Agatha Raisin and The Walkers of Dembley

Four

Agatha Raisin had just finished reading an account of the death of Jessica Tartinck in the local newspaper when her doorbell rang. Always hoping it might be James, she glanced quickly at her reflection in the hall mirror before opening the door.

Mrs Mason, chairwoman of the Carsely Ladies' Society, stood there. "Oh, Mrs Raisin. May I come in a minute? I want to ask your advice."

"Of course. I was just about to have a cup of coffee." Agatha led the way through to the kitchen.

"So what can I do for you?" asked Agatha, pouring two mugs of coffee.

"It's this terrible murder. A relative of mine is involved."

Agatha's bearlike eyes gleamed with interest.

"My niece, Deborah Camden, is one of the ramblers," said Mrs Mason. "She had heard through me of your detective abilities and begged me to speak to you. The fact is" - Mrs Mason preened slightly - "that this Sir Charles Fraith is by way of being a friend of Deborah's."

"The landowner?"

"Yes, and Deborah says he has been arrested for the murder and that they've got the wrong person."

"Does she know the right person?"

"No, but she says Sir Charles is nice and kind and it can't be him."

"But there was nothing in the paper about an arrest. It simply said a man was helping police with their inquiries."

"That's Sir Charles. He hasn't been charged yet. But Deborah says it's only a matter of time. You see, he says he was up in London on the Saturday she was killed, but some farm labourer swears he saw Sir Charles in the field shouting at this Jessica and waving his arms."

"Oh dear, does she know why Sir Charles lied?"

"No. But she begged me to ask you for help."

"I would be delighted," said Agatha, speaking no more than the truth. She could hardly wait for Mrs Mason to leave so that she could call on James and see if she could get him to join her in detecting adventures again.

But she asked, "What can you tell me about your niece?"

"Deborah is a schoolteacher at the Dembley Comprehensive. She is twenty-eight and not married. I haven't seen much of her because I quarrelled with her mother, Janice, my sister, a long time ago and we don't visit. Deborah always was a clever little thing but a bit mousy, which is probably why she isn't married."

"I think I should talk to her."

"She's teaching until four this afternoon. After that, I could take you over to Dembley."

"No, I don't want to be seen with her in Dembley," said Agatha.

"Why?"

"Well, perhaps I will be going undercover."

"Oh. Oh, well, I'll go over and fetch her and bring her to you. We'll be here about five."

"That would be splendid."

As soon as Mrs Mason had left, Agatha darted upstairs and put on a new short-sleeved blouse of a soft leaf-green and then a pair of biscuit-coloured tailored slacks. Taking a deep breath to hold her stomach in, she made her way next door.

James opened the door. He frowned when he saw her. "What is it, Agatha? I'm very busy at the moment."

And Agatha, feeling hurt and rejected because he wasn't speaking any of the lines she had written for him in that short breathless time between Mrs Mason's departure and Agatha's arrival at James's door, said gruffly, "Nothing. It can wait." And turned and walked away.

Screw him, she thought. Who needs him anyway? How dare he speak to me like that!

She found to her dismay that her interest in the case was waning fast. To counteract it, she drove down to the newsagent's in Moreton and bought all the papers and retreated to a dark corner of a tea-room, one of the few which still catered for smokers, and began to read all she could about the death of Jessica Tartinck.

Jessica, who had defied the others and said she would go on the walk on her own, had been found dead in the middle of one of the fields on Sir Charles Fraith's estate. She had been struck savagely on the back of the head with a spade. Jessica Tartinck had been a campaigner for all sorts of rights - anti-nuclear, save the whales, the environment in general, and now the rights of ramblers. A don from Oxford University described her as having a brilliant academic brain and absolutely no common sense whatsoever. She had taught at a girls' school and had brought the pupils out on strike. Although her family were in Milton Keynes, since leaving university Jessica appeared to have hopped from one teaching job to another, with spaces in between to take time off to go on marches and rallies and create general mayhem. Agatha reflected cynically that such as Jessica probably kept moving on as soon as people got used to her, as soon as she felt her power slipping. There were people like that who really did not give a fig for the environment, the whales, or anything else, but used protests as a means to gain power. Probably, thought Agatha, if she had not been killed, Jessica would soon have moved away from Dembley. She wondered what Jessica's sex life had been like. Such women often used sex as a weapon to manipulate people and gain control of them. There was a rather blurry photograph of her in one newspaper. She appeared to have been quite a striking-looking woman. There were several articles in various papers about ancient rights of way. But there was no hint at all why anyone should have wanted to murder Jessica.

At five o'clock, Agatha found her initial interest had revived. When Mrs Mason arrived with Deborah, Agatha, going to the door and glancing in the hall mirror, wished she looked more like a great detective, whatever great detectives were supposed to look like.

Deborah, decided Agatha, seemed an inoffensive sort of girl. There were hundreds like her to be seen on the streets of any town in the Midlands - fair-haired, washed out, thin and timid.

"So, Deborah," began Agatha, "how can I help you?"

"It's ever so worrying," said Deborah earnestly. "I don't know where to begin."

"Begin by telling me how you came to meet Sir Charles."

"It was like this. Jessica was threatening to walk across that field and she sent me to check the right of way. I didn't want to be caught out trespassing, so I called at the house first. Sir Charles was ever so nice and gave me tea. Then he asked for my phone number and then he called me up and took me out to the cinema."

"Why?"

"Oh, well, you know..."

"He fancies you?"

"Maybe," said Deborah. "He seemed to like being with me."

"Has he phoned you since?"

"No, but I phoned him today and told him about you."

"So the police have released him?"

"They couldn't really keep him. The farm worker who saw him having a row with Jessica also saw him walking away towards the house when Jessica was still alive. If you're available, Sir Charles would like us both to go there for lunch tomorrow."

Agatha felt a glow of simple snobbish delight. She, Agatha Raisin, was going to have lunch at a baronet's. Stuff James! She would have great delight in telling him all about it...afterwards.

"Do you want to use the phone to confirm it?" asked Agatha.

"No, he said if I didn't phone back, he would know we were coming. We're expected at one."

"So do you want me to pick you up at the school? Although I feel I should not be seen by the others if I'm going to investigate this case."

"I have a little old Volkswagen. I'll get there myself," said Deborah, "and meet you there. There's one person I should warn you about. If anyone is capable of murder, he is."

"Who is that?"

"Gustav. The manservant. He doesn't like me. He told me to stay away from Sir Charles."

"And did you tell Sir Charles this?"

Deborah hung her head and muttered. "No." She hadn't wanted Sir Charles to know she was the sort of person of whom a servant disapproved.

"Don't worry," said Agatha bracingly. "No uppity servant is going to get the better of me."

Deborah opened her mouth to say that she thought Gustav could get the better of anyone, but shut it again. Let Agatha find out for herself.

Agatha went and got out a serviceable notebook and sat down again. "I'm sure you're tired of questions, Deborah. But let's go through it from the beginning."

And so in a weary little voice, Deborah described how Jessica had first arrived at the school, how she had taken over the walkers, how much they had all admired her until her reaction to Sir Charles's civil letter had seemed to go over the top and they had all decided they had had enough of her bullying ways. She went through the stories of the others, at least as much of them as she had gleaned while they had all sat around the ballroom.

"So no one except perhaps the waiters has an alibi?"

"If we had known there was going to be a murder on Saturday afternoon, then I am convinced we would have all made sure we had alibis," said Deborah with a rare show of spirit.

"Very well, then. Now this Gustav. Where does he come from? That's a German name. What's his second name?"

"I don't know," said Deborah. "No doubt the police have found out."

"Was there a detective there who looked Chinese?"

"Yes, he was present during the interviews."

Bill Wong, thought Agatha. I must try to get hold of him.

She asked Deborah a few more questions and then said she would see her on the following day. She wrote down instructions on how to get to Barfield House.

No sooner had they driven off than Agatha's doorbell sounded again. She patted her hair in the hall mirror. It would be James. Well, she might relent and forgive him for his earlier rudeness. Such news was too exciting to keep to herself. But it was Bill Wong who stood on the doorstep when Agatha opened the door. Her first sharp feeling of dismay was counteracted by the immediate thought that here was the very man she should be most glad to see.

"Come in," cried Agatha. "How's the rambler case going?"

"Now, how did you know that?"

"Because I have been asked to investigate." Agatha, leading the way through to her comfortable kitchen, reflected that she hardly ever used her sitting-room these days.

"Who by?"

"Deborah Camden."

"Why on earth did she ask you?"

Agatha bridled. "Why not? She is Mrs Mason's niece and she had heard through her aunt of my detective work in the village."

"What can you do that the police can't?"

"Well, for a start, I've been invited to Sir Charles Fraith's for lunch tomorrow. It's easier to get to know what makes people tick when you're meeting them socially"

"I suppose so, Agatha. But you've got a way of crashing into things. The next thing we know is the murderer will be after you with a spade."

"Where did the spade come from?"

"It had been left there by the farm labourer, Joseph Noakes, the one who said he had seen Sir Charles having a row with Jessica. He's a surly chap with a big chip on his shoulder. He had been asked to clear a blockage in a ditch, had been walking back the day before, that was the Friday, got tired of carrying the spade and just stuck it among the rape at the edge of the field. There were two paths through the rape other than the mess left by Jessica. One going towards the house, which we assume was made by Sir Charles, and one leading off to the side of the field from where Jessica was struck. No footprints. Just crushed flowers."

"This Gustav," asked Agatha, "what's his background?"

"Hungarian mother, English father. Brought over here in the fifties, went into service at age fifteen in Clarence House as a kitchen porter, then footman at the Marquess of Drent's, then started work as chauffeur, and finally butler, ending up as butler to the old man, the late Sir Charles, who died three years ago. He's fifty-two. Unblemished record."

"I always thought of butlers as being very old."

"The few that are left these days usually are. As a profession, it's finished. Gustav is a houseman, rather than butler. He never married."

"Homosexual?"

"Don't think so. All unmarried men aren't homosexual. What about me?" His eyes crinkled with amusement. "What about lover-boy, James, next door? Told him about this?"

"Not yet," said Agatha, who had no intention of recounting to Bill how she had been snubbed. "Aren't you going to tell me to keep out of it as you usually do?"

"Not this time. I don't see that a harmless lunch can put you in danger. But I'll call round here tomorrow evening. In fact, I'll be very interested to hear what you make of Sir Charles and Gustav. What did you think of Deborah?"

"Plain little girl. Not much character. Rather bowled over by the fact that Sir Charles took her out. Sort of girl easily swayed by stronger characters. I shouldn't think she had any strong political affiliation with Jessica's views. I think she just latched on to the stronger woman."

"Maybe. Anyway, I'll hear how you get on."

Logic and emotion warred in Agatha's bosom next day and emotion won. She found she was dithering over the idea of having lunch with a baronet. Logic screamed at her that Sir Charles was a mere baronet who lived in a Victorian mansion described in the guidebooks as 'architecturally undistinguished'.

Deep down the old Agatha, product of a Birmingham slum, trembled.

Despite all the changes of dress she had put herself through, trying to find just the right outfit, she arrived at the end of the drive to Sir Charles's house a quarter of an hour early. She forced herself to park by the side of the road, and lit a cigarette while peering at her reflection in the driving mirror. There were little lines on her upper lip. She'd need to try anti-wrinkle cream. She smoked and worried and fretted until, with another look at her watch, she realized fifteen minutes had passed. With a heightened colour and a fast-beating heart she drove up the drive.

Barfield House may have been considered 'architecturally undistinguished' by the experts, but it was big, a huge, imposing mansion.

Deborah's car rolled to a stop just behind Agatha's and, glad of even this weak support, Agatha went to join her and together they stood on the step while Deborah rang the bell. Agatha was wearing a blouse and skirt and lamb's-wool cardigan. Deborah was wearing a pale-blue polyester trouser-suit and a little white blouse which seemed to make her more bleached-looking than ever.

The door was opened by Gustav. His black eyes flicked over them for a split second, but the look was somehow enough to demoralize both women. It seemed to say, "That I should have to open the door to such as you!"

"Sir Charles is in the sitting-room," said Gustav, leading the way across the cavernous hall.

Both women entered the sitting-room. Sir Charles rose to meet them. Sitting beside the fireplace was a faded elderly lady. Sir Charles introduced her as his aunt, Mrs Tassy.

"So you're the detective," he said heartily after the introductions were over. "Brought your magnifying glass and fingerprint dust, hey?"

Simple fool, thought Agatha loftily and felt herself relax.

"Raisin," said Mrs Tassy in a high, strangulated voice. "Would that be one of the Sussex Raisins?"

Gustav spoke from the corner of the room. "Hardly," he said.

Mrs Tassy put on a pair of spectacles and peered at Agatha. "No, I suppose not," she said. "When are we eating, Gustav?"

"Any time you like."

Mrs Tassy rose. She was a surprisingly tall woman. At least six feet of her loomed over Agatha. "Good," she said simply. "I'm bored."

"You won't be bored when Mrs Raisin starts grilling us, shining lights in our faces, and applying the old rubber truncheon," said Sir Charles. "Come along, Deborah. You look as if you need fattening up."

Deborah giggled. Agatha suddenly wanted to run away. Never had she felt so timid or inadequate in years. She began to feel angry and truculent. Who the hell did these people think they were, anyway?

"Good heavens!" said Sir Charles, as they all sat round a long table in the dining-room. "Why all the silver? We can't be having that many courses."

Gustav remained silent. He poured wine. He served soup. Agatha had a feeling that he hoped she would be intimidated by the display of cutlery. But how could he have known anything about her? It must be little Deborah who was the target.

Mrs Tassy fixed pale eyes on Agatha. "If my nephew is going to employ you, what are your fees?"

"I didn't think of charging anything," said Agatha.

"Amateur," said Gustav sotto voce from the sideboard.

Agatha swung round. "Cut the crap, you cheeky pillock," she howled.

"I do not think we are going to have a very good summer," said Mrs Tassy into the brief startled silence which had followed Agatha's outburst. Agatha tried to remain cool but she could feel an ugly tide of red washing up her face from her neck. "I read in the paper the other day that it's something to do with the volcanic eruption in the Philippines. It is said to cause bad summers in Europe."

"It might stop you militant ramblers from frightening any more landowners," said Sir Charles, smiling fondly on Deborah.

"Oh, never tell me you are one of those." Mrs Tassy looked curiously at Deborah. "You have to be careful. You don't want to get yourself killed."

Gustav deftly removed the empty soup plates. Agatha had been fiddling with the knives and forks beside her plate. Gustav twitched them back into place with a little sigh.

Fish in cheese sauce appeared before them next. "You're doing us proud, Gustav," said Sir Charles. "But a bit extended and formal, isn't it? I think we would have been cosier with a bit of cold pie in the kitchen."

By way of reply, Gustav raised his expressive eyebrows and retreated again to the sideboard.

Agatha had a thin pearl necklace round her neck. "Are those real?" asked Mrs Tassy.

"No," said Gustav.

Agatha tried to rally. "No one wears real pearls these days," she said. She could hear those dangerous twanging Birmingham vowels creeping to the surface of her voice.

"I do," said Mrs Tassy, and that was the end of that subject.

"So how are you going to start detecting?" asked Sir Charles.

"I would like to see the field where the murder took place," said Agatha, and then decided to move into the attack. "Why did you tell the police that you were in London on the day of the murder?"

"Because I didn't want to be accused of it," said Sir Charles patiently.

"You panicked?"

His eyes, turned on her, were suddenly bright and intelligent. "No," he said. "I suddenly wanted to have nothing to do with all the fuss and bother. I really didn't think anyone had seen me quarrelling with that Jessica, you see."

"What were you quarrelling about?"

"Obviously about her jumping up and down in the field and wrecking the crop. She gave me a lot of stuff about being a bloated capitalist. I've never heard such cliches since I was at a meeting of the students' union at my college in Cambridge. I told her to get knotted and walked away. When I looked back, she was standing there, shouting insults at me. I thought of calling the police and then I got fed up with the whole thing. I tend to ignore things that make me fed up. Of course, now the police are thinking of charging me with obstructing them in their investigations. Such a pain."

"But surely you must have realized they would find out?"

"Why?" he asked in simple surprise. "I didn't know Noakes had such a dislike of me. None of the other estate workers would have dreamt of saying anything."

"Probably killed her himself, the silly sod," said Gustav.

"I would like that," said Mrs Tassy meditatively.

Agatha cracked. "Yes, that would suit you lot very well," she said. "One of the farm workers being the guilty party would be just great."

"If I'd known you were going to be nasty," said Deborah, tossing her fair hair, "I'd never have asked you."

"More wine, Gustav," said Sir Charles. "You know, Mrs Raisin, I cannot really have someone trying to help me who is prejudiced."

"I'm not prejudiced," protested Agatha. "I merely said - "

"Oh, roast beef!" exclaimed Mrs Tassy. "You are spoiling us, Gustav."

And Agatha could think of nothing further to say. She was totally demoralized. She envied Deborah, who was happily prattling on to Sir Charles about films and books. The dreadful meal wound to its close. When Agatha, tipsy and miserable, made her way out to her car, she was well aware that nothing further had been said about engaging her services. "You shouldn't drink and drive," said Gustav as a parting shot.

Agatha drove slowly home, but not too slowly in case any of the police still searching that rape field should find the slowness of her pace suspicious.

Once home, she drank several cups of black coffee and stared miserably at the kitchen wall before going through to her sitting-room and trying ineffectually to find a television programme to take her mind off her shame. What had come over her? She, Agatha Raisin, the scourge of every maitre d' from Claridges to the Ritz, had been demoralized by a pretentiously long lunch in a country mansion.

Sobered by coffee and misery, she went to answer the summons of the doorbell. Bill Wong stood there. "How'd you get on?"

"Come in," said Agatha. "Sun's out. We'll sit in the garden for a change." She made more coffee and carried two mugs out to the garden table.

"Your garden's beautiful," said Bill, looking at the glowing colours of the flowers.

"Thanks to the neighbours." Agatha glowered down into her coffee-cup.

"So what's the matter?" demanded Bill.

"I think he did it." Bill thought Agatha sounded positively pettish. "Sir Charles and that servant of his."

Bill leaned back in his chair, his almond-shaped eyes fastened on Agatha's sulky face.

"This is not like you, Agatha. Was Sir Charles high-handed with you?"

"No," muttered Agatha. "I think he's stupid and silly. He lied about not being there on Saturday and I think - "

The doorbell shrilled faintly from the front of the house. Agatha went to answer it and stared up at the tall figure of James Lacey.

"I was a bit rude to you yesterday, Agatha," he said apologetically. "I thought I was getting on fine with my writing, but then I found later that what I had written was rubbish."

All the humiliations of the day forgotten for one brief glorious moment, Agatha begged him to come in and join them for coffee.

When James was seated at the garden table, he asked Bill, "Are you working on this rambler case?"

"Yes, and so is Agatha, or rather, so was Agatha," said Bill. "A girl in the case, Deborah Camden, roped our Agatha in to help Sir Charles Fraith, but Agatha seems to have come back from lunch there with a flea in both ears and won't quite tell me what went wrong."

"Odd family, the Fraiths," said James, stretching out his long legs. "So what did go wrong, Agatha?"

"It was that damned manservant, Gustav," said Agatha wearily. "He had it in for me and I got rattled."

There was a short silence while both men reflected how a rattled Agatha might behave.

"So I get the feeling Sir Charles decided he did not want your services after all, Agatha. What did you say to put him off...if you can think of one thing," James added, implying that Agatha might have let loose a string of insults.

"Well, he's got this odd aunt and she said it would be nice if that farm worker, Noakes, turned out to be the murderer and I said something like it suiting their type of people very well to think the hired help had done it. Sir Charles said I was prejudiced."

James laughed. "Poor old Agatha. This Gustav must be quite something to get under your skin. I know Sir Charles slightly. Friend of a young friend of mine. Oh, you must not give up detecting, Agatha. I'll speak to Sir Charles. I'll use your phone, if I may"

"If he wants me back on the case, will you come with me?" asked Agatha.

He looked down at her, his eyes twinkling. "Why not?"

"So what of your ideas that Sir Charles and Gustav are murderers?" asked Bill when James had disappeared indoors.

"Oh, I was just joking," mumbled Agatha. If James were successful, then he and she could go detecting again, and that pillock, Gustav, wouldn't matter a bit.

James got Sir Charles on the phone. "I gather you had a friend of mine, Agatha Raisin, over for lunch," he said after introducing himself.

"Oh, her," said Sir Charles. "That little rambler, Deborah Camden, you'll have seen her name in the papers over this business, she said this Mrs Raisin of yours was a whiz, but I thought she was a rather odd woman with one massive chip on her shoulder."

James laughed. "She has her methods, Watson. But, by God, she gets results. Do you know how she started detecting? When she arrived first in this village, she wanted to make her mark by winning a quiche-baking competition. So she bought a quiche in London and put it in as her own. One of the judges dropped dead after eating it, so she had to find out who did it."

Sir Charles chuckled appreciatively. "Sounds like a character."

"Furthermore, Agatha and I have worked on some cases together. Don't turn her down. She's good."

"I'll try again." Sir Charles sounded suddenly weary. "Why don't both of you come over for a drink?"

"Right," said James. "What time? Sixish?"

"That'll be fine."

James returned in triumph to the garden. "I think you're on again, Agatha," he said. "We're going to Barfield House for drinks at six."

"What! This evening? I've hardly sobered up from lunchtime."

"Then drink mineral water."

James looked at Bill. "Why no stern admonitions to keep out of it?"

Bill grinned. "Because the police are baffled. I can't see the pair of you getting into much trouble over a few drinks with Sir Charles Fraith. He's hardly likely to poison you when he's under suspicion."

Agatha looked at her watch. "It's five!" she said. "I'd better go and repair myself." She looked at James shyly. "What should I wear?"

"I don't know," said James. "We're going on business, so wear anything that's comfortable. I'll drive."

It was a different Agatha who was driven up the drive to Barfield House by James. She felt armoured by James. At first she had rehearsed how to explain her outburst but then decided a dignified silence on the subject would be the better policy.

Gustav opened the door to them. His eyes flicked up and down Agatha, making her feel that a plain green wool dress was not at all the thing to wear, and then led them to the sitting-room.

Sir Charles nodded to Agatha and welcomed James enthusiastically.

Gustav served drinks - Agatha stuck to mineral water - and then Sir Charles began. "We seemed to get off on the wrong foot," he said to Agatha.

"Waste of time, if you ask me," said Gustav to the panelled wall.

James's head jerked round. "Leave us alone, Gustav," he said sharply. "This is too important a discussion to be interrupted by your cheeky comments."

Gustav looked at Sir Charles, who nodded, and he left the room.

"How can you put up with that man?" asked James.

"What's up with him?"

"He has a reputation for insolence."

"I haven't noticed," said Sir Charles, "and since he's my man, it's got bugger-all to do with you."

"Well, your problem." James shrugged. "Now, tell me how you got into this mess."

Agatha, now able to relax - it was just a house, after all, and Sir Charles just a man - nonetheless studied the baronet closely while he talked.

It all seemed very believable this time, now that she no longer found either him, or her circumstances, threatening. He explained at length how Gustav, returning from a visit to the keeper's cottage, had reported seeing Jessica approaching the field. Confident of soothing her, he had gone out to meet her. How had he known who she was? Deborah had described her quite accurately. When he had seen her jumping and trampling around with her great boots, he had lost his rag. He had called her a silly little girl and that had seemed to get up her nose no end, said Sir Charles with a certain amount of remembered satisfaction. Had he threatened her in any way?

For the first time Sir Charles looked uncomfortable. "There was something so arrogant, so unpleasant about her that I told her I was going to get my shotgun and blast her if she didn't get off my land. I didn't tell the police that."

"Why did you lie? Why did you say you were in London?" asked James.

"We're a very close-knit community at Barfield, the keepers, the estate workers, the farm workers - didn't know about the horrible Noakes, he was taken on recently - and I didn't brief them, I just expected them to go along with my story."

"That seems a bit naive," commented James.

"It does now. Now I'm in a mess, and with the police looking in my direction, they aren't likely to do their job properly, which is finding out the real murderer. I've been thinking," he said earnestly, leaning back in a winged chair and cradling his glass in both hands against his chest, "I'm an easygoing sort of bod, and yet look how she riled me up. I think that lover of hers, what's-his-name, did for her. Anyway, how are you going to find out anything the police can't?"

"For a start," said Agatha, speaking for the first time, "James and I could move to Dembley, take a flat, pose as man and wife and join the Dembley Walkers. What better way is there to get to know them?"

James showed signs of alarm, but Sir Charles said enthusiastically, "What a good idea. I've some property in Dembley and I think there's a furnished flat vacant. Wait there. I'll call up my man and find out."

He went out of the room. "Agatha," said James, "you should have asked me first if I could spare the time to move to Dembley and if I wanted to pretend to be your husband."

"If you don't want to do it, don't," said Agatha.

"I didn't say that," said James. "It's just it's a big thing to do."

Agatha forced herself to remain calm. "As I said," she remarked in as even a tone as she could manage, "I'm quite prepared to go ahead on my own."

Sir Charles came back. "That's settled, then. There's a jolly nice apartment in Sheep Street, bang in the centre of Dembley. You can move in as soon as you like."

There was a little silence. Agatha held her breath.

"All right," said James. "I'm not getting on very far with the writing anyway."

"What are you writing?" Sir Charles asked.

"Military history."

"Which period?"

"Napoleonic wars."

"My father was a great history buff. Gustav put a lot of his books up in one of the attics. Would you like to have a rummage?"

James's eyes shone. "I'd love that."

"I'll take you up. Want to stay here, Mrs Raisin?"

But Agatha was appalled at the idea of being left in a room which Gustav might enter, and eagerly volunteered to go with them.

When James and Agatha finally drove off together, James clutching a pile of old books, Agatha tried not to listen to his enthusiastic descriptions of the treasures he had found and how he was dying to get started writing again.

For a brief period she was to be Mrs Lacey, albeit in name only.

But who knew what delights that could lead to!