The Witches' Tree--An Agatha Raisin Mystery Read online

  “You don’t need me,” said Charles lazily.

  “Actually,” said Simon, “I’ve got a bit of a chill. You could always phone me and…”

  “Oh, forget it. Toni and I will manage!”

  * * *

  Outside, the rain was lashing down. “They’re never going to meet in this weather,” said Agatha, “but we’ll take my car and go a little way.”

  They dived into the shelter of Agatha’s car. She switched on the engine and the radio sprang into life. A pop group called Air Supply were singing “All Out of Love.” She eased the car in amongst the bushes and winced as she could feel thorns scratching the side of her car. Agatha jabbed the control button and switched it off. “Quite right,” commented Toni. “Don’t want to listen to that particular song, do we?”

  “Stop talking nonsense. Which way is this damned hill?” asked Agatha.

  “Take the left road past the witches’ tree. Maybe we should park a bit below the hill and get out.”

  “I’ll move the car further into these bushes at the side of the road,” said Agatha.

  She eased the car forward into the bushes and then she heard more scraping sounds. “Must be some sort of thorn bushes,” said Toni. “Never mind. Your paintwork was scratched anyway.”

  “Well, that wasn’t my fault!” said Agatha with all the defensiveness of a woman who has actually ruined the paintwork on both sides of the car. “People keep running into me.”

  “Maybe you should switch off the lights,” suggested Toni.

  “I was just about to do that,” snapped Agatha. “There is nothing more irritating than people telling you what to do just as you were about to do it. Let’s go and see this stupid coven. Car’s coming!”

  They took cover by the side of the road. “I thought they’d all be walking,” said Agatha. “But it’s not like the city. People in villages don’t walk. I swear my leg muscles have atrophied since I moved here.”

  The narrow road was bordered on both sides by high hedges. They were just about to emerge from the shelter of these hedges when they crouched back. The road ended in an open clearing before the ruin of a farmhouse. Four women, dressed in black, stood smoking.

  “Maybe we’d better begin the chant,” said one of the women. Agatha was sure she recognised that voice—the woman from the café. “He did say he would come.”

  They began to chant, their voices low to begin with but rising to become louder and louder. “Come, oh, lord, to thy servants here on earth. Rise from the pit.”

  “Do they really believe this rubbish?” whispered Toni.

  But Agatha sensed evil. The odd repetitive chant, the black night and the wind hissing through the branches over her head seemed to herald something wicked.

  Then the farmyard became filled with purple smoke, twisting, circling and rising as the chant grew louder.

  Agatha suddenly felt someone behind her and twisted round just as a syringe was plunged into her neck.

  * * *

  Agatha recovered consciousness at dawn’s early light. She was freezing cold. Her ankles were bound and her hands were tied behind her and she was naked. Above her, the skeletal branches of the witches’ tree swung in the wind.

  Two elderly village men were looking curiously at her. “Mind, she don’t have no stretch marks,” said one. “Wouldn’t mind a bit o’ that in me bed these nights.”

  “Untie me!” raged Agatha.

  “Can’t do, missus. Us phoned the perleece and they done say not to touch anything.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. Molly came rushing up followed by Guy and Rory. They were all carrying armfuls of blankets.

  “What happened?” asked Molly. “We’re not to touch anything but we can throw these blankets over you.”

  “Toni?” said Agatha. “Did they get her as well?”

  “Right beside you. But she’s still out. There now. This is a cashmere shawl and it’s lovely and warm and you can have my old fur coat as well. Rory, put blankets over Toni.”

  A police car drove up and Bill Wong and Alice Peterson got out. “They keep saying not to touch anything but we’ve got to get you both to hospital in case you die of hypothermia. Oh, here’s the ambulance. Alice, if you would cut the duct tape and put the pieces in this forensic bag. Who did this, Agatha?”

  “The witches were holding a coven and Toni and I were watching when we both got stabbed and ended up here. Bill, I’m sure one of them was the woman from the local shop-cum-café place.”

  “I’ll check with you later,” said Bill. “I’ll call on Doris and get her to find clothes for you. I’ll get Toni’s keys later. She’s still out of it.”

  * * *

  Agatha, who had passed out again in the ambulance, recovered consciousness in a private room in Mircester Hospital. She turned her head and saw she was sharing a room with Toni.

  “Toni!” called Agatha. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes,” said Toni. “Alice came and got my keys and told me we’d both been found stark naked under that tree.”

  “It’s all right for you at your age with your perfect figure, but what about me?” wailed Agatha. “I’d got my legs waxed last week and bugger Brazilians, but I haven’t been bothering about my armpits and they’re like King Kong’s. And that’s how he saw me?”

  “Who? Those old men who found us?”

  “No, I mean Rory and his brother, Guy.”

  “I don’t think naked women give men lustful thoughts,” said Toni sententiously. “If you had been wearing a bra and frilly knickers, that might have been different.”

  “I want men to have lustful thoughts,” grumbled Agatha.

  “Must be Guy,” mumbled Toni, thinking Agatha’s found another obsession.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” said Toni.

  “Did Charles stay late?”

  “No, Guy had to run him to his car.”

  “What about Simon?” asked Agatha.

  “He worshipped at the shrine of Molly but Guy sent him packing, just before he ran Charles to his car.”

  * * *

  During the day, Agatha and Toni gave their statements and were told they could leave the next morning.

  Toni noticed that every time the door started to open that Agatha would pat her hair and arrange herself against the pillows, sinking back each time in obvious disappointment. She even looked disappointed at the sight of Mrs. Bloxby.

  When they were allowed to leave the hospital, Agatha ran Toni back to the vicarage to where the girl had left her own car.

  “Let’s drop in and see Molly,” said Agatha.

  Toni shrugged. “I don’t want to.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re assaulted on her parish. You are investigating because she originally begged you to. In fact, she very cleverly manipulated Edward into funding you. I think she might have called at the hospital to see how we were.”

  Agatha hesitated. Then she said, “Oh, well. I’m still shaky. I’ll be interested to find out what they injected us with. I won’t go into the office today and you should take the rest of the day off as well.”

  She took a last look in her rearview mirror before driving off. Did Guy think of her?

  * * *

  It was as well that Agatha could not hear the conversation going on inside the vicarage.

  “Something very sexy about her,” said Guy dreamily.

  “Oh, Agatha,” said Molly, pouring tea. “Well, you certainly got an eyeful.”

  “Not her! The young one. Toni.”

  “Back off, you old lecher. She’s young enough to be your daughter.”

  “I’m only in my early forties.”

  “And she’s half your age. There’s another thing. Agatha has a maternal attitude towards young Toni and you certainly don’t want to cross anyone like her.”

  * * *

  Agatha planned to have a leisurely bath and some more sleep. But the phone rang just as she was going to climb into the bath. She answered it a
nd found to her delight that Guy was phoning her. “Are you too shaken up?” he asked. “I thought maybe we could have dinner this evening if you’re up to it.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Agatha as the fireworks of a new obsession spurted and glittered inside her head.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight this evening. See you then.”

  * * *

  Agatha had a hurried bath and then dressed and rushed off to a beauty salon in Evesham to be, as she put it, de-werewolfed. Her legs really didn’t need waxing again, but she had them done anyway. She decided to keep her pubic hair, having read an article that men who liked shaved women were closet paedophiles. Every stray hair was plucked from her upper lip and her eyebrows were thinned. Agatha had always believed that the more hard work you put into your appearance before a date, then the more chance it had of being successful, despite the fact that she had been proved wrong, time after time.

  Home again, she picked out a scarlet cashmere dress and put it on and then let out a squawk of dismay. Her stomach appeared as a round bulge. She was about to decide to wear a body stocking when she thought about the hopefully undressing bit later in the evening. Time raced on and her bed became covered in discarded clothes. At last, she settled on a short black skirt under a long tailored gold silk evening coat, all worn over black hold-up stockings, French knickers and high heels. She was drifting down the stairs, enveloped in a cloud of Givenchy’s Haute Couture when she found Charles looking up at her.

  At that moment, the doorbell rang. “Shall I answer it?” asked Charles. Agatha would have snapped that she would open the door herself had Charles not added, “You made the front page of The Sun.”

  “What? Naked?”

  “As the day you were born.”

  “Got a copy?”

  “Right here. I’ll get the door for you. It’ll be Guy ready to find out all he can about Toni.”

  “It’s me he invited out.” The doorbell shrilled.

  “Told me he needed a few pointers about laying siege to Toni. Told him I’d break his neck. And you haven’t looked at your post. There’s a letter from the lab.”

  Agatha walked stiffly down the rest of the stairs and took the letter he was holding out. Sitting down on the bottom step, she ignored the doorbell. She read its contents and said, “No poison, no drugs. The old girl died a natural death.”

  “Would you like me to answer the door?” asked Charles.

  “No. Yes, tell him I’m ill and I’ll call him. Gimme that copy of The Sun.”

  Agatha stared aghast at the front page photograph. It showed Toni and herself, naked and tied up under that damned tree. Toni was still unconscious but the Agatha in the picture was glaring at the photographer. The headline was BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. It jokingly referred to Agatha’s reputation for being rude and acerbic.

  “I told all the journalists who were massed outside that you were still in the hospital.”

  The letterbox clanged open. “Agatha!” came Guy’s voice. “Are you all right?”

  Charles simply shouted back, “She’s been sick. She’ll phone you tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t you open the door?” asked Agatha.

  “Because of the way you are sitting. Stay-up stockings never stay up. One is crawling down your leg and you are flashing a pair of frilly knickers.”

  Charles stared for a moment at Agatha’s desolate face. “Look, I’m off. Stop chasing the dream, put on something comfortable and have an early night.”

  * * *

  After he had gone, Agatha automatically did what he had suggested. She finally settled down on the sofa and switched on the television set, flicking through the channels and finding to her relief that an episode of Endeavour that she hadn’t actually seen was showing.

  She was just drifting off to sleep when Guy’s voice sounded through the letterbox again. “Look! Just tell me you’re okay in person and I’ll go away. Molly is really worried about you.”

  Agatha sighed and got to her feet. She went and opened the door. “See! I’m fine.”

  “I came back,” said Guy, “to tell you the news. There’s been an arrest. No, four arrests.”

  “Come on and tell me about it,” said Agatha, feeling limp with relief and realising just for the first time how scary she found the whole business. She led the way into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Guy studied Agatha as she moved about, collecting cups, sugar and milk. She was wearing a loose black cashmere sweater and a black flared skirt. She had thrust her feet into a pair of scarlet high-heeled mules. She smelled of French perfume. The overall effect was sexier that her earlier outfit. Added to that was the fact that she was indifferent to him. An Agatha on the hunt could, as Charles once pointed out, actually cause shrinkage of the family jewels.

  Agatha lit a cigarette. “Oh, must you?” he asked.

  “This is my house and if you don’t like it, piss off,” said Agatha, “or grow up and tell me who’s been arrested.”

  “Four women. Part of the coven.”

  “Are they sure?”

  “Yes, the four of them were actually photographed by a local dragging you out of the back of a van, stripping you off, tying you up and putting you under that tree.”

  “So have they confessed to the murders?”

  “I don’t know. One of the policemen is related to Molly’s cleaning woman and she says the coven heard a wailing voice saying, ‘Come and get the spies.’ The ringleader seems to be the woman who runs the shop in Sumpton Harcourt.”

  “That awful cow. She spat on my food. Wait a moment. My last memory is of a needle being stuck into my neck. They’re still running tests.”

  “So? What’s your point?”

  “I was watching them. Tired old bags playing at magic, that’s all. Someone has already been trying to scare me off. All it’s done is make me furious.”

  “How’s Toni taking it?”

  “Quite well as far as I know. But a man of your age trying to get into her knickers has picked a bad time, I would think.”

  “Do you have to be so crude? She is a beautiful girl and you must be used to men being smitten by her.”

  “Yes, I am. My dearest wish is to see her settled down with someone of her age. Goodnight!”

  “What?”

  “I said, goodnight. That means push off, get lost, au revoir.”

  Guy turned and strode from the kitchen. The next moment she heard the front door slam.

  “Why does Charles have to be right all the time?” said Agatha to her cats as she returned to the sitting room. Endeavour was just finishing. It was followed by the news. Death, misery, disaster. Agatha switched it off and went to bed.

  * * *

  When she awoke the next morning, she stared into the blackness and wondered if the sun would ever shine again. As something rustled in the thatch above, Agatha thought a romantic mind was a great drawback. Thatched cottages were great on the outside but very, very expensive to maintain.

  Her uneasy thoughts turned back to the murders. It would be relaxing to know that the murderers had been caught, but Agatha did not believe any of the coven women were responsible. The police would have to release them. No forensic evidence, of that she was sure.

  The phone extension beside the bed rang shrilly. It was a reporter from one of the press agencies asking what she thought of her experiences. “I’m furious with whoever knocked me out,” said Agatha. “What? No, I don’t believe any of these silly women who play at being witches attacked me. They’re just like small kids dressing up on Hallowe’en.”

  No sooner had she replaced the receiver than the phone rang again. It was Edward. “Harrumph, Agatha. Now that the murders are solved, I am terminating your engagement. As you have not done anything, I don’t expect a bill.”

  “Expect some for expenses,” said Agatha coldly, “or I will take you to the small claims court.”

  “Look here. I say.”

  Agatha hung up on h
im.

  * * *

  In the office, she allocated jobs, saying, “I’ve some loose ends to tie up and a bill to give you, Mrs. Freedman, to send to Sir Edward. Toni, have you fully recovered?”

  “Yes, sure,” said Toni. A junior doctor at the hospital was taking her out for dinner that evening. He had curly brown hair, a good figure and he was only a few years older than she was.

  Agatha’s maternal feelings towards Toni were suddenly activated. The poor girl had been through a dreadful experience. “Fancy having supper with me this evening?” asked Agatha.

  “Can’t. I’ve got a date.”

  “Who with?”

  “Agatha, just for this once, mind your own business.”

  Agatha shrugged. “It’s your life.”

  “Absolutely,” said Toni.

  Oh, dear, thought Agatha. She always favoured older men. It must be Guy, that lecher. Well, he’s going to be in for a surprise.

  The day dragged on while Agatha, aided by Mrs. Freedman, got down to yards of boring office administrative business. Toni arrived back from a divorce investigation and began to type out a report. Then the others came in and soon the office was full of the sound of clacking computers. At last, Toni applied light makeup and slung on a white fun fur.

  Agatha reached for her own coat, planning to follow her but the office door opened and her ex-husband, James Lacey, came in. “Thought you might like a spot of dinner, Agatha,” he said. “I’ve just got back.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Agatha, because James’s handsome appearance always gave her a bit of a shock. His black hair was as thick as ever with just those traces of grey at the temples and his eyes as blue as the sea in his tanned face. But any resurgence of romantic thoughts were always dampened by the memory of his authoritarian behaviour: choosing her clothes and forbidding her to work.

  It was when they were both seated in the George Hotel’s dining room that Agatha remembered she had meant to look after Toni. She consoled herself with the thought that if Toni even caught a glimpse of her, she would be so furious, she might leave. Also, it was flattering to be entertained at dinner by a handsome man who was such a good listener.

  When Agatha had finished, he sat for a moment, lost in thought, and then he said, “I think you’ve hit on it. Or rather you had the right idea before this witch business. I think there might have been a man in Margaret Darby’s life. Someone might kill her for her money. Does the sister get it?”