The Blood of an Englishman (19 page)

She then googled the agency's Web site and studied the list of cases they usually covered. Caroline decided that she would claim to have lost a pet dog and that way she could meet Agatha and study the woman for herself.

Caroline was unfortunate in that Agatha had recently visited the dentist to get her teeth cleaned, and, in an old copy of
Cotswold Life,
she had found a photograph of Caroline at a hunt ball with Charles.

So the next morning when she arrived at the agency, Agatha recognised her. She gave a fictitious name and handed over a photograph of the dog she said was missing. It was actually a photograph of her dog Brutus, who had died two years before.

Agatha took down details of the dog that was supposed to have been lost and when. Her suspicions that Caroline had come to look her over were confirmed when Caroline said, “Do you know a friend of mine, Charles Fraith?”

Now Agatha would dearly have loved an opportunity to sabotage Charles's engagement, but her better nature took over and she said, “Yes, I haven't seen him in ages. Give him my regards.”

Caroline was partly reassured, except that the photograph on the Internet had not done Agatha justice. She had glossy brown hair, a fairly good figure, long legs and she was impeccably dressed.

Agatha was just beginning to say, “Mrs. Freedman will give you a contract to sign and then I will ask you some more questions,” when the door crashed open and Paul Newton strode in. “Give me one more chance, Agatha,” he pleaded. “Luke is so very sorry and won't interfere again.”

“I'm sorry, Paul,” said Agatha. “It's really all over.”

Caroline stared, alarmed. Paul was handsome and yet this wretched woman was not interested!

“I've changed my mind,” Caroline said suddenly. She followed the rejected Paul down the stairs and caught up with him in the street outside.

“I need your advice,” she said. “Can we go somewhere for a coffee?”

Paul was as tall as she was. He listened to the cut-glass voice and quickly assessed the price of what she was wearing.

“Yes, all right,” he said. “We'll go to the coffee room in the George. It'll be quiet this early in the day.”

*   *   *

Seated over coffee and croissants in the comforting gloom of the old coffee room, Caroline poured out her troubles. Paul's face darkened. “I should have known she was a heartless flirt,” he raged.

“But I don't know if Charles is still interested in her,” wailed Caroline.

“I know, let's play detective and investigate the detective,” said Paul. “But I should not think an attractive lady like yourself has anything to worry about.”

Caroline brightened. “What do you do?”

“I'm a farmer.”

“We have three tenant farms on our estate. I say, Charles is busy today. Would you like to see them?”

Paul agreed, his mind thinking, tenant farms, must be really loaded.

They spent a happy morning. Caroline knew a lot about farming and they discussed crops and livestock. He was invited to lunch and met her parents, Colonel and Mrs. Featherington.

After he had left, Caroline's father said, “Now there's a real man. Not like that flighty chap, Charles Fraith.”

*   *   *

Charles was bored and he realised Agatha never bored him and he missed her company. So when Agatha arrived home, it was to find him in her living room, happily watching television, with her cats on his lap.

“What are you doing here?” snapped Agatha. “I had a visit from your fiancée this morning, using an assumed name and asking me if I knew you.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said yes and I hadn't seen you in months.”

“Well, that's all right,” he said lazily.

“To add to the fun,” said Agatha, sinking down wearily beside him on the sofa, “my ex-fiancé crashed in begging me to reconsider. Your Caroline said she'd changed her mind about employing me to find a lost dog and left as well.”

“What an exciting life you do lead,” said Charles, “and how boring mine is of late. Got any farther with the Winter Parva murders?”

Agatha helped herself to a gin and tonic and sat down beside him again and began to talk about all the latest developments.

*   *   *

Outside, seated in Caroline's car—the latest Audi, Paul noticed appreciatively—they waited and watched. “Are you sure that's Charles's car?” asked Paul.

“Yes, of course I'm sure. If she's just a friend and he leaves to go home, then it's all right. But if he stays the night, the engagement is definitely off.”

“Get down! The door's opening.”

Agatha and Charles came out and got into Agatha's car. “Let's follow them,” said Paul.

*   *   *

They drove to a Thai restaurant in Evesham and took a table at the window. Charles looked across the street and recognised Caroline's car parked opposite. He hated being spied on. He was hungry and he was determined to enjoy his meal.

Agatha was saying, “I might go to Winter Parva tomorrow and see if I can pick up any more gossip.”

“I'll come with you,” said Charles, thinking, I may as well give dear Caroline something to really worry about. “Did you really not want to get married, Agatha?”

“It did seem tempting until his son tried to kill me twice.”

“Tell me about it.”

So Agatha did. She had nearly finished her tale when she looked at him wide-eyed and clutched his hand.

“Gwen's son!” she exclaimed.

“What about him?”

“Say he's like Luke. Say he's close to his mother and hates his father. So he bumps off his father. George Southern has something on him so he bumps George off as well.”

“But Gwen is getting married again, isn't she? So if he were that possessive, he'd kill John.”

“Blast! There is one missing bit. Kimberley Buxton. She claimed she was assaulted by Bert Simple and yet it was all hushed up. Her father got the blacksmith to sharpen that sword.”

“We'll go tomorrow,” said Charles.

“Hadn't you better phone your fiancée?”

Charles glanced out the window. He was furious with Caroline for spying on him.

“No, I won't bother,” he said.

*   *   *

Back in Carsely, Caroline and Paul waited for Charles to leave Agatha's cottage but the time dragged on until they saw all the lights in the cottage going out.

“That's it,” said Caroline bitterly. “I don't want to speak to him again. I'll take you back to my place and you can pick up your car.”

As she drove back up out of the village, Paul said tentatively, “This may be the wrong time to ask, but what about us seeing more of each other? I do enjoy your company.”

“I'd like that,” said Caroline slowly. “I'd like that a lot.”

*   *   *

As Charles and Agatha drove off the following morning, Charles was very quiet. He was wondering at his own folly of having spent the night in Agatha's cottage. He was sure the spying Caroline would have followed them back to Carsely. He wondered whether he should phone her and explain things, but he had been so bored since his engagement, despite the fact that he had kept telling himself he was doing the right thing.

He would leave it to her, he thought lazily. If she really cared for him, she would demand an explanation and he would deal with it then.

Spring had finally arrived in the Cotswolds. The trees shimmered in the sunlight with bright new green leaves and daffodils raised their golden trumpets to the sky as if in celebration.

David Buxton was not at home and Kimberley was at school, but Mrs. Buxton answered the door to them. She looked frightened and alarmed when they asked if Bert Simple had really attempted to sexually molest Kimberley.

“It was all a bad joke,” she said, her thin arms hugged across her flat chest. “Go away. Why can't you leave it alone?”

She slammed the door in their faces.

“Frightened to death,” said Agatha.

“Where next?” asked Charles.

“Maybe we should try Bessie Burdock. She was in that pantomime. I'd like to know more about Gwen's marriage.”

*   *   *

Bessie Burdock drove the screaming toddlers she was looking after into the garden and settled down for a chat.

In answer to their questions, she said, “I don't know if Bert beat her and that's a fact. There was a bit of talk. But Gwen always looked so cool and elegant. There was one thing, I bring to mind, now that you ask. It was about three years ago, Gwen and her son Walt were at a village dance. Gwen looked lovely. She was dancing with her son and I swear they looked like a couple. Gwen never showed her years. Bert bursts into the dance and orders both of them home. Walt said they were staying and his father punched him in the face. Someone started shouting about calling the police and Bert got all oily like and said he'd been drinking and he was sorry and then he just left.

“Walt and Gwen sat together for a bit, talking quietly and then they left, too.”

*   *   *

“So,” said Agatha outside. “There's a big motive.”

“But Gwen is getting married and happy ever after and all that,” said Charles.

“I'm going to that wedding next week,” said Agatha. “I want to see if the couple are really happy and if Walt is happy as well.”

*   *   *

When Charles got home, his man, Gustav, handed him a small package. “This was shoved through the letterbox,” he said.

Charles took the package into his study and opened it. It contained a small jewellery box with the ring he had given Caroline inside. There was no note.

He sat down slowly. He should really phone and ask for an explanation, but all his life he had avoided confrontations as much as possible, so he lazily decided just to wait and see what happened.

He would attend that wedding with Agatha. Like her, he was curious to see the happy pair.

*   *   *

The day of the wedding dawned bright and sunny. It was unseasonably warm. People shook their heads and said that this was the only summer they were likely to get, for when the real British summer came around, it would probably be as wet as usual.

Charles was dressed casually and Agatha, thinking that as she was not an official guest and there was no need to wear a hat, was wearing a cool dark blue silk trouser suit.

After Caroline, thought Charles, Agatha's company was like slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers after wearing shoes that pinched.

Guessing that John Hale's side of the church would not have many people while Gwen's would be crowded with the villagers, Agatha said to the usher, “Friends of the groom.”

Mrs. Bloxby's husband was to perform the wedding ceremony. Agatha and Charles were seated in a pew at the back of the church. At one point, Agatha stood up and looked around, hoping to see Mrs. Bloxby, but she was nowhere in sight.

The sun shone down through the old stained glass windows. The church was fragrant with the scent of flowers and incense. The organ played softly. The crowd whispered in anticipation as Walt took his place at the front of the church.

“But where's John?” muttered Agatha.

The organist broke into the opening strains of the wedding march. Agatha twisted her head and looked round at the church porch. Gwen stood there flanked by two bridesmaids. She was wearing a mediaeval dress of gold silk embroidered with seed pearls. On her head was a small Juliet cap and her long hair was worn loose.

Walt turned and saw his mother and hurried down the aisle. Agatha could hear frantic whispering.

Agatha got up, followed by Charles. Gwen was retreating to her wedding limousine.

The two bridesmaids were standing outside. “What's going on?” asked Agatha, approaching them.

“John's late,” said one.

Agatha and Charles returned to the church to sit down and wait and see if John turned up.

After half an hour, Walt strode up to the altar and addressed the company.

“I don't know what's happened to John. Please go along to the reception in the village hall.”

“I don't like this one bit,” said Agatha. “I keep thinking how Paul's son tried to kill me.”

“Agatha, let's go to the police. Normally, they wouldn't investigate. But maybe you could convince them to go to his flat and break the door down.”

*   *   *

Wilkes appeared cynical but said he would send Bill Wong round to have a look. Agatha and Charles drove after Bill's car to John's address. When they began to follow him up the stairs, Bill turned round and said, “Wait outside. This is police business.”

“You wouldn't be here if it weren't for us,” said Agatha stubbornly.

Bill knocked loudly at the door. There was no reply.

“Break the door down!” urged Agatha.

“I can't do that,” protested Bill. “I need a warrant.”

Charles stepped in front of Bill and tried the door handle. The door was unlocked. Bill went in, calling, “Mr. Hale!”

The living room and bedroom in the small apartment were empty. On the table by the window was a typed note. Bill fished out a pair of latex gloves and picked it up. He read: “Dear Gwen and Walt, I am so sorry, I can't go through with it. I am going abroad. All my love, John.”

“It's not signed,” said Bill.

“So anyone could have typed that,” said Agatha.

Walt burst into the flat. “Where is the bastard?” he shouted. “Mum is crying her eyes out.”

“He has left a note to the effect that he can't go through with it. No, don't touch the note. When did you last see him?”

“Last night,” said Walt. “We had a stag party for him in the green room at the theatre.”

“Play any tricks on him?” asked Bill.

“No. I can't understand it,” said Walt. “He seemed happy.”

“Why would he go and leave the door unlocked?” asked Agatha.