Agatha Raisin and The Murderous Marriage

Purvey's lips folded in such disapproval that they disappeared into the lines of her face.

'But you personally did not have anything to do with him?' Agatha put in.

'He did...er...come on to me. That is the modern expression, is it not? But I would have none of it.'

Both Agatha and James were struck by the same thought at the same time - that it was hard to imagine Miss Purvey repulsing the advances of any man. There was an avid eagerness about her as she looked at James and she constantly reached out to touch his arm. 'But then,' she went on, 'he turned his attentions to Lady Derrington, or the woman who, I now gather, was not Lady Derrington. I fear these health clinics nurture lax morals.'

'Did the police broach the subject of blackmail to you?' asked James.

'Yes, they did. But as I pointed out, there are still ladies around in these days.' Miss Purvey's eyes rested briefly on i Agatha, as if dismissing her from the lady class.

'Can you think of anyone he might have been blackmailing?' Agatha's voice was thin with dislike.

'I don't know if he was blackmailing her. But there was a certain Mrs. Gloria Comfort. He was all over her. Mrs. Gore-Appleton didn't seem to mind.'

'What was Mrs. Gore-Appleton really like?' asked Agatha. 'I don't mean her appearance, but her character.'

'Well, as I said, she was a lady,' said Miss Purvey reluctantly. Again those eyes fastened on Agatha. 'And although her clothes were unsuitable, they were very expensive. She was well-made-up and quite thin, but very fit.' So goodbye, Mrs. Hardy, thought Agatha, conjuring up a picture of that powerfully built woman. Agatha still nourished hopes that Mrs. Hardy would miraculously turn out to be the missing Mrs. Gore-Appleton, but then she desperately wanted her cottage back.

Agatha began to fidget. She now loathed Miss Purvey and felt the small dark living-room claustrophobic.

But James seemed determined to discuss the matter further, and to Agatha's dismay accepted an offer of coffee. He followed Miss Purvey into the kitchen to help her. Agatha walked around the room looking at the photographs. They all featured Miss Purvey at various stages of her life. Agatha was surprised to note that as a young woman she had been very pretty. Why hadn't she married? There were parents and what looked like two brothers. There was a photo of Miss Purvey at her coming-out in the days when debs were still presented to the queen, so the family must have had money. She could hear the voices from the kitchen and then heard Miss Purvey give a flirtatious laugh. Damn James!

They returned from the kitchen together, Miss Purvey's old face slightly pink. To Agatha's amazement, Miss Purvey's attitude to her had changed. She pressed Agatha to try her cakes and then chatted about life in the village and the work she was doing for the Women's Institute. 'Ladies like us, Mrs. Raisin,' she said, 'must do our bit.'

'Yes,' agreed Agatha faintly, wondering what had brought about this change and not knowing that James had whispered to Miss Purvey the lie that Agatha was a niece of the Duke of Devonshire.

'Now although I said Mrs. Gore-Appleton was a lady,' confided Miss Purvey, putting a wrinkled hand on Agatha's knee, 'I did get the impression that she had gone to the bad, if you know what I mean. It's hard to put my finger on it, but there was a raffishness about her, a seediness, and something else...I don't know what, but I was quite frightened of her. As I was telling Mr. Lacey, I remember she did begin to talk to me towards the end of my stay. She was talking about money and business and told me she was running a charity. She said that everyone had money worries today and I said I was quite comfortably off, thank you, and she asked me if I would contribute to her charity, but when I heard it was for the homeless, I refused. I said if these people were homeless, then it was their own fault.'

To Agatha's relief, James abruptly lost interest in anything further that Miss Purvey might have to say. He put down his cup.

'Thank you for your hospitality. We really must be going.'

'Oh, must you? I could be of help to you, I think.'

'You have already been of great help,' said James courteously.

'That's very kind of you.' Agatha said, getting to her feet and gathering up her handbag and gloves. 'But I don't see - '

'My powers of observation,' she cried. 'I would make a very good detective. Now, now, Mr. Lacey,' she said roguishly, 'you have already marked me down as an expert sleuth!'

'Quite,' he said hastily. He took out a card and gave it to her. 'If you find anything, I will be at this address.'

After they had gone, Miss Purvey paced up and down her small cottage living-room. She felt excited, elated. That handsome Mr. Lacey had looked at her in such a way! She walked to the window and peered up, rubbing the glass. The mist had taken on a yellowish light showing that, far above, the sun was trying to struggle through.

Miss Purvey had a sudden longing for the lights and shops of Mircester. She had one close friend, Belinda Humphries, who ran a small dress shop in a shopping arcade in Mircester. Miss Purvey decided to go and see her, relishing the joys of describing James Lacey and the way he had looked at her. Of course, he had had Mrs. Raisin with him, but she had asked him in the kitchen if they were going to be married after all and he had said quietly, 'Not now,' and she, Miss Purvey, was only a teensy bit older than Mrs. Raisin.

She put on her coat and that sort of felt hat beloved by middle-class Englishwomen and damned as 'sensible', and made her way out to her Ford Escort, which was parked on the road outside the cottage.

Driving slowly and carefully, she joined the dual carriageway road some miles outside the village, and moving into the fast lane, drove at a steady thirty miles per hour, seemingly deaf to the furious horns and flashing lights of the drivers behind her.

To her dismay, the fog began to thicken as she approached Mircester. She found a parking place in the central square, got out, locked her car and went to the shopping arcade. A neat sign hanging on the glass door said CLOSED. She gave a little cluck of dismay. She had forgotten it was half-day in Mircester.

She felt too strung up to go home. Of course she could have gone to Belinda's cottage, but that lay in a village twenty miles in the opposite direction out of Mircester from where she herself lived.

Miss Purvey decided to treat herself to a visit to the cinema. A Bruce Willis Die Hard movie was showing and Miss Purvey found Bruce Willis exciting. She had seen it before but knew she would enjoy seeing it again.

She bought a ticket at the kiosk and took a seat in the still-lit cinema. The programme was due to start in a few minutes.

Miss Purvey settled down and took a packet of strong peppermints out of her handbag, extracted one and popped it in her mouth. There were not many people in the cinema. She twisted round to see if there was anyone she knew and then her gaze fastened on the person in the row behind her, a little to her left. She turned away and then stiffened in her seat. Surely she had seen that face before.

She twisted round again and said in her loud, plummy voice, 'I've seen you somewhere before, haven't I?'

Kylie, the usherette, was fifty-something, with bad feet. The days when usherettes were pert young things with trays of ices had long gone. The ices and popcorn were bought at a kiosk in the foyer, and inside, tired middle-aged women showed people to their seats and then searched while the cinema was empty to make sure no one had left anything valuable.

Kylie saw the solitary figure sitting in the middle of one of the rows in the centre and thought, here's another old-age pensioner fallen asleep. It was hard to be patient with these old people. Some of them didn't even know where they were or who they were when they woke up. The Cotswolds was turning into geriatric country.

She edged along the row behind the still figure and, leaning forward, shook one shoulder. It was like a Hitchcock movie, thought Kylie, her heart leaping into her mouth. The figure slowly keeled sideways. Kylie gasped, leaned over and shone her torch into the figure's face, for although the lights were on in the cinema, they were still quite dim.

The bulging eyes of Miss Purvey stared glassily back at her. A scarf was twisted savagely around the old