The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (19 page)

T
hirty-seven

IVY WAS UP
with the lark, and by the time Roy came down to breakfast, she was buttering her second piece of toast and looking obviously at her watch.

“Morning, dearest,” said Roy, hooking his stick on the back of his chair. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not really,” said Ivy. “My conscience was troubling me.”

“Ivy? How on earth could you have a bad conscience? The most honest and straightforward person I know is Miss Ivy Beasley.”

“Ah, well. I owe you an apology. I was a real crabby old spinster yesterday, when you said we would have a brainstorming session, and I mocked you for using that expression. Everything you say sounds wonderful to me, and I’m sorry, and I promise not to be such a miserable old stick again.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

“My dear Ivy,” Roy began, “you were perfectly right, and to me you are neither crabby nor miserable. But thank you, my love. Let’s start the morning again. Good morning, Ivy! You’re looking young and beautiful as ever. And we have an interesting meeting to go to at Tawny Wings, so I won’t take too long over breakfast. What’s on the menu? Oh good, scrambled eggs with bacon. Now, have another piece of toast to keep me company, and then we’ll make tracks up the hill to Deirdre’s.”

• • •

THE PAVEMENTS IN
the village were still treacherous, so when Gus called to offer them a lift, they accepted reluctantly. “Not that we don’t love to ride in your car, Gus,” Roy said. “It’s just that once a farmer, always a farmer, and I still miss the early-morning routine, when the air is fresh and you feel you could move mountains. Though it was usually a dung heap that needed moving!”

And so, in good spirits, the three arrived on time at Deirdre’s front door, to find it locked and with no signs of life anywhere about.

Gus, looking grim, said that he understood she had been visiting the Honourable Theo Roussel last evening, and had maybe been encouraged to stay until it was light for her journey back home.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Gus!” said Ivy. “We all know what happens when those two get together. We shall just have to sit in the car until she appears. And don’t forget we’re here on Enquire Within business, so no quarrelling between the two of you.”

At that moment, the big cream-coloured car purred into the drive, and a blushing Deirdre got out.

“So sorry, chaps,” she said. “Just had to go out on a little errand. It won’t take me two ticks to get the fire going in our office. Gus, can you come and help?”

“You’ve got a nerve,” he said under his breath, as they laid a fire with sticks and coal, and put a match to the screwed-up newspaper.

“No worse than you, with that Miriam,” muttered Deirdre. “We’d better have an electric fire as well. Don’t want the oldies getting a chill. There’s one in the kitchen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Gus acidly. He went off, deliberately stamping his snowy boots on the highly polished parquet floor.

Once they were all settled with cups of hot coffee, Roy was first to speak.

“We have all been told now about Deirdre’s interesting discovery over at Settlefield, and have come to the same conclusion, I believe, that we must find out more about any early relationship between Alf Lowe and Ethel Goodman. I have a particular interest in this, as you can imagine. Some of these people are relations of mine, and since Alf Lowe has cast aspersions on my behaviour as a young man, we may be able to shed some light on that, too.”

“Well said, Roy,” said Gus. “So, Deirdre, tell us again, would you, exactly what they said about Ethel before you went to see her.”

Deirdre was still feeling embarrassed about not being at home when they arrived, but last night had been something of a reunion with Theo Roussel, and she still felt a residual glow. She reminded herself that her colleagues had come out on a snowy morning and were not in the first flush of youth.

“Of course,” she said, smiling sweetly, “I’m happy to do that. Well, I went on a sudden impulse, really. Then I thought maybe Sunday was not a good day, but they welcomed me very nicely. They said they had to go on a monthly visit to see Aunt Ethel, so couldn’t chat for long, and then Bella suggested I go with them. The old lady is a Goodman, and Bella’s great-aunt. She never married, they said, and was now totally confused. They apologised that she was nearly always asleep, didn’t know who they were and showed no sign of wishing to talk.”

“She must be about the same age as me,” Roy said. “So that would make her either a cousin of my father or—”

“His sister,” said Deirdre. “Funny you never heard of her, though, Roy?”

“Mm,” said Ivy. “I hesitate to suggest this, Roy, but she could have been disgraced in some way. You know, not acknowledged by the family, that kind of thing.”

“You’re right,” said Deirdre. “The usual thing was getting yourself in the club, up the spout, in the family way. Call it what you like.”

“Ah,” said Gus. “Now we’re onto something. And it all points to Alf Lowe, doesn’t it? I must call on him again, and see if I can get him to talk.”

“And maybe if I go again with Bella Jossland to visit Ethel, she might come out with something more. I could drop a few names that might mean something to her, and see if it sparks a memory.” Deirdre put another log on the leaping flames, and asked whether they were ready for another coffee.

“I wouldn’t say no.” Ivy’s feet were still cold, and she felt a little shivery now. Roy looked at her closely.

“Are you all right, Ivy dear?” he said.

“Just a bit cold,” she said, and Gus immediately moved her chair nearer the fire. “Can’t have you out of action, Ivy,” he said. “Let me feel your hands.”

They were stone cold, and he rubbed them between his own.

“Thanks; that’s fine now,” said Ivy. But she was still pale, and Roy began to worry.

“Perhaps a shot of whisky in Ivy’s coffee would be a good thing,” he said, and Deirdre nodded.

“Good thinking,” she said. “And maybe we should cut the meeting short. We’ve actually decided on what we do next.”

“I never touch strong liquor,” said Ivy, “but perhaps in this case . . .”

“There’ll be jobs for you and Roy,” said Gus, aware that they would be primarily interested in clearing up the problem with the banns and anonymous letters to Ivy. “In fact,” he added, “might I suggest you have another go at finding that Maleham woman, to see if she can shed any light on either Steven’s death or this thug who comes and goes with threats in red ink.”

“But first we have hot coffee and whisky, and make sure Ivy is warm and comfortable,” said Roy.

• • •

BY THE TIME
Gus had helped Ivy out of his car and into the lounge at Springfields, she was quite her old self, protesting that she was perfectly all right and not to make a fuss.

Mrs. Spurling was on duty, and was full of “I told you so” strictures. “You will have to remember your age, Miss Beasley,” she said. “We don’t want any more hiccups to get in the way of your wedding. Which reminds me,” she continued, “Rev. Dorothy is making her weekly visit here this afternoon, and asked particularly if she could have a word with you and Mr. Goodman. I assured her that you would be here, so I hope you have no plans for going out again in this wintry weather?”

“I wonder if she has some news for us?” Roy said. “I shall not be content until Ivy is my lawful wedded wife. By the way, Ivy, are you happy with ‘love, honour and
obey
’?”

“Good gracious me, no,” said Ivy briskly. “Nobody has that nowadays. But you know I shall always give due consideration to anything you suggest.”

“Mm,” said Roy.

• • •

WHEN REV. DOROTHY
arrived at Springfields, Ivy and Roy were sitting in Ivy’s room, snoozing companionably together.

“Sorry to disturb you!” she said, coming in after knocking softly on the door.

“Not at all,” said Roy politely. “It’s very nice to see you again, isn’t it, Ivy?”

“Yes, indeed. Have you news for us?” said Ivy, coming straight to the point.

“Well, yes and no. I have cleared the way for calling the banns this coming Sunday, and so that will be the second time of asking. But I am still worried about those threats you received, Miss Beasley. What have the police advised?”

“Caution,” said Ivy stubbornly. “They advised caution. So I don’t see why we can’t have the banns read, and then be extra cautious after that. What do you say, Roy?”

“I suppose you’re right, dearest,” he said slowly. “Though I must say I still feel uneasy. But I know Ivy thinks we should not pander to threatening letters, so perhaps we should go ahead?”

“Very well,” said Rev. Dorothy. “Just so long as you appreciate that extra caution must be taken. I know that you two are often out and about on your own, but perhaps that could be changed. Maybe one of your friends, Deirdre Bloxham or Gus Halfhide, would always be with you when you’re away from Springfields?”

“That might be difficult,” said Ivy. “But we can certainly try it.”

T
hirty-eight

NEXT MORNING, THE
thaw had once more set in, and everywhere was dripping. Small rivulets coursed down the gutters and overflowed the village drains, most of which had been installed in the nineteenth century, and were ripe for replacement.

Elvis drew up his taxi outside Springfields, and stepped straight into a deep puddle. “Damn and blast!” he said loudly. “What on earth do Ivy and Roy want with going into Thornwell this morning? They should stay warm inside, and watch telly, like all the others.” But he knew that when that happened, his good friends would have lost the freedom that kept them so active and bright in their old age. And they were soon to be married! He was really looking forward to playing his part in the ceremony, ferrying Roy up to the church, and then going back for Ivy and Gus, who was giving her away. He had not yet been told who would replace Steven Wright as Roy’s best man, but he harboured a secret hope that maybe he would be asked.

“Good morning, Elvis!” said Ivy cheerfully, now completely recovered from her chilly moment. “Is it a little warmer today?”

“It’s a right mess everywhere,” he said. “And I’ve got a wet foot from treading in this puddle.”

“No problem,” said Ivy, and immediately went back into Springfields, soon to reappear with Roy and his trundle, and bearing a pair of dry socks. “Put these on,” she said. “My father always used to say if you had dry feet, the rest of you would come to no harm.”

“Hear, hear,” said Roy, and so Elvis dutifully changed his socks, and they set off for Thornwell.

“Where to today?” he said, once they were on the main road.

“Here’s the address,” said Ivy, and handed him the piece of paper given to her by Mr. Maleham’s secretary.

“What do you want in that part of town?” he said.

“What’s wrong with it?” Roy could see Elvis’s face in the driving mirror, and he was frowning.

“It’s the rough quarter,” Elvis replied. “Used to be so bad they advised non-residents to stay away. Especially at night! It’s not quite so bad now, but I still wouldn’t go there after dark. Do you know who lives there?”

“Yes, a Mrs. Maleham. Cousin of the furniture store. Surely she must be all right?”

“Yes, well, I suppose so. Do you want me to wait?”

Ivy began to say no, they would be perfectly all right if he came back after about half an hour. But Roy remembered they were supposed to be cautious at all times, especially as they had only Elvis with them. He said that he would be happier if Elvis waited outside, and Ivy did not disagree, for once.

• • •

“HERE, FRANK, THERE’S
one of them special taxis drawing up outside. What’s going on?” Beryl Maleham peeped round the side of the curtain, and saw Elvis opening the door.

“Hey, it’s that nice Beasley woman I met in the store!” she continued. “You know, her that’s getting married late in life. And her bloke’s with her, as well. How nice of her to come and visit.”

“I expect you’ll be talking weddings, with big hints to me,” said Frank. “I’m off upstairs if they’re coming in here. You can do the honours, Mum.”

• • •

ELVIS LOOKED AT
his watch. It seemed like ages since Ivy and Roy had entered the house, but only fifteen minutes had gone by. The woman who came to the door was smiling and looked friendly as they went inside. How would he know if they were all right? He supposed he would just have to wait until the half hour was up, and then find an excuse to knock and investigate.

He began to think about this Mrs. Maleham. What was one of that family doing living in this disreputable quarter of town? The store was an old established one, and now they were in the new shopping place, they would be even more successful, surely? But Mr. Maleham, the boss, had seemed to him a bit of a slippery sort. He couldn’t get rid of Ivy and Roy quickly enough after they’d been shut in the lift. Or was Elvis imagining things? After all, there were quite a few customers in that day, and it was natural that Maleham wouldn’t want a fuss made publicly about a broken-down lift.

He opened his new library book—another of his favourite Inspector Montalbano stories—and began to read.

• • •

“HOW CLEVER OF
you to find me!” said Beryl. “Did you ask in the store?”

“Yes, we did. It was the day we got stuck in the lift. We’d gone hoping we might see you again, but you weren’t there that day. So we asked, and Mr. Maleham gave us your address. He said he thought you would be pleased to see us,” Roy added hopefully. He wasn’t happy. The house was untidy, and an unpleasant smell of stale frying oil wafted in from the kitchen.

“Oh yes, I am pleased. Can I make you a cuppa? Miss Beasley, isn’t it? And your name?”

“Goodman,” said Roy. “And yours is Beryl, Ivy tells me.”

“And are you friends? I am sure I remember Miss Beasley telling me she was going to be married soon. Asked me about earrings, didn’t you, dear?”

“That’s right,” replied Ivy. “Roy is my fiancé.” There was something not right here, she was thinking. She felt uneasy, and did not like being called “dear” by anybody but Roy. Perhaps they would exchange a few pleasantries and then leave. It was a good thing that Roy had asked Elvis to wait. “How is your husband, Mrs. Maleham?” she said.

“My husband? Oh yeah, same as usual! He’s upstairs, bedbound, as they say.”

“A nice little house you have here,” lied Roy. “Have you lived here long? And do you have good neighbours to help with your husband? These streets of old houses benefit from close proximity to next-door friends, I believe.”

What the hell is he talking about? Frank, lurking upstairs, wished they could get on to the subject of marriage and calling the banns. He was under instructions to make sure they were postponed indefinitely, and more urgently, he needed to make sure of next Sunday, at least. But it wouldn’t do to let them see him. They’d have a pretty accurate idea of what he looked like by now.

“My son lives with me,” said Beryl. “I told Ivy about him. He’s good with his dad.”

“He’s at work, I suppose?” Ivy asked. “Maybe we can meet him someday. Always useful to know of a good, strong young man to help you in times of trouble. We’ve got our Elvis—drives that taxi out there. Not that he’s much use with our present problem.”

“What’s that, dear? Perhaps I can help?” said Mrs. Maleham eagerly.

Roy tried hard to signal to Ivy not to mention banns, but too late.

“I told you we are getting married, but we’re held up in calling the banns,” she continued. “You know that bit where they say if anyone who knows just cause or impediment etcetera, etcetera? Well, this man jumped up and said he knew a reason why we shouldn’t be wed. Never been known to happen within living memory in our church.”

“Oh my gawd,” said Beryl. “What a turnup! You must’ve been devastated.”

“Yes,” said Roy, “we were. But it’s all sorted out now. We really must be going, Ivy. Look, there’s Elvis getting out of his cab. Nice to have met you, Beryl. Perhaps we might meet again. Ivy was hoping you’d be able to come over for tea at Springfields.”

He gave Ivy a small push towards the door, and they left, promising to keep in touch.

Elvis got them safely back into the taxi, and they started off on the return journey. “Anywhere else you want to go? Was that Maleham woman pleased to see you?”

“Yes,” said Ivy, “but—”

“No, that’ll be enough for one morning,” Roy interrupted. “Back to Springfields, please. Mrs. Maleham’s house was not a nice place. We shan’t be asking you to take us there again, shall we, Ivy?”

Ivy made no reply.