The Hangman's Row Enquiry (29 page)

One of the gossips asked audibly if her friend had tried Farmer Jones’s ham on the bone. “Fresh English produce is good enough for me,” she had added, and left the shop swiftly, calling over her shoulder that next week she thought she’d go to the supermarket in town, just for a change.

Miriam drooped. “Are you sure you want me?” she whispered to Will.

“Quite sure,” he said angrily. “I’ve a good mind to bar that woman from the shop.”

Miriam shook her head. “You’d have to bar most of the village,” she said sadly.

 

DEIRDRE HAD ARRIVED late at the social services offices, and crept into the back of the room. She was seen, of course, and the woman chairing the meeting welcomed her with exaggerated pleasantness. “
So
glad you could make it, Deirdre,” she said.

After the meeting was over, there was coffee and chat, and Deirdre looked around for the person she knew could help her with fostering questions.

“It’s a long time ago, I know,” she said. “But would it be possible to look up records of who was fostered and with what family, dating back to the nineteen seventies?”

“Bit before my time,” the woman answered. “In this area, was it?”

Deirdre said no, over the other side of the county, in and around Oakbridge. The woman shook her head. “Can’t help you, sorry,” she said. Then she brightened. “I know,” she added, “there’s a man over there—he gave us a little talk before you arrived—all about his experiences of social work in the old days.”

“How old?” said Deirdre, beginning to feel like Mrs. Methuselah.

“Go and ask him,” urged her friend. “He’s a nice old boy, and I’m sure could help you. Go on, Deirdre, you know how senior citizens like to talk about olden times.”

Well, nothing ventured, thought Deirdre, and pushed her way through the chattering crowd to where a tall, heavily built man stood talking to a dutiful couple of social workers. He was probably in his seventies, and looked friendly. When she said she was sorry she had missed his talk, but wanted to pick his brains, he twinkled at her with a promising sparkle in his eyes.

“Oakbridge, did you say?” He was interested, and flattered that this attractive woman had sought him out. “Got my first job there,” he said, smiling at the memory. “Just a young chap then, full of high ideals and hopes for a better future for mankind!”

“Did you have anything to do with fostering?” Deirdre said.

“Oh yes,” he said. “We had to take in all the various departments. Are you trying to trace somebody?”

What a piece of luck, Deirdre said to herself. “I’m interested in a woman who disappeared leaving two children alone in a flat. Seems they never found out where she’d gone, and the children were taken into care. The only name we’ve got is Bentall.”

“
Bentall
? The Bentall case? Good God, I certainly remember that. It was a real scandal at the time. The mother who disappeared was the only daughter of the mayor. Old Buster Bentall, we used to call him. Made his fortune out of speculative development. But that was a long time ago,” he added. “What exactly did you want to know?”

Deirdre said that anything he could remember would be useful. It appeared he remembered the girl getting pregnant, going away and returning without a baby later on. Then she’d got married, he thought, and suddenly a child, a girl, appeared from nowhere, and she’d had another by the husband.”

“What a memory!” Deirdre said.

“Photographic, the wife says,” he replied modestly. “I can see old Buster Bentall now. Bit of a bully, red-faced and little piggy eyes. He’d not get away with it these days.”

“With what?” Deirdre said.

“Making his money that way when he was in mayoral office. Had friends in the planning department. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. You know the kind of thing.”

“Anything more about the abandoned girls?”

He rubbed his chin. “There was something. Came up later on, but I was about to start a new—Oh, I remember!” he said, beaming. “Although the mother never reappeared, the man she married was in the news a few years later. Robbery with violence. And he had form, apparently. Nasty piece of work, I reckon. No wonder she went missing!”

Deirdre held her breath. “Do you remember his name?” she squeaked.

“Oh, yes. He came from the worst family in Oakbridge. They were Jessops. Generations of no-goods, and he was reckoned to be the worst. Buster Bentall cut them off when they married. Wouldn’t have his daughter or her husband in his house. His poor wife was heartbroken. The girl was an only child, you see.”

“Now then, Deirdre,” a loud voice came from behind them. “You mustn’t monopolise our distinguished guest! Come along, now, I want you to meet my assistant. She so much enjoyed your talk.”

“Sod it,” muttered Deirdre, as they walked away. Still, she had probably found out most of what he remembered, and it was pure gold.

IVY SAT UP in bed, and felt a sharp pain in her lower back. She tried to ignore it, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed in order to stand up. The pain shot through her, and she gasped. Finally it subsided, and she managed to reach her chair to sit down. Well, what did she expect? She had insisted on pushing a wheelchair over rough paths and down a grassy lane. Roy had said he thought it was too much for her, but she had insisted.

Stubborn, said her mother’s voice in her head. Always were and always will be.

“Go away, Mother,” said Ivy, not noticing her door was ajar. A voice answered her.

“It’s only Katya, Miss Beasley. Are you all right? You need some help?”

“Come in, girl, come in,” Ivy said, wincing as she settled in her chair.

Katya came in, and saw at once that Ivy was not all right. She was pale, and frowned as she moved to reach for her handkerchief.

“Do you have pain,” Katya asked anxiously.

“A little. Just a twinge in the back. Often get it,” Ivy said, and added that old age was sent to try us, and she did not intend to let it get the upper hand.

“Shall I get Mrs. Spurling? Or Miss Pinkney? Would you like some painkilling tablets?”

Ivy eventually convinced Katya that she was perfectly all right, and if she could just sit quietly for a few minutes the pain would go. A cup of strong, hot tea would be just the ticket, she said. Perhaps she could have breakfast in her room.

She did indeed feel much restored after she’d eaten porridge, bacon and egg, and drunk three cups of tea, and even managed to dress herself without help. She knew from experience that the best thing to do with a painful back was to walk steadily for half an hour or so to loosen it up. She telephoned Deirdre to say she would be coming up for an early coffee. “On foot,” she interrupted, as Deirdre offered to collect her. She was encouraged to hear Deirdre say with genuine pleasure that she must stay for lunch, and then they could have a good talk. “I’ve got something very interesting to tell you, Ivy,” she said.

On the way to Tawny Wings, a Land Rover passed her slowly, then stopped, backed somewhat erratically, and the window was lowered.

“Good morning! Is it Miss Beasley?”

“It is,” said Ivy coldly. “And who are you?”

“Theodore Roussel, and I’ve heard so much about you from your cousin. I thought I would just say hello. Perhaps you would like to come up to the Hall with Deirdre one day and have coffee with me?”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” Ivy said. “Nice to have met you. Good morning.” She bit her lip and limped on. Standing still, she had felt the pain again. Funny old thing, thought Theo, as he drove off. Not exactly friendly! And nothing at all like jolly Deirdre.

When Ivy was settled in a chair with a straight back, she explained to Deirdre that she’d got out of bed awkwardly. “Nothing serious,” she said, “so don’t fuss.” On no account would she mention the strain of pushing Roy about the village.

“Well, now, what have you to report?” Deirdre said.

“Nothing much—except that I met your ex-boyfriend on the way up here.”

“Theo? Where was he?”

“In a battered old Land Rover, cruising along outside your house, no doubt hoping to get a glimpse of you. He got me instead!” Ivy laughed grimly. “Anyway, he just introduced himself and drove off. Pleasant, I thought.”

“That’s wonderful!” Deirdre said. “He’s really finally escaped the old dragon. Don’t you think it’s wonderful, Ivy?”

Ivy nodded. “Yes it is,” she said. “But let’s hope he doesn’t go completely wild. You know what male dogs are like, once they’re off the leash.”

“He’s not a dog! And he’s certainly not a silly young man anymore. Did he mention me?”

“Oh yes, in passing,” said Ivy.

“What did he say?”

“Invited me to come up to the Hall for coffee. With you, of course.”

“Good-o! I’ll give him a ring and fix a day. Calls are getting straight through to him now.”

“So now we’ve got that out of the way, what’s the interesting news?” Ivy said, shifting uneasily in her seat.

“Well,” Deirdre said, “you know I was going to a social services meeting yesterday afternoon? Well, I happened to mention fostering to a friend who works there, and she passed me on to this man from Oakbridge who’d given a talk. I’d missed it, being late starting from here. . . .” And then she gave Ivy an entertaining account of her conversation and the information this man was able to give her, until the irritating interruption.

“So, what a piece of luck, eh, Ivy?” she said. “Now we know about Buster Bentall being a dreadful old Victorian father, and him cutting off Beattie’s mother and the kids, and the criminal no-good husband and father of the third child. Oh yes,” she added, “and the poor wife of Buster. Being cut off from her daughter and grandchildren broke her heart.”

“Did he mention that there’d been twins? Or what happened to the boy? Or anything about the twins’ father or the foster parents?”

Deirdre sighed. Trust Ivy to concentrate on what she had not discovered, rather than new trustworthy information. “No, dear,” she said. “I was getting round to it when he was dragged off to talk to other people. But I did get his name from my friend afterwards, and his address and phone number.”

“Well done,” Ivy said, aware that she had been a bit grudging. If only these twinges would settle down. . . .

“So what shall we do next, d’you think?” Deirdre could see that Ivy was in pain, but knew better than to ask if she would like a pill. Best thing to do, she thought, would be to distract her. Poor old Ivy, she was determined not to give up.

“Another trip to Oakbridge, I suppose,” Ivy said. “Now we know poor Caroline Bentall’s husband was a Jessop, that’s another important lead. There will certainly be records of him. Probably still some young Jessops in the town. Ask in the post office, Deirdre. You and Gus should go, and don’t offer to take Mr. Goodman!”

Deirdre laughed, and went off to warm up a quiche for lunch. As she switched it to a low heat, an idea came to her. She walked back to the drawing room and was surprised to see Ivy on her feet.

“Two squirrels in your garden, eating the bird food.” Ivy tapped her stick on the window and the squirrels scooted rapidly up a nearby silver birch tree.

“How’s the back?” Deirdre said, and Ivy replied that it was much improved and she would thank Deirdre not to mention it again.

“Right,” said Deirdre. “Now, I’ve had an idea. When Gus and me go to Oakbridge, why don’t you and Roy come along for the ride? You’ve never been there, Ivy, and Roy could tell you about the town as we drive round. I can drop you off at a decent café, and you can have a bite to eat and then go back to the car. It’s very comfortable, and you can listen to the radio or something. I could give you my spare keys,” she added, warming to her idea. Then she looked at Ivy’s face, and added quickly, “So shall we think about it and decide later?”

 

WHEN THEO RETURNED to the Hall, after an enjoyable session in the pub with some old village friends who remembered him as a young tearaway, he went straight to the kitchen and told Beattie he’d met Miss Beasley, Mrs. Bloxham’s cousin, and had invited them both for coffee one morning. He would let her know which day, after he had spoken to Deirdre.

Deirdre
is it now? fumed Beattie. But her new strategy made her say pleasantly, “That will be very nice. It is such a treat to see you out and about again. Lunch will be ready soon.”

So
Deirdre
and Miss Beasley were coming to the Hall for coffee. Beattie bashed a piece of rump steak with the rolling pin until if meat could speak, it would have yelled for mercy. No doubt Theo would want her to wear cap and apron and bring in a tray set out with the best china on an embroidered cloth, curtsey and retreat backwards out of the room!

As she peeled newly picked cooking apples to make a crumble, she set her mind to find a way to turn the coffee party to her own advantage. After a few minutes, her face brightened. Ah yes, that would be the answer. She began to hum, and then burst into a cheerful if tuneless version of “ ‘All You Need is Love.’ la de-da de-da.” John Lennon would turn in his grave, she thought. When Theo passed by the kitchen door and heard an odd noise, he realised with surprise that it was Beattie giggling.