Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

out in front of it. With a sigh of relief she bent down and patted their warm bodies. Then she went up to bed. There were two bedrooms, one with a double bed and one with a single. She chose the one with the double bed. It was covered in a huge, thick duvet. She explored the bathroom. It had an immersion heater. It would take ages to heat water for a bath. She switched it on, washed her face and cleaned her teeth and went to bed and fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.
    The morning was bright and sunny. Agatha had a hot bath, dressed and had her usual breakfast of two cups of black coffee and three cigarettes. She let the cats out into the back garden and then, returning to the kitchen, picked up the estate agent’s inventory of the contents. Agatha, an old hand at renting property, knew the importance of checking inventories. She wanted all her deposit back, and did not want it defrayed by mythical losses.
    Agatha was half-way through it when there was a knock at the door. She opened it and found herself confronted by four women.
    The leader of them was a rangy middle-aged woman in a sleeveless padded jacket over a checked shirt. She was wearing corduroy trousers which bagged at the knee. ‘I’m Harriet Freemantle,’ she said. ‘I’ve brought you a cake. We all belong to the Fryfam Women’s Group. Let me introduce you. This is Amy Worth.’ A small, faded woman in a droopy dress smiled shyly and handed Agatha a jar of chutney. ‘And Polly Dart.’ Large tweedy county woman with beetling eyebrows and an incipient moustache. ‘Brought you some of my scones,’ she boomed. ‘I’m Carrie Smiley.’ The last to come forward was youngish, about thirty-something, with dark hair, dark eyes, good figure in T-shirt and jeans. ‘I’ve brought along some of my elderberry wine.’
    ‘Come in, please,’ said Agatha. She led the way into the kitchen.
    ‘They’ve done old Cutler’s place quite nicely,’ said Harriet, as she and the others put their presents on the kitchen table.
    ‘Cutler?’ said Agatha, plugging in the kettle.
    ‘An old man who lived here for ages. His daughter rents it,’ said Amy. ‘The cottage was a terrible mess when he died. He never threw anything away.’
    ‘I’m surprised the daughter didn’t just sell it. Must be difficult to rent.’
    ‘Don’t know about that,’ said Harriet. ‘You’re the first.’
    ‘Coffee, everyone?’ asked Agatha. There was a chorus of assent. ‘And perhaps we’ll have some of Mrs Freemantle’s cake.’
    ‘Harriet. It’s all first names.’
    ‘As you probably already know, I’m Agatha Raisin. I belong to a ladies’ society in my home village of Carsely.’
    ‘A ladies’ society?’ exclaimed Carrie. ‘Is that what you call it?’
    ‘We’re a bit old-fashioned,’ said Agatha. ‘And we call each other by our second names.’ Harriet was efficiently cutting a delicious chocolate cake into slices and arranging the slices on plates. I’ll put on pounds if I’m not careful, thought Agatha. First that ginormous meal at the pub and now chocolate cake.
    When the coffee was poured, they all took their cups and plates through to the sitting-room. ‘Should I light the fire?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘No, we’re all warm enough,’ said Harriet without consulting the others.
    ‘I think they might at least have had some sort of central heating,’ complained Agatha. ‘The rental was expensive enough without having to pay for wood.’
    ‘Oh, but you’ve plenty of wood,’ said Polly. ‘There’s a shed at the bottom of the garden full of logs.’
    ‘I didn’t see it. But it was dark when I arrived. Oh, by the way, I saw these odd lights dancing about at the bottom of the garden.’
    There was a silence and then Carrie asked, ‘Is anything missing?’
    ‘I’m just in the middle of checking the inventory, so I don’t know. Why?’
    There was another silence.
    Then Harriet said, ‘We wondered whether you would like to be an honorary member of our women’s group while you’re here. We’re quilting.’
    ‘What’s that?’ mumbled Agatha, her mouth full of cake. Why wouldn’t they talk about those lights?
    ‘We’re making patchwork quilts. You know, we sew squares of coloured cloth on to old blankets.’
    Competitive as ever, Agatha Raisin would not admit she could not sew. ‘Sounds like fun,’ she lied. ‘Might drop in sometime. It is so very kind of you all to bring me these presents.’
    ‘Tonight,’ said Harriet. ‘We meet