The Hangman's Row Enquiry (17 page)

“I had this feeling that Gus might not want the police involved,” she said.

“Sshh!” Ivy said, and then added in a stage whisper, “He’s coming round!”

Gus, now sedated and relatively pain free, opened his eyes, and then quickly shut them again. It couldn’t be, could it? He must be hallucinating. Then he heard Ivy’s voice, and knew they were really there beside his bed.

“Augustus, it is only Deirdre and me. You’ve been getting up to mischief, I see.”

Mischief!
Gus tried a caustic reply, but the effort was too much, so he just sighed. After all, it was early in the morning, and the two must have set out very promptly to come and see him.

“You just lie quiet,” continued Ivy, “and we’ll do the talking.”

“But Ivy,” Deirdre interrupted. “We were supposed not to disturb him.”

“I don’t intend to disturb him,” Ivy said, straightening her skirt as she sat down on a chair brought by a young nurse. “There are only two things I want to say, Augustus. First, I shall make sure you are looked after properly when you come out of here. And second, our nice little Katya sent you her . . .” She hesitated, and then said firmly, “Well, she said her love, but I’m sure she meant her kind regards.”

“BUT THERE ARE no vacancies at Springfields at the moment,” Mrs. Spurling said that evening.

She faced Ivy, who had asked for a couple of weeks’ tender loving care for Gus when he was discharged from the hospital. “We are not a convalescent home, you know,” she added. “I do have rules to obey, Miss Beasley.”

“Rules are made to be broken,” said Ivy firmly, “but if you insist, I’ll stay with Mrs. Bloxham at Tawny Wings. Then Mr. Halfhide can have my room. I don’t have to tell you that you disappoint me. I thought you’d be more sympathetic. I wouldn’t like to have to take myself elsewhere for good. . . .”

Katya had been sorting a pile of magazines on a small table nearby, and had overheard the conversation. She turned with a red face and said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Spurling, but Mr. Halfhide must have my room. I can kip down—is that right?—with Anya for two weeks. She is my friend, Miss Beasley,” she explained. “We came together for working at Springfields. My things I put in cupboards for some days.”

Ivy was seldom surprised, but this was a real turnup. Then she remembered Gus’s way with the girls, and understood. She would have to keep an eye on this. The girl was young and far from home. Ivy felt some sense of responsibility for her, and made a note to warn off the predatory Augustus.

“Very well, Katya,” said Mrs. Spurling, secretly relieved to have a sensible solution presented to her. She just hoped there wasn’t a union for these foreign workers who would cause trouble. Health and safety rules were bad enough. Still, it would be for only a short time. “You may tell Mr. Halfhide we shall expect him when he is well enough not to need nursing. This is not a nursing home, as you know, Miss Beasley.”

“Some residential homes,” Ivy said grandly, “have a guest room. I’ve been told the Beeches in Collsthorpe has a lovely guest room for friends of residents who come from a long way away.”

Mrs. Spurling was tempted to suggest Miss Beasley take herself off to the Beeches as soon as possible, and good riddance. But it was more than her job was worth, so she turned on her heel and headed for the kitchens, calling for Miss Pinkney as she went.

 

NEXT MORNING, GUS was feeling very much better. “Poor old Spurling,” he said, as he sat up in bed listening to Deirdre, who had been talking to Ivy before she popped in to see Gus for a few minutes. She was a practised hospital visitor, having spent hours with Bert on many occasions before he died. But with Gus, half an hour was quite long enough to keep conversation going in the artificial atmosphere of a hospital ward. In any case, although he was obviously much improved, he still looked tired and wan.

“Anyway,” continued Deirdre, “Ivy said she had thanked Katya for her kind offer. She also said she reckoned the girl had a crush on you, and she expected you to be very careful to discourage her.”

Deirdre was pleased to see colour come into Gus’s cheeks, and she laughed. “I told her you didn’t need to cradle-snatch. Plenty more mature fish in the sea.”

“Lead me to them,” Gus said. “A bouncing blonde would be just the thing to restore me to health and vigour . . .
and
to save me from the clutches of Miriam Blake.”

“How about the very lovely Beatrice Beatty?” Deirdre said. “That would leave Theo for me. What could be more romantic?” She paused for a moment, and then said that she had to ask him a serious question. Gus’s face fell. “Fire away,” he said.

“Have you any idea who was in your cottage waiting to attack you? You said three words when I found you on the mat: ‘Has he gone?’ Then you passed out again.”

“Ah,” he said calmly, “yes, I have an idea, but I don’t think he was expecting me to return so soon. He’d have been after my papers, notes I made a couple of years ago. I’m sure he clonked me one so’s he could get away fast.”

Deirdre raised her eyebrows. “Must have been very important papers?” she said. “Important enough for you not to tell the local police about an intruder?”

“Got it in one, clever Deirdre. Although the case was closed, there were some questions left unanswered, and those who were caught and duly punished were after evidence to get them off the hook. And I’m afraid that’s all I can say. Perhaps we could leave it there, all three of us? Confidentiality, you know. All people need to know is that I fell downstairs and knocked myself out.”

“Pooh! You mean you like having a glamorous past! Well, I shall say no more, and I’ll keep what you told me to myself. But I can’t help being curious, especially as I can’t believe a word you say.”

“Time’s up, Mrs. Bloxham,” said an approaching nurse. “Gus is much better, but we don’t want to prejudice his chances of going home, do we?”

“Not going home,” said Gus, grateful for the interruption. “My friend has arranged for two weeks’ luxury care at Springfields residential home. But when I do go home I mean to be careful not to trip myself up again, especially going downstairs.”

The nurse knew that his notes told a different story, but she tactfully did not contradict him. Deirdre, too, remembered her promise, and reluctantly nodded her head.

“You’ll die of boredom in Springfields!” the nurse said. She quite fancied Gus. Charming man, all the girls had agreed.

“Best possible thing to get him going again,” said Deirdre, rising to her feet. “He’ll not be able to get away from the demon whist players and juicy jellies fast enough.”

 

MIRIAM BLAKE HAD cadged a lift from Rose Budd, who was going supermarket shopping in Tresham. The four-by-four smelt of sheep, and Rose’s little son was doing his best to fight his way out of the safety harness, but Miriam steeled herself. There was no other means of transport. No buses today, and it was too far to even think of cycling.

She had been horrified when she heard about Gus’s accident. The stairs in her own cottage were lethal. Her mother had never stopped complaining about them. Miriam dreamed of a modern bungalow, one of those for elderly people up in the village. She knew that the rules could be bent to allow younger, needy people to rent the bungalows, and once the murder thing had settled down she intended to put herself on the list. She would feel safe there.

Now she had put on her best dress and shoes, and meant to visit Gus in the hospital. She would be her sweetest self and be sure to capture his affection while he was vulnerable and lonely. She hummed a little tune, and looked out at the passing landscape.

“You sound happy, Miriam,” Rose said. She didn’t like her, but felt sorry for the woman who was now alone and thought by too many of the villagers to have done in her old mother. There was some sympathy for Miriam Blake, however, as Rose had discovered whilst waiting to be served in the village shop. Three old tabs had been gossiping and reckoned that Miriam’s mother had been a nasty old woman, selfish and stingy, and had made her daughter’s life a misery.

“It’s nice to get out of the village,” replied Miriam. “Shame we haven’t got more buses. Still, when everything’s sorted out, I’m hoping to get myself a little car, then I’ll be more mobile.”

“You’d have to take a test, of course,” said Rose.

“Oh no, dear,” Miriam answered. “When I was working as a telephonist, I had a nice little Ford. Passed my test first time, and buzzed about very happily. It was after Mother fell ill, when I had to give up work and could hardly ever leave her, that I decided to sell it. Not worth the licence an’ insurance an’ all that. I was a bit sad,” she said, and then added that the car had been a present from an admirer.

Rose decided this was a joke, and then was distracted by seeing her son nearly upside down in the backseat, still anchored to his harness. “Can you straighten him out, Miriam? Thank goodness we’re nearly there.”

Miriam gave Simon a surreptitious push, harder than was necessary, and got him upright. “Perhaps he’d like a sweet?” she asked. She had very little experience of small children, but remembered that sweeties were always popular. She pulled out a packet of fiercely spiced Fisherman’s Friend cough sweets, and Rose was only just quick enough to prevent her giving one of them to her precious toddler. “Here we are!” she said brightly, and came to a halt with relief in the supermarket car park.

“See you at half past four, then,” Miriam said. “I can get a bus up to the hospital. Only takes five minutes, and they’re really frequent. Bye, have a nice shop!” She marched off cheerfully, and Rose lifted out Simon and set him down. “There we are, my love,” she said. “You can’t help feeling sorry for Mr. Halfhide, can you!”

“Sweeties,” said Simon distinctly.

“ANOTHER VISITOR, GUS!” the nurse said. “Have you got a fan club, or what?”

Gus’s heart sank when he saw his greatest fan walking humbly towards his bed, clutching a large bunch of red roses. Must have cost her a fortune, he thought. He did not miss the significance of red roses, and was not sure that he felt strong enough to resist her advances.

“Nurse,” he whispered urgently.

“Need the loo?” she said, bending down to listen.

“No. Get rid of this one as soon as poss, if you don’t want a relapse on your hands.”

The nurse straightened up. “Good afternoon,” she said sternly. “I am afraid Mr. Halfhide is feeling rather tired at the moment. We have to be careful with this sort of injury, so please limit your visit to not more than ten minutes. Thank you, dear,” she added kindly, smitten with conscience at the way Miriam’s face fell.

“Miriam,” said Gus weakly. “How nice of you to come and see me. Sit down on that chair. As nurse says, I am not so good at the moment, but just tired. You do the talking. Tell me what’s new in Barrington.”

Miriam was reassured. She smiled lovingly at him and launched on a long account of the iniquities of Beattie Beatty, who had summoned her to the Hall and more or less told her she would either have to pay more rent, or find another place to live.

“And what’s more,” she added, “the increase in my rent is ridiculous. I can’t possibly afford that much, and the old devil knows it. I shall be looking for a job, of course, but it’s not that easy when you’ve been out of circulation for so long.”

Gus realised that this could lead somewhere interesting, and called to a passing nurse. “Would you be able to find us a cup of tea?” he said, with his winning smile. “I’m feeling a bit better now, and I’m sure Miss Blake would like one.”

Miriam flushed and said that it must be her presence that had bucked him up so quickly. “I shall come again soon,” she said.

“Stay for your tea,” Gus said. “I’m so sorry about the rent increase. Couldn’t you see Mr. Roussel about it? He must be able to override Beattie’s decisions, surely?” After all, he remembered, Miriam had been Theo’s bran tub for quite a while. And, of course, she was a blood relation. He wondered again if Beattie knew this.