The Hangman's Row Enquiry (25 page)

THEO ROUSSEL HAD not come home for dinner last night, in spite of Beattie having cooked a pheasant in the way he liked best, in a casserole with white wine and apples.

She had tried telephoning him on his mobile, but it was switched off. Then she had thought of ringing the pub, but knew that if he thought she was checking up on him he would be furious. She had put the pheasant in the larder and made scrambled egg on toast for herself. As he was still not back at ten thirty, she had left a note reminding him to lock up, and went to bed.

Now, next morning, she heard him coming to find her, calling at the top of his voice. She was in the kitchen garden, cutting a lettuce for a salad lunch, and when she looked up to see him approaching, the sun was in her eyes, and for a moment she thought it must be some other man. This confident-looking stranger with dark glasses and an apologetic smile could not possibly be . . . But it was. Theo Roussel had spent half the night playing cards and drinking with old cronies in the Conservative Club in town, and had woken to find himself in the spare room of the town mayor, who had been one of the party. He had been touched by the genuine warmth of the welcome he received.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” he said. “Forgot to ring you about dinner.”

“You did say you might not be in, but I expected confirmation. And I slept in a house that was not locked against intruders,” Beattie said formally.

“Oh, come on, Beattie. A chap needs a little relaxation sometimes. Am I forgiven?”

It was quite clear to Beattie that he did not care whether he was forgiven or not, and she turned to pick up the lettuce. He had given no explanation, she noted. Not that he was likely to tell her the truth. He didn’t need to, anyway. She knew where he had been. Tucked up in a cosy bed at Tawny Wings, that’s where. Beattie could not bring herself to say the woman’s name, even to herself.

“I shall be in for lunch,” Theo continued, blissfully unaware of the ice in Beattie’s heart. “Back about one. I have to catch up with young David Budd now.” He walked off with a definite spring in his step, and Beattie glowered at his retreating figure.

 

THE BUDDS’ COTTAGE was in its usual chaotic state, and when Theo knocked at the door Rose peeped out to see who was there. “Oh, blast!” she said, and called up the stairs, “David! It’s the boss!”

“What, the very lovely Beattie?”

“No, it’s himself. The Honourable. Can you come down quickly, while I throw everything behind the sofa?”

There was nothing wrong with Theo’s hearing, and he laughed out loud. He tried the door and found it unlocked. Opening it a fraction, he called out, “Don’t mind me, Rosebud. I just want a word with David.”

Rose smoothed her hair down with her hands and went to the door. “Come on in, then,” she said. “And look where you put your feet. Simon’s gone for a nap after causing his usual whirlwind in the house. Ooops! Watch out for Thomas!”

“Who?” said Theo, looking around.

“Thomas the Tank Engine. Ah, here’s David. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Morning, Mr. Theo. Though it feels like afternoon to me,” David said. “Bin up for hours! One of your ewes was in trouble. I could hear her, poor old thing. She was on her back and couldn’t get up. All four skinny legs waving about in the air. You got time for a cup of tea? I missed breakfast, so I’ll just have a bite to eat, if that’s all right with you.”

David realised he was talking too much, but it was such an odd experience, having the boss, the real boss, calling in to discuss farming matters. Something big must have happened up at the Hall. The man in front of him was like a kid let out of school, all smiles and bounce. He wondered how much Theo remembered about farming.

“Sit down for a bit,” said Rose, brushing small garments off a chair and giving Theo a mug of strong tea. “You’re looking well. Beattie all right?”

“Oh, I expect so,” Theo answered. “Now, David,” he began, and told him of new plans he had for the sheep. “And I think we should have a few milkers back in the cowsheds,” he said. “I’d be keen to help with the milking, and we could use most of it ourselves and in the village.”

“There’s a lot to dairying now,” said David, not fancying the extra workload. “Rules and regs without end. You ask any dairy farmer—if you can find one!”

“Don’t worry,” said Theo. “I’ll take charge of all the bureaucracy. And I mean to look for a young student who could help you around the farm in general. I’m promoting you to manager, and we’ll see if we can find a little extra for you with your growing family.”

“How did you know?” said Rose, patting her stomach.

“I didn’t,” said Theo. “But congratulations! Do ask me to be godfather.”

When he had gone, Rose and David looked at each other. “Deirdre Bloxham,” said Rose.

“Then she’d better watch out,” David replied. “Hell hath no fury like a Beattie scorned.”

 

IVY SAT IN her room with the window wide open, taking deep breaths of the fresh morning air. She was thinking about Roy Goodman, and their researches into the Bentall story. It had happened so long ago, and if it hadn’t been for Roy’s excellent memory they would never have known. “Mind you,” she said to her mother, whose ghostly shade seemed to have returned to listen to Ivy’s innermost thoughts, “mind you, as he said, it’s surprising how much you remember of the early days when you’re old. Can’t remember what happened a couple of hours ago, but the first day I started in the mixed infants class in Ringford is as clear as a bell.”

“Talking to yourself, Ivy?” said Roy’s voice outside the door. Ivy had left it ajar to get a good blow through the room.

“Come in, if you must,” said Ivy. She had wanted to spend a good hour thinking out where they should go next to discover more about Beattie Bentall. She had a very strong feeling that if they knew what had happened to Beattie over the years since she was abandoned by her mother, then they’d be well on the way to discovering the murderer of old Mrs. Blake.

“I’ve remembered something else,” Roy said.

“Go on,” Ivy said. The old man had a twinkle in his eye, and she wondered if this was just an excuse to find her.

“Them children. Belonging to the missing woman, Caroline Bentall. There was a boy, as well. Beattie—if that
was
her—was a twin.”

“It didn’t say so in that article we got up on the computer,” Ivy said doubtfully.

Roy shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t. But we had this woman who trimmed cairn terriers—she used to breed them—and she came from over that side of the county. Came to the farm about every six months. Mother used to breed them. They were good working dogs, too, not silly lap dogs like they are now.”

“So, what about the twin?” Ivy said, trying to get Roy back on track.

“Ah yes, well, I heard her and Mother talking in the kitchen. I remember it clearly, because I was home from school with chicken pox. Covered in spots, I was. But I hated missing school, and went back much too soon. Still got a couple of scars on my face—see?” He pointed to two tiny pockmarks beneath one eye.

Ivy sighed. “So, what about the twin?” she repeated.

“Sorry, Ivy,” he said. “Well, this dog lady was talking to Mother about the missing-woman case. I was wishing she would hurry up and go, so I could cadge some biscuits out of Mother, while she still felt sorry for me.”

“Roy!”

“Oh, yes, well, the dog woman said that what nobody else seemed to know was that the missing mother had had twins. It was a scandal at the time. Unmarried mothers were not so common then, although there’d always been plenty in the old days, when the squire and his sons had the pick of the maidservants.”

He looked at the expression on Ivy’s face and hurried on.

“Apparently the Bentall woman kept one of the twins, it was a girl, and had the boy fostered. So there’s probably a man around somewhere who’s Beattie’s long-lost brother! O’course, he might be dead by now, or emigrated or summat.”

Ivy frowned. “You’re making this up,” she said. “You wouldn’t remember all them details from forty years ago.”

Roy bridled. “I’ll have you know, Miss Beasley,” he protested, “that I can remember lying in my pram in the orchard at the farm, looking up at a bird on a branch and seeing it do a plop right on my teddy bear.”

Ivy smiled, and then, because the memory was so ridiculous, she began to laugh loudly. She fumbled for her hanky, wiping her eyes. “All right, Roy,” she said. “I’ll believe you, tho’ thousands wouldn’t.”

Roy beamed. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh, really laugh, since you came to this place,” he said. “Well done, Ivy.”

The door was still open, and as Katya passed by, she heard Ivy laughing and came back to look. It was such a rare sound in Springfields. Not many residents laughed out loud like that.

“Good morning, Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman,” she said. “It is a lovely morning, yes?”

They agreed it was indeed, and Roy suggested coffee and cookies would improve it even more. Katya rushed off, feeling that perhaps this job was not so bad after all.

“Now,” Ivy said. “This business of the twin is important. I was having a think before you came in, and had wondered if one of us should go over to that place—was it Oakbridge?—and do some asking around.” She picked up the telephone and tapped in a number.

“Deirdre? Can you get down here for a coffee with me and Roy. I can rustle up Gus as well. Something important has come up. What did you say? Well, now, at once, you silly girl! Coffee’s on its way.”

“Really,” she confided to Roy, “you’d think my cousin was the busiest woman in Barrington from the way she goes on. She can spare half an hour, she says. Huh!”

Gus was in the kitchen chatting up Katya as she made coffee and prepared trays for residents who were staying in their rooms. He offered to carry one up to Miss Beasley, and noticed there were two cups.

“Mr. Goodman is visiting her,” Katya said. “Will you be a visitor, too? Shall I put on extra cup?”

Gus thought how delightful was her version of the English language, and set off carrying the tray. He met Mrs. Spurling, who sniffed. “I have given up, Mr. Halfhide,” she said as he passed her. “I have nothing more to say.”

“Splendid!” said Gus, and turned his head to smile as she passed. Unfortunately, his foot caught in the rug, and he tripped, sending the tray load flying in her direction.

“Bloody hell!” she screamed, and fled to her office to write to the board of management to submit her resignation. Before she could begin, Gus’s face appeared round the door.

“Get out!” she said.

“Just wanted to apologise,” he said. “I’ll be gone tomorrow. Your tender loving care has worked wonders, and I’m quite restored. Bless you, my dear,” he added, hardly able to believe that this was the smooth, sophisticated Gus Halfhide speaking.

They were finally settled, all four, in Ivy’s room, with a fresh tray of coffee brought up by a mortified Katya. “Mrs. Spurling says one more mistake, and I’m out on my ear. Is this right, or did I mistake her saying?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gus said quickly. “She’ll soon forget all about it.”

He gently escorted Katya to the door and shut it firmly. “Now, Ivy,” he said, reminding himself he was senior partner in this outfit, “perhaps you’d like to tell us what is so urgent?”

“TWINS!” SAID DEIRDRE. “Are you absolutely sure, Roy?”

He nodded, pleased that his excellent recall had produced such a marked effect on the others. Deirdre was frankly disbelieving, saying he must have been dreaming last night and thought it was a genuine memory. Gus was not so hasty in his judgement. For one thing, his mind was focussing more on his scalded ankle than Roy’s revelation. He dare not mention it to Mrs. Spurling. Perhaps Miss Pinkney would be more sympathetic and find a soothing balm. He would go looking for her after this meeting was over.

“You’re quiet, Augustus,” said Ivy. “Do you see what this means, if Roy’s recollection is correct?”

“Of course,” said Gus, snapping to attention. “It means our Beattie Beatty Bentall has got a brother. I wonder what he called himself? Maybe he kept his real name, and there’s a mysterious Joe Bentall lurking in the shadows somewhere?”

“Miss Beasley has an idea for what we should do next,” Roy said, and Gus looked enquiringly at Ivy, who said that she thought it was probably time for one of them to go to Oakham and do some asking around.

“Oakbridge,” Roy corrected her. “I’ll go, if you like?” he offered.

There was an embarrassed pause, and then Deirdre said gently that she thought perhaps one of the younger members of the agency should take on this particular assignment.

“On the other hand,” Gus said, “Roy does know that area well.”

“So do I,” said Deirdre. For goodness sake, what was the silly man thinking of? Roy Goodman was very old, and totally unlikely to be able to trudge round a town, possibly in the rain, ferreting out snippets of information—or not, as was quite likely.