The Measby Murder Enquiry (13 page)

“If you mean has she died, yes, it was a sad business. Yet another piece of ill luck for that family. Years ago, of course.”

“What happened? And don’t tell me she fell into a vat of fermenting beer and was drunk and drowned?”

“How did you know!” Roy stopped his vehicle in astonishment. “You can’t have known that? You haven’t been here long enough!”

Ivy swallowed. “You mean it’s true? She really did?” Sometimes she frightened herself with her uncanny perceptive skills.

“Well, she wasn’t drunk. Nor was she drowned, apparently. But she did get into one of the fermenting tanks when showing a party of schoolchildren round the brewery. The workers had ladders to climb up and see how the fermentation was going. One of the boys had climbed up when nobody was looking, slipped in and was holding on by his fingernails. Mrs. Jones went in after him. They got them both out, but the shock gave her a heart attack and she died in hospital later that day. It was a terrible business. They say George never got over it. Blamed himself for letting her take the children round, but the man who usually did it was off sick and she persuaded him.”

Ivy was very quiet until they reached the shop. They stopped outside, and Ivy sat down on the Hon. John Roussel memorial seat. “You know what I’m thinking, Roy,” she said.

He nodded. “That Jane Jones was a very compassionate, brave woman, and possibly much too good for pompous old George?”

“No, not that. I’m thinking we need to do a lot more digging into pompous old George’s past life. Nobody’s as faultless as he was. At least, as his public face claimed to be. Got any ideas how we could find out a bit more?”

Roy thought for a moment. “If I remember rightly,” he said, “his wife Jane came from a farming family over Oakbridge way. My dad used to talk about them sometimes. Very successful farmers, rich as Croesus my dad said. Partly inherited money, and part income from a couple of big farms. I’ll have to check my memory for this, Ivy, but I’m pretty sure one of the sons went to the same school as me, but in the bottom class when I was in the top. He might still be around. Certainly went into the family farms. I do remember that. I could think of some reason to get in touch, I reckon. What d’you think?”

“I think a trip to Oakbridge might be just the ticket. We could kill two birds with one stone, Roy, visiting your old acquaintance and also taking a look at the village where that poor old man was murdered. You remember, the one Gus described in gory detail. Just in case it has anything to do with Alwen’s mystery caller.” She sounded really excited now, and helped him out of his scooter, saying she would treat him to his favourite Turkish delight if he managed all the steps by himself.

“HERE WE ARE, gathered together in the sight of Deirdre,” intoned Gus.

“Don’t blaspheme, Augustus,” said Ivy sharply. Roy looked at her questioningly. He hadn’t caught the reference, not yet having been through the marriage service himself, but he knew it was religious from the way Gus said it, and he made a mental note to suggest he accompany Ivy to church next Sunday. Might be useful, he thought, smiling to himself. Although she found fault with the vicar, his church choir and the form of the service, Ivy was predictably a regular attender.

“Settle down,” said Deirdre firmly. “First of all, welcome once again to Tawny Wings.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll make coffee at eleven, so that gives us a good hour to pool our ideas and thoughts.”

“Are you bringing us to order?” said Gus, amused at Deirdre’s formality.

“Yes,” she said. “And about time, too. Now, who will report first? I have a little something I’ve discovered to add to what we know already.”

“So have we,” said Ivy, looking smugly at Roy.

“Sorry,” said Gus. “Nothing from me at the moment.”

“Right, then, I’ll go first,” said Deirdre, and related the conversation she had had with her friend Colin in the pub in Thornwell. “He was quite vitriolic about William. When he cooked the brewery books, apparently Colin’s family business was one of the casualties. They were owed thousands. Also, he confirmed that William was kicked out—I quote—by his brother George.”

“I don’t think there’s anything new there, Deirdre,” Gus said kindly. “But very useful to have it all confirmed.”

Deirdre bridled. “Well, perhaps this is more interesting! Do you remember when we went to the newspaper office, there was a queue behind us and guess who was standing in it, quite close to us and no doubt overhearing our conversation?”

“Do tell,” said Gus patiently.

“Bronwen Evans, daughter of Mrs. Alwen Jones. I saw her again in the pub with her husband, same night as I went in with Colin. I asked him who she was, that’s what started us talking about the Joneses.”

“That could be important,” said Ivy, frowning. “Especially if she talks regularly to her mother. Yes,” she added, “that was well remembered, Deirdre.”

“My turn,” said Roy, unwilling to be left out. “We’ve got something new. Me and Ivy were going over the old days with Alwen. She’s more friendly again, and loves to talk about bits of the past that are not taboo.”

“You mean not William, or anything to do with him?”

“Yes, well, she even gave us a few hints about him and George.” He then filled them in on Alwen’s confidences on the subject of George’s wife. “Jane Jones, it was. She helped Alwen a lot after William went missing. Had to keep it secret from George, of course, but they managed.”

“Jane Jones?” Deirdre said. “I think I remember her, don’t I? I was only young, of course, but her family over near Oakbridge used to buy their cars from Bert, and have them serviced and so on. I’ve forgotten their name, but Bert thought a lot of them. Nice people, he used to say, as well as good customers.”

“Mowlam, that was the name. Jane Mowlam she was. It just came to me, just like that.”

Ivy beamed. “What would we do without you, Roy?” she said, with undoubted affection in her voice.

Deirdre got up to make the coffee, and the three were left to chew over what had been said. They agreed that Roy should definitely have a try at getting in touch with the current generation of Mowlams. “There might even be an oldie like me left among ’em,” he said.

Ivy said that if Roy wangled an invitation to the Mowlam farm, she was definitely going with him. “He’s not safe without me,” she said, and he nodded gratefully.

 

 

KATYA AND HER friend and workmate Anya were also drinking coffee, powdered instant, of course, and not in a leisurely fashion. They were snatching a few minutes in the kitchen whilst Mrs. Spurling had gone to the village shop. The topic of their conversation was Theo’s offer to Katya of a well-paid position as live-in housekeeper at the Hall.

“He has asked me to keep the matter confidential at the moment,” she said, “as he does not wish to upset Noreen.”

“Why doesn’t he keep her on?” Anya’s English was more colloquial than Katya’s, mainly because she had a regular local boyfriend and was out with him most evenings. It was tempting when just she and Katya were together to speak in their native tongue, but Anya insisted it would be good to practise their English.

“Because she is not satisfactory. I noticed several dirty corners needing attention, Anya, and apparently her cooking is not good.”

“Nor is yours,” said Anya flatly. She was now promoted to catering for Springfields, and prided herself on her skills.

Katya bridled. “I make very good cookies,” she said.

“And that’s all,” Anya said, grinning. “Mr. Theo can’t live on cookies, you know.”

“All I shall need is a recipe book from my mother. And a few lessons from you,” she added placatingly. “Anyway, I haven’t decided to accept the position yet. It’s a great huge chilly house, and might be very lonely for me.”

“From what I hear,” said Anya, “Mr. Theo will be only too pleased to warm you up! I’d think very carefully, Katya, before deciding. We’re both far from home, and my boyfriend says we’re vulnerable to unscrupulous men.”

“What nonsense! He’s just trying to frighten you, so that you do not flirt with other men. And there’s always Mrs. Spurling to protect us,” she added, hearing footsteps approaching.

“Not if you go to the Hall,” whispered Anya. “Here, give me your mug. We must get on.”

When Ivy and Roy were back at Springfields, waiting for their lunch to be served, Katya approached their table carrying plates. She placed them down carefully, and then hovered behind Ivy’s chair.

“What’s up?” Ivy said kindly. She had become very fond of the girl, and knew at once Katya was worried about something.

“May I speak with you after lunch? In your room, privately?” Katya’s voice was low, so that only Ivy could hear.

Ivy nodded. “See you there,” she said, and turned to greet Alwen, who was hurrying in to take her place.

“Where have you been this morning, you two?” Alwen was carrying a large handbag, as always, and opened it to find her eating glasses, as she called them.

Roy wondered, not for the first time, what on earth she had in there that was essential to her life at Springfields. “Looks like you have all your worldly goods in that bag, Alwen,” he said with a good-humoured smile. He was taken by surprise by her answer.

“It’s none of your business,” she snapped. “What’s for lunch? And you haven’t answered my question. Where’ve have you been all morning?”

“None of your business,” said Ivy, raising her eyebrows. “And its fish. Again.”

KATYA KNOCKED SOFTLY on Ivy’s door, hoping the old lady had not dropped off for her afternoon snooze. But she need not have worried. Ivy had not forgotten, and was sitting straight in her chair in her favourite spot, from where she kept an eye on comings and goings along the village street.

“Come in,” she called, and swiveled round to smile encouragingly at Katya. “Sit yourself down, child. You’re off duty now, aren’t you?”

Katya nodded. “Yes, I am. Thank you very much for letting me come in to talk to you.”

“Well, now, why don’t you begin at the beginning?”

“Yes, that is a good idea. First I must ask you very respectfully if you could possibly not tell Mrs. Spurling what I am about to say to you.”

“Of course. You know perfectly well that if there’s anyone you can trust in this place, it’s me. Come on, now, what is it? Boyfriend trouble?”

Katya shook her head vigorously. “No, no. Not that. At the moment I have no boyfriend. Anya says I am too snooty! Is that right?”

Ivy said that she wouldn’t really know about that. She was beginning to see her afternoon snooze disappearing into the distance. She always met Roy at three o’clock in the lounge, and found a little shut-eye beforehand very refreshing.

“No,” continued Katya, “it is a job that has been offered to me. The wages are higher than here, and I am—how do you say?—tempted?”

“What’s the job?” said Ivy.

“The Hon. Mr. Roussel at the Hall has asked me to work for him as housekeeper. Resident housekeeper,” she added, since it was that part of it that worried her most.

“No,” Ivy said firmly.

“What do you mean, Miss Beasley? No what?”

“No, refuse the offer. Don’t even consider it, Katya.”

Katya looked crestfallen. In her daydreams she saw herself smartly dressed, acting as hostess for Mr. Theo at parties, perhaps stewarding in the drawing room when they opened up the Hall to visitors, supervising the stable units let out to craftspeople. She had been chatting to David Budd’s wife Rose, and the two of them had agreed that it would be an excellent way of making extra money for the estate.

The whole village knew that Roussel was strapped for cash, and they had begun to fear that he might sell up, and then anything could happen. Over Oakbridge way there was a similar estate, and it was now a luxury hotel and golf course, and the heart and traditions of its nearby village had vanished.