Ann Purser - The Hangman’s Row Enquiry

It had proved quite the opposite, a sober-faced woman said. Ivy recognised her as one of the church workers who visited Springfields now and then. “Miriam’s as free as a bird now,” this woman said. “Very chirpy when she forgets to be the grieving daughter. And got her claws into that new man already, so I hear.”

Ivy smiled. “I doubt it,” she said. “Any other suspects?”

A quiet woman, the only one who had said nothing so far, cleared her throat.

“How about our own beloved squire?” she said. Everybody turned to look at Miss Beatty sitting at the speaker’s table, but she was deep in conversation. Which doesn’t mean she’s not listening, thought Ivy.

The quiet woman lowered her voice to a whisper, and leaning forward said she remembered when he’d been seen going into the Blake’s cottage on a regular basis.

“I reckon you’d better not say any more about that, Doris,” the stroppy one said. “You don’t want to be had up for libel. Still, what you said is very interesting, eh, Miss Beasley?”

WHEN IVY RETURNED to Springfields, she immediately rang Gus. “Listen,” she said. “Apart from that notice about Enquire Within in the village shop, which anyway sounds as if we’re mostly prepared to look for lost dogs and cats, I reckon we should keep our heads down. No extra publicity. I got some really good stuff at the WI tonight. But only because they think I’m a crotchety old woman who’s waiting to die in an old folks’ home. Let’s keep it to ourselves for a bit,” she added, and said she was about to phone Deirdre to tell her the same thing.

“Did you tackle Beattie?” Gus said.

“No, not yet,” Ivy said. “Better than that. Tell you Monday, if not before. Good night, Augustus.”

She told Deirdre the same thing, and to her relief her cousin did not argue. “Same thing had occurred to me,” she said. “Glad to hear the WI was a success. I’m working on a way to get to Theo without the dragon knowing.”

“Speak to me first, before you see him,” Ivy said. “Come round for coffee tomorrow morning. Katya has promised to bake me a special cookie-whatever that is. Not such a bad child, that one. I may make something of her yet. Night, Deirdre.”

BEATTIE BEATTY HAD stayed on in the village hall to help with the washing up. She did not usually do this, and the others were curious. Why now? They soon found out. Beattie buttonholed the ones who had sat at Ivy’s table and asked what all the hilarity had been about. “Share the joke,” she said, punishing a soapy saucer with a drying-up cloth.

After they had given her an edited version, leaving out all mention of Theo Roussel, she had more questions, this time about Miss Ivy Beasley. Who was she? Some relation of Deirdre Bloxham, she understood. Spoke her mind, didn’t she. She approved of that. What else could they tell her about Ivy?

But the others did not cooperate, and said they knew no more than she did. Miss Beasley had seemed nice enough, once you got to know her.

Finally, the hall was cleared, and Beattie walked slowly up the long drive to the Hall. She was convinced that Ivy’s table had been talking about Theo. She had even heard his name, she was absolutely certain. She quickened her steps. He had been about to say something to her this morning, and she knew perfectly well what it was. He was going to sack her for the imprisonment. But she knew him of old, knew things about him he would rather not have spread around. Then she was so nice to him at breakfast time that when she asked him if there was anything else before she started baking, he had hesitated and said no, nothing else, and had thanked her for a delicious breakfast.

She checked that every lock in the house was secure and went upstairs to her room. There she undressed and climbed into her high bed, took her book and began to read. Tomorrow was another day, and she would tackle the problem of Miss Ivy Beasley and her cousin Deirdre in the morning.

DEIRDRE ALWAYS ARRIVED promptly, and this morning was no exception. The new, imitation old, grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven as she came into the door of Springfields.

“Lovely morning!” she said, as she went upstairs to Ivy’s room. Mrs. Spurling smiled and called after her that Katya had been busy baking for them both, and coffee would be up shortly.

“I think I’ll move in here with you, Ivy,” Deirdre said, as she settled down in a comfortable chair. “Lovely room with a nice view of the village, pleasant staff and good food. Waited on hand and foot, and an interesting man calling on you most days. What more could you want?”

“To be twenty years younger,” said Ivy tartly. “I’d like to be back in Ringford in my own house, with Doris and Ellen, and the three of us going blackberrying in the autumn. Roots is what I miss, Deirdre.”

“What do you mean, Ivy?” Deirdre asked, wishing she’d not said anything except hello.

“Family roots. Generations of Beasleys behind you. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, you’ve got me. And this is a good second best, isn’t it?”

Fortunately, before Ivy could expand further on the value of roots, there was a knock at the door and Katya came in with a tray of coffee and cookies. Ivy’s smile was warm, Deirdre noticed with surprise, and after the girl had gone, the last of the Beasleys praised the still-warm biscuits, saying only that, in her opinion, biscuits was a good enough name, since that’s what they were.

“Now, down to business.” Ivy then gave Deirdre a succinct account of what she had gleaned at the WI. “If you ask me,” she said firmly, “the most important point out of all this is that our Miriam most probably had an affair with Mr. Theo Roussel. He must’ve been hard up for a woman, but still, there’s no accounting for taste.”

Deirdre bridled. “Hardly hard up,” she protested. “He was a very attractive man in his youth,” she said. “All the girls were after him.”

“Including you?”

Deirdre shook her head. “No, he was after me,” she corrected. “We had a fling for a while, but it fizzled out, like these things do.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Ivy, but reflected that she knew only too well. It was some years ago now, but the pain of being abandoned at the altar by her lodger was still a vivid memory. “Anyway,” she continued, “it’s even more important that you get to see Theo as soon as possible. Blackmail is about the only really solid reason we’ve got for somebody knifing the old woman.”

“Ivy! You’re talking like a private eye already! And yes, I am determined to get to see Theo in spite of his minder. Have you any idea how I can do it without making a scene? I could go blasting in there with all guns blazing, but that would hardly put Theo in the mood for confiding secrets, would it?”

Ivy was silent for a few minutes. “We need Augustus,” she said. “He’s the man we want. I bet he’s solved more things of this sort than we’ve had hot dinners. He’ll tell us how to do it. No, don’t go. I’ll ring him now, see if he’s at home.”

Gus was at home, still in his pyjamas, reading a long letter from his ex-wife. She had enclosed a fistful of bills to be paid, and said that if he did not come up with the cash immediately, she would have to go to the lawyers again, and she was sure he knew how much that would cost. He sighed as he answered Ivy’s call, but when she summoned him to Springfields at once, he was glad of the diversion and showered, dressed and was on his way in a very short time. It was a lovely morning, he noticed with rising spirits as he strode down the High Street. Something would come up. Maybe he’d go to the greyhound stadium in town tonight and have a few flutters on the dogs. Yep, he’d go to the dogs! As if he wasn’t there already, he told himself, and roared with laughter, alarming Whippy who was, as usual, by his side.