Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

It was when she was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other that she realized two things. The kitchen did not have a microwave. Recently Agatha had abandoned her forays into "real" cooking and had returned to the use of the microwave. Also, the cottage was very cold. She got up and began to search for a thermostat to jack up the central heating. It was only after a futile search that she realized there were no radiators. She went into the sitting-room. There was a fireplace big enough to roast an ox in. Beside the fireplace there was a basket of logs. There was also a packet of fire-lighters and a pile of old newspapers. She lit the fire. At least the logs were dry and were soon crackling away merrily. Agatha searched through the house again. There were fireplaces in every room except the kitchen. In the kitchen, in a cupboard, she found a Calor gas heater.

This is ridiculous, thought Agatha. I'll need to spend a fortune on heating this place. She went out the front door. The garden still seemed very big. It would need the services of a gardener. The lawn was thick with fallen leaves. It was Saturday. The estate agents' would not be open until Monday.

After she had unpacked her groceries and put all her frozen meals away, she opened the back door. The back garden had a washing green and little else. As she looked, she blinked a little. Odd little coloured lights were dancing around at the bottom of the garden. Fireflies? Not in cold Norfolk. She walked down the garden towards the dancing lights, which abruptly disappeared on her approach.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it was some time since she had eaten. She decided to lock up and walk down to the pub and see if she could get a meal. She was half-way down the lane when she realized with a groan that she had not unpacked the cats' litter boxes. She returned to the cottage and attended to that chore and then set out again.

The pub was called the Green Dragon. A badly executed painting of a green dragon hung outside the door of the pub. She went in. There were only a few customers, all men, all very small men. They watched her progress to the bar in silence.

It was a silent pub, no music, no fruit machines, no television. There was no one behind the bar. Agatha's stomach gave another rumble. "Any service here?" she shouted. She turned and looked at the 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 ..."