Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

Lizzie you can’t say to me.’
    ‘Let him stay,’ said Lizzie. All her terror of her husband had left her. She did not know if that will had been found, if there had even been such a will, but she had made up her mind that very morning to leave her husband.
    ‘Very well,’ said Hand. ‘Please sit down.’ Lizzie sat neatly on the edge of a leather armchair by the fire and the detectives sat down on an old horsehair sofa.
    ‘The Stubbs has been recovered,’ he began. He went on to describe how it had been found in Agatha’s kitchen with the will taped to the back. ‘The new will,’ he said, ‘was witnessed by Paul Redfern, gamekeeper, and Mrs Elizabeth Jackson, cleaner, and I will be asking them why they told me nothing of this. As I said, it is pretty much the same as the old one except the Stubbs had been left to you, Mrs Findlay.’
    ‘I must say that was jolly good of Tolly,’ said the captain.
    Lizzie looked straight at him. ‘The Stubbs was left to me, not you. How soon can I get it, Inspector?’
    ‘It will take some time. We need to get further ahead with this case and make sure no one is profiting from the murder. Where were you on the night Mr Trumpington-James was killed, Mrs Findlay?’
    ‘I was here. I have no witnesses other than my husband and I do not know whether he was at home or not, for we have separate bedrooms.’
    ‘We will be speaking to your husband in a little while. Why would Mr Trumpington-James leave you such an expensive painting?’
    ‘That’s easy,’ said the captain from behind his desk. ‘Tolly was mad about the hunt. Probably meant it for both of us.’
    ‘We were having an affair,’ said Lizzie, her carefully enunciated words dropping like stones into the gloomy study.
    ‘Have you gone raving mad?’ spluttered the captain.
    ‘As I said,’ went on Lizzie with that deadly calm, ‘we were having an affair. He was going to get a divorce and I was going to get a divorce, but I don’t think he ever really meant to divorce Lucy. He did not want to pay her alimony, you know.’
    ‘And how long had this been going on?’
    ‘Over a year.’
    ‘And where did . . . er . . . you . . . where did your liaison take place?’
    ‘Here and there,’ said Lizzie vaguely. She looked directly at her husband. ‘It really got going when you went to Canada. If you remember, you wouldn’t take me. You said it wasn’t worth the extra expense.’
    The questioning went on. Did she know anyone with a cut-throat razor? Had Mr Trumpington-James mentioned any enemies?
    And Lizzie answered every question with that same calm. When the questioning was finally over, she rose to her feet and said, ‘I am going upstairs to get my belongings and I would be grateful if you two gentlemen could wait here until I leave. I will tell you where I am going but I do not want my husband to have the address. He is a violent man.’
    ‘Violent enough to kill?’ asked Hand.
    Lizzie gave a little smile and sank the final metaphorical dagger right into her husband’s breast. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, and then she left the room.
    ‘Now, sir,’ said Hand to the captain, ‘where were you the night Mr Trumpington-James was murdered?’
    The captain began to answer the questions in a dull voice. His colour was muddy and his voice flat and expressionless.
    When they had finished questioning him, they went out into the hall, where Lizzie was sitting with two large suitcases. ‘Are we ready to go?’ she asked brightly. ‘I’ve written my address down for you.’
    ‘I think you should accompany us to headquarters first,’ said Hand. ‘Detective Sergeant Carey will travel in your car with you.’
    ‘Too kind,’ murmured Lizzie. ‘Mr Carey, if you could help me to my car with the cases? Thank you.’
    Agatha and Charles had spent a frustrating day. They had gone to call on the gamekeeper, only to find he had been taken off in a police car. ‘So maddening not to know anything,’ mourned Agatha. ‘Maybe the gamekeeper did it. Maybe Lucy was having an affair with the gamekeeper.’
    ‘How Lady Chatterley of her if she was,’ said Charles. ‘What about les girls?’
    ‘You mean Harriet et al?’
    ‘Exactly. Gossip runs round this village like wildfire.’
    ‘I know where she lives. Let’s go.’
    Harriet was at home and her friends were with her, their husbands being, as usual, in the pub.
    ‘Come in,’ said Harriet eagerly. ‘I was just thinking of phoning you. Such news! Fancy the