Agatha Raisin and The Walkers of Dembley

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'