Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam

by M C Beaton

  "Locals ringing out for our blood."

  "Why?"

  "Because we got their dear, sweet Mrs. Jackson banged up. Will you lead the way in your car Charles? I'm frightened of an ambush."

  They loaded up their cars, Agatha tenderly placing the cats in their travelling boxes on the back seat.

  As they emerged from Pucks Lane to circle the village green and take the road out of Fryfam, Agatha saw Rosie standing with a group of villagers. As Charles's car approached, Rosie's beautiful face became contorted with fury. She threw a half-brick straight at his car. The window on the passenger side smashed. Charles accelerated, and so did Agatha.

  Soon they were speeding fast out of Fryfam. After several miles Charles pulled in at a garage. Agatha pulled in behind him.

  "Are you all right?" she asked, getting out of the car and going up to inspect the damage of his.

  "I was lucky I wasn't cut," said Charles.

  "Here's my phone. Call the police."

  "No, Rosie must feel used. She'll know that I got the police on to Barry. I'll phone up the glass-repair people when we stop for lunch. They're pretty nippy these days. I'll keep the brick as a souvenir."

  "Then let's drive on," said Agatha. "I'm afraid they might come after us."

  They stopped for lunch a few miles down the road. Charles phoned and ordered the glass to be repaired.

  Over lunch, Agatha eyed him narrowly. "You didn't tell Rosie you loved her, or anything like that?"

  "Not exactly. Stop glaring at me like that, Aggie. Who knows who's been sleeping with who in that accursed village."

  "You should keep that half-brick as a reminder to keep your pants on next time."

  "Oh, really? And who saved your life, you ungrateful cow?"

  "I s'pose..." mumbled Agatha.

  "Glad to be going home?"

  "I am."

  "James waiting for you?"

  "Let's not talk about James."

  "I think we should," said Charles. "Look, go and see that therapist I told you about."

  "I don't need a shrink."

  "When it comes to James Lacey, you need your head straightened out."

  "Don't nag me. I'll think about it."

  The glass repair-man came in with the papers for Charles to sign and said he'd have the window fixed in a matter of minutes.

  "Time to go," said Charles at last. "I wonder if you would mind paying the bill, Aggie. I'm a bit short."

  Agatha was weary by the time she turned down the winding country lane into Carsely. Somehow, she had pictured that in Carsely it would be warm and the sun would be shining, but night had already fallen and frost was glittering on the branches of the trees that spanned the road.

  She turned into Lilac Lane. There were lights on in James's cottage and a suffocating feeling of excitement engulfed her. But fear of a cold reception kept her from stopping outside his cottage and rushing in to see him.

  Agatha had phoned her cleaner, Doris Simpson, to warn her of her return. When she let herself in, the cottage was warm. Doris had switched on the central heating. On the kitchen table was a casserole with a note of welcome from Mrs. Bloxby.

  "Why did I ever leave?" said Agatha aloud. She let the cats out of their boxes and then went out to get her suitcases.

  A tall blond woman was just leaving James's cottage. This then must be Mrs. Sheppard, thought Agatha sourly. The woman came towards her. "Welcome home," she said, "You must be Agatha Raisin. I'm Melissa Sheppard."

  "Pleased to meet you," said Agatha, looking anything but pleased.

  "Can I give you a hand in with your luggage?"

  Agatha opened her mouth to say a fierce No, but then changed her mind. She simply had to find out how close this woman was to James.

  "Very kind of you," she said instead.

  Melissa Sheppard was blond, forty-something, slim but not the siren Agatha had envisaged.

  "Just leave that case in the hall," said Agatha. "I'll unpack later. Coffee?"

  "If it's not too much trouble."

  "None at all. Come into the kitchen."

  "I've just been calling on your neighbours," said Melissa. "I took him some of my sponge cakes. These bachelors don't know how to look after themselves."

  "I've always found James pretty self-sufficient," said Agatha, plugging in the kettle.

  "He told me you had investigated several crimes together. Too exciting! And you've been involved in another murder. `Poor old thing,' I said to James, but he said, `Don't worry about Agatha, she's formidable.' " And Melissa gave a throaty laugh.

  "I'm suddenly very tired," said Agatha. "Do you mind if we leave coffee to another day?"

  "Not at all. I'm always at James's, so we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

  Agatha saw her out and then slammed the door with unnecessary force behind her.

  Then she picked up the phone and dialled Charles's number. When he came on the line, she said, "What's the name of that therapist?"

  The following day, Agatha walked along to the vicarage. It was as cold as Fryfam. Perhaps people damned the weather in Norfolk in the hope of consoling themselves that winter in Britain was lousier somewhere else.

  Mrs. Bloxby greeted Agatha with delight. "Come in. I am dying to hear all about your adventures."

  Agatha settled happily into an armchair in the vicarage sitting-room in front of the log fire. "I'll get tea," said Mrs. Bloxby.

  Agatha had made an appointment with the therapist for the following week. She now dreamt of coming back to Carsely from a visit to the therapist cured of her obsession with James Lacey.

  Mrs. Bloxby came in carrying a laden tea-tray. "The fruitcake's very good. It's a present from Mrs. Sheppard."

  "Oh, her," said Agatha. "I met her last night. She seems to be setting her cap at James."

  Mrs. Bloxby's conscience pricked her. She should tell Agatha that James felt he was being hounded day and night by Mrs. Sheppard. But Mrs. Bloxby knew how miserable James had made Agatha in the past. She also knew that James had initially "come on" to Mrs. Sheppard, as that nasty modem phrase so well described it, and so it was his fault that she was chasing after him, but she said nothing about it, asking instead, "Now tell me all about Fryfam."

  So Agatha did, and when she got to the end of her adventures, she had a sudden compulsion to tell Mrs. Bloxby about those fairy lights.

  " `There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in our philosophy,' " said Mrs. Bloxby.

  "Who the hell's Horatio?" demanded Agatha.

  "It's a quote from Hamlet. I probably didn't get it right. I mean, that odd things do happen. On the other hand, if, as you say, some of the villagers were angry with you, then it follows they might have been trying to give you a scare."

  "It could be, but it wasn't just the lights, it was that odd faint laughter. Half of it seemed to be inside my head."

  "Well, don't worry about it. You're home now. Tell me about Charles. He must be very fond of you to stick by you through everything."

  "I don't know what Charles thinks of me," said Agatha. "This cake is actually very good. Trust that rotten bitch to make good cakes. Yes, I think Charles gets easily bored and that's why he stayed. The murders provided a diversion for him."

  "That seems a bit heartless."

  "I don't really know what Charles thinks any more than I ever knew what James thought of me."

  "Plenty of men around, Mrs. Raisin."

  "Not for women of my age."

  "Rubbish. You've been so tied up in thoughts of James, you've never really noticed anyone else."

  Agatha was about to tell Mrs. Bloxby about the forthcoming visit to the therapist and then decided against it. It seemed such a weak thing to do, to go to a therapist. It would seem like admitting there was something mentally wrong with her and she couldn't cope on her own.

  They talked about parish matters and then Agatha rose to take her leave.

  "You are over James, aren't you?" asked Mr. Bloxby on t
he doorstep.

  "Oh, sure, sure," said Agatha, but she would not meet Mrs. Bloxby's eyes, and she hurried away with her head down.

  Doris Simpson, her cleaner, was waiting for her when she got back. "How's my Wyckhadden cat?" asked Agatha. She had brought a cat back with her from one of her previous "cases" but had found three cats just too much and the new cat adored Doris and so Doris had taken it over.

  "Happy as ever," said Doris. "Do you want me cleaning today?"

  "It looks fine," said Agatha. "Leave it for a couple of days. I haven't unpacked most of my stuff yet."

  The doorbell rang. "Want me to get it?" asked Doris.

  "No, it's all right. Off you go and I'll see you tomorrow."

  Agatha opened the door. Melissa Sheppard stood there. "Is James here?" she asked brightly. "I've made him a spinach pie."

  Agatha stepped out into the front garden and looked along at James's cottage. A face glimmered at the window on the halflanding and then disappeared. "Did you ring his bell?" asked Agatha.

  "Yes, but there's no reply."

  I'm sure that was James at that window, thought Agatha, with a sudden burst of hope.

  "Maybe he's gone out for a drive," she said.

  "His car's there," Melissa pointed out.

  "Oh, so it is. He usually walks down to the shop for the newspapers about this time."

  "I'll try there," said Melissa and hurried off.

  Agatha retreated inside. Her fingers itched to pick up the receiver and call James, but James should call her first. She could not bear a cold welcome.

  She went upstairs and began to sort through the clothes in her suitcases, putting the dirty laundry into a basket.

  The doorbell rang again. Agatha ran downstairs and opened the door. Her friend, Detective Sergeant Bill Wong, stood on the doorstep. "I wondered whether you would come back alive," he said.

  "Come in. Have coffee. Hear all about it," said Agatha. "In fact, it's nearly lunch-time. I haven't done any shopping yet. But I'm sure I've something in the freezer I can put in the microwave."

  "I can't stay very long," said Bill. "That Detective Chief Inspector Hand doesn't like you at all."

  "Why, we solved his case for him."

  "He swears they had already arrived at the same conclusion, so there was no need to put yourself at risk."

  "Well, he's got to say that, hasn't he? To cover up his incompetence."

  "Could be. So tell me all about it."

  Bill was amused by Agatha's flat and factual account. The old Agatha would have bragged and told a highly embroidered story. He did not know that most of Agatha's mind was on James.

  "Anyway, I'd better get back on duty," he said. "It's good to have you back. We'll maybe have dinner next week?"

  "Lovely. Give me a ring."

  Agatha waved him goodbye and then carried her dirty laundry down to the washing machine in the kitchen. Again the doorbell went. She was half inclined not to answer it. But she went and opened the door.

  James Lacey stood there, looking down at her.

  Agatha blinked. She had imagined him there so many times that at first she thought if she blinked very hard he would disappear and the figure would reappear as someone ordinary, like the postman.

  "Any chance of coffee, Agatha?" asked James. "Have you something in your eye?"

  "No, I'm fine. Come in. Melissa's looking for you."

  "Oh, that tiresome woman."

  "Could you put the kettle on, James? I'm going upstairs for a minute."

  Agatha dived into her bedroom and made up her face carefully and brushed her thick hair until it shone.

  Then she went downstairs. James was standing with his back to her, spooning coffee into two mugs.

  He turned round. Oh, that smile! "So what's all this murder and mayhem you've been involved in?"

  So Agatha sat down and told her story again.

  James handed her a mug of coffee and then sat down opposite her and stretched out his long legs. When she had finished, he said, "You and Charles seem to be close."

  "Oh, no," protested Agatha. "Just friends."

  "You weren't just friends in Cyprus."

  "That was a one-off," said Agatha, blushing. "I was upset and you were being so awful to me." She felt suddenly miserable. James looked angry. Soon he would get up and walk out and that would be that.

  "I wanted to go over to Norfolk, but Mrs. Bloxby told me that you and Charles were an item."

  "She wouldn't say that!" Agatha looked amazed. "She couldn't have said that. Not Mrs. Bloxby!"

  "Come to think of it, she just implied it."

  "There's nothing there and never will be. What's it to you, anyway?"

  "I planned to take you out for a romantic dinner and say this, but what the hell, here goes. Agatha Raisin, will you marry me?"

  Agatha clutched at the kitchen table for support. "Have I heard you properly? Do you want to marry me?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  He looked irritated. "Because life is very dull without you and I have bores like Melissa preying on me."

  The little bit of common sense that was left in Agatha's mind was shouting to her that he had not said anything about love. She ignored it.

  "Yes, okay," she said. "When?"

  "After Christmas. January sometime. I'll run over to the registry office in Mircester and fix things up."

  "Don't you want a church wedding?" asked Agatha.

  "Not really."

  "Oh, all right, then."

  James got to his feet. "I'll pick you up for dinner at eight."

  "Yes."

  He kissed the top of her head and left.

  Agatha sat in a daze.

  After all the waiting and longing, here it was at last. She had to tell someone. The doorbell went again.

  Melissa Sheppard stood there, again. "Someone told me that James came in here," she said.

  "Yes, he was here." Happiness lit up Agatha's face. "We're going to be married."

  "What! That's not possible."

  "Why, may I ask?"

  "He's been sleeping with me."

  "Just go away!" Agatha banged the door in her face. Her hands were trembling. No, she would not confront James about Melissa. He was marrying Agatha Raisin and that was that. Nothing and no one was going to stop that. She tried to settle down to housekeeping but found she could not. She phoned Charles.

  "I'm going to cancel that therapist," she said. "James and I are getting married."

  "Mistake, darling. He'll try to turn you into a Lizzie and he won't be able to, so the pair of you will fight like cat and dog."

  "Rubbish. I've a. good mind not to invite you to the wedding

  "I wouldn't miss it for worlds. I like a good funeral."

  Fuming, Agatha hung up on him. Then she thought, Mrs. Bloxby, dear Mrs. Bloxby would wish her well.

  She put on her coat and marched off to the vicarage. "What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Bloxby, opening the door to her. "You look upset. Come in."

  "I'm the happiest woman in the world," said Agatha firmly.

  "Why is that?"

  "James and I are getting married."

  "Oh, Agatha Raisin, you fool."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It'll end in disaster. Oh, he's nice enough, I grant you, but when it comes to women, he's cold and selfish. He had a fling with Mrs. Sheppard and then decided she bored him to death. I beg you, don't accept him."

  "I thought you were my friend," shrieked Agatha. "Damn the lot of you. I'm marrying James Lacey and no one is going to stop me."

  And no one did. Agatha Raisin and James Lacey were married on a cold January day in Mircester Registry Office. The bride wore a smart honey-coloured wool suit and a dashing hat. There was to be no reception. She and James were leaving immediately to honeymoon in Vienna.

  The "funeral," as Sir Charles Fraith called it, was held at the vicarage, Mrs. Bloxby having invited several of Agatha's friends back for a buffet lunch.

&nbs
p; "Poor Mrs. Raisin," sighed Mrs. Bloxby. "I'm surprised she even invited any of us harbingers of doom."

  "She didn't look at all happy," said Roy Silver, a public relations man who had once worked for Agatha.

  "I think he's a bit of a bully. Agatha's kept her cottage, you know," said Doris Simpson, "and she was doing his washing and he came in and started raging because she hadn't separated his whites from his coloureds."

  "If anyone can cut him down to size, it'll be our Aggie," said Roy.

  Charles helped himself to a piece of cake. "I think she'll murder him."

  There was a shocked silence.

  "Just joking," said Charles. "This cake is jolly good."

  READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT FROM M. C. BEATON'S LATEST BOOK

  THE

  SKELETON

  IN THE

  CLOSET

  AVAILABLE IN HARDCOVER FROM ST. MARTIN'S MINOTAUR

  IN the way that illiterate people become very cunning at covering up their disability, Mr. Fellworth Dolphin, known as Fell, approaching forty, was still a virgin and kept it a dark secret.

  His long-standing virginity had come about because he had been a shy, lanky, oversensitive boy, the single child of strict and emotionally blackmailing parents. He had been born when his mother was in her early forties. His father, a railway signalman, and his mother, a housewife, had dinned it into him that his duty in life was to get an education and be the sole support of his parents. When he was older, they chose "suitable" girls for him, girls who seemed foreign to the young Fell with their vapid conversation and the way their minds seemed to be set on a white wedding and a neat bungalow, both with a total absence of romance. For Fell was a romantic, living through books.

  He had been set to go to university, but his father had fallen ill and it was borne in on him that he must take some sort of job immediately or "they would all starve." They lived in the market town of Buss in Worcestershire. In Buss, there was a rather grand hotel, the Palace, and it was there that young Fell found employment as a waiter.

  His father died from a heart attack several years after Fell had started work. His mother became cross and morose, always complaining. Sometimes when he had finished a late shift in the hotel dining room, he would return home to their scrupulously clean two-up two-down terraced house, and he would see the light in the living room still burning and his feet would feel as heavy as lead for he knew he would have to drink the hot milk he hated and listen to his mother's complaints. In his spare time, he lived through books: spy books, adventure books, detective stories, thrillers, relishing those other worlds of action and mayhem.