Free Agatha Raisin and the Walkers of Dembley by MC Beaton Page A

record.’
    ‘I always thought of butlers as being very old.’
    ‘The few that are left these days usually are. As a profession, it’s finished. Gustav is a houseman, rather than butler. He never married.’
    ‘Homosexual?’
    ‘Don’t think so. All unmarried men aren’t homosexual. What about me?’ His eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘What about lover-boy, James, next door? Told him about
this?’
    ‘Not yet,’ said Agatha, who had no intention of recounting to Bill how she had been snubbed. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me to keep out of it as you usually do?’
    ‘Not this time. I don’t see that a harmless lunch can put you in danger. But I’ll call round here tomorrow evening. In fact, I’ll be very interested to hear what you make
of Sir Charles and Gustav. What did you think of Deborah?’
    ‘Plain little girl. Not much character. Rather bowled over by the fact that Sir Charles took her out. Sort of girl easily swayed by stronger characters. I shouldn’t think she had any
strong political affiliation with Jessica’s views. I think she just latched on to the stronger woman.’
    ‘Maybe. Anyway, I’ll hear how you get on.’
    Logic and emotion warred in Agatha’s bosom next day and emotion won. She found she was dithering over the idea of having lunch with a baronet. Logic screamed at her that
Sir Charles was a mere baronet who lived in a Victorian mansion described in the guidebooks as ‘architecturally undistinguished’. Deep down the old Agatha, product of a Birmingham slum,
trembled.
    Despite all the changes of dress she had put herself through, trying to find just the right outfit, she arrived at the end of the drive to Sir Charles’s house a quarter of an hour early.
She forced herself to park by the side of the road, and lit a cigarette while peering at her reflection in the driving mirror. There were little lines on her upper lip. She’d need to try
anti-wrinkle cream. She smoked and worried and fretted until, with another look at her watch, she realized fifteen minutes had passed. With a heightened colour and a fast-beating heart she drove up
the drive.
    Barfield House may have been considered ‘architecturally undistinguished’ by the experts, but it was big, a huge, imposing mansion.
    Deborah’s car rolled to a stop just behind Agatha’s and, glad of even this weak support, Agatha went to join her and together they stood on the step while Deborah rang the bell.
Agatha was wearing a blouse and skirt and lamb’s-wool cardigan. Deborah was wearing a pale-blue polyester trouser-suit and a little white blouse which seemed to make her more bleached-looking
than ever.
    The door was opened by Gustav. His black eyes flicked over them for a split second, but the look was somehow enough to demoralize both women. It seemed to say, ‘That I should have to open
the door to such as you!’
    ‘Sir Charles is in the sitting-room,’ said Gustav, leading the way across the cavernous hall.
    Both women entered the sitting-room. Sir Charles rose to meet them. Sitting beside the fireplace was a faded elderly lady. Sir Charles introduced her as his aunt, Mrs Tassy.
    ‘So you’re the detective,’ he said heartily after the introductions were over. ‘Brought your magnifying glass and fingerprint dust, hey?’
    Simple fool, thought Agatha loftily and felt herself relax.
    ‘Raisin,’ said Mrs Tassy in a high, strangulated voice. ‘Would that be one of the Sussex Raisins?’
    Gustav spoke from the corner of the room. ‘Hardly’ he said.
    Mrs Tassy put on a pair of spectacles and peered at Agatha. ‘No, I suppose not,’ she said. ‘When are we eating, Gustav?’
    ‘Any time you like.’
    Mrs Tassy rose. She was a surprisingly tall woman. At least six feet of her loomed over Agatha. ‘Good,’ she said simply. ‘I’m bored.’
    ‘You won’t be bored when Mrs Raisin starts grilling us, shining lights in our faces, and applying the old rubber truncheon,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Come