?"

  "No, they only saw her during office hours. They all remember Jimmy Raisin. Mrs. Gore-Appleton was very proud of him, they said. She said it all showed what a little kindness and care could do. Two of the ladies got the impression that Mrs. Gore-Appleton and Jimmy were lovers."

  "Well, we can't blame Jimmy for corrupting her, as she was running a bent charity when they met. How did she get away with it? She would need to be registered with the Charities Commission."

  "She never did that. Just hung out her shingle, didn't advertise for volunteers, simply canvassed a few churches. Quite a scam, in a way. One woman gave her fifteen thousand pounds, and she was the only one who would admit to the amount she paid, so goodness knows what she got from the others."

  Agatha thought of the waste of humanity she had spent the night with under the arches, all God's lost children, and felt a surge of fury. Mrs. Gore-Appleton had, in her own sweet way, been robbing the poor.

  "I can't bear the idea that she should get away with it. At the moment, the villagers have dropped the idea that either James or myself did it, but I met the horrible Mrs. Boggles in the village shop the other day, and she sneered at me darkly about 'some folks can get away with murder'. If the case isn't solved, then who knows? Everyone might start to think that way again."

  "I'll let you know anything I can," said Bill.

  "How are things?" asked Agatha. "I mean with you."

  "Maddie? Oh, that's finished. My mother is quite pleased, and so is Dad. I thought they would be disappointed, because they both hope to see me married."

  Agatha privately thought Mr. and Mrs. Wong would do anything in their power to drive off any female interested in their precious son, but did not say so, which went to show she had changed slightly for the better. The old Agatha had been totally blind and deaf to anyone else's feelings.

  But she saw the pain at the back of Bill's eyes and felt a surge of hatred for Maddie.

  "So what happens now with you two?" asked Bill.

  There was an awkward silence and then Agatha said brightly, "We'll soon be back to normal - me in my small cottage and James in his. We can wave to each other over the fence."

  "Oh, well, I'm sure you'll sort something out," said Bill. "I'm glad to see you've given up investigating murders, Agatha. Not that you weren't a help in the past, but mostly because of your blundering about and making things happen."

  Agatha looked at him, outraged. "You can go off people, you know."

  "Sorry. Just my joke. But you've nearly got yourself killed in the past. Don't do it again." His face beamed. "I'd hate to lose you."

  Agatha smiled suddenly. "There are times when I wish you were much older, Bill."

  He smiled back. "And there are times I wish I were, Agatha."

  "Do you want coffee, Bill?" asked James sharply.

  "What? Oh, no, I've got to be going."

  Agatha followed him to the door. "Don't stay away too long. When I'm back in my own place, come for dinner."

  "That's a date. And nothing microwaved either."

  He kissed her on the cheek and went off whistling.

  "Oh, God," said Agatha, coming back into the living-room, where James was moodily kicking at the rug in front of the fireplace. "I've just remembered. We're hosting the ladies' society from Ancombe. I'd better get along to the village hall. I know what. I'll see if Mrs. Hardy wants to come."

  "Do what you want," muttered James.

  Agatha stared at him. "What's got into you?"

  "I haven't been writing," he said. He went and sat down in front of the word processor and switched it on.

  Agatha shrugged and went upstairs. Love sometimes came in waves, like flu, but she was temporarily free of the plague and hoped to make it permanent.

  She came back downstairs whistling the same tune she had heard Bill whistling when he left. James was glowering at the screen of the word processor.

  "I'm off," said Agatha brightly.

  No reply.

  "It was nice of Bill to call." She gave a little laugh. "I sometimes wonder why he bothers with me."

  "He comes," said James acidly, "to get a tan from the light that shines from the hole in your arse."

  Agatha stared at James, her mouth dropping. James turned bright red.

  "You're jealous," said Agatha slowly.

  "Don't be ridiculous. The thought of you and a man as young as Bill Wong is disgusting."

  "But definitely intriguing," said Agatha. "See you later."

  She went out feeling an unaccustomed little surge of power.

  Mrs. Hardy was at home, and after a certain show of reluctance said she would accompany Agatha to the village hall.

  "What's in store?" asked Mrs. Hardy.

  "I don't really know," said Agatha. "I'm usually very much p
art of the arrangements, but with all the frights and running around, I've had nothing to do with this one. But whatever it is, you'll enjoy it."

  Agatha's heart sank when they entered the hall and she learned from Mrs. Bloxby that the Carsely Ladies' Society were giving a concert.

  "How can we do that?" hissed Agatha. "I didn't think we had anyone who could perform anything."

  "I think you'll be surprised," said Mrs. Bloxby blandly and moved away to help the grumbling Mrs. Boggle out of her wraps.

  Mrs. Hardy and Agatha were handed printed programmes.

  The first performer was to be Miss Simms, the society's secretary, who was billed to sing 'You'll Never Walk Alone'.

  But the opening number was a line-up of the village ladies performing a Charleston, dressed in twenties outfits. Agatha blinked. Where on earth had the portly Mrs. Mason come by that beaded dress? Mrs. Mason, she remembered, had threatened to leave the village after her niece had been found guilty of murder, but she had finally elected to stay and no one ever mentioned the murder. The ladies did quite well, apart from occasionally bumping into one another on the small stage.

  Then Miss Simms walked forward and adjusted the microphone. She was still wearing the skimpy flapper dress she had worn for the opening number. She opened her mouth. Her voice was thin and reedy, screeching on the high notes and disappearing altogether in the low notes. Agatha had never realized before what a very long song it was. At last it was mercifully over. Fred Griggs then took up a position on the stage in front of a table full of rings and scarves. Fred fancied himself as a conjurer. He got so many things wrong that the kindly village audience decided he was doing it deliberately and laughed their appreciation. The only person not joining in the laughter was Fred, who grew more and more anguished. At last a large box like a wardrobe was wheeled on the stage, and Fred nervously asked for a volunteer for the vanishing-lady trick.

  Mrs. Hardy walked straight up the aisle and climbed on the stage.

  Fred whispered to her and she went into the box and he shut the door.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," said Fred. "I will now make this lady vanish."

  He waved his stick and two schoolchildren turned the box round and round.

  Then Fred, with a flourish, opened the door. Mrs. Hardy had vanished.

  Warm applause.

  Fred beamed with relief and signalled to the schoolchildren, who revolved the box again.

  "Viola!" cried Fred. He meant 'voila', thinking French some magical language. He opened the door. His face fell and he slammed it shut again and muttered something to the schoolchildren. The box was revolved again.

  Again Fred cried, "Viola!" and opened the door.

  No Mrs. Hardy.

  It must be part of the act, thought the audience, as Fred, with his face red and sweating, began to search inside the box.

  "You couldn't even find my cat," shouted Mrs. Boggle. "No wonder you can't find that woman. Can't even find your brains on a good day, Fred."

  Fred glared down at her. Then he bowed. Schoolchildren ran forward to clear his props from the stage and a villager called Albert Grange came on and began to play the spoons.

  Agatha slipped out of her seat and went quickly out of the village hall. She hurried towards Lilac Lane. She was beginning to wonder if something awful had happened to Mrs. Hardy.

  And then, as she turned the corner into Lilac Lane, she saw the stocky figure of Mrs. Hardy in front of her.

  "Mrs. Hardy!" called Agatha.

  She swung round. "Whatever happened?" asked Agatha, coming up to her. "It was such a boring, awful affair," said Mrs. Hardy with a grin, "that I just walked out of the back of the box and out of the back of the hall."

  "But poor Fred," protested Agatha.

  "Why bother? He'd got everything else so mucked up that I reckoned another failure wouldn't matter."

  Agatha looked at her doubtfully. "It seems a bit cruel to me."

  "I can't make you out," said Mrs. Hardy. "I know you used to run a successful business and yet here you rot, wasting your time and energy going to a dreadful affair like that. How can you bear it? I've never met such a dreary bunch of yokels in my life before."

  "They're not dreary! They are very kind and warmhearted."

  "What? People like that smelly old Boggle woman? Those pathetic village women cavorting around in the Charleston? Get a life!"

  Agatha's eyes narrowed. "I was beginning to think you were all right. But you're not. I'm glad you're leaving Carsely. You don't belong here."

  "No one whose brains haven't turned into mush belongs here."

  "There are brilliant people living in the Cotswolds! Writers."

  "Middle-aged menopausal women churning out Aga sagas about naughty doings in the vicarage? Ancient, creaking geriatrics making arrangements out of dried flowers and painting bad water-colours and all pretending to be upper-class?"

  "Mrs. Bloxby is a good example of all that is fine about village life."

  "The vicar's wife? A sad creature who lives through other people because she has no life of her own. Oh, don't let's quarrel. You like it. I don't. I'll see you later."

  Agatha went slowly back to the village hall. A woman she only knew slightly was at the microphone singing 'Feelings'. Mr. and Mrs. Boggle had fallen asleep.

  Agatha sat down and looked about her. Mrs. Hardy's words seeped like poison into her brain. How pathetic and shabby the village hall looked. Rain had begun to fall, blurring the high windows. Surely there was more to life than this. Perhaps her loneliness had caused her to look at the whole thing through a pair of distorting, rose-tinted glasses. And what of her non-relationship with James? A woman of any maturity, of any guts and courage would have given him up as a bad job. And what would married life with him have been like anyway? He was handsome and clever, but so self-contained, so cold, that even if they were married, life would be pretty much the same. And what about sex? Didn't he miss it? Didn't he ever think of the nights they had spent together?

  It seemed to Agatha that he preferred to return to a life of celibacy, a celibacy broken by a few affairs.

  She had never really given London a chance. Yes, she had been friendless there, but that was because of the way she had gone on. She had changed. She had invested the money from the sale of her business very well. She would not need to work if she returned to London.

  The concert mercifully drew to a close with the cast singing 'That's Entertainment'.

  Then there was a general movement as chairs were drawn back and tables were set out for the lunch in honour of the Ancombe ladies. Agatha shivered. The hall was cold. Lunch turned out to be the inevitable quiche and salad. There was not even any home-made wine to wash it down, as there usually was at these functions, only rather dusty tea.

  Conversation was desultory. Agatha looked around. What have I done? she wondered. How could I ever have thought I would fit in here? I don't really belong. I wasn't born in a village, I was born in a Birmingham slum, where trees and flowers were things you ripped out of the earth as soon as they dared to show a leaf. There was a lot to be said after all for anonymous London. Perhaps Bill Wong would come up and visit her from time to time. Well, maybe Mrs. Bloxby, too. As for James...well, she, Agatha Raisin, was worth better than James Lacey. She wanted a man with red blood in his veins, a man capable of intimacy, warmth, and affection.

  "Dark thoughts?"

  The woman who had been sitting at one of the long tables next to Agatha had left. Mrs. Bloxby had slid into her place.

  "I don't really belong here," said Agatha, waving a hand about the room. "And do you know, I'm worth better than James. I want someone capable of intimacy. I don't mean sex. I mean warmth and affection."

  Mrs. Bloxby looked at her doubtfully. "I have thought that perhaps the attraction James Lacey holds for you is because he lacks those things. By the very absence of them, the relationship lacks proper commitment. It did cross my mind recently that you were more like two bachelors living together tha
n man and woman. And I wonder how you would cope with a man who demanded intimacy and love and affection from you, Mrs. Raisin."

  "Agatha."

  "Yes of course, Agatha."

  "I should think myself in seventh heaven."

  "Why this sudden disgust at Carsely and all who sail in her?"

  Agatha bit her lip. She was too proud to admit she had been influenced by Mrs. Hardy.

  "I just thought of it," she said.

  The vicar's wife studied her averted face for a moment and then said, "I saw you leave the hall shortly after Mrs. Hardy disappeared. Did you find her?"

  "Yes, she was heading home."

  "Did she give any reason for humiliating Fred Griggs in that way?"

  Agatha still did not want to repeat any of Mrs. Hardy's remarks about the village and villagers.

  "I think Mrs. Hardy considered Fred had already humiliated himself and wanted to leave and saw a convenient way to do it."

  "Ah," said Mrs. Bloxby, "perhaps my first impression of her was right."

  "That being?"

  "That she was an unkind and unhappy woman."

  "Oh, no, I think she's a bit like me, used to a faster pace of life."

  "Is that what she tried to make you think?"

  "I am not influenced by what anyone says to me," said Agatha defiantly.

  "And yet you have appeared quite contented with all us rustics up till now."

  "Perhaps it's the cold in this hall and the weather, and that was a truly dreadful concert," said Agatha.

  "Yes, it was awful, wasn't it? But then the Ancombe ladies' concert was pretty dire as well."

  "Why do they do it to each other?"

  "Everyone likes their moment on stage. There's a bit of the failed actor in all of us. At these village affairs, everyone gets a chance to perform, no matter how bad they are. People applaud and are kind, because all of them want their time in the limelight as well."

  The old steam radiators against the wall gave a preliminary rattle.

  "There you are," said Mrs. Bloxby, "the heating has come on. And look, the Ancombe ladies have brought a case of apple brandy, so we can all have a drink during the speeches. The atmosphere will soon lighten."