The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [57]
She had bought a hunting knife and put it in the bottom of her capacious handbag. The thought of that sharp steel nestling there warmed her heart. She left her last bus in Stratford-on-Avon and set out to walk the long miles to Barfleld House.
Charles would have gone back to see Agatha because he never held on to resentments for very long. But he had fallen for a leggy brunette called Elaine Wisbich who worked for the Countryside Alliance and had come calling to ask for a contribution. He had taken her out for dinner on the previous day and was meeting her again for lunch in Stratford.
She was already waiting in the restaurant when Charles arrived. Elaine had masses of thick brown curly hair. Her face was long and very white with a small mouth. Her eyes were disproportionately small. But she had a generous bust and those long, long legs.
The meal went pleasantly, although Charles wished she wouldn’t laugh so much since she had a high, braying, ugly laugh. He lit a cigarette at the end of the meal and she playfully said, “Naughty, naughty,” and took it out of his mouth and ground it out in the ashtray.
Charles sighed as love died. When he called for the bill, he found to his dismay that he really had left his wallet this time. Charles was mean and occasionally pretended to have forgotten his wallet, but this time he had meant to pay.
“Em awfully sorry, Elaine,” he said. “Eve forgotten my wallet. If you pay, I’ll pay you back.”
Elaine had a voice like one of Bertie Wooster’s aunts, which could be heard across a six-acre field, two spinneys and a paddock. That voice now sounded across the restaurant.
“You’ve cost me more than this lunch,” said Elaine. “Alice Forbes bet me a tenner that you would try to get me to pay, but naive little me said, ’Oh, no, Charles is a gentleman.’“
“I promise you, Elaine …”
“Forget it.”
Elaine paid in furious silence and they separated outside the restaurant.
Charles drove to Barfield House, reflecting that he had the farm account books to wrestle with, so he might as well get on with it. Charles never used the front door, which had a massive Victorian key to unlock it, and was about to go round the back when he saw the door was standing open.
I’ll have a word with Gustav about that, thought Charles. In this day of seriously militant ramblers and New Age travellers, it was as well to keep doors locked at all times.
He paused for a moment in the hall and then went through to his study. He froze on the threshold, rigid with shock. His elderly aunt was bound to a chair and gagged.
Turning to face him with a long hunting knife in her hand was a woman he did not at first recognize. She was tall and heavy-set with brown cropped hair. But it was when she smiled that he recognized those teeth.
“Emma,” he said. “What have you done to my aunt?”
“I’ve come to kill you.”
“Why?” asked Charles, affecting a calmness he was far from feeling.
“Because you betrayed me.”
“How on earth did I do that?”
“You told the police I was stalking you and yet it was you who led me on. Kneel before me and beg my forgiveness.” The knife waved in the air.
She’s gone really bonkers now, thought Charles, but he said in his usual pleasant light voice, “Don’t be silly, Emma. Untie my aunt. You’ll give her a heart attack.”
“Kneel!” howled Emma.
Charles knelt down and shuffled forwards on his knees. “Don’t hurt me,” he begged.
Emma smiled. “Now that’s better.”
Charles lunged forward and grabbed her round the knees and sent her tumbling to the floor. The knife flew out of her grasp. She clawed and fought desperately.
Gustav walked into the room and, leaning down, grabbed Emma by the back of her coat and dragged her upright. Then he gave her two powerful slaps across the face.
Emma burst into tears. Gustav saw the bag she had brought with thin rope in it and took some rope out and tied her wrists and ankles.
He made to pick up the hunting knife to free the aunt’s bonds, but Charles shouted, “Leave that, Gustav. We need the evidence.