Roy read it carefully. 'She sounds mad.'
'She might not be. I might read about her death in the newspapers and feel guilty.'
'It's a nice day,' said Roy. The morning mist was lifting. Agatha's cats, Hodge and Boswell, were chasing each other over the lawn. 'We could both go over and talk to her.'
'Wouldn't do any harm,' said Agatha. 'That way we'll find out whether she's bonkers or not.'
Chapter Two
They eventually found Lower Tapor after having become lost several times. Signposts seemed to ignore the very existence of the place. Neither Roy nor Agatha were much good at reading maps, and so it was by accident that they at last found themselves confronted by a sign announcing Lower Tapor.
They drove slowly between two rows of small red-brick cottages and then found themselves out of the village at the other end.
'Snakes and bastards!' muttered Agatha, executing a clumsy eight-point turn. Back again. 'Look for someone,' she hissed.
But the street appeared deserted. 'Look!' said Roy. 'There's that little road on the left. It must lead somewhere.'
Agatha whipped the wheel round and plunged down the side road. They came to a triangle of village green with houses set around it and one pub called The Crazy Fox.
Agatha stopped the car outside the pub. They both got out and stood for a moment looking up at the inn sign, which displayed a painting of a fox dressed as a huntsman, gun in hand, standing upright with one rear paw resting on the dead body of a man.
The pub itself was a low building built of mellow Cotswold stone. The village was very quiet. The day was perfect and the sun warm.
Agatha pushed open the door and, followed by Roy, went inside. She stood and blinked in surprise. The pub was full of people. A man with a clipboard stood in front of the bar. He had been addressing the crowd but fell silent and stared at Agatha.
'What do you want?' he asked.
'I want directions to the manor house,' retorted Agatha.
There was a sudden uneasy rustling of papers and whispered voices.
'Why?' demanded the man with the clipboard.
He was a big, burly farming type and his small eyes were suddenly full of menace.
'Because that's where I'm trying to get to,' howled Agatha.
'Go out. Turn right, and down Badger Lane. Takes you there.'
'Any chance of a drink?' asked Roy.
'No,' said the man. 'This is a private meeting. Get out.'
'Well, I never!' said Roy outside. 'Oh, forget about the local yokels,' said Agatha.
'Let's find this house.'
They got back into the car and found Badger Lane leading off from a corner of the green.
Agatha drove slowly. The lane ran between high stone walls and was so narrow she was afraid of scraping her car.
'There it is,' she said, spotting a double gate on which hung a small sign, THE MANOR HOUSE. 'You'd better get out and open the gates,' said Agatha.
'Why me?' complained Roy.
'Because I'm driving.'
Grumbling, Roy got out. He was soon back.
'The gates are padlocked. We should have phoned first. Phone now.'
'No, I want to surprise her,' said Agatha. 'I want to find out if she's really bonkers. We'll leave the car here and climb over the gate'
'It might be a farm,' said Roy uneasily, looking at the fields of wheat that stretched out on either side of a road on the other side of the gate. 'We could walk miles.'
'Don't be such a wimp. Come on.'
As Agatha climbed over the gate, her hip gave a nasty twinge. She had been told she had arthritis in her right hip and would need a hip replacement. She had gone back to her Pilates classes earlier in the year but had recently stopped going.
Thankful that she had put on a trouser suit and flat shoes, Agatha began to trudge along the road. After two miles of walking, her feet were aching and her bad hip was throbbing. 'It must be here somewhere,' she said, exasperated. 'There are trees up ahead. Might be there.'
But when they reached the trees it was to find another sign, on a post this time, with the legend THE MANOR HOUSE picked out in gold paint.
Ahead of them lay a metalled driveway. Glad to be under the shade of the trees, they walked on. The road twisted and turned, thickly wooded on either side.
'We've been walking for hours,' groaned Roy. After what seemed an age, they arrived at a lodge house and could see the road stretching on between two fields where sheep cropped the grass, to buildings at the top of a rise.
'Nearly there,' said Agatha. Now she was beginning to wish she had phoned instead. Her linen trouser suit was beginning to stick to her back and she knew her face was shiny. 'The only thing that's keeping me going,' said Roy, 'is the thought of all the pounds of weight I must be losing.'
They passed some well-ordered stables, turned a corner and found the house at last. It was a square Georgian house with a porticoed entrance and one long Victorian wing to one side. 'It's very quiet,' said Roy. 'What if she was down at that meeting in the pub?'
'We're here anyway. May as well ring the bell.' They rang the bell and waited. At last the door was opened by a small, stout, motherly-looking woman wearing an old-fashioned flowery pina fore over a black dress.
'We have come to see your mistress,' said Agatha grandly.
'That being?'
'Mrs Tamworthy, of course.'
'You've found her. I'm Mrs Tamworthy.' Agatha flushed with embarrassment. A drop of sweat ran down her cheek. 'I am so sorry. I am Agatha Raisin. You wrote to me.'
'So I did. Come in.'
They followed her across a hall and into a large airy sitting room overlooking a vista of lawns and ornamental lake.
'Sit down,' ordered Mrs Tamworthy. 'Drink?'
'Please,' said Agatha. 'Gin and tonic, if you have it.'
'Beer for me,' said Roy and Agatha looked at him in surprise. She had never known Roy to drink beer.
Mrs Tamworthy went to a drinks cupboard in the corner. 'You live a long way from the village,' said Agatha. 'We had quite a walk. The gates are padlocked.'
'You never came that long way! You should have come through Upper Tapor. The gates on that side are always open and only a few yards off the road.'
There was a little refrigerator under the drinks cupboard. Agatha soon heard the welcome tinkle of ice being dropped in a glass.
'Drinks are ready,' called Mrs Tamworthy. They both rose to their feet, Agatha wincing as she did so.
When they were all seated again, Agatha asked, 'Who is trying to kill you?'
'One of the family will try, I think. They are all coming here next Saturday for my eightieth birthday.'
'Eighty! You don't look it.'
'It's one of the benefits of being fat, my dear. It stretches the wrinkles.'
