Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

me.’
    Mrs Bloxby fell silent. She thought Agatha had behaved badly, and yet sympathized with her motives. And James Lacey should have stood by Agatha. Middle-aged bachelors were always difficult creatures. Poor Agatha.
    Mrs Bloxby and Agatha sat down on the floor beside the elephant. The doorbell went again.
    ‘Whoever that is, tell them to go away,’ said Agatha.
    Mrs Bloxby got to her feet. Agatha heard the murmur of voices, then the closing of the front door. Mrs Bloxby returned. That was Alf,’ she said, meaning her husband, the vicar. ‘He wanted to offer you some spiritual comfort, but I told him this was not the moment. What will you do now?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha wearily. ‘Take this cottage off the market, rearrange my stuff, go away somewhere until I feel I can face the village again.’
    ‘There is really no need to run away, Agatha. Your friends are all here.’
    ‘You’ll start me crying again if you go on like that. I think I’d like to be alone for a bit. Could you tell everyone not to call on me?’
    Mrs Bloxby gave her a quick hug and then left. Agatha sat on the floor beside the elephant, staring into space. Three hours later, when the removal firm arrived, she roused herself and let them in. She signed an enormous cheque, tipped the men generously, and then drove to the all-night garage on the Fosse Way outside Moreton-in-Marsh and bought a few groceries.
    She wondered whether to call in at Thresher’s in Moreton and buy a bottle of something and get drunk, but finding herself suddenly exhausted with misery and emotion, she returned home, bathed and went to bed and plunged into a nightmare-ridden sleep.
    She awoke at five in the morning, knowing that sleep would not return and feeling like the character in Ruddigore who was glad the awful night was over. She decided to go for a long walk and see if she could tire herself out and so be able to return to bed and sleep some more of the misery away.
    Carsely lay silent under the grey light of a watery dawn. The rain had stopped and the air was chilly. The village consisted of one main street with little winding lanes running off it, like Lilac Lane where Agatha lived. With no cars on the roads, the village looked much as it must have done a century ago, with the thatched cottages nestling under the shadow of the square Norman tower of the church. Agatha quickened her step and strode up the hill. She could not think of James Lacey yet or wonder what he was doing. Her mind flinched away from the very thought of him. As she walked on, she began to feel she was walking away from some of her misery and grief.
    But it seemed the nightmare was not about to end. For down the road towards her came Jimmy Raisin. He was the worse for drink, swaying and mumbling to himself, an expensive bottle of malt whisky sticking out of his pocket.
    Agatha turned on her heel and began to walk down the hill away from him. He came running after her, a shambling, staggering run. ‘Come on, Aggie,’ he yelled. ‘I’m your husband.’
    She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. A red mist seemed to rise before her eyes. She did not even see Harry Symes, one of the farm workers, coming up the hill on his tractor.
    When Jimmy reached her, she slapped him hard across the face, so hard that her diamond engagement ring cut his lip, and then, with all her force, she shoved him into the ditch.
    She stood over him, her hands on her hips. ‘Why don’t you die !’ she panted. And then she ran off down the hill.
    One hour later, the police were on her doorstep and she was charged with the murder of Jimmy Raisin.

Chapter Two

    They followed Agatha into her living-room: Detective Chief Inspector Wilkes, Detective Sergeant Bill Wong, Detective Constable Maddie Hurd.
    Agatha was glad of Bill’s presence. Wilkes she already knew, but Maddie Hurd, a rather hard-faced young woman with cold grey eyes, was new to her.
    ‘We must ask you to accompany us to the police station,’ said Wilkes after the charge had been read out.
    Agatha found her voice. ‘Jimmy can’t be dead. I belted him one across the face and pushed him into the ditch. Oh, my God, did he hit something and break his neck?’
    A flicker of surprise crossed Wilkes’s dark eyes, but he said, ‘Down to the station and we’ll go through it there.’
    She suddenly, passionately wanted James Lacey to appear, not because she still loved him, but because he would have taken over with his usual