Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

"So you were welcome to my food and drink," said Mrs. Wilden. "Best go home and get some sleep. You must be tired."

"Thank you very much," said Agatha, putting her wallet away. "You and your husband must join me one evening for dinner."

"That do be kind of you, but he's dead and I'm always here."

"I'm sorry your husband's dead," said Agatha awkwardly as Mrs. Wilden held up the flap on the bar for her to pass through. "When you said 'our' steak pie, I thought..."

"I meant me and mother."

"Ah, well, you've been very kind. Perhaps I could buy a round of drinks for everyone here?" The customers had been talking quietly, but at Agatha's words there was a sudden silence.

"Not tonight. Don't do to spoil them, do it, Jimmy?"

Jimmy, a gnarled old man, muttered something and looked sadly at his empty tankard.

Agatha walked to the door. "Thanks again," she said. "Oh, by the way, there's these funny dancing lights at the bottom of the back garden. Is it some sort of insect like a firefly you've got in these parts?"

For a moment the silence in the pub was absolute. Everybody seemed frozen, like statues. Then Mrs. Wilden picked up a glass and began to polish it. "We got nothing like that round here. Reckon your poor eyes were tired after the journey."

Agatha shrugged. "Could be." She went out into the night.

She remembered she had left the fire blazing and had not put a fire-guard in front of it. She ran the whole way back, terrified her beloved cats had been burnt to a crisp. She fumbled in her handbag for that ridiculous key. Need to oil the lock, she thought. She got the door open and hurtled into the sitting-room. The fire glowed red. Her cats lay stretched 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 double and one 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 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 enormous 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."