Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

'Oh, you are so right. I ... I leaned against his arm in the theatre and he didn't draw away.'

Big fat deal, thought Agatha cynically. He probably didn't even notice. She said good night to Daisy and went back to her room. An idea struck her. She picked up the phone and called reception. 'Are they still playing Scrabble?' she asked.

'Yes, they're in the lounge,' said the sleepy voice of the night porter;

'Colonel Lyche with them?'

'Yes, the colonel went upstairs and came back down and joined them.'

'Thank you.' Agatha put the phone down.

Poor Daisy.

SEVEN

THE next few days were quiet for Agatha. With the exception of Daisy, the others seemed to be avoiding her. By Saturday, she found she was eagerly looking forward to Sunday, when she would see Jimmy again. She had phoned Mrs. Bloxby and had asked if James had shown any signs of missing her. Mrs. Bloxby had hesitated. She had heard from an angry James how he had driven to Wyckhadden, only to learn that Agatha had gone out with her inspector. Mrs. Bloxby knew from Agatha's query that somehow the hotel had failed to tell her of James's call. She thought Agatha's inspector sounded nice and she had always thought James Lacey a dead loss, and so she begged the question by saying 'Well, you know what James is like,' which Agatha had interpreted to mean that James had shown no interest in her at all.

It would be nice to be Mrs. Jessop, to be a married woman, one of a pair. She did not want to live out the rest of her life alone with her cats. So, instead of dashing back to Carsely, she stayed on. She could simply have told the police she was going home. They had her home address and number. They could contact her any time they wanted.

On the Saturday, she went out for a walk. The day was bitter cold. The morning's frost had not melted. It glittered on the iron railings outside the hotel under a small red sun which stared down on the glassy sea behind a haze of cloud.

Agatha walked along the pier past the kiosks, closed for winter. Did Wyckhadden ever come to life in the summer, when a warm sun shone down and all the kiosks were open, selling buckets and spades, postcards and candy-floss? It was hard to imagine on such a day when the biting cold seemed to have frozen everything into silence.

She saw the tall figure of the colonel standing by the rail where Janine had gone over, looking down into the water.

'Morning, Colonel.'

He turned round. 'Morning, Agatha. Snow forecast.'

Agatha stopped beside him. 'Odd place, Wyckhadden. Seems to get every sort of weather but warm sunshine.'

'We had a grand summer last year. I had to buy a fan for my room, it was so hot.'

'Hard to imagine.'

'You know,' said the colonel, 'I often imagine the summers of my youth when I'm standing here. Different world, a safer world.'

'No murders?'

'I suppose there were. Of course there were. But they didn't happen to people like us.'

I was once one of them, thought Agatha, and deep down inside I still am, but she remained silent, looking at the sea.

'I see you've rented a car,' said the colonel.

'Yes, I'm used to having one. Got a bit tired of walking everywhere.'

'Do you know, there's a place on the road between here and Hadderton that serves hot scones and butter,'. Just the day for hot scones and butter,' said the colonel wistfully.

'I'm not doing anything,' said Agatha. 'Let's go.'

'Splendid!' He took her arm and they walked back along the pier. Agatha looked at the hotel. A brief flash of red sun on glass. She was sure again they were being watched through binoculars.

'Should we take any of the others?' she asked.

'Let's not bother,' said the colonel. 'I'll see them at lunch-time.'

They got into Agatha's car. Following the colonel's directions, she headed out on the Hadderton road. 'It's not far from here,' said the colonel at last. 'There it is up on the crest.'

'It's a farmhouse,' said Agatha.

'They serve teas and things.'

Agatha's small car lurched up the track leading to the farm. 'There seems to be more frost here than in Wyckhadden,' she said, looking at the white fields.

'Bit warmer down by the water, but not much.'

'And is there really snow in the forecast?' asked Agatha, stopping in front of the farmhouse.

'Cold front from Siberia.'

'There's always a cold front from Siberia,' grumbled Agatha. 'I wish they'd keep their cold fronts.'

'The reason they send them down to us,' said the colonel, 'is because they know we like to grumble about the weather. It's the favourite British topic of conversation.'

'Safer than murder, anyway,' said Agatha.

They got out of the car. An elderly lady answered the door to their knock. 'Why, Colonel. It's a while since we've seen you,' she said.

'Mrs. Raisin, may I present Mrs. Dunwiddy. Mrs. Dun-widdy, Mrs. Raisin.'

Agatha shook hands with her. Mrs. Dunwiddy had neatly permed grey hair, a wrinkled face and bright, unusually blue eyes, very blue, sapphire-blue.

'Take Mrs. Raisin straight through to the parlour. You know the way,' said Mrs. Dunwiddy. 'There's a good fire.'

Agatha followed the colonel into a cosy room which was like something out of a tourist brochure: low beamed ceiling, horse brasses, chintz, Welsh dresser with blue-and-white plates, log fire crackling in an ancient ingle-nook fireplace. The room was obviously used as a small restaurant. There were five tables surrounded by Windsor chairs. They hung up their coats on pegs in the corner.

'Splendid!' said the colonel, rubbing his hands. 'You can even smoke here, Agatha.'

And before she knew quite how it had happened, Agatha had taken out a packet of cigarettes and lit one up.

Rats, she thought, here I go again. But she did not stub the cigarette out.

Mrs. Dunwiddy came in and placed a covered dish on the table along with a plate of strawberry jam, a dish of butter and a bowl of thick yellow Devon cream. 'I'll bring the tea,' she said.

'How did you find this dream of a place?' asked Agatha.

'One summer. That's when I really go for long walks. Got to keep fit. Just happened on it.'

Mrs. Dunwiddy brought the tea in, a fat china teapot decorated with roses, smiled at them and left.

'I'll never eat lunch after this,' said Agatha, lifting the dish and looking down at a pile of warm scones.

'It's nice to get away from the hotel once in a while,' said the colonel.

Agatha looked at him curiously. 'Don't you lot ever get fed up with each other?'

'Us at the hotel? I suppose we do. But no one wants to be alone in their old age and I suppose we've formed ourselves into a sort of family.'

'It's a strange set-up, or maybe it's these murders that make it seem strange. Did you enjoy your evening at the theatre?'