“It was to curb the power of the king. It didn’t really work. Both John and his son, Henry the Third broke the charter whenever they could and only adhered to it when the barons threatened and complained. So they had to find a better way of making the king keep his word. In 1258, King Henry agreed to the Provisions of Oxford, which set up a permanent council to supervise his actions.
“Anyway, Henry paid as little attention to the Provisions of Oxford as John had paid to the Magna Carta. Simon, with the barons, decided to impose control. In 1264 there was a civil war. The king’s army was beaten at Lewes in Sussex. Henry was taken prisoner along with his son, Edward.
“Simon called an emergency parliament of not only barons, but bishops and abbots, two knights from each shire and burgesses from a number of towns. He hoped to make it a lasting establishment.”
He paused to eat a piece of sea bass.
“What happened then?” asked Agatha. The story was keeping her mind off thoughts of James Lacey.
“Simon’s support began to crumble. The Marcher lords from the borders of Wales rose against him and were joined by Gilbert de Clare, the young and powerful Earl of Gloucester. Simon led an army to the Severn, taking the king and Prince Edward with him as hostages, but the prince escaped at Hereford to lead the royalist uprising.
“Both forces converged on Evesham as Simon was preparing to enter the town. Simon’s troops were massacred. Simon was beheaded and the head sent to his widow. His arms and legs and, erm, private parts, were cut off. All that remained was the torso, which was buried at Evesham Abbey.”
“That’s interesting,” said Agatha. “Is his grave in the churchyard?”
“There’s a memorial stone, but that’s all. No one knows what happened to his remains. You see, people began to make pilgrimages to his grave to pay their respects to the ‘good Earl Simon.’ Rumour has it that the remains were dug up, burnt, and the ashes scattered to prevent worship of this dangerous democrat. The curator at the Almonry-the Evesham museum-he thinks Henry the Eighth was responsible, because a lot of the relics at Evesham Abbey were destroyed during the dissolution of the monasteries. Am I boring you?”
“No, I didn’t know all this. I’d better take a closer look at Evesham.”
“So tell me all about yourself and your love life.”
They had drunk one bottle of wine and he had ordered another. Agatha, now slightly tipsy, found herself telling him all about James and about her brief fling with Charles. But she did not tell him that James knew all about Charles.
“So where is James now?”
“I don’t know,” said Agatha sadly. “Abroad somewhere.”
“You’re an attractive woman.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his.
Agatha laughed and disengaged her hand. “You make women feel attractive.”
“Tell me more about yourself.”
Agatha talked on but mostly about her days in public relations. Somehow the fact that Bill Wong hadn’t phoned her hurt and so she did not brag about her detective abilities or mention his name.
And while she talked she began to wonder whether he would want to stay the night and whether she would let him. By the end of the meal she was languorously tipsy and was planning to invite him in when they got home.
As they left the restaurant, which was attached to the Crown Inn, Agatha saw Mrs. Friendly emerging from the adjoining bar. “Mrs. Friendly,” called Agatha.
Mrs. Friendly stood stock-still. Her eyes were wide with fright and her face paper-white as she looked at Mr. John. She made an inarticulate sound and turned and went hurriedly back into the bar, pushing her way through people until she was lost to view.
Outside, Agatha said, “You frightened her.”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Friendly.”
“Who’s she? Sounds like Happy Families. Miss Bun, the Baker’s Daughter, Mrs. Friendly, the-”
“No, no. She was really frightened. The woman who was staring at you just as we left.”
“I saw no one I know. The restaurant behind us was crowded, Agatha. She probably saw someone behind us.”
Tipsy as she was, a little warning bell was beginning to sound in Agatha’s brain. She had talked a lot about herself, but she knew practically nothing about this hairdresser apart from the fact that he possessed a good knowledge of Evesham history.
“Should you be driving?” she asked. “We’ve had rather a lot to drink.”
“I’ve a hard head. Don’t worry.”
“If you’re sure. The fact that I know a lot of the police won’t help us if we’re caught.”
But he had marched ahead of her to the car and did not hear her.
When they reached her cottage and got out, Agatha turned to him and said firmly, “Thank you so much for a delightful evening.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“Not tonight. I’ve had too much to drink. The next dinner’s on me.”
“I’ll keep you to that.” He bent to kiss her. Mrs. Friendly’s frightened face rose up in Agatha’s mind and she turned her face so that his kiss landed on her cheek. “Good night,” she said hurriedly and left him standing by the car, looking after her.
Agatha pottered about her house and garden the following day. It had rained during the night but the day was once more hot and stifling. The newspapers reported it was the hottest August in England since records had begun. There seemed to be a plague of mosquitoes and the Cotswold spiders were everywhere. Agatha did not like killing spiders and scooped the beasts up in kitchen paper and threw them out into the garden. One was descending from the kitchen ceiling in front of her eyes. She glared at it and it hurriedly retreated upwards, almost as if it were hauling itself up hand over hand.
She was wearing a washed-out cotton caftan she had bought years ago, with nothing underneath. On the kitchen floor, still in its box, was an electric fan she had bought in Evesham. She sighed. She tore open the box and lifted it out. It was in pieces. Did nothing come whole these days? She read the instructions carefully but could not unscrew one piece so as to attach the fan. She was just about to kick the infuriating thing across the floor when the doorbell rang.
Would she ever stop going to answer the door without hoping with all her heart that when she opened it James Lacey would be standing on the doorstep?
But it was Charles who stood there, looking cool and barbered.
“Come in,” said Agatha, her voice curt with disappointment. “What brings you?”
“Got bored.” He followed her into the kitchen.
“You can make yourself useful. I can’t put that fan together.”
“Make us a cup of coffee and I’ll do it.”
Charles worked away busily at the large pedestal fan. “Have you got one of those screwdrivers with the little cross at the head, Aggie?”
“In that box on the kitchen table. How do you want your coffee?”
“As ever. Milk, no sugar. If you loved me, Aggie, you would remember.”
“There’s your coffee, Charles. I’m going upstairs to put some clothes on.”
Agatha went upstairs, took a quick shower, towelled and dressed in shorts and a cotton top.
When she went back to the kitchen, the fan was spinning busily.
“How clever of you, Charles,” said Agatha. “What a relief! How did you get that big screw undone?”
“You unscrew it clockwise.”
“Now, how was anyone supposed to know that?” Agatha sat down at the kitchen table. “I may have stumbled across a mystery, Charles.”
“What bleeding body have you tripped over?”
“No body.” She told him about overhearing the pleading woman while she was in the toilet at the hairdresser’s. “Then I went out with this Mr. John for dinner and as we were leaving, we ran into Mrs. Friendly.”
“Who is she?”
“Newcomer to Carsely. Arrived last winter. Has one of those little cottages opposite the church. Mr. John said she must have been looking at someone in the restaurant behind us but I’ll swear it was him she was frightened of.”
