Agatha Raisin and The Murderous Marriage

NINE

AGATHA finally decided that if she had a bath and dressed, she might feel better. She soaked for a long time in the bath and then, returning to her room, dressed in a warm sweater and slacks, looking forward to the day when she could return to her cottage and blast the central heating as much as she wanted. James had his central heating system on a timer so that the radiators pushed out two hours' heat in the morning and two in the evening, which Agatha thought mean.

The phone rang. It was Mrs. Hardy. James had said Agatha was ill. Did she want food made or anything?

Agatha was suddenly anxious to get out of the house, even for a short while. "I'd like a cup of coffee," she said. "Be along in a minute."

She let the cats in from the garden, fed them and, putting her cigarettes in her handbag, went out and headed for next door.

It was only when she was inside and ensconced in the kitchen that Agatha regretted having come. All Mrs. Hardy's remarks about the village and the villagers came back into her mind. Also, Agatha began to suspect that Mrs. Hardy not only found her an object of pity but slightly amusing. There was a mocking glint in Mrs. Hardy's eye when she looked at Agatha, although her voice was kind as she gave her a cup of coffee and said, "Here. That's some of the good Brazilian stuff from Drury's. You look truly awful. Are you sure you should be out of bed?"

"Yes, I actually feel better than I look," said Agatha. She cast a proprietorial look about the kitchen. Soon the whole cottage would be hers again.

"What's Mr. Lacey doing in London?" asked Mrs. Hardy.

"Oh, he's not in London. He's at police headquarters in Mircester. He left me a note."

"That's odd. He phoned me and told me to look after you. I did the one-four-seven-one dialling thing as soon as he had hung up. It was a London number."

"Maybe he decided to go on from there," said Agatha.

The phone in the living room rang out. "Excuse me." Mrs. Hardy went to answer it. Agatha heard her say, "No, I haven't seen her today." The phone was replaced. It promptly rang again. Agatha realised with surprise that Mrs. Hardy must have answered it for in the quiet of the cottage she could hear a little tinny voice yapping from the other end and yet Mrs. Hardy said nothing in reply. When Mrs. Hardy came into the kitchen, Agatha said, "There's someone on the line. I can hear the voice from here."

"Oh, it's one of those nuisance calls. Heavy breathing and all." Mrs. Hardy went back and slammed down the receiver and then took the phone off the hook.

"I've just remembered," said Mrs. Hardy. "I have to go out. But stay there and finish your coffee while I go upstairs and get some things."

Agatha nodded and sipped her coffee. Finally, feeling bored, she got up and looked in the kitchen cupboards in a nosy sort of way. Then she slid open the drawers. In one were some photographs. She flipped through them idly and then stared at amazement. She was looking down at the face of her husband, sitting next to a hard-faced blonde woman, somewhere in France at an outdoor cafe.

And then as she looked closer she remembered something about this Mrs. Gore-Appleton having taken Jimmy to the south of France. The face looked familiar. Those eyes with the mocking look, that hard mouth.

She slowly closed the drawer and stood hanging on to the kitchen counter. What fools they had all been. It was so dreadfully simple. Mrs. Hardy was Mrs. Gore-Appleton. It must have been she who recognized Miss Purvey in the cinema that day, even though she had said she was going to London. The mercenary Helen Warwick must somehow have decided to call on James and had spotted Mrs. Gore-Appleton and recognized her. They must have spoken.

Mrs. Gore-Appleton was so changed in appearance that Helen might have said something like, "Aren't you that woman I met at the health farm?" Something like that. And did Mrs. Gore-Appleton try to bribe her? Say she would call on her in London? What was the address? That sort of thing. And Helen might have gone along with it, hoping to make some money.

The sound of Mrs. Gore-Appleton coming down the stairs made Agatha's blood freeze.

Had Agatha not been so disoriented by the fever, which was rising again, she would have done the sensible thing and left immediately and called the police. But a sort of dizzy outrage took hold of her and she said, "Mrs. Gore-Appleton, I presume." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I saw the photo of you and Jimmy in that drawer."

"You truly are a village person, poking your nose into things." Mrs. Gore-Appleton was standing, her bulk blocking the doorway.

Agatha could have asked her why she had murdered three people, but instead she heard herself saying stupidly, "Why Carsely? And why this cottage?"

"I wanted out of London," said Mrs. Gore-Appleton. "I'd tried living in Spain, but it didn't suit. I'd asked a house agent to look for a place in the Cotswolds. I was sent several brochures and decided to come down and have a look around. I heard your name mentioned as one of the sellers. I didn't know you had been married to Jimmy, he never mentioned your name or that he had been married, but the name amused me, and so I bought this."

"And Jimmy came back and recognized you and tried to put the screws on?"

"Exactly. I'd changed my name to Gore-Appleton with some false papers. When I wound up the charity, I just reverted to my old name."

"Why didn't you kill me?" asked Agatha, her eyes darting this way and that, looking for a weapon.

"Well, do you know, I did try by setting fire to Lacey's cottage but in case some villager saw me at the scene, I had to look as if I was trying to put it out. Then I took rather a liking to you, and I saw a further way to remove any suspicion from myself and so hired someone to play the part of the gunman. That kick of mine was very well rehearsed."

"Who was that on the phone just now?" demanded Agatha. "The police?"

"No, it was the interfering vicar's wife, demanding to know where you were for some suspicious reason."

Agatha braced her shoulders. Mrs. Gore-Appleton had no weapon. "I am going to walk past you and phone the police," she said.

Mrs. Gore-Appleton stood aside. "I am not going to stop you, I am tired of running. At least they don't have the death penalty any more."

She stood aside.

Agatha marched past her and into the living-room. She put the receiver back on the hook and lifted it again and began to dial Mircester Police Headquarters.

Mrs. Gore-Appleton, who had crept up behind her, brought a brass poker down hard on Agatha's head.

With a groan, Agatha slumped to the floor.

"Silly woman." Mrs. Gore-Appleton gave her a kick and replaced the receiver.

She went out into the back garden and into the potting-shed at the end and found a spade. She tore out some of Agatha's finest shrubs and tossed them on the lawn and then began to dig a grave, thankful that the soil was loose and easily dug.

Then she returned to the living-room and felt the unconscious Agatha's pulse. She was still alive, but burying would soon solve that problem, thought Mrs. Gore-Appleton. She seized Agatha by the ankles and dragged her through the kitchen and out into the garden, Agatha's wounded head leaving a trail of blood across the paving-stones just outside the door. Then across the lawn she was dragged and tipped face-down into the grave.

"RIP, Agatha dear," she said, and threw the first shovelful of earth into the grave. She was so intent on her job, with her back to the house, that she was not aware of anyone arriving until Fred Griggs seized her and threw her to the ground while Bill Wong jumped into the grave and frantically began shovelling the earth from Agatha with his bare hands.

Agatha regained consciousness in hospital to find Bill Wong sitting beside the bed. "You're all right," said Bill. "But take it easy. I'll get a statement from you later."

Agatha looked around in a dazed way. She was in a private room. There were flowers everywhere. Then her eyes widened. "It was Mrs. Gore-Appleton all along. What happened?"

"You had a narrow escape," said Bill. "She hit you hard with the poker, dug a grave in the garden, and then tried to bury you alive. Are you up to all this? I'll go if you want to."

"No, stay," said Agatha weakly, but her eyes began to close and she fell asleep. When she awoke again, she felt much stronger and found out from a doctor that part of her hair had been shaved off and stitches put in her head. After more checks, she was told she would do very well provided she rested quietly. Agatha's next visitor was Mrs. Bloxby.

"I am so glad to see you alive," said the vicar's wife, arranging a bunch of grapes in a bowl. "Do you know, it was quite a coincidence. I thought and thought what Mrs. Hardy - I think I'll call her that because that is her real name - well, I thought what she had said and then I began to think of the fire and the gunman and I began to get a bad feeling. I phoned her to see if you were there, for I had called your cottage first. She said you weren't there and somehow, I cannot explain why, I thought you were. I phoned again and demanded if she had seen you and then I realized she had walked away from the phone. Then I thought I heard your voice in the background before the receiver was replaced. I put on my coat and hurried along to Lilac Lane and saw the police car outside. She tried to bury you alive. Such wickedness."

Bill Wong came in. "I brought you some chocolate," he said.

"Sit down," urged Agatha, "and tell me all about it."

"She talked and talked," said Bill. "I think she's a bit mad. She had been running her bent charity when she came across Jimmy. He must have been a wreck, but I tell you something. She actually fell in love with him, hence the slim figure and blonded hair and holiday in the south of France. The blackmailing after the health-farm stay was Jimmy's idea, but she went along with it.

"And then, by coincidence, Jimmy saw her the day of your wedding and decided to blackmail her. She gave him her address and told him to call on her early in the morning. She witnessed his row with you, but she was already waiting for him, dressed as a man. We found the size-nine shoes in her wardrobe. She strangled him and thought her worries were over. Then she strangled poor Miss Purvey. She says that Helen Warwick spotted her when she was trying to call on James Lacey. Mrs. Gore-Appleton..."

"Easier to call her Mrs. Hardy," prompted Mrs. Bloxby.

"Mrs. Hardy, then. She had persuaded Helen Warwick that she had nothing to do with the murders, and if she kept quiet, she would call on her with 'a gift'. If the silly woman had gone straight to the police, she would be alive today. And you are lucky to be alive, Agatha. She hit you on the back of the head. Did you know who she really was?"

"Yes, I found a photo of her and Jimmy in the kitchen drawer. I had such a cold - that seems to have been beaten out of me - that nothing seemed quite real and like a fool I confronted her and said I was going to phone the police. She seemed so resigned to it all. The one thing that infuriates me is that Roy Silver of all people was sure Mrs. Hardy was the culprit. He'll crow over me until the end of time. But what about Mrs. Comfort? Why on earth did she suddenly run off to Spain?"

"Plain and simple. She's back and explained she didn't want to be mixed up in a murder inquiry. She was frightened of her ex-husband. Said she dreamed of having him back but then she fell for Basil and found her ex had grown irrationally bad-tempered and violent and was hitting the bottle. Geoffrey has grown eccentric to say the least and the neighbours are complaining about his drunken threats."

"Silly woman," said Agatha bitterly. "What a lot of our time she wasted." She suddenly looked anxiously at them. "Where is James? Has he called?"

Bill and Mrs. Bloxby exchanged looks.

"Where is he?" demanded Agatha.

"We'd best tell her the truth," said Mrs. Bloxby.

"She didn't murder hirri! Oh. God, is he all right?"

Mrs. Bloxby reached out and grasped Agatha's hand. "He's all right," said Bill. "He found out that Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Gore-Appleton were one and the same person. That detective of Roy's had found the mysterious Lizzie and James found a photo of Jimmy Raisin and Mrs. Hardy in his effects. Then he realized he had told her to look after you and called me."

"So where is he?"

Mrs. Bloxby's grip grew tighter. "He made his statement," said Bill. "He checked with the hospital to find if you were okay and then he took off for northern Cyprus. He said he felt he just had to get away. The removal firm that Mrs. Hardy had ordered up called for her stuff and the police have taken away any evidence they needed. James put your stuff from his cottage into yours. I'm sorry, Agatha. I had a bit of a row with him. I suggested the least he could do was wait until you regained consciousness."

"Well, that's that," said Agatha brightly, although her eyes glittered. "You win some, you lose some. I'm feeling a little tired now, so..."

"Of course." Mrs. Bloxby got to her feet.

"I'll be round tomorrow for that statement," said Bill.

Agatha smiled weakly. "Don't bring Maddie."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

When they had left, Agatha began to cry. How could James have done something so callous and vile?

She finally sobbed herself to sleep, her last conscious, miserable thought was that she was the most unloved woman in the world.

As the days passed, Agatha slowly recovered her strength, health, and spirits. Roy Silver called and she sent him off with instructions to phone the storage company, get them to bring all her goods back and put them in her cottage.

Roy was all too eager to help. Had not Mr. Wilson promised him a large bonus if he could lure Agatha back into the fold of public relations?

He returned again two days later to tell her brightly that everything was back as it should be and that Doris Simpson, her cleaner, was looking after the cats.

"And I found this on your kitchen table," said Roy, handing her a letter.

Agatha opened it. It was from James. She put it down. "I'll read it later."

"So it's all been quite an adventure," said Roy, "although that friend of yours, Bill Wong, got all the credit in the newspapers, not a word about us."

"You deserved a mention," said Agatha, "but no credit to me that the case was solved. What a fool I was! A few more bodies and that wretched woman would have gone down in history as a serial killer."

Roy sat down on the edge of the bed. "I tell you, Aggie, this village life is not for you. Much too dark and dangerous."

Agatha grinned. "I know what you are up to, Roy, and I know why you are being so helpful. I'm grateful to you for arranging all my bits and pieces, but I do not think I really want to go back to work again."

"I think you owe me something," said Roy. "Who got the detective in the first place?"

"You did. And for a very nasty reason'. 'I did it out of friendship," said Roy huffily. "You would have been lying dead in your own garden pushing up the daisies if it hadn't been for little old me. Come on, Aggie. Now that that total shit, Lacey, has cleared off the scene, you'll need something to take your mind off all this. What about just another six months?" Agatha had previously worked for six months at Pedmans.

Agatha frowned. It just might work. Every time she thought about James, she got a dull ache in her stomach. Hearts did not break, but it sometimes felt that guts could be torn apart.

"All right," she said. "But only a six-month stretch'. 'Aggie, you're a wonder. I'll just go off and phone Wilson."

When he had gone, Agatha opened the letter again, "Dear Agatha," she read, I know you are going to think me every kind of a rat, running off to Cyprus like this, but I did stay long enough to see that you were recovering. The fact is, I desperately need some time to myself, and I am afraid if I stay around to see you again, I might not leave, and I really do not honestly think I am ready for marriage yet. Please forgive me. I think I love you as much as it is possible for me to love anyone. Do remember that.

Yours, James.

Agatha put the letter down and stared into space. Hope flared up again in her damaged soul. She read that one bit over and over again. "I think I love you as much as it is possible for me to love anyone."

She rang the bell beside the bed.

"Am I getting out of here tomorrow?"

"Yes, Mrs. Raisin," said the nurse.

"Well, be an angel and get me the necessary signing-off forms because I'm leaving today."

"If you think that's wise..."

"Oh, very, very wise."

"Very well."

As she left, Roy Silver came in. "Wilson's delighted, Agatha. Start in a month's time?"

"Sure, sure," said Agatha, and he looked at her suspiciously. "Don't glare at me, Roy. I'm here until tomorrow anyway. Aren't you expected back in London?"

"Yes, but don't run away."

"I'm here in a hospital bed, aren't I?"

Roy left and walked slowly down the corridor. As he passed a nurse who was talking to a doctor, he heard her say, "That Mrs. Raisin in room five wants to check out today. She's not due to leave until tomorrow. I don't suppose a day matters."

They walked off. Roy stood stock-still. Then he turned back and stopped again. If Agatha had changed her mind, she might not tell him. He would wait until she left and see that she went straight home.

He waited an hour in the car-park until he saw Mrs. Bloxby, that vicar's wife, arrive. After another half hour's wait, Agatha emerged with Mrs. Bloxby and got into her car. Roy got into his own car and followed. Instead of going to Carsely, they went straight to Moreton-in-Marsh and stopped outside a travel agent's. Again Roy waited until they emerged. Then he breezed into the travel agent's and said blithely, "I just saw my friend Mrs. Raisin. Off to foreign parts."

"Yes," said the travel agent brightly. "Off to northern Cyprus."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. Now how can I help you, sir?"

"The old, sly, double-dealing bitch," screamed Roy, thinking of his lost bonus and lost triumph.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" The travel agent, a smart brunette, looked at him, appalled.

"And stuff you too," yelled Roy. "God, I hate women!"