Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

other customers, who promptly all looked at the stone-flagged floor.
    She turned impatiently back to the bar. What sort of hell-hole have I arrived in? she thought bitterly. There was the rapid clacking of approaching high heels and then a vision appeared on the other side of the bar. She was a Junoesque blonde like a figurehead on a ship. She had thick blond – real blond – hair, which flowed back from her smooth peaches-and-cream face in soft waves. Her eyes were very wide and very blue.
    ‘How can I help you, missus?’ she asked in a soft voice.
    ‘I’m hungry,’ said Agatha. ‘Got anything to eat?’
    ‘I’m so sorry. We don’t do meals.’
    ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ howled a much exasperated Agatha. ‘Is there anywhere in this village that time forgot where I can get food?’
    ‘Reckon as how you’re lucky. I got a helping of our own steak pie left. Like some?’
    She gave Agatha a dazzling smile. ‘Yes, I would,’ said Agatha, mollified.
    She held up a flap on the bar. ‘Come through. You’ll be that Mrs Raisin what’s taken Lavender Cottage.’
    Agatha followed her into the back premises and into a large dingy kitchen with a scrubbed table in the centre.
    ‘Please be seated, Mrs Raisin.’
    ‘And you are?’
    ‘I’m Mrs Wilden. Can I offer you a glass of beer?’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind some wine if that isn’t asking too much.’
    ‘No, not at all.’
    She disappeared and shortly after returned with a decanter of wine and a glass. Then she put a knife, fork and napkin in front of Agatha. She opened the oven door of an Aga cooker and took out a plate with a wedge of steak pie. She put it on a large plate and then opened another door in the cooker and took out a tray of roast potatoes. Another door and out came a dish of carrots, broccoli and peas. She put a huge plateful in front of Agatha, added a steaming jug of gravy, which she seemed to have conjured out of nowhere, and a basket of crusty rolls and a large pat of yellow butter. Not only was the food delicious but the wine was the best Agatha had ever tasted. She could not normally tell one wine from another, but she somehow knew this one was very special, and wished that her baronet friend, Sir Charles Fraith, could taste it and tell her what it was. She turned to ask Mrs Wilden, but the beauty had disappeared back to the bar.
    Agatha ate until she could eat no more. Feeling very mellow and slightly tipsy, she made her way back to the bar.
    ‘All right, then?’ asked Mrs Wilden.
    ‘It was all delicious,’ said Agatha. She took out her wallet. ‘How much do I owe you?’
    A startled look of surprise came into those beautiful blue eyes.
    ‘I told you, we don’t do meals.’
    ‘But . . .’
    ‘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