Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

from an old recipe,’ said Carrie. ‘I suppose I’d better be going.’
    The others rose as well. As Agatha saw them out, Charles was just returning.
    ‘What now?’ she asked.
    ‘Eat something and then we’ll go out to the manor to present our condolences to Lucy.’
    ‘I’m tired of thinking about meals,’ said Agatha crossly.
    ‘Doesn’t seem to trouble you much. Just bung it in the microwave. Let me see what we’ve got. I’ll make something. Let’s see. Eggs, bacon, sausage. That’ll do. A nice fry-up.’
    ‘I needn’t worry about my weight,’ said Agatha. ‘I must have lost pounds picking up that rubbish.’
    ‘Sit there while I make with the frying pan.’
    ‘Are you usually so domesticated?’
    ‘Only around you. I’m driven into it.’
    After lunch, they headed out to the manor, Agatha refusing to walk, saying she had endured enough cold air to last her for the rest of the day. There had been a hard frost during the night and patches of it still lay unmelted on the ground.
    ‘If anyone talks to me about global warming, I’ll puke,’ grumbled Agatha. ‘It was a rotten summer as well.’
    ‘The rest of the world was burning up,’ said Charles. ‘Here we are. Gates open. No policeman on duty.’
    They went up the drive. It all seemed very quiet.
    Charles rang the doorbell. They waited for what seemed a long time, until Lucy’s voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the door. ‘Who is it?’
    ‘Charles Fraith and Agatha Raisin.’
    The door opened. ‘I thought it might be the press,’ said Lucy. ‘Come in.’
    They followed her into the drawing-room. She was wearing a silky trouser suit and was highly made up, as if about to go on television.
    ‘We were very sorry to hear of Tolly’s death,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Were you?’ Lucy raised thin eyebrows. ‘You barely knew him.’
    There was an awkward silence. Then Agatha said, ‘Have you any idea who would murder your husband?’
    ‘No,’ said Lucy, suddenly looking weary.
    ‘But you wanted me to find out if Tolly had been having an affair.’
    ‘Did I?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Agatha crossly. ‘You thought he was having an affair with Rosie Wilden. Remember? All about the rose perfume in the bedroom and the fact that Tolly had washed the sheets?’
    ‘Oh, that.’
    There was a silence.
    ‘Well?’ prompted Charles.
    ‘Well, what? Oh, I see. Nothing seems to matter much.’
    ‘But don’t you see,’ said Agatha eagerly, ‘if Tolly was having an affair, then the murder might have been committed by a jealous husband.’
    ‘Rosie doesn’t have a husband.’
    ‘It doesn’t need to be her. She might give that perfume of hers to people who ask for it.’
    ‘Truth to tell, I’ve been so shattered by this,’ said Lucy, ‘I haven’t been able to think clearly. You’ve got an idea there.’
    ‘Didn’t you say anything to the police about your suspicions?’ asked Charles.
    ‘Them! That man, Hand, went on and on as if I’d done it. I had to have all my wits about me sticking to my alibi.’
    Agatha wanted to ask her why Mrs Jackson had said that she and Tolly had been laughing about her suspicions and why they had ridiculed her, Agatha. But Lucy might freeze up. And there was still hope of getting gossip out of Mrs Jackson – that is, if she ever turned up to clean.
    ‘Did Tolly ever seem to favour any woman?’
    ‘Apart from Rosie, no. He would suck up to wives at hunt dos, ones whose husbands he wanted to ingratiate himself with.’
    ‘Like who?’ asked Charles.
    ‘Oh, like that dreary old bag, Mrs Findlay.’
    ‘Captain Findlay’s wife?’
    ‘Yes, her. I call her the battered bride. She always trembles every time her husband looks at her. He probably beats her.’
    ‘And the police have no idea where the Stubbs went to?’
    ‘None at all. It’ll probably turn up in some mansion in South America.’
    ‘I assume you get everything,’ said Charles.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Good solicitors?’
    ‘Old-fashioned and solid. Tomley and Barks in Norwich.’
    ‘Tomley,’ said Charles. ‘There was a Tristan Tomley in my form at Eton and he came from over here.’
    ‘Could be,’ said Lucy indifferently.
    ‘What will you do now?’ asked Agatha.
    For the first time, Lucy seemed animated. ‘I’ll sell up here and move to London. Thank God this place and the grounds are worth something. Tolly didn’t leave much else. That damn hunt must have been bleeding him dry. I never want to see another horse or hound