The Blood of an Englishman (13 page)

*   *   *

Agatha let herself into her cottage. A lazy voice from her living room called, “In here.”

Charles, thought Agatha. Why would he have to turn up this day of all days? I need to think.

Charles was lying on the sofa with the cats on his lap. He sat up, dislodging the cats, and surveyed Agatha.

“You look all mussed up,” he said. “Been round a farm?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Your boots are caked in mud.”

“I went for a walk across the fields.” Agatha sat down in an armchair and pulled off her boots.

“I don't believe you,” said Charles.

“I was detecting.”

“You've got that old look in your eyes. What's his name?”

“Really, Charles. We're not married so you have no right to fire questions at me. There is some news about the case. John Hale is to marry Gwen Simple. Now, there's a motive. Toni is going to talk to him. He may be our murderer.”

“In which case, young Toni should not be going near him.”

“She'll be all right. She's seeing him at the theatre.”

*   *   *

Toni made her way up to the dressing rooms that evening carrying a bouquet of flowers which she had told the stage door keeper she was delivering from a local florist. As she went, she wondered whether she had been wise to accept an invitation from Luke to visit a pop concert later that evening. He said he would pick her up at the stage door in half an hour's time. Toni knew that Agatha seemed to have found a new beau and might regard her date with the son as poaching on her territory. She hesitated outside a dressing room door with a gold star on it. It could be Gwen's. Then she heard a masculine voice singing, “Me, me, me,” knocked on the door, and without waiting for a reply, she entered.

John was sitting in front of a mirror. He saw Toni in the mirror and said, “Just put them down anywhere. I'll find a vase for them later.”

“I'm actually a private detective, working for Agatha Raisin,” said Toni. “Here is my card. Only a few questions.”

Had Toni not been so very pretty, John would have been angry, but he gave her an indulgent smile and said, “Pull up a chair and fire away.”

Toni sat down on a little gilt chair. John was dressed in costume for the current production of
The Gondoliers.
He continued to apply his make-up.

“I see you are to marry Gwen Simple,” said Toni.

“Yes, I am a lucky man, but what's that got to do with anything?”

“It seems so soon after the murder of her husband.”

“I see what you're after. Well, I'm due on stage, so you can wait here and I'll have some words with you, young lady, after the first act.” He threw down the towel he had wrapped round his neck, went swiftly to the door, went out, and Toni could hear the key turning in the lock.

What on earth do I do now? wondered Toni. She went over to the door and tugged at it. Should she stand up Luke and wait until the possible murderer came back?

She decided that it would be better to escape. There was a stage sword propped in one corner, not the
Mikado
's sword, but a metal one with a dull edge.

She inserted the point of the sword in the door jamb, just at the lock, and using it like a crow bar, she wrenched it to one side. There was a splintering sound and the door sprang open.

Toni hurried out of the theatre, relieved to see Luke was early and was waiting for her.

When she got into his car, she said, “I've got to phone Agatha.”

She told Agatha what had happened. “I'll go over in time for the end of the performance and ask him what the hell he was playing at,” said Agatha.

When Toni rang off, Luke said, “She should never have sent a young girl like you. I thought she was an old toughie and she's after my father.”

“If you are going to criticise Agatha then you can drop me off now,” said Toni.

“Sorry. I just don't want Dad to make a mistake.”

*   *   *

Agatha and Charles drove to the theatre in time for the end of the performance. The stage door keeper was on the phone and did not stop them as they hurried past. “The door is broken open so it should be easy to find him,” said Agatha.

They located the dressing room and walked in. Faintly they could hear sounds of applause. At last they heard people coming along to the dressing rooms. The door opened and John walked in.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Accusing you of kidnapping for a start,” said Agatha. “What do you think you were doing, locking my assistant in here?”

“I hadn't time to talk to her,” he said sulkily. “Say what you want and get out.”

He sat down in front of the mirror and began to take off his make-up.

“You are to marry Gwen Simple,” said Agatha.

“So what?”

“Rather soon after her husband was murdered, don't you think?”

“I love Gwen and she loves me. Why should we wait?”

“It gives you a motive to have murdered Bert Simple.”

“Get out. You're not the police and you have no right to question me.”

“Call them,” said Agatha, “and explain to them why you locked up Toni Gilmour.”

“I was about to go on stage,” he said defiantly. “I was stressed. The police will understand. She was here under false pretences. She claimed to be delivering flowers from a florist. Now, get out.”

“Come on, Aggie,” said Charles.

Agatha moved towards the door. “Does Gwen know you are after her money?” she asked.

The flowers Toni had brought had been put in a vase. John seized the vase and hurled it at Agatha. She jumped to the side and the glass vase hit the door and shattered.

“Nasty temper you've got,” said Charles. “Let's get out of here.”

*   *   *

Toni enjoyed her evening with Luke but said cautiously she would let him know about a future date. He had made a few more caustic remarks about Agatha during the evening. Toni had responded by saying that most men found Agatha attractive.

She decided to have a talk to Agatha in the office on Monday and find out whether her boss was really serious about Paul Newton.

*   *   *

The following day when Agatha appeared in the kitchen, Charles asked, “Why are you all dressed up?”

“I'm going to church. Mrs. Bloxby needs my moral support.”

Charles burst out laughing. “From you?”

“Yes, from me. The poxy bishop has wished a pop group on the vicar. She is upset.”

“This I must see,” said Charles. “I'll come with you.”

*   *   *

The old church was full. There was an audience of young people and thin, avid-looking bespectacled women.

Hymns were sung while the new audience shifted restlessly. Then Alf Bloxby, tall, grey-haired and scholarly, introduced The Charismatic Christians.

They started to play and sing, electric guitars magnified to an ear-splitting pitch.

They began to sing: “Jesus is my buddy / He walks along wi' me / In the pub and at the gig / It's where he'll always be.”

The thin women waved their arms in the air. The audience of young people waved their arms as well.

“Where are you going?” yelled Charles, as Agatha got to her feet.

“Wait and see,” said Agatha.

She went out of the church, entered by a side door and went down to the crypt. She found the switchboard and shut off the electricity. She saw keys hanging up on a board by the door. She found the one for the crypt door and left, locking it behind her and taking the key.

Upstairs, Charles thought, Agatha's done it now.

At first the band seemed unaware their sound system had been switched off. Their voices were faint and reedy. Someone at the back of the church began to boo. The band stopped playing and stared at each other.

Rising to the occasion, Alf announced the next hymn. The congregation sang, “There Is a Green Hill Far Away,” while a flustered verger appeared and spoke to the band, who began to pack up their instruments.

Standing outside, Agatha waited until she saw them getting into their van and driving off. Then she went down to the crypt again, unlocked the door and replaced the key.

She waited outside the church until the congregation came out. Mrs. Bloxby came up to her, looking worried. “You really shouldn't have done such a thing, Mrs. Raisin,” she said. “It must have been you. Alf is upset. He had come round to the idea and was enjoying preaching to a full church.”

Mrs. Bloxby was accosted by a parishioner. Charles, who had heard what she had said, comforted Agatha by saying, “Stick to detective work, Aggie. No good deed goes unpunished. Cheer up. That band really was awful. Alf Bloxby seems to be getting it in the neck.”

As the vicar stood at the entrance to the church, an elderly gentleman could be heard berating him. “A disgrace,” he yelled. “Sacrilege! How dare you let such freaks invade the sanctity of the church!”

“He's going to wake up to the fact that if he goes on being trendy, he'll lose his regulars,” said Charles. “Got any more detecting to take your mind off it?”

“One thing,” said Agatha. “I never got around to interviewing Molly Kite, the girl who worked for George.”

“Okay. Let's go. We'll get something to eat in a pub on the way.”

*   *   *

Molly Kite was at home and ushered them into an unsavoury dark living room. The air was full of the smells of old booze and cigarette smoke. Five cats prowled around the room over the stained and battered furniture. Her father was slumped in an armchair in front of the television set, snoring loudly.

“Why don't we all go to the pub for a drink?” suggested Agatha, feeling she could not bear to wait a moment longer in such a room.

“Great,” said Molly. “I'll get my coat.”

Five minutes later they were seated at a pub in the high street. Molly ordered a double vodka and Red Bull, downed it and asked for another.

“What we want to know is do you know if George Southern was trying to blackmail someone,” said Agatha.

Molly's large brown eyes widened. Her make-up was smudged and black circles of mascara were under her eyes. Agatha guessed she had not taken off her make-up from the night before. Despite the cold of the day, she was wearing a flimsy blouse and torn jeans under a thin wool coat.

“If he was, he didn't say nothing to me,” she said.

“Did he say anything about coming into money?” pursued Agatha.

“Well, he started reading travel brochures and saying he was sick o' the village and wanted to get out. The shop never made much money. Load o' tat, if you ask me. The police asked me about money. They searched the place. My cousin what's in the police, he says, like, they looked at his bank accounts and apart from one thousand pounds, there was nothing else odd there. George was always beefing on about not having money and that the shop would be repossessed.”

“Who inherited?” asked Charles.

“Some poor bugger o' a nephew down in Devon. Was cursing about all the debts, he was.”

“But do you think that George believed he would soon have money?” asked Agatha.

“Well, not 'zactly. But he started singing and chuckling and saying how he would soon be made for life.”

“Do you think he knew the identity of the murderer?” asked Charles.

“Maybe. Suppose so. Guess that's what got him killed.”

“So who in this village has enough money to set George up for life?” asked Agatha.

“Dunno. Maybe the blacksmith. Bit of a miser. His uncle owned a pub over Ancombe way and died and left it to him. He sold it to a brewery.”

They could get nothing more of interest out of Molly. After they had dropped her off at her house, Charles said, “It does look as if the blacksmith is the one. He had the money. He built the trap. He sharpened the sword. Let's go and see him.”

“He'll just shout and threaten us,” protested Agatha. “He's a beast.”

“Nonetheless, let's go and rattle his cage.”

*   *   *

But the smithy was empty. A cold wind moaned through the pieces of wrought iron that littered the yard.

“Let's try the house,” said Charles. Agatha followed reluctantly.

“I only hope she doesn't throw something at me,” she said.

Charles knocked at the battered door of the redbrick house. A curtain twitched and then the door opened. Mrs. Crosswith was wearing a smart blue wool dress and high heels.

“We would like to speak to your husband,” said Agatha.

“Ain't here.”

“Where is he?”

“Bangkok.”

“Why?”

“Holiday and I hopes he stays there forever. Now, sod off!”

The door was slammed in their faces.

“Well, that's that,” said Charles.

“No, it isn't.” Agatha scowled. “Usually she looks like a bag lady. I think she's expecting someone. Let's wait at the end of the lane in the car.”

“This is boring,” said Charles, after ten minutes.

“Wait. This is all part of detecting.”

“Yawn.”

A car turned into the lane. “That's it!” said Agatha. “Let's see who it is.”

They drove up the lane, parked round the corner from the house. Agatha jumped out followed by Charles. They looked round the corner just in time to see Mrs. Crosswith enfolded in the passionate embrace of a large burly man in overalls. Then they moved indoors.

Agatha and Charles got back in the car. “Let's hope the blacksmith doesn't come back suddenly or there will be another murder,” said Agatha.

*   *   *

Charles left later that day, leaving Agatha to face a lonely evening. She was just putting Mama Livia's lasagne into the microwave when her phone rang.

It was Paul Newton. “Have you had dinner yet?” he asked.

“Not yet.”