The Blood of an Englishman by M. C. Beaton Page A

steps up to the front door of the villa had not been cleared. Agatha was wearing ankle boots, but Charles had on a pair of green Wellingtons.
    â€œYou go first,” said Agatha, “and I’ll follow in your footsteps.”
    â€œSounds like Good King Wenceslas,” said Charles. “I wonder what this woman is like.”
    Did John dump her, or was it the other way round? wondered Agatha.
    It was a tall Victorian villa with handsome stained-glass panels on the door. Charles rang the bell. Agatha stood behind him, suddenly nervous. John’s ex was bound to be beautiful, a beauty that would make one middle-aged detective feel diminished.
    The door opened and a small, dumpy woman stared at them. Her hair was in rollers and she was wearing a long droopy sweater over jeans. An incongruous pair of fluffy pink slippers decorated her feet.
    The door began to close. “I’m not buying anything,” she said sharply. “I don’t believe in God and I have double glazing.”
    â€œMrs. Hale,” said Agatha quickly. “I am a private detective, hired to investigate the murders in Winter Parva. Here is my card.”
    The door opened wide. “I don’t see what it has to do with me,” she said. “But I’m curious. Come in.”
    As they entered the shadowy hall, two young women came down the stairs. “Bye, Mrs. H.,” said one. “Going to try to make it to college.”
    â€œIn here,” said Olivia Hale. She ushered them into a study lined with books. “I live on the ground-floor rooms and let the rest to students. If I waited for my ex to pay up on time, I’d starve.”
    She sat behind a large desk and indicated they should sit in two seats facing her. The room was cold. A fly-speckled mirror hung over a tiled fireplace. In one corner on a low table was a small television set with two cups and an electric coffee maker.
    â€œSo what brings you?” she asked. “Suspect John of murdering people?”
    â€œWe have to find out the background of everyone involved,” said Agatha. “For example, have you any idea why John would step down from his part on opening night and let George Southern take his place?”
    â€œMoney, I should think,” said Olivia. “He is a very greedy man.”
    Agatha’s heart sank. She had been secretly hoping to hear something good about John. Her rosy dream of marrying a gorgeous man finally disappeared.
    â€œWas yours a bad marriage?” asked Charles.
    â€œNot at first. It was fine until the money ran out. I had inherited a comfortable amount along with this house from my parents. I was so much in love, so dazzled that someone like me should snare such a beautiful man that I left the banking side to John, who insisted we have a joint account. He had told me he was well off and only continued schoolteaching because he felt committed to the job. So we had expensive foreign holidays and dined at the best restaurants. Then I had a baby. My son is seventeen now and will finish at Prince Edward’s in June. It was when I insisted he went to a private school that the trouble started. John said a state school was good enough and the boy could come to his school. I did not tell him, but I called in at the bank to check our finances. There was practically nothing left.
    â€œI confronted John with it, and he waffled and said I had enjoyed all the foreign holidays and so on as much as he. So I said, at least we had this house and could let rooms. He hit the roof and said we could sell it for at least a million. I felt betrayed. We had poisonous rows and that was when he said, ‘You don’t think I married you for your looks.’ So I got a lawyer. An aunt died and left me some money. I didn’t tell John. I opened a separate account. I realised it would be enough to pay for a conversion to this villa. He agreed to the divorce but I made sure to get him to agree to alimony and