The Hangman's Row Enquiry (15 page)

Miss Beatty stood up, her face thunderous. “Must be getting back,” she said, and strode off without attempting a pleasant farewell.

Ivy got more slowly to her feet. She saw that Gus and Katya were approaching, and waited until they reached her. Gus immediately offered her his arm, and she took it.

“Are you all right, Ivy?” he said, feeling her arm trembling as they set off.

“Fine,” she replied, and Gus realised that the old thing was shaking with laughter.

DEIRDRE POTTERED ABOUT the garden, cutting roses for the drawing room and snipping off dead heads as she went. The sun was warm on her back, and she relived for the umpteenth time the couple of hours spent with Theo up at the Hall. How easy she had felt with him! That relaxed charm had not been erased by the years, and the warmth of his personality had made her feel as she had not felt since Bert died. No matter how much money she had—and she had a lot—nor how many luxuries she surrounded herself with, there was no substitute for another compatible person living alongside her, always there in good days and bad, worrying and rejoicing in turns at news from their daughters and grandchildren.

“I hate it!” she said violently, snipping off a perfectly formed rose without noticing. A blackbird sitting on the edge of the marble birdbath flew off, squawking in alarm. “I hate being alone! Why did you have to go and die, Bert? Just like you to be so selfish!”

She sat down on a beautifully carved bench, presented to them by a grateful county council when Bert retired. Tears came to her eyes, and she let them flow. The roses fell from her hands and she cried until her handkerchief was a sodden ball.

“Now then, our Deirdre!” It was Ivy, walking with her stick across the velvety lawn towards her. “Whatever makes you give way like that, it can’t be so bad that you’ve forgotten our meeting, surely?”

Deirdre hastily pulled herself together, and looked at her watch. “Not time yet, is it? I make it a quarter past. The meeting is not until half past, I’m sure.”

“Quite right,” Ivy said. “I just thought I’d walk up and collect you. Springfields can be airless on a day like this.”

“Oh, well, all right then. I’ll just change my shoes and be with you. Have a seat on the council bench.”

Ivy laughed. Deirdre improved on better acquaintance, she thought. Some of the old family bloody-mindedness had been handed down, Ivy was pleased to note.

They walked companionably back to Springfields, and saw Gus hurrying up the street towards them, Whippy trotting along beside him.

“Morning, ladies!” he said. “How are we?”

“I don’t know how
we
are,” Ivy said, “but I’m very well, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Gus blithely.

“And I’m very well, too,” Deirdre said, with a sharp look at Ivy to remind her not to say anything about earlier tears.

“Shall we convene, then?” Gus ploughed on.

“Yeah,” Ivy said. “An’ we can start our meeting, too.”

Gus gave up. “Come on then. Can we get a cup of coffee from Mrs. S., d’you think?”

Ivy said that with the money she was paying them, Springfields should be able to come up with champagne if required.

“We’ll settle for coffee,” Deirdre said, rescuing Gus. He risked a contribution. “And your nice little Katya might have been baking again, Ivy,” he said. “I suppose the cleaners will have finished in your room?”

Ivy said that she had given instructions that her room must be cleaned and ready for an important meeting well before eleven o’clock. “I think you’ll find all is in order,” she said, mounting the stairs like a woman half her age.

The others followed, and in due course coffee and cookies were produced. “Right,” said Gus, “perhaps we should start by each of us giving a report of how things stand, up to the present time. You first, maybe, Deirdre?”

He had smuggled Whippy up to Ivy’s room, as it had been made very clear to him that dogs were not allowed. Now he heard Mrs. Spurling’s dulcet tones along the landing, and eased Whippy under the bed. “Stay!” he said, and the little dog put back her ears, but did as she was told.

Deirdre had, of course, already told both of them about her successful visit to the Hall, but added a few details that she had remembered since. “I reckon that given time, Theo could live a perfectly active life without all that nannying he’s got used to from Beattie,” she said.

“She keeps him under her thumb, does she?” Gus said.

“Completely,” Deirdre said. “I nipped down to the kitchen to see if the phone there was connected to the one in Theo’s study. It was, of course. The kitchen one is the master phone, and Theo’s is an extension. So Beattie can listen in at any time. Theo and me practised to see if he could tell I’d lifted the kitchen phone. He said he didn’t hear any clicks, but the silence changed. Then I said “testing only,” and he heard that all right. We had a good laugh then! I honestly don’t know why he didn’t sack the woman years ago.”

Gus dutifully laughed, too, but Ivy said she couldn’t see anything to laugh about. Listening in to other people’s conversations was a serious matter, if not a criminal activity.

“Well, thank you, Deirdre,” Gus said. “Now I have little to report, except that in conversation with nice Rose Budd, I gathered that Beattie has total control of the Hall expenditure, and is as tight as a—”

“Quite enough of that, Augustus,” Ivy interrupted. She looked down at Whippy, and added, “Does that dog need to go somewhere? If you ask me, cats are the best house pets. They take themselves in and out, and know when they’re not wanted. I used to have one myself, until . . .” Her voice tailed off, and Deirdre was reminded that Ivy’s beloved puss had gone on its final journey before she moved to Springfields.

Gus ignored Ivy’s question, and said he’d left the best until last, and it was Ivy’s turn to report. “You obviously had an interesting conversation with Miss Beatty yesterday after church,” he said.

Ivy settled in her chair, preparing to make a good story of it, when a knock at the door interrupted her. “Come in,” she said in a sharp voice.

It was Mrs. Spurling, and she apologised for disturbing them. “I have a message for you from young Mrs. Budd,” she said. “Her husband came in, and I told him you were at an important meeting, but I could give you a message.”

Ivy was well aware that this was revenge for her requiring her room to be ready in time. Mrs. Spurling would normally have ushered the man up to Ivy’s room at once. “How understanding of you,” Ivy said. “Well, go on, then. What is the message? I have no secrets from my friends here.”

Mrs. Spurling hesitated. “Well, apparently Miriam Blake is ill. She won’t have the doctor, and has asked that Miss Ivy Beasley should call on her as soon as possible. On no account should Mr. Halfhide try to accompany her. I think that was it,” Mrs. Spurling concluded.

“Me?” said Ivy. “I scarcely know the woman. She can’t just send for me like that. Don’t she realise I’m a disabled old woman? Please give me her phone number, Mrs. Spurling, and I shall put her straight. What nonsense! The woman’s unhinged after the death of her mother, I expect.”

Mrs. Spurling backed out of the room, saying she would find Miss Blake’s number and give it to Ivy at lunchtime.

“Now,” Ivy said, “where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?”

“Your friendly chat with Beattie,” Gus reminded her. He was puzzled. He doubted if Miriam was really ill, but her instruction that he should not go with Ivy denied the possibility that it was a ruse to get him into her clutches. Unless it was a double bluff? He would not put anything past devious Miriam.

Ivy then seemed to put the episode out of her mind, and told the other two about Beattie’s obvious fury at the suggestion that Deirdre was an attractive woman, still interested in Theo, and a very determined person once she had set her sights on something.

“Ivy!” Deirdre said. “Is that entirely true?”

“Yes,” Ivy replied firmly. “And old Beatrice Beatty stormed off as if an ole bull was behind her.” She chuckled again at the memory. “But that wasn’t all,” she continued. “Before she went, we had a talk about Theo’s father, and Beattie hasn’t got a good word to say for him. I reckon she knows all about old Mrs. Blake an’ her bun in the oven that turned out to be Miriam.
And
who the father was no doubt, Deirdre, that’s why he hasn’t sacked the woman years ago.”

There was a silence between them, and then Gus said slowly, “Do we know exactly when Beatrice Beatty took up her job at the Hall? We need to know how old she is, where she was before she came to the Hall, and as much about her family background as possible.”

“Does that have anything to do with the murder of Mrs. Blake?” Deirdre said. “And if it does, wouldn’t I be the best person to find out what we need to know? From Theo, I mean. He should know all the answers.”

“You don’t fool me, Deirdre Bloxham,” Ivy said with a laugh. She turned to Gus. “That Beattie doesn’t know what she’s up against,” she said. “If you ask me, our Deirdre has set her sights on being the present Mrs. Hon. Roussel! Go to it, gel,” she added, and patted Deirdre’s arm.

Gus was out of his depth, but bravely swam on, saying he thought it was a very good idea, and as they seemed to have worked out a successful way of getting Deirdre into the Hall, they should set up another meeting as soon as possible.

“That’ll be next Saturday market day, then,” said Deirdre. Gus thought how very attractive she looked, her face glowing and excited. He almost felt envious of Theo Roussel, but reminded himself that he had younger fish to fry.

“So what next for me?” Ivy asked. “When I agreed to this business of ours, I expected something to occupy most of my time. So what next, Augustus?”

Gus felt that things were moving so fast he could scarcely keep up. It was a new experience for him, and he hadn’t had a single sleepless night worrying about debt collectors, nor any violent urges to find the nearest racecourse and lose his shirt on a limping nag.

“Eyes and ears open, Ivy,” he said. “I suggest you make yourself indispensable to one or two of the residents who have local families. Probably some of them have lived in this area all their lives. Should be mines of information. Unlike some, you’re in the prime of life, Ivy,” he said, hoping to flatter, “so how about offering to read romances, or play cards with those not as fortunate as you?”

“Cards?!” exploded Ivy. “Mother would turn in her grave! Cards were the work of the Devil, according to her.” She frowned, and then her face cleared. “Still, she’s not around, is she,” she said cheerfully, for the first time ever, feeling the shadow of her mother lifting away from her. “I could even tell fortunes, at a pinch. Good idea, Augustus. I shall make a start tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with this afternoon?” Deirdre said smugly. She looked at Gus. “And what about you, Gus? How are you planning to move the investigation forward?”

“Ah,” said Gus. “Well, I’d rather not say until our meeting next week. I hope to have revelations for you then.” A born liar, his father used to say, thought Gus sadly. But he was soon buoyant again. “Now Ivy,” he said, “let’s send for little Katya and see if she has any more of those delicious biscuits. You’d like a biscuit, wouldn’t you, Whippy-dog?”

Ivy looked at the curled up little whippet, wrinkled her nose and pointedly opened a window. “Not biscuits, cookies,” she said, and rang the bell.

MIRIAM BLAKE HEARD the telephone ring, and sprang nimbly out of bed. She was fully dressed, and just remembered in time to affect an invalid voice as she picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she quavered.

“Miss Blake?”

“Yes, who’s that?”

“Miss Beasley. What’s all this about a message from Mr. Budd? I am sure it must be a mistake. Well?”

“No . . . not a mistake, Miss Beasley. I do have something of a confidential nature to tell you. I can’t confide in any of the old gossips, and I know you are something of a stranger here. I need some advice, Miss Beasley, and I wondered if . . .”