The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (18 page)

T
hirty-five

THERE HAD BEEN
a hoarfrost in the night, and when Deirdre drew back her bedroom curtains she saw a glistening white world in front of her. The sky was a heavenly blue, and sunlight filled the garden. She would not have been at all surprised if a fairy had landed on her windowsill and offered to fly her to fairyland.

But Deirdre was made of stern stuff, and such whimsy was immediately banished from her thoughts. She had work to do today, even if it was the Sabbath. She had lain awake for an hour or so last night after the others had gone, and thought about Theo Roussel, who had sounded so sad and disappointed when she had called him to cancel their drinks get-together. He complained that he had not seen her for ages, and was she by any chance avoiding him?

She didn’t know the answer to that one herself, and skirted the question, saying that she would be at home anytime he liked to call in. She suspected the truth was that middle age was catching up on her, and she couldn’t be bothered to carry on a relationship that was clearly going nowhere.

Now she put all thoughts of love and marriage out of her head and considered what she should do today to carry on enquiring. The little Jossland family came into her head. That lovely baby! Perhaps she should have insisted with Bert and had one or two of her own. Anyway, Bella had said they would be pleased to see her again at any time, and she decided to drive over to Settlefield. Perhaps this morning? She doubted they were churchgoers, but you could never tell these days. But it wasn’t that far, and she could always come home if they were out.

• • •

AT THE FARM,
William Jossland had got up early as usual. He had a small milking herd, and was out in the yard before six. Bella had fed Faith, and the tiny girl was now sleeping sweetly, snuffling in her milky dreams. The morning sunshine streamed into the bedroom, and Bella slid quietly out of bed and into the bathroom. She would give William a surprise, and have breakfast all ready with something special, as it was Sunday. Bantams’ eggs? The little flock of black-and-white bantams was hers to care for. She had taken a fancy to them in the Oakbridge cattle market, and William had indulged her, saying bantams were useless layers, but if she wanted a hobby it was better than yoga or some such nonsense.

She put the chalk-white eggs on to boil for a couple of minutes, and set the table. She could see William out in the yard, and knew that he would be in very shortly, ravenous and cheerful.

Such a pity they had to waste a lovely day visiting Aunt Ethel Goodman. As they were the only relatives in their generation, they felt obliged to visit the old lady once a month, regardless of the fact that she had no idea who they were, and usually snored her way through their visit.

“Breakfast’s ready,” she said, as William came stamping into the kitchen. Lumps of mud fell off his boots, and he stood them outside the door, coming in with his thick socks squelching on the stone floor. “Walked over the pond, and the ice broke!” he said, kissing her fondly. “How’s our young lady?”

“Fast asleep,” said Bella. “Let’s see if we can have breakfast before she wakes. I suppose we’ll have to take her to visit Aunt Ethel? I hate the smell of that place. It seems all wrong, taking a new baby there.”

“Rubbish,” said William. “We needn’t stay long, anyway. The old thing has no idea who we are or where she is.”

“Poor old lady,” said Bella. “Can she go on much longer? It’s not much of a life, is it?”

“Who knows. She might be having lovely, lurid dreams of the past. And the staff say she’s still strong as an ox. No, she’ll go when she’s ready. The last of the Goodmans, more or less.”

“Well, that branch, anyway. Oh, listen! Wasn’t that Faith? Why don’t you go and get her and she can have a cuddle while we’re having breakfast.”

• • •

DEIRDRE DROVE INTO
the farmyard around ten thirty, and parked in a spot she hoped would not be in William’s way. Now she was here, she was struck by how unsuitable it was for her to be calling on a Sunday. But farm life was different, surely? Cows had to be milked, livestock fed and watered, eggs collected, every single day of the week. Perhaps she should just turn around and go home. But they had probably spotted her by now. Anyway, they would not be likely to see her off the premises with a shotgun!

She decided to ask how they were, and if they had any problems, apologise for it being Sunday, and leave. Unless, that is, they insisted on her going inside, and then she would play it by ear.

Before she reached the flight of steps leading to the back door, it was opened and Bella stood there holding Faith in her arms and smiling broadly.

“How nice to see you, Mrs. Bloxham! Come on in and have a coffee. William’s gone up to check on the water supply in the barns. He went through the ice on the pond this morning and was not best pleased!” She laughed cheerfully, and Deirdre followed her into the warm kitchen.

“And how is little Miss Jossland today?” she said.

Bella handed her over and Deirdre sat marvelling at the tiny person in her arms. “Just to think she will grow into a beautiful young girl,” she said.

“It does make you think,” Bella said. “We have to go and see my old aunt, Ethel, this morning, and since Faith arrived I’ve tried to remember that this horrible old woman was once a lovely baby, too. Visiting is from ten to twelve, and we usually stay about half an hour, so I’m afraid we can’t talk for long this morning.”

“Is she in a good home?” Deirdre said, her brain working fast. “I have another client I visit, and she’s fed up with where she is.”

“Auntie’s been in the Firs for years. Alzheimer’s got hold of her when she was only about sixty-five. Poor old thing. She had an unhappy romance in her youth, apparently. We don’t talk about it! So anyway, the Firs seems to be quite a nice place. It’s a nursing home, really, so they don’t have many bright ones in there.”

“I must have a look at it sometime,” said Deirdre, and was delighted when Bella rose to the bait.

“Why don’t you come along with us?” Bella said. “We don’t stay long. Not much point, really. You could have a look around, I’m sure. And who knows? Maybe Aunt Ethel Goodman will be stimulated by a visit from a stranger. Though I doubt it!”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Deirdre replied, and looked round as William came in, cursing the weather and saying couldn’t Bella go on her own to visit Aunt Ethel? Then he saw Deirdre, and managed a smile.

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Bloxham. Sorry we can’t sit and chat this morning.”

“I’ve suggested Mrs. Bloxham comes with me to do the Aunt Ethel visit,” Bella said. “Why don’t you give it a miss this morning? We can be all girls together!”

“Really? Would you mind, Mrs. Bloxham? It would be really helpful just now. The path across to the pigs is like a skating rink, and I have to see to it before one of us gets a broken ankle.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Deirdre said. “I’m here to do what I can to help. And anyway, it will be useful for me to see the Firs.”

“Afraid Aunt Ethel Goodman won’t have much to say. In fact, nothing. But Bella will be glad of some company. Right, splendid. I’ll be off up to the pigs, then. See you later, love and little love. And Mrs. Bloxham. Bye.”

• • •

THE FIRS WAS
a large, redbrick house, dating back to the thirties, and had belonged to a builder who had spared no expense in making a quality home for himself. Modern wings had been added, however, with narrow corridors barely wide enough for the several wheelchairs, and these contained the private rooms of the residents, each with a door that opened out onto a scrubby garden. The roomy ground floor of the old house had been converted into lounges and a main dining room for the inhabitants. There were one or two vases of wilting flowers, and the smell of disinfectant was powerful.

Deirdre followed, struck immediately by the difference between Springfields, which was more like a four-star hotel, and this place. But now they arrived in Aunt Ethel’s room, and drew up chairs by the side of her bed. She was asleep, and snoring. Deirdre looked closely at her, trying to see some similarity between her and dear old Roy, and noticed that one eye was half-open. Was she feigning sleep?

“Shall we wake her?” she said to Bella.

“We’ve tried, but she never does. They say she does sometimes, but never talks. Just moans. That’s why I dread coming here, and am really grateful to you!”

“Yes, we can just chat, and then go away again. Do you think she knows we’re here?”

“You can’t tell, can you?”

“Well, we’ll just ignore her, and talk about something else. Would you like to hear about my other work? It’s an enquiry agency, and we take on cases of all sorts, usually one at a time. But at the moment we’ve got three things we’re investigating.”

“How exciting!” said Bella. “What is your agency called, just in case we have a mystery to solve on the farm?”

Deirdre described Enquire Within, and when she named the other members of the team, Bella looked surprised. “Goodman? Mr. Roy Goodman? He must be one of the other family branch over at Barrington. What a coincidence! And who are you investigating? Or is it all confidential?”

“Not really. It’s all been in the papers. You must have seen the report on Steven Wright, found dead in bed in a furniture store? That’s one thing. And then there’s a funny old chap living in Barrington who wants us to get rid of his wife. Legally, I mean! He’s called Lowe. Lowe by name and low by nature, I reckon. Still, I mustn’t go on about confidential—”

The sleeping figure stirred and her eyes opened. Then she said, suddenly and perfectly clearly, “Alf Lowe, he’s a rotten sod!”

Bella and Deirdre froze.

“Never was any good,” said Ethel. “Rotten sod. Burn in hell, I ’ope.”

And then her eyes closed and she began to snore once more.

“Good heavens,” said Bella. “What was all that about?”

“Something in her past, I expect. How strange,” added Deirdre. “It must have been something I mentioned. Alf Lowe, she said, didn’t she? How extraordinary.”

Now it was Faith’s turn to stir and stretch. She gave a tiny yawn, and began to squeak.

“Feeding time coming up,” Bella said. “We’d better be off now. Auntie’s not going to say anything else, is she?”

“Probably not,” Deirdre said. “Perhaps we could have a quick look around before we go? It has been a most interesting morning.”

“Well, you certainly managed to get more out of Aunt Ethel than anyone else has. Must have been the sound of a new voice, do you think?”

“Could’ve been. I know my cousin, Miss Ivy Beasley, has lots of conversations going with usually silent old persons in Springfields, just by provoking them, and being her usual sharp self.”

“Don’t tell me she’s another distant relation!”

Deirdre laughed. “No, but she is engaged to Roy Goodman, so not far off.”

T
hirty-six

TEA AT SPRINGFIELDS
was always special on a Sunday. Anya in the kitchen had baked several different cakes, so that residents had a good choice, and Miss Pinkney took a great deal of trouble organising relatively easy quizzes that the old persons could answer or not, as they felt able or willing.

Ivy usually shone on these occasions, having spent a lifetime listening to BBC Radio Four, where she gleaned all kinds of general knowledge information, ranging from the current vice president of the United States to the word for a young female cow. But today she was still simmering with fury at the absence of the banns being read.

“It seems to me,” she said now to Roy, who was hoping Ivy had given up protesting, “that we are just giving way to blackmail. It’s just the same as if a ransom was demanded and we paid up.”

“Well, dearest, we must be thankful that you haven’t gone missing, and so that problem does not arise. Why don’t we just forget about banns for the moment? By next Sunday I am sure everything will be cleared up, and we can go ahead and look forward to our wedding day.” Roy had accepted the story about the friend turned up unexpectedly in town this morning, and no more had been said.

“Next question,” said Miss Pinkney, in a loud voice. “Who wrote
The Wind in the Willows
?”

“William Shakespeare,” answered Ivy crossly. “Some people say it was Kenneth Grahame, but he got the idea from the Bard of Stratford. If you ask me, it would have been better left alone. All that stupid stuff about rats and badgers and toads and rabbits. Vermin, I call them. Every single one of them.”

This was too much for Roy, who burst out into loud laughter. “Oh, Ivy Beasley,” he said. “What would we do without you?”

The residents having tea joined him, some not knowing quite why they were laughing, and Miss Pinkney said she would give Ivy a point for originality.

It was at this moment that Deirdre walked into the lounge.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bloxham,” said Miss Pinkney, now glad of the interruption. “Will you have a cup of tea with us?”

“Thank you,” said Deirdre, and she walked across to join Roy and Ivy. “Hi, you two. Have I got news for you!”

“Good afternoon, Deirdre,” said Ivy, still cross. “And where on earth did you get that ridiculous greeting from?”

“Never mind that,” answered Deirdre. “Just settle down and listen for a bit. I had a most interesting morning, and I’m bursting to tell you about it. I’ll have a cuppa with you, and then I’m off to tell Gus. I expect you’ll want to call a special meeting tomorrow, Ivy.”

When Deirdre had finished a detailed account of her morning with the Josslands and the visit to Aunt Ethel Goodman, neither Ivy nor Roy said anything at first. Then Roy said, “A really good morning’s work, Deirdre. As a matter of fact, I do remember Ethel, a second cousin twice removed, or some such, but after the split in our family, I heard no more about her. Now it seems she had a connection with Alf Lowe, here in Barrington?”

“And what connection?” said Ivy. “This is really something to get our teeth into, Deirdre. Well-done, gel.”

“What we really need to do is find out more about Alf’s early life. I don’t have much hope that Aunt Ethel will come up with anything more, though she is probably sitting on the answer to our investigations! Still, there will be other ways.”

“We need Gus. You said you were off to winkle him out, Deirdre? Why don’t we meet tomorrow morning at Tawny Wings and have a brainstorming session?”

“A what?” said Ivy.

“Oh, just a phrase I picked up from a newspaper. I rather liked it,” added Roy lamely. “But, dearest, if you object, it shall never pass my lips again.”

“Good,” said Ivy. “Now, Deirdre, off you go and find Gus, and confirm tomorrow. Meanwhile, no doubt you can tell us who is the current vice president of the United States?”

“Abraham Lincoln,” said Deirdre. “Somebody like that, anyway. So, cheerio, you two. See you tomorrow.”

• • •

I REALLY MUST
walk through the village more often, thought Deirdre, as she crossed the Green and watched a group of children having a snowball fight in the fading light. How charming! It reminded her of her childhood in Thornwell, when groups of children in the back streets had only dirty, slushy snow to play with. Now it looked so crisp and white. Good enough to eat. However, when one tough-looking character sent a large snowball in her direction, perfectly aimed at her fur hat, so that snow cascaded down the back of her neck, she faced the chilly reality.

But then she cheered up again, as she turned into Hangman’s Lane, where the Budd family in the first cottage in the Row were building a snowman under the outside light in their garden. Two small boys, mother and father, were hard at it, collecting up fistfuls of snow and producing a quite remarkable likeness to Gus Halfhide, who lived at the end of the Row.

“Afternoon, all,” she said, as she passed.

“Hi, Mrs. Bloxham,” called Rose Budd. “Who do you think this is?”

“Mr. Augustus Halfhide,” said Deirdre, laughing. “I’ll tell him to come and have a look. He might lend you one of his hats.”

She reached the end of the row, and knocked at Gus’s front door. No answer. Then Miriam’s light came on, and there was the sound of her door opening, and out Gus came, followed by a curious Miriam Blake.

“Hello, Deirdre! I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“So I see,” said Deirdre icily, her warm feeling of goodwill to all men evaporating fast. “Can you spare a couple of minutes? I have something rather important to tell you.”

“Of course.” He turned to Miriam and thanked her politely for a pleasant afternoon, and then came out to open up his cottage. “Come on in, Dee-Dee. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“No, thank you. And if you dare to offer me a glass of Miriam’s disgusting primrose wine, I shall throw it at you.”

“Now, now. You know there’s nothing between Miriam and me. Just neighbourliness, that’s all. Come and sit down and tell me what’s to do.”

Deirdre, making a revenge decision to renew her warm relationship with Theo Roussel, sat down on an upright chair and cleared her throat. “Well, I have had a busy day, gathering information for Enquire Within,” she began sternly. Then she gave him the same detailed account as had impressed Ivy and Roy, and said they must meet tomorrow to decide how to proceed further in researching the early life and times of Alfred Lowe. “Not only will this be useful in finding out about his relationship with Aunt Ethel Goodman, but could well uncover more about his wife, and why she is wanting a divorce now,” she added.

“So we meet tomorrow morning to discuss it? Sounds most interesting. Tell me more about Aunt Ethel and her young relations. A farming family of Josslands, did you say? And the wife, Bella, formerly a Goodman?”

“Yes, well, we can talk about it tomorrow. I just need to confirm to Roy and Ivy, and then I’ll be off home. I’m having my postponed drinks engagement with Theo later this evening, so don’t try to get hold of me. Anything else can wait until tomorrow.”

“Just hold on a minute,” said Gus. “There was one thing. Apparently a thuggish-looking man, bald and heavy, and with a stubbly face, came looking for me when I was out. Could be just one of those Jehovah’s Witnesses. I did have a copy of
The Watchtower
shoved through my letterbox. On the other hand, it might have been Ivy’s mysterious well-wisher.”

“Jehovah’s Witnesses are usually very presentable,” Deirdre said. “Grey suits and good haircuts. Always polite. Sounds more like the man Elvis saw coming out of Maleham’s store unloading bay. Ask someone else round here who might have seen him. Oh, and make sure you go and look at Budd’s snowman. A remarkable likeness.”

“Of whom?”

“You’ll see. Good-bye, Gus. Be there at Tawny Wings at ten thirty tomorrow.”