went up to bed. There were two bedrooms, one with a double bed and one with a single. She chose the one with the double bed. It was covered in a huge, thick duvet. She explored the bathroom. It had an immersion heater. It would take ages to heat water for a bath. She switched it on, washed her face and cleaned her teeth and went to bed and fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.
The morning was bright and sunny. Agatha had a hot bath, dressed and had her usual breakfast of two cups of black coffee and three cigarettes. She let the cats out into the back garden and then, returning to the kitchen, picked up the estate agent's inventory of the contents. Agatha, an old hand at renting property, knew the importance of checking inventories. She wanted all her deposit back, and did not want it defrayed by mythical losses.
Agatha was half-way through it when there was a knock at the door. She opened and found herself confronted by four women.
The leader of them was a rangy middle-aged woman in a sleeveless padded jacket over a checked shirt. She was wearing corduroy trousers which bagged at the knee. 'I'm Harriet Freemantle,' she said. 'I've brought you a cake. We all belong to the Fryfam Women's Group. Let me introduce you. This is Amy Worth.' A small, faded woman in a droopy dress smiled shyly and handed Agatha a jar of chutney. 'And Polly Dart.' Large tweedy county woman with beetling eyebrows and an incipient moustache. 'Brought you some of my scones,' she boomed. 'I'm Carrie Smiley.' The last to come forward was youngish, about thirty-something, with dark hair, dark eyes, good figure in T-shirt and jeans. 'I've brought along some of my elderberry wine.'
'Come in, please,' said Agatha. She led the way into the kitchen.
'They've done old Cutler's place quite nicely,' said Harriet, as she and the others put their presents on the kitchen table.
'Cutler?' said Agatha, plugging in the kettle.
'An old man who lived here for ages. His daughter rents it,' said Amy. 'The cottage was a terible mess when he died. He never threw anything away.'
'I'm surprised the daughter didn't just sell it. Must be difficult to rent.'
'Don't know about that,' said Harriet. 'You're the first.'
'Coffee, everyone?' asked Agatha. There was a chorus of assent. 'And perhaps we'll have some of Mrs. Freemantle's cake.'
'Harriet. It's all first names.'
'As you probably already know, I'm Agatha Raisin. I belong to a ladies' society in my home village of Carsely.'
'A ladies' society?' exclaimed Carrie. 'Is that what you call it?'
'We're a bit old-fashioned,' said Agatha. 'And we call each other by our second names.' Harriet was efficiently cutting a delicious chocolate cake into slices and arranging the slices on plates. I'll put on pounds if I'm not careful, thought Agatha. First that gynormous meal at the pub and now chocolate cake.
When the coffee was poured, they all took their cups and plates through to the sitting-room. 'Should I light the fire?' asked Agatha.
'No, we're all warm enough,' said Harriet without consulting the others.
'I think they might at least have had some sort of central heating,' complained Agatha. 'The rental was expensive enough without having to pay for wood.'
'Oh, but you've plenty of wood,' said Polly. 'There's a shed at the bottom of the garden full of logs.'
'I didn't see it. But it was dark when I arrived. Oh, by the way, I saw these odd lights dancing about at the bottom of the garden.'
There was a silence and then Carrie asked, 'Is anything missing?'
'I'm just in the middle of checking the inventory, so I don't know. Why?'
There was another silence.
Then Harriet said, 'We wondered whether you would like to be an honorary member of our women's group while you're here. We're quilting.'
'What's that?' mumbled Agatha, her mouth full of cake. Why wouldn't they talk about those lights?
'We're making patchwork quilts. You know, we sew squares of coloured cloth onto old blankets.'
Competitive as ever, Agatha Raisin would not admit she could not sew. 'Sounds like fun,' she lied. 'Might drop in sometime. It is so very kind of you all to bring me all these presents.'
'Tonight,' said Harriet. 'We meet tonight. I'll come and pick you up at seven o'clock, right after evening service. Are you C of E?'
'Yes,' said Agatha, who wasn't really anything but felt that her friendship with Mrs. Bloxby qualified her for membership in the Church of England.
'Oh, in that case, I'll see you in church this evening and we'll go on from there,' said Harriet.
Agatha was just about to lie and say she was feeling too poorly to go anywhere, when Polly said abruptly, 'Well, go on. Tell us about your broken heart.'
Agatha reddened. 'What are you talking about?'
'When we heard you were coming,' said Harriet, 'and that you lived in a village in the Cotswolds, we wondered why you would want to rent in another village and so we decided you had man trouble and wanted to get away.'
I'm going off you lot rapidly, thought Agatha. She smiled round at them all, that sharklike smile which meant Agatha Raisin was about to tell a whopping lie.
'Actually I'm writing a book at the moment,' she said. 'I wanted somewhere to write and have peace and quiet. You see, old friends from London keep dropping down on visits and I don't have enough time for myself. I'll go along with you tonight, but I am afraid I'm going to be a bit of a recluse.'
'What are you writing?' asked Amy.
'A detective story.'
'What's it called?'
'Death at the Manor, ' said Agatha, improvising wildly.
'And who's your detective?'
'A baronet.'
'You mean you're doing another sort of Lord Peter Wimsey?'
'Do you mind if I don't talk about my work anymore?' said Agatha. 'I don't like discussing it.'
'Just tell us,' said Amy, leaning forward. 'Have you had any published?'
'No, this is my first attempt. I am a real-life detective, so I thought I may as well fictionalize some of my adventures.'
'You mean you work for the police?' asked Harriet.
'I occasionally work with the police,' said Agatha grandly. She proceeded to brag about her cases. To her irritation, just as she had got to the exciting bit of one of them, Harriet rose and said abruptly, 'Sorry, we've got to go.'
Agatha saw them out. She walked with them down to the garden gate and waved them goodbye. She stayed leaning on the gate, enjoying the sunshine.
Harriet's voice travelled back to her ears. 'Of course she was lying.'
'Do you think so?' Amy's voice.
'Oh, yes. Not a word of truth in any of it. Woman probably can't write a word.'
Agatha clenched her fists. Jealous cow. She would show her. She would write a book. Writing was writing and she had written enough press releases in her days as a public relations officer. She had brought her computer and printer with her. She began to feel quite excited. When her name topped the best-seller list, then James would sit up and take notice.
On her road back to the house, she peered over the hedge at the driveway at the side of the house where her car was parked. What had they meant by asking if anything was missing?
She opened the kitchen door and went down to the bottom of the garden, finding a shed behind a stand of trees. It was full of logs. She returned to the kitchen with the cats scampering at her heels. At least they're happy with the place, she thought. She fed them and returned to checking the inventory, but all the while wondering about her visitors. Did they have husbands? They couldn't all be widows.
