Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

logs on the fire and sat back on his heels, watching it blaze up. Then he picked up the empty log basket. ‘I’ll go out to the shed and get some more logs. You be all right?’
    Agatha nodded. She stared at the dancing flames. I’m a silly woman, she thought. Why didn’t I mind my own business? Why did I come to his hell-hole just to destroy my cats? Who cares who killed Tolly?
    She heard the kitchen door crash open. She heard Charles come in and then he said gleefully, ‘Look what I’ve got, Aggie.’
    She twisted her head around and then jumped to her feet. For Charles was carrying Hodge and Boswell.
    ‘Oh, thank God,’ cried Agatha, the tears of relief running down her face. She patted both cats. ‘Bring them into the kitchen, Charles, and I’ll give them something special.’
    Charles waited in the kitchen, amused, as Agatha proceeded to open a tin of pâté de foie gras and then one of salmon.
    ‘Don’t kill them with kindness,’ he said, and then went back down the garden, whistling, to get the logs.
    Agatha was awakened by the ringing of the doorbell downstairs. She looked at her bedside clock and groaned. Eight in the morning! She struggled into her dressing-gown and hurried downstairs and the bell rang and rang. She opened the door to confront the unlovely features of Mrs Jackson.
    ‘Came to do yer house,’ said Betty Jackson, pushing past Agatha. Agatha collected her wits. She wanted to tell this woman to get lost, but there was all that fingerprint dust.
    ‘We had a break-in last night,’ said Agatha, ‘and the police were here, so there’s fingerprint dust everywhere. I must go back to bed. Don’t bother about the bedrooms. Just clean downstairs. Oh, and do the windows.’
    ‘I don’t do windows.’
    ‘Do what you can,’ said Agatha crossly. ‘And don’t bother my cats. In fact, I’ll take them with me.’ She looked at the cleaner curiously. ‘You don’t seem over-surprised.’
    ‘It’s incomers,’ said Mrs Jackson, taking off her coat. ‘Never had nothing like this afore the incomers came.’
    And coming from a woman who was married to a jailbird, that was a bit thick, thought Agatha. But she was too weary to argue. She scooped up her cats and went upstairs with them and plunked them on the end of the bed, climbed in herself and drifted back into sleep.
    When she awoke again, it was eleven o’clock. She hurriedly washed and dressed and went downstairs, followed by the cats. She could hear Charles’s voice coming from the kitchen and guessed he was talking to Mrs Jackson. She took a look in the sitting-room. It was polished and gleaming and free of dust and the fireplace had been cleaned out and the fire reset. At least she can clean, thought Agatha.
    She went into the kitchen. The conversation stopped abruptly when she opened the kitchen door. Mrs Jackson was rinsing out a cloth at the sink and Charles had the morning papers spread out in front of him.
    ‘Nearly finished here,’ said Mrs Jackson. ‘Want me to do upstairs?’
    ‘Yes, if you please,’ said Agatha.
    Charles rose. ‘We’re going out, Betty. Just let yourself out and lock the door.’
    ‘How can she do that?’ asked Agatha. ‘I’ve got the key.’
    ‘I went down to the estate agent’s and got another,’ said Charles. ‘I’ve paid Betty. Come along, Aggie. You can eat later.’
    ‘So it’s Betty now,’ said Agatha. ‘What did you get out of her?’
    ‘Get in the car and I’ll tell you.’
    ‘Wait a bit. Will the cats be all right?’
    ‘I let them into the garden. They’ll be fine.’
    ‘What does she do with her children when she starts so early?’
    ‘They get the early school bus. The school supplies free breakfasts to the children of working mothers provided they’re poor enough.’
    ‘So what did you get out of her?’
    Charles pulled into a lay-by and switched off the engine. ‘It’s what I didn’t get out of her that fascinated me. She says Lucy was a good employer.’
    ‘Was? Isn’t she working for her any more?’
    ‘No, she says that Lucy paid her off and very generously, too. Seems as if our Lucy is going to put the house on the market as soon as she can and says she’ll get a commercial firm in to do the whole place over. But you would think that someone like Lucy would want someone in the meantime to wash the dirty dishes and Hoover. Mrs Jackson doesn’t talk much about Tolly but sticks to her story that they were a devoted couple.’
    ‘Maybe we’re