The Blood of an Englishman (16 page)

“Seems to be possible.”

“But could it be true?”

“I don't know. But the police have been under pressure so they'll want it to be true. Jed Widdle won't be able to afford a very good lawyer. I mean, a good lawyer could make mincemeat of the case against him for the first two murders. No actual proof. But no one approached Jed for an alibi because he was never even suspected.”

“Don't you want to give up?” asked Charles. “I mean, it's dragged on so long that even if Jed didn't commit the earlier murders, I don't see you finding out anything now.”

“It's tempting,” said Agatha. “I may get married and be a lady of leisure.”

“To this Paul Newton? What does he do?”

“He's a farmer.”

“Oh, come on, Aggie. See yourself as a farmer's wife?”

“Why not?” said Agatha sulkily.

“Is he a toy boy?”

“No, he's about my age.”

Said Charles, “If he hasn't been married before, be careful.”

“He has,” said Agatha. “And he has a grown-up son.”

“And what does the son think of his future stepmother?”

“For heaven's sakes, Charles. I've only had a few dates. His son phoned this evening. Something's up with the lambing.”

“Ah, I can see you out in the field in the driving rain with mud on your boots, Agatha. A real daughter of the soil.”

“Oh, do shut up. I'm going home. I'm tired.”

*   *   *

It was a particularly dreary next few days for Agatha. She had to deal with two nasty divorce cases which involved a lot of standing around in freezing weather while Phil took photographs for evidence. Divorce cases always made Agatha feel grubby. Her thoughts kept turning to Paul Newton's well-appointed farmhouse and the security of marriage.

He sent her flowers and phoned her, saying he couldn't wait to see her again.

By the week-end, she caved in and went out on another date with him. She talked to Paul a lot about her life and about her previous marriage to James Lacey.

“So I'm the only man in your life?” asked Paul.

“I do have men friends, Detective Bill Wong and Charles Fraith, but no one serious.”

“Did you say Charles Fraith? Sir Charles Fraith?”

“Yes. Why?”

“There was something in
The Times
this morning. I've got a copy in my briefcase.” He fished out the paper and turned to the social columns. “Here it is. You'll know all about it, of course.”

Agatha read that Charles was engaged to a Caroline Featherington. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. Why had he said nothing to her?

“You look surprised,” said Paul.

“I knew he was planning on proposing,” lied Agatha. “I didn't expect him to pop the question so soon.”

“I was going to wait,” said Paul, “but your friend's engagement has given me courage.” He brought a small jewel box out of his pocket. He handed it to her. “What about it, Agatha?”

Agatha opened the box. She was aware of the eyes of the other diners about them fastened on her. A solitaire diamond ring flashed and sparkled in the candlelight on their table.

All Agatha suddenly saw, looking at that ring, was an antidote to the long, single years ahead. No more visits from Charles. No more holidays with feckless, faithless Charles.

“Thank you,” she said and put the ring on her engagement finger as the people at the table next to theirs began to clap. Paul called for champagne.

“What does Luke think about this?” asked Agatha.

“I haven't told him yet, but he'll be pleased.”

*   *   *

After a night of rumbustious sex, Agatha appeared in the office to tell the staff of her forthcoming wedding. They all clustered around to admire the ring. “I see Charles is getting married as well,” said Toni.

“Is he?” said Agatha casually. “Good for him.”

Toni covertly studied Agatha's face. She had seen Agatha in love before and Agatha did not seem to have the same happiness or elation that she had had then. Worse than that, Toni had received a phone call early on in the morning from a furious Luke, saying he would do anything to stop the marriage. Ought she to warn Agatha? Better not. Agatha would find out about Luke's disapproval soon enough.

*   *   *

But in the following weeks, Agatha did not find out. Luke was not exactly friendly and seemed to make a point of going out whenever she arrived at the farmhouse, but he had given her his congratulations.

As for Agatha, she acted her new role as countrywoman with enthusiasm, even going so far as to take cookery lessons from Mrs. Bloxby. Her very acting served to remove her from reality and make her feel comfortable and useful. She forgot about the murders and the fact that Jed had, in her opinion, been wrongly charged with the three of them. Charles had not rung or called.

*   *   *

One Saturday, the phone rang. Luke answered it. When he rang off, he said, “That was the police, Dad. They think they've found that tractor of yours and want you to go to police headquarters.”

“I'll go right away. Coming, Agatha?”

“It's all right,” said Luke. “You go. I'll look after Agatha. Time I got to know my future stepmother better.”

“That's the stuff,” said Paul. “Back soon.”

*   *   *

When Paul had left, Luke said, “I'd like to show you the latest arrival. The prettiest little ram you've ever seen.”

“Right you are,” said Agatha, glad the young man was being friendly at last. She pulled on a serviceable pair of rubber boots and put on her Barbour.

Luke led the way across the fields. The day was cold and spots of rain were beginning to fall. “We're walking miles,” complained Agatha at last.

“It's a big farm. You see that little stone building over there? That's where the ram is.”

“Why isn't it with its mother?”

“It is.” He swung up the door. “In you go.”

Agatha peered into the gloom. Then she swung round in alarm as the door banged shut.

“What are you playing at?” she shouted.

“You can stay in there and rot unless you promise to break off your engagement to my dad,” called Luke. “No one ever comes near here. You can shout your bloody head off. No one will hear you.”

*   *   *

Paul returned home to find a typewritten note on the kitchen table. He read: “Dear Paul, I am sorry I cannot go through with the marriage. Please forgive me, Agatha.”

He ran upstairs to his son's room. “What's this?” he shouted at Luke, waving the note. “What happened to her? There was no call from police headquarters. It was a hoax. Where is she?”

“Said she was sick of it all and didn't want to face you,” said Luke. “It never would have worked out.”

*   *   *

Simon had managed to persuade Toni to join him for a drink. Like Charles, Toni felt sorry for Simon and thought Agatha might have given him better detecting jobs after he had found where the body in the pond was.

They had just started on their drinks when a red-faced young man approached their table. He looked down at Toni. “You Luke's girlfriend?” he asked.

“No,” said Toni. “I know Luke, but I'm not his girlfriend.”

“Pity. Someone should stop him.”

“Doing what?” asked Toni.

“That woman his father's engaged to, he says he'll kill her rather than let his father marry her.”

Toni and Simon exchanged startled looks. As the young man lumbered back to the bar, Toni said, “I think we'd better look for Agatha. She's probably out at that farmhouse.”

“She can look after herself,” said Simon, annoyed that this rare chance of being with Toni was being spoiled.

“You stay there if you like,” said Toni. “I'm going.”

“Oh, all right. But we're going to look silly,” said Simon. “Did Agatha say where the farm was?”

“I've got the address and number,” said Toni. “I've been there. It's not far.”

*   *   *

Paul answered the door to them. “Is Agatha here?” asked Toni.

“She's left me,” said Paul heavily. “Come in.”

He led the way into the kitchen and showed them the note.

“Agatha would never do this!” said Toni. “Do you know your son has been threatening to kill her?”

“Rubbish!”

“Ask him!” said Toni.

Paul went to the foot of the stairs and shouted, “Luke! Come down here.”

Luke came into the kitchen and stood with his head down. “Where's Agatha?” demanded Toni.

“I don't know,” he said. “She left that note.”

“I bet she didn't,” said Simon. “Bet you wrote it yourself.”

“That's enough!” said Paul. “Stop accusing my son of lying and get out of here.”

“If I can't find her by this evening,” said Toni, “I'm calling the police.”

*   *   *

Out in the yard, Simon said, “What do we do now?”

“Start looking around. Look. There are two sets of footprints. One large, one small, heading out of the yard.” They followed the muddy prints to the edge of a field and stood looking around.

“I don't think he would actually kill her,” said Toni. “Maybe do something to give her a scare. Maybe lock her up somewhere, but it wouldn't be in any of the buildings near the farm, because she could shout and be heard.”

“Let's follow the path round the edge of the fields,” said Toni.

Farther on, they again found the footprints in a muddy patch. “Keep going,” urged Toni.

“Look at that,” said Simon. A watery sunlight had broken through the clouds and was gilding the fields. “There's the roof of something away ahead.”

They hurried on along the fields until they came to a dilapidated stone building. The door was fastened with a new padlock.

“Agatha!” called Toni.

A voice from somewhere above their heads said, “Up here!”

They both stood back and looked up at the roof. There was a hole in the slates and Agatha's head was poking through.

“Don't try to get out that way,” called Toni. “The rest of the roof might be rotten. We'll try to break the door.”

Simon found a loose stone and began to hammer at the padlock until Toni said, “The hinges are pretty rotten and rusty. Try them.”

Simon hammered at the hinges until two of them on the left splintered. Together, they heaved open the door.

Agatha was gingerly climbing down from the top of two old cabin trunks balanced on two beer crates.

They rushed to help her down.

“Snakes and bastards!” howled Agatha. “I'll kill that monster.”

“Luke?” asked Toni, brushing cobwebs off Agatha's coat.

“That's him. How did you guess? Did he confess?”

“No, he left a note, supposed to come from you,” said Simon, “saying you didn't want to go through with the marriage.”

Agatha sat down suddenly on an upturned beer crate.

“Did you really want to be a farmer's wife?” asked Toni.

The rain came down again and some drops fell through the hole in the roof and a rising wind howled round the building.

“I made a mistake,” said Agatha sadly. She slowly drew off her engagement ring.

“Should I call the police?” asked Toni.

“No, leave it,” said Agatha. “I want to forget about the whole sorry thing.”

Toni helped her to her feet and together, with heads bowed against the driving rain, they walked back to the farmhouse.

“Blast! He's hidden my car,” said Agatha. “It can't be far. I've got the keys. Try round the side of the house or the barn or something.”

Simon finally called from the barn. “It's round the side here covered in bales of hay.”

Then Agatha marched into the farmhouse where Paul was sitting at the kitchen table going over some accounts.

She put the ring on the table and told him in a weary voice what had happened.

“He's gone out,” said Paul. “Are you going to charge him?”

“No, I'm sick of the whole thing,” said Agatha. “He's hidden my car by the barn. Go and help Simon get it out.”

Paul got to his feet, looking sad and defeated. “Has this happened before?” asked Agatha.

“Once,” he said miserably. “Luke blames me for the breakup of our marriage.”

“I never asked you,” said Agatha, “what happened to your marriage?”

“She said she found the work too hard.”

“Work!” Agatha's rosy dreams of being a sort of Marie Antoinette and playing at farming suddenly seemed stupid. She had assumed Paul would have plenty of help inside and outside the farmhouse.

“Why didn't you hire help for her?” she asked.

“The farm was going through a bad patch. I just couldn't afford the help.”

“So was my money the attraction?”

“No, no. Darling, don't say that.”

“It's over,” said Agatha. “Get my car and let me get out of here!”

*   *   *

When Agatha curled up in bed that night, she found to her surprise that she was not grieving or upset. When love got a blow, it was heart-wrenching, but when sex left, nothing remained but rather distasteful memories as if she had eaten too many chocolates.

Something was tugging at the back of her mind about the Winter Parva murders, but she was too tired to stay awake to try to figure out what it was.

*   *   *

On the following Saturday, she paid a visit to Mrs. Bloxby to tell her what had happened.

“I think you mixed up rich landowner with farmer,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “After a divorce, it is difficult for the children. We once had an unpleasant incident at a wedding. A woman was marrying again, and they were having the old-fashioned wedding service. It got to the bit about anyone objecting to the marriage or forever holding their peace, when the daughter, one of the bridesmaids, started shouting her mother was a whore. She read out the names of five men she claimed her mother had enjoyed affairs with. The bridegroom just turned round and fled out of the church.”