M Beaton: Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

The vicar began to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” said Mrs. Bloxby sharply.

“So what did she say when you told her the love of her life was due back?”

“James Lacey? No, Alf. I did not. I wish she would get over him. I couldn’t tell her. With her looking like that, she would fly into a panic.”

“Should have told her and given the old girl time to buy a wig,” said the vicar heartlessly.

Mrs. Bloxby put a mug of coffee down in front of him.

“Really, Alf,” she said, “there are times when I wonder whether you are a Christian at all!”

TWO days later, Bill Wong called on Agatha. “What have you done to your hair?” he asked.

“It’s a wig,” said Agatha. “Eve used depilatory instead of shampoo.”

“Oh my. It’s an odd sort of wig, Agatha.” Agatha’s face peered out at him from a long page boy of brown nylon hair.

“There’s a good hairdresser in Evesham, Marie. Her son, Brian, over at Bidford-on-Avon, is making me up a proper one. I hate this one. I bought it in a store and it feels hot and scratchy. Excuse me a moment, I think I’ll take it off and put a silk scarf on instead.”

She went upstairs and returned shortly with a Paisley silk scarf wrapped around her head. “That’s better. Now are you here to lecture me about the folly of interfering in police work?”

“No, I’m here to thank you,” said Bill. “We were still chasing the blackmailing angle, although we were still looking for the wife. But you did put yourself at great risk. We’ve got that tape Charles recorded.”

“Charles!” Agatha spat out.

“Yes, tell me about that. How come he got all the headlines?”

Agatha told him.

“You do pick ‘em,” said Bill sympathetically.

“Well, I’ve finished with him.”

“And what about Lacey?”

“I’ve forgotten about him,” lied Agatha. “Tell me about Mrs. Dairy. What happened there? Did Mrs. Shawpart say anything in her statement?”

“Oh, yes. She talked and talked. She’s a real psychopathic villain. Mrs. Dairy recognised her and-would you believe it?-Mrs. Dairy tried to blackmail her. So all the dreadful Eve did was to mildly agree to the terms and say she would call on her. But there’s worse to come. Mrs. Dairy made things easy by telling her about the back way, said she didn’t want anyone in the village to see her calling.”

“Somehow that makes me feel a bit easier in my mind,” said Agatha slowly. “I thought she was a completely innocent victim.”

“If Mrs. Dairy had come to us, she would still be alive. And think of that, Agatha, next time you decide to take matters into your own hands.”

Agatha was almost on the point of confessing to Bill that she had been in Shawpart’s house when it was set on fire, but stopped herself. Bill was a friend, but first and foremost he was a police officer.

“So what lies ahead for you now?” asked Bill.

“I don’t know,” said Agatha wearily. “I think I’ll get some good books and have a few quiet days.”

“Tell you what, I’ve a few days owing to me next week. I’ll come and pick you up. Mum and Dad would like to see you.”

Agatha blinked at him, knowing that Mr. and Mrs. Wong did not like her at all. “That’s very kind of you,” she said. She could think of some excuse later on.

For the next few days, Agatha relaxed, attended a meeting of the Carsely Ladies’ Society, read and went for long walks. Marie phoned to say her wig was ready and once she had collected it and put it on, she began to feel very much like her old self.

That was until she was buying some groceries in the village shop when she heard the assistant say, “I’ve boxed up Mr. Lacey ‘s groceries. When are they to be delivered?”

Agatha froze.

A voice shouted from the back shop. “Five o’clock this evening. That’s when he be arriving.”

Agatha paid for her groceries and fled home. James could not see her in this wig.

She had dreamt of him and thought of him and now that he was nearly back in Carsely again, she suddenly felt she could not face him, could not face returning to all that pain and frustration again, and with a nearly bald head.

She plunged into action. Doris Simpson was phoned and said yes, she would look after the cats. Agatha packed a suitcase feverishly.

At four o’clock, she got into her car and drove out of Carsely. She had no idea where she was going. All she knew was that she just had to get away.

James Lacey arrived at his cottage. He was about to put his key in the door when he stiffened. For standing outside Agatha’s cottage was Sir Charles Fraith, clutching an enormous bouquet of flowers. The two men stared at each other. Charles rang the bell.

Agatha’s cleaner, Doris Simpson, who had come to check out the cottage and see that the cats were all right, opened the door.

“Why, Sir Charles,” she said. “You’ve missed Agatha by about an hour.”

“Darling!” shouted Charles. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

The cleaner looked puzzled but stepped back. Charles sailed in and slammed the door behind him.

James stood for a moment, glaring, then he too went inside and slammed the door.