The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (27 page)

F
ifty-three

“GOOD MORNING, MISS
Beasley! How are we this morning?” Rev. Dorothy tried hard to sound bright and breezy, but the sound of Ivy’s voice reminded her of an ongoing problem. Banns or no banns? That was the question, and she was sure Ivy was about to attempt a change of mind.

“Are you free this morning? I wondered if you could spare me a few minutes.”

Ivy’s voice was firm.

“Of course. Why don’t you and Roy come up to the vicarage for a coffee? It is a lovely morning. But it’s cold, so you must both wrap up well. I’ve got a lovely patch of snowdrops I’d like you to see.”

“Right,” said Ivy. “We shall see you at about half past ten? And don’t bother about snowdrops. Plenty of those in Springfields’ garden. Still, being as God is in charge of yours, they might be bigger and better, I suppose.”

Rev. Dorothy put down the phone and roared with laughter. No wonder Roy Goodman was so keen to make old Ivy his wife! She’ll keep him going till he’s a hundred, if not more.

She heard the old grandfather clock strike nine o’clock, and decided she just had time to go to the shop and buy chocolate biscuits. She would sweeten up her visitors and prepare them for another refusal.

• • •

AFTER HER CONVERSATION
with the vicar, Ivy turned to Roy and said she had something important to tell him. They were sitting as usual in her room, and she drew her chair up close to his.

“Good heavens, dearest, I do hope you are not going to suggest we call the whole thing off?”

“No, of course not. I haven’t given you the whole picture of yesterday’s adventure, and as I don’t mean to keep anything from you, ever, I think now would be a good time to tell you. You see, I wasn’t quite honest with the police, but in a good cause.”

She then told an increasingly alarmed Roy the full story of her abduction by Frank, and everything that followed.

“But, Ivy, you must tell Inspector Frobisher! After all, he will want to arrest Frank Maleham straight away. Who knows what the stupid fool will do next?”

“Well, that’s just it, really, Roy. Frank
is
a stupid fool, but not much else. He said he was obeying orders, and I believed him. If I turn him over to the police, our chances of discovering his puppet master will be just about nil.”

“Puppet master?” said Roy, opening his eyes wide. “An unusual phrase for you, beloved.”

“Television, last evening,” she said, “and I thought it was a good description of foolish Frank. Somebody’s pulling his strings, and we must find him. Or her.”

“You never cease to surprise me, Ivy dear. But you are quite right. I just insist that you do not, on any account, go out alone again, until this whole business is cleared up. And now it’s time we were preparing to go to the vicarage. No doubt you will tell me in due course what you intend to say to Rev. Dorothy.”

• • •

“WHAT BEAUTIFUL SNOWDROPS,
my dear,” said Roy to the vicar, as she greeted them from her front door. “We have them at Springfields, but they are nothing compared with yours. Such harbingers of spring, don’t you think?”

Ivy stared at him, but his expression was totally innocent of all guile.

“Thank you, Mr. Goodman! I do love them. They cheer me up every year. A kind of solace for all the bad weather of winter.”

What on earth are these two going on about? thought Ivy. “Shall we go in, then?” she said tartly. “I’m cold, and Roy looks blue. It’s a really sharp east wind this morning.”

Inside the vicarage sitting room, they found a roaring fire and comfortable chairs, and Ivy relaxed. “No coffee for me, please. A tea bag will do me. Never touch coffee. I always say it’s bad for you, but Roy doesn’t agree with me. Still, when we’re married, we shall come to a compromise. I shall continue to drink tea, and Roy will join me.”

Rev. Dorothy laughed. “Now, speaking of your marriage, I expect you have come to discuss whether we can go ahead with the banns on Sunday?”

“Exactly,” said Ivy. “I have now had further information which leads me to believe there will be no more threatening letters. In fact, I think the whole business will subside, and we can settle down. So you go ahead, Rev. Dorothy, and call our banns twice more.”

“Ah, yes, well . . . I am not so sure that it is all so straightforward. Does Inspector Frobisher know about your decision?”

“No,” said Roy quickly. “And I must say that I think it is a unilateral decision. Dear Ivy is very sure that all will be well, but I must confess I am not so convinced. Ivy has bravely dealt with the messenger, but we have not yet found the originator of the messages. Until we do, and discover the reason behind their demands, I think we should wait. It cannot be long now.”

“So you would like me to arbitrate about Sunday?” said Rev. Dorothy.

Neither replied, and finally Dorothy said she would go into the kitchen and make more tea and coffee, to give them a chance to come to a decision.

“I do hope, Ivy dear, that our marriage is not going to be a constant struggle for supremacy?” Roy took her hand and kissed it. “In fact, just to show you how much I love you, I am going to ask you to think for a few seconds, and then give me your opinion. Whatever it is, I shall abide by it. How’s that?”

“I was going to say exactly the same thing!” said Ivy. “So we’re back to square one.”

They said nothing more until Rev. Dorothy returned, and then Roy said, “I think we have agreed; haven’t we, Ivy?”

“Yes, we’ll go ahead.”

“But I thought we agreed—?” Roy looked at her and shook his head gently. “Can I say I am overruled?” he said, and laughed. “Well, I
still think we should wait.”

“Then I must give the casting vote,” said Rev. Dorothy, “and I’m afraid I agree with Roy, for my own safety as well as for the two of you. Don’t forget I also received a threatening letter. I think all will be well once we have got this ridiculous business settled. I won’t ask you how you fixed the messenger, but I’m sure you will want to tell Inspector Frobisher. Now, let’s change the subject,” she added.

“Fine,” said Ivy, “as long as it’s not snowdrops.”

• • •

FROBISHER’S GREETING TO
Wendy Wright at the airport was warm. She looked such a pleasant woman, and although his long experience had taught him that appearances were unreliable, he found it difficult to imagine her as a malicious poisoner.

“I do like flying,” she said, handing over her suitcase for him to carry. “It always seems as if you are leaving all your problems behind and starting afresh.”

“But one usually has to come back to them! I am so sorry to have to call you back to Thornwell. And the weather is not exactly welcoming. Anyway, let’s return to the police station, and then after we’ve gone through everything, you will be able to open up your house again and relax.”

“Mm, not so sure about the house. I was thinking of selling it. Too many memories, and I am fancy-free now. I can live anywhere that appeals to me.”

Something about the triumphant way she said “fancy-free” jarred with the inspector. But he concentrated on his driving, and they exchanged only pleasantries now and then, until they reached Thornwell.

“Now, if you will come into my office, I will ask a few questions and make the necessary notes. In here, please.”

Wendy noticed the change of tone in his voice. She was now a witness to Steven’s sickness attack, and possibly a suspect in the cause of his death. She took a deep breath and followed him.

After the necessary preliminary cautions, Frobisher said, “Firstly, we now know that your husband died from a dose of salmonella poisoning. Perhaps you would tell me step by step about your supper date with friends? First, what food had Steven eaten that day before you went out?”

“Breakfast was cereal and coffee—he had black coffee. Then we had a sandwich later on. Wholemeal bread and cheddar cheese from the supermarket. Well within its sell-by date. At our friends’, we had a choice. There were eight married couples, and the wives had supplied one dish each. Steven is very picky about his food, so I took his favourite cold fish with mayonnaise, and we both had good helpings of that. I don’t think that was the cause, because I had no ill effects. He might have had some pudding. He loved sweet things, and I noticed there was a curdled creamy thing. Looked a bit dodgy to me and I warned him about it. But he could have had some when I was chatting to other people.”

“Ah,” said Frobisher. “So what time did you leave their house? And had Steven complained of stomach pains before you left?”

Wendy shook her head. “Don’t think so,” she said. “We had to stop on the way home for him to have a pee, and then in the night he began to throw up.”

“Were you worried about him?”

Wendy looked uncomfortable. “Well, to tell the truth, Inspector,” she said, “we had had a row, and I was cross with him for drinking too much. That’s what I thought had made him sick. And until you said about the salmonella poisoning, that’s what I still thought.”

“And next morning?”

“He had the trots—diarrhoea, I mean—but after a while that stopped. He looked pale and wouldn’t eat or drink anything. He stayed at home, and I coaxed a little food into him. Only cereal and toast. Same thing next day, with a bit of this and that, but then he went into work after lunch on the Saturday and didn’t come home that night. Or ever again. I thought he was off with his floosie—he had one, you know—and the next thing I heard was that he had died in a Maleham bed.”

“Had you parted on good terms when he went off to work the day before?”

“Not really. We quarrelled most of the time. I’m being honest with you, Inspector, though it’s probably not in my best interests.”

“Oh yes, it is, Mrs. Wright. Being perfectly honest with a detective inspector is in your very best interests. Now, were you surprised to hear that he had crawled into one of Maleham’s comfortable beds and died there?”

“Of course I was! I immediately felt guilty!” She began to cry, but went on speaking through wrenching sobs. “I should have insisted he stayed at home. After all, he’d been off work. I should have made him drink lots of water. He must have been really dehydrated. And now you say it was salmonella poisoning. How long before it takes hold? Will you find out if anyone else from that night was affected?”

Frobisher nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Wright. Perhaps you will give me names, and addresses if you have them, of all the people who were there. It is a fact that salmonella does not always kill people, and it can take up to seventy-two hours to produce symptoms. Children are at greatest risk, and elderly people. And sometimes others who have a poor natural immunity to infection.”

“Poor immunity, did you say? Yes, Steven did have that! We had to avoid places where he might catch flu or even colds. Oh, do you think it was that, then?”

“It is possible. But I have a great deal more work to do now. And thank you for being so frank with me. Please let me know if you are leaving Thornwell for any reason. Can you find your own way home? Good morning.”

F
ifty-four

“WE HAVEN’T HEARD
from Deirdre, have we, dearest?” For once, Roy and Ivy had decided to stay in the lounge and watch television. But after about half an hour, when all the other residents, full of lunch, had gone to sleep and were snuffling and snoring, Roy thought that it was time for a change of scene. “I wonder if she’s seen the Jossland couple again?”

“She’s going there this afternoon,” Ivy replied. “She rang this morning and said she was going, and did we want to go, too? I thought you looked a little tired after our exciting visit to the vicarage, so I said no.”

“It
was
exciting,” said Roy, smiling, “if only because you and I established a happy way of working as one.”

Ivy looked at her watch. “If you’d like to go with Deirdre, it’s not too late to give her a ring?”

“Fine. Let’s go, then. I’ll just get our coats and we’ll be off. The sun has come out, and the fresh air will do us good.”

Roy established that Deirdre was about to leave, but would pick them up in about half an hour. He accepted gratefully. Ivy said she was not to bother; they would find their way up to Tawny Wings and be there ready to go to Settlefield in thirty minutes precisely.

So much for acting as one, thought Roy, and helped Ivy on with her coat. Then he took his stick and went to fetch a manual wheelchair, knowing that the trundle would not go into Deirdre’s car.

Once on the road, spirits rose with all three, and Deirdre volunteered the information that Gus was intending to pay another visit to Alf Lowe. “He seems to get on well with him lately. The old boy has a skin like a rhinoceros, but Gus takes no notice. He says he’s sure Alf is sitting on secrets that will help us get to the bottom of the threats. It’s your money that’s at the root of it, Roy. We are all sure of that, but exactly why, we haven’t found out yet.”

“Donkeys,” said Roy enigmatically. “Donkeys is the answer. Ivy and I are quite determined on that—aren’t we, beloved?”

“No comment,” said Ivy. “Oh look, there’s the turn to the farm. It
is
nice to have an outing, Deirdre. Very kind of you to think of it.”

“Not at all. They know we’re coming this time, and seemed pleased when I suggested it.”

As they drove into the farmyard, William and Bella were waiting for them.

“Out you get, lad,” William said to Roy. “No need for the wheelchair. Take my arm, and we’ll be up the steps into the kitchen in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”

“And how’s my little Faith?” said Deirdre. “Is she walking yet?”

Bella laughed. “I know she’s a fantastic baby, but no, not yet. William says I am already a pushy mother, and reminds me that you have to crawl before you can walk!”

When they were all settled with cups of tea and cake, with Faith crooning at them from a play mat on the floor, Ivy asked whether they’d managed to sort out Ethel’s estate. “Sometimes it takes
years
,” she said.

William looked at Bella, and grimaced. “Not with Aunt Ethel,” he said. “She had virtually nothing to leave. We know that in the dim, distant past she was disgraced and cut out of her father’s will. But she worked hard for years, and we thought she would have saved a bit. Not that we wanted it, but it was sad to find out she had more or less nothing left.”

“The nursing home fees took most of it, we reckon,” said Bella. “Up you come, Faith,” she added, picking up the baby and handing her to Deirdre. “Go to Auntie Dee-Dee. “

“We’ll get no more sense out of my cousin,” Ivy whispered to Roy. “Ask them a question about Ethel’s disgrace.”

William was on his feet on his way to the cows, and Bella had gone upstairs to fetch a clean nappy. When she returned, Roy said pleasantly, “Did you ever find out what Ethel did to be so unkindly treated?”

William laughed as he went out, saying that it was a case of the wrong side of the blanket. “Bella will tell you the whole story,” he said. “Nice to see you all. Come again soon. Sorry I have to leave you, but the cows won’t wait.”

“So it was an illegitimate baby, was it?” Ivy said baldly. She’d had enough of all this flaffing about.

“Ivy likes to call a spade a spade,” Roy said apologetically.

“She’s right,” said Bella. “I don’t know much about it, but there was a baby, and we think it must have been adopted. It is certain that it never came back to Settlefield. Once or twice, when Ethel was still living in her little cottage here, she had begun to be a bit confused, and once or twice she mentioned a lost baby. We always assumed that she had had a miscarriage or an abortion, but apparently not. In her will, which was pathetically short, she referred to a child. All she said was, ‘the remainder of my possessions are to go to my child.’ No name, or indication where such a child might be found. Sad, isn’t it, Miss Beasley?”

Ivy nodded. “It is very sad, Bella, but those were very different times from today. Now you’re lucky if you can find a child that has two parents married to each other.” She leaned forward and prodded Faith’s stomach awkwardly. “Who’s a lucky little girl, then?” she said.

“She’s not a parrot, Ivy,” said Deirdre, suppressing a laugh. But at least Ivy had tried.

• • •

“SO NOW WE
know Ethel Goodman had an illegitimate baby, which was taken for adoption immediately after birth. Is that right, Roy?”

Ivy was sitting bolt upright in Deirdre’s car, full of certainty that they were on the right path at last. Roy looked at her and frowned. “You know what this means, Ivy?” he said.

“Oh yes. It means you may have a living heir to your fortune, after all. Unless you get your bequest to the donkeys into your will as soon as possible.”

Deirdre looked in her driving mirror and could see that Roy had a half smile on his lined old face. Why wouldn’t he come out with it now? None of them knew what he had in his will, except that Ivy would be well provided for. Was he being deliberately secretive? Was he actually enjoying all this attention? Only one thing to do, and that was to ask him outright.

“Roy, I do hope you’ll forgive my asking, but have you made a will? I know sometimes people think they have, and either it has slipped their minds, or it is hopelessly out of date, leaving everything to somebody who has died before them.”

“You can rest assured that everything is in order, Deirdre. I have very good lawyers.”

“But when did you last see them, dearest? Not that I care, but Deirdre has a point,” said Ivy.

“And thank you for your concern, Deirdre,” Roy answered blandly. “I do appreciate it.”

“Right, well, perhaps we’d better talk about something else,” Deirdre said, aware that she had not had a straight answer to her question. “I do have a nice piece of news to give you.”

“Out with it, my dear!” said Roy. “We could do with good news just at the moment.”

“Well, William and Bella have asked me to be a godmother to baby Faith! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Ivy was about to make a caustic remark about godmothers, who have all the glory and none of the hard work bringing up a baby, but she bit it back. Poor Deirdre had obviously wanted a baby years ago when Bert was alive. And although this was second best, it had given her a lovely surprise.

“Congratulations, Deirdre!” said Roy. “I’m sure you will make a very good godmother. Little Faith is a charmer already. When is the christening?”

“In a few weeks’ time. They want to have it quite early, before spring planting and lambing starts. Though apparently some lambs are born in January these days, or even earlier.” She had lived a long time in a village, but Deirdre was an urban person at heart, and was not too sure of the country calendar.

“If you ask me, it’s interfering with nature,” said Ivy. “Lambs out of season, chickens in wire cages, calves being killed before they have time to grow up. It’s not right, and we shall all suffer for it in the end.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Roy placatingly. “At least you and I have reached an age where we don’t have to bother with these things. I must say that as a retired farmer, I can speak from experience, and am only too relieved that things are a lot easier on the farm these days. Nothing stays still, Ivy, and even now, things that in my day we thought were the bee’s knees in modern farming methods, are now looked on as old-fashioned.”

“Hear, hear, Roy! Well said!” Deirdre drove into Barrington and parked outside Springfields. “Now, are you going to offer me another cup of tea?”

“Certainly not,” said Ivy. “Me and Roy have a little glass of sherry about this time, and we would be very happy if you would join us?”

“You’re on,” said Deirdre. “Great stuff, cousin Ivy. In we go!”