M Beaton: Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

“Is there an address?” asked Roy.

“Yes, 14A, Hanson Street, Portsmouth.”

“I’d better stop at a stationer’s and get a street map.”

When they had found a map, Hanson Street turned out to be a small street running off London Road in the centre of the town.

“Back to that car-park,” grumbled Roy, “and let’s hope there’s a space left.”

They had to wait a frustrating half an hour for a car to drive out and leave them a space. They walked to Hanson Street. Fourteen A turned out to be the basement of a shop.

“Doesn’t look very prosperous,” said Agatha as they walked down the steps.

Roy rang the bell. A tired-looking middle-aged woman answered the door.

“Harriet?” asked Agatha.

“Yes, who are you?”

“We’ve brought you this.” Agatha handed her the envelope full of money.

Harriet turned a muddy colour.

“Are you the police?”

“No,” said Agatha. “Just a couple of people trying to make sure that blackmailing bastard doesn’t continue to ruin people from beyond the grave. Can we come in?”

Clutching the envelope tightly, Harriet led them into a large room strewn with coloured fabrics and dominated by a sewing machine.

“You’re a dressmaker?” asked Roy.

“Yes, it’s a living,” said Harriet wearily. She seemed drained of energy.

She sat down and said, “You can’t blackmail me as well. It was all for nothing.”

“We’ve only come to help you,” said Agatha. “We should have given that money and letter to the police. But we didn’t.”

“Thank you. I could do with the money.”

“Let’s introduce ourselves,” said Agatha briskly. “I’m Agatha Raisin and this is Roy Silver. I found John Shawpart’s body and decided to find out what I could. You don’t want us to tell the police about you and I don’t want you to tell the police about me. I’ll tell you what happened.”

So Agatha told her all about Evesham, about the house being burnt down, about the other women who had been blackmailed.

“Why didn’t I even guess he was so evil?” sighed Harriet. “Move some of those fabrics and sit down. I’m Harriet Worth.”

“So how did he get his claws into you?” asked Agatha.

“In pretty much the same way as he got hold of those other women,” said Harriet. “I went to the salon to get my hair done. Unlike those other women, my marriage was happy. Luke’s got a good job with a computer company. Mr. John asked me out and of course I refused. But he laughed it off and he was a wizard at doing my hair and Luke liked my new appearance so I kept going.

“Then John started to look at me in a sort of pitying way and I asked him sharply what was up. At first he said, nothing, but I insisted. He said with a great show of reluctance-he knew what Luke looked like because Luke had called in for me a couple of times at the salon-that he had been out the evening before at a restaurant and had seen Luke with a young blonde. He then made me promise not to tell Luke anything and I did. But I began to get suspicious. It was coming up to Christmas and Luke was often late at the office. He said they were all working flat-out on a new game.”

Harriet heaved a deep sigh. A truck rumbled past on the road above their heads and a child ran a stick along the railings at the top of the steps.

Harriet went on. “I called up at the office one evening. I never usually went there; in fact, come to think of it, I had only been there once before when I forgot my keys. Luke had a new secretary, a pretty young blonde. When I walked in, they had their heads close together and were laughing about something.

“After that, I waited outside the office one evening. I saw them come out together and followed them. Luke and his secretary went into a pub.

“I was devastated. When he at last came home, I asked him why he was so late and he said as usual, pressure of work. I told him I had seen him go to the pub with his secretary and he told me with a sheepish laugh that they had both been working so hard, they had just dropped in for a drink before they both went home.

“I must have gone a bit mad with jealousy because I agreed to go out with John. We had an awful lot to drink. John said, ‘You can’t go home in that state; the salon’s just round the corner, I’ll make us some coffee.’ But once in the salon, he took me through to the back and began to take off my clothes and I was so drunk, it all seemed to be happening in a dream. I let him make love to me and then I passed out.”

There was a long silence. Agatha and Roy sat amongst the bright swathes of fabric and waited, although both knew in their hearts what was coming. How could I even have let that bastard touch me, raged Agatha inwardly.

“I told my husband I had gone out with my friend, Julie, to a hen party and had drunk a bit too much and stayed at her place. Then a week later-I’d stopped going to John to get my hair done-he phoned me. He said we had better meet. There was something threatening about his voice. I met him at the salon after hours. He had taken photos of both of us naked-awful photos. He must have set up the camera after I passed out. He said if I paid him five thousand pounds, he would let me have the negatives.”

“Did you have any money?” asked Agatha.

“I had just a little over that in my bank account. Of course I paid, but he didn’t let me have the negatives. I was nearly ill with fright. He said coldly he needed more money. One more payment would do it. So I sent that money, the money you brought back to me. I took out a personal loan.”

Agatha looked around. “Is your husband at work?”

Tears welled up in Harriet’s eyes. “That’s the bloody tragedy. After I’d paid that last instalment, Luke left me-for that secretary. The house was in his name. Oh, I suppose I could have got a lawyer. But I was so crushed I just let it all happen.”

“You know Shawpart was murdered?” asked Roy.

“Yes, and when I read it in the papers, I thought if I ever met the woman who did it, I would shake her hand.”

“Might have been a man,” suggested Agatha.

“I’m sure it was a woman.”

“What about his wife?”

“They split up just after I started going to Mr. John.”

“What was she like?” asked Agatha.

“Well, she wasn’t a very good hairdresser, although she didn’t know it. She thought she could start up on her own, but her own business soon failed.”

“What did she look like?” asked Roy.

“Blonde, lots of hair, sort of statuesque.”

“Do you think she was in on this blackmailing racket?” asked Agatha.

“I don’t know. He only started on me after the divorce.” Harriet clasped her hands and looked at Agatha beseechingly. “I keep having nightmares about those negatives.”

“I think they were burnt in the fire,” said Agatha soothingly. “If they hadn’t been, the police would have been on to you.”

“Someone’s coming,” said Roy as the figure of a man descending the area steps could be seen through the window above.

“I’m not expecting a customer,” said Harriet. She rose and went to the door just as a sharp knock sounded on the outside.

“Luke,” exclaimed Harriet, falling back a step.

Agatha moved like lightning. She picked up the envelope full of money and thrust it into Harriet’s open handbag and clicked the clasp shut. She picked up a swathe of material and draped it around her. “What do you think?” she was asking Roy as Luke walked into the room.

Agatha had imagined that someone called Luke-a romance name, a cowboy name-would be a brooding sort of man with saturnine good looks, not this tubby little bespectacled man who stood blinking at them in the gloom of the basement.