Agatha Raisin

Oh!

I told you it was too big!

How on earth are we gonna get it inside, so to speak?

You can't have Christmas without a tree!

Blame Prince Albert.

Oh, I blame him for more than that.

My post-piercing swelling was off the scale.

I've got a photo of it here somewhere.

I really don't need that image in my head right now, Roy.

Christmas is supposed to be

a magical time of the year, joyful.

The most wonderful time of the year and all that.

- So yours never are. - Excuse me!

- Last year wasn't that bad. - Bad? It was awful.

I couldn't sit down for a week and not for the usual reasons.

Eggnog followed by salmonella.

Fine then.

- You do it! - What?

Organise Christmas.

And it better be bloody perfect.

I'm gonna need your help.

- Is it a bit skew-wiff? - Yeah, but then so are we.

And we're about to get a whole lot skew-wiffier.

Last year, you got your head stuck up the turkey.

That wasn't your finest hour.

No, it was the worst stuffing myself or the turkey had ever had.

- Should have booked that hotel. - No.

(doorbell rings with "Jingle Bells" tune)

Roy, what have you done to my doorbell?

You did ask.

Yuletide greetings!

Your tree's a bit wonky, Agatha.

Yes. It's a style choice, apparently.

Where do we want these?

The bins in the kitchen next to the mulled wine.

Toni gets tipsy. Wong gets wasted.

Hi! We had a spare one at the Church.

Great. That will look perfect right next to the candles.

I'll not use the shepherds for kindling this year then.

Hmm, I'd appreciate that.

Yo, ho, ho! And a Merry Christmas!

Now we're talking.

You didn't get that in the village shop.

Not exactly.

It was left over at the Barfield Yuletide Fayre.

Half the back's missing.

Well, mice may have had a little bit of a gnaw but, er...

no one will notice if you turn it around.

Mm. Should've known you wouldn't put your hand in your pocket.

Well, the important thing is that Charles has honoured us with a gift,

as the Magi did for the infant Jesus.

You're starting to sound proper holier than thou, Sarah.

Well, that's just as well because I am now officially...

Stripper gram!

Ugh. Parish curate.

Oh, Sarah!

Congratulations.

Thank God for that.

Anyone for a Dirty Vicar?

Roy!

Chill it, Wong. It's a festive cocktail,

vodka, orange and pomegranate juice.

Please don't start walking on eggshells for me.

Perfect!

Well, I think we're done.

- Oh! - Oh!

Your safety is my only concern, I assure you.

Always such a gentleman, Sir Charles.

Toni, can you get the lights, please?

Thank you.

Thank you.

Ah.

"Silent Night" always reminds me of my first Christmas with Jez.

- (Bill) I'll turn it off. - (Sarah) No, no. It's fine, please.

I'm completely over him.

Calling it a day has been the best thing for both of us.

Okay!

This is going to be the best Christmas ever!

- Isn't it, Roy? - Yes.

Right, the butcher's five minutes away.

Giant candy canes on order.

The wicker reindeer arrive tomorrow.

What do you think about an angel ice sculpture

as the centrepiece for the champagne fountain?

You don't think that's going just a little over the top?

I'm not cutting corners now, Aggie.

Item 4, Subsection B. Festive feast!

Turkey with all the trimmings. Job done.

It's not that simple, Aggie.

You like roast potatoes. Charles likes dauphinoise.

Sarah is insisting on bread sauce and loves sprouts,

but they make you gag.

As long as we've got the ingredients for a Dirty Vicar,

I don't really care. It'll be fine.

Agreed, but fine isn't perfect, Aggie.

Who's that from?

A Phyllis Tamworthy of Lower Tapor Manor.

Ooh, she's looking for protection.

Aggie, no. You're supposed to be icing the Nutcracker biscuits.

You still got 25 soldiers to go.

Well, there's no harm in just paying her a visit, is there?

I'm not going to take the job.

Now, come on.

So... we are all agreed?

By the power of three...

So mote it be!

Merry Christmas one and all!

Yuletide greet...

We don't do Christmas here.

- We should leave. - Yeah... We're a little lost is all.

Like Mary and Joseph.

But we don't a room at the inn.

Some assistance with directions would be lovely.

- Where to? - Lower Tapor Manor.

Any friend of the Tamworthy's is no friend of ours!

- Bit much! - (Agatha exclaims)

And don't come back!

No wonder he doesn't like Christmas.

Did you see his tattoo?

It's a Pagan symbol used in magic and witchcraft.

How do you know?

Well, I had a Pagan lover once. I was quite partial to his pentacles.

Turn back!

Before it's too late.

The Tamworthys are all vessels of evil.

Vessels of evil? Well, if you could just point us in the right direction?

Straight down Warlock's Walk...

turn left at the old hanging tree but!

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Oh, when did that man last have a bath?

1972 by the smell of him.

But what if he's right?

What if we're walking into some sort of trap?

She's probably just one of these aristocrats

that treat villagers like peasants.

It takes one to know one.

(doorbell rings with the tune of "Silent Night")

- I'm not sure about that angel. - Oh, come on, Roy.

Inside, it's all gonna be garlands of holly around the fireplace,

real candles on the Christmas tree,

and chestnuts roasting on an open fire.

All right, Ag? Phyllis Tamworthy.

But everyone calls me Phyll.

Let's be having ya!

Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.

Gert lush, innit?

- I bloody love Christmas. - (Agatha) Yes, I can see.

Very festive.

- (Phyllis) Glass of sherry? - (Roy) Yes.

British, of course.

Er, no, thank you. Maybe later.

You said you needed some protection?

I had an unwanted visitation from my husband.

You could always get a restraining order.

Wouldn't do much good. He's 6 feet under.

Came to me in a ghostly vision,

chains clanking, breath like ice.

Thought I was going to cack me pants.

Cute.

- Pardon? - Er, what did he say, exactly?

He said I was going to hell...

unless I did something pretty smartish.

About what?

I wasn't always honest with old Marley.

Buried things I didn't want him to know about.

I made a lot of enemies in my time.

- We met some of them in the pub. - Those scumbags.

They deserve everything that's coming to them.

Er, what do you mean?

I own the whole village.

Cottages, pub,

land.

And they've all had their notices to quit.

Oh, so you intend to sell the entire estate?

That was the plan.

But after the warning from old Marley,

I'm gonna give it away.

Who to?

A foundation for poor, disabled kiddies...

who'll turn the house into a school, named after yours truly.

The Phyllis Tamworthy Academy.

They all think I'm bona fide angel.

But the villagers take a less charitable view, I expect?

They'd rather see me dead. And they're not the only ones.

- Who else? - My grasping, ungrateful kids.

They encouraged me to sell...

when they thought they was gonna get their share.

But they won't be too pleased now when they hear

they're getting diddly squat.

- And when are you telling them? - Tonight.