Ann Purser - The Hangman’s Row Enquiry

“She’s a new woman,” whispered Rose, and David nodded. “Must’ve found the nest egg,” he said.

“Sshh!” Rose waved a hand to Gus and disappeared into the house, and David said he was going Gus’s way and would accompany him the few yards to his end of the terrace to save him from marauding spinsters who were more than likely lying in wait for him.

IVY WALKED STEADILY along the street from Springfields down to the shop, where she purchased a packet of Polo mints and said she was quite puffed out, and would sit for a while on the Hon. John Roussel memorial seat outside.

After about ten minutes, she was delighted to see a familiar figure approaching briskly from Hangman’s Row into the High Street, and then along to the bus stop outside the shop.

Beattie Beatty recognised Ivy, and managed a gruff “Good morning,” then turned and looked along the street in the direction of the oncoming bus. She was cutting it a bit fine, thought Ivy, as the bus stopped and Beattie climbed aboard. Thank goodness she made it, else all our plans…

At this point, to her horror, Miss Beatty reappeared at the bus door and came rapidly down the steps into the street! She rushed across the pavement, into the shop, and disappeared. Ivy thought fast. Should she phone Gus straightaway? She prayed to God that she had mastered the mobile phone in her handbag.

But no, after only a few seconds, Beattie rushed out of the shop and clambered clumsily back into the bus, to be greeted by cheers from the passengers already seated. As Ivy stared, she saw Beattie find a seat next to the window and, scarlet-faced, mop her brow with a tissue wrestled from a new packet.

So, she forgot to put a hankie in her pocket, Ivy guessed as the bus moved away. Just like her to keep everybody waiting. Now, her next job was to ring Gus and give him the all clear. She took the frighteningly small mobile phone from her bag, and switched it on. So far so good! She had memorised his number and carefully pressed the buttons. With each button, the thing beeped at her. She supposed that was to tell her she’d pressed it hard enough. What next? She put it to her ear, but there was no ringing tone. She stared at it again.

“You have to press the green telephone, Miss Beasley,” a girl’s voice said. Ivy looked up in surprise and saw Katya beaming at her.

“Good heavens, girl!” Ivy said. “Just in time to rescue me!” She pressed, and listened again. Now it was ringing, and then Gus’s familiar tones. “All clear,” she said, as arranged. Nothing more. He said nothing in reply, and then there was the dialling tone. “Oh my,” she said, breathing fast and patting her chest to quieten her thudding heart, “I feel just like Mata Hari.”

“Are you all right?” Katya said, looking worried. “Can I get you glass of water?”

“No, no. I’m fine, my dear,” Ivy said, and indeed, she was beginning to feel quite chirpy at the idea of having completed this part in the plot successfully. She stood up, and Katya said she would come back to Springfields with her. It was her afternoon off, but she had nothing planned.

“Well, in that case,” said Ivy, “we don’t want to go back to the tender loving care of Miss Pinkney, do we? I shall take you for a walk, not too far, and show you something really interesting and historic. Come along now.” She refused to hold Katya’s arm, and they set off in the opposite direction from Springfields, past the school and on towards the church.

GUS IMMEDIATELY DIALLED Deirdre, and with a loud whoop of delight she said she would set off at once. He replaced the phone and went to the window, where he intended to keep vigil for the next two hours. After no more than five minutes, he saw Deirdre’s swish car go by, and saw her gaily waving as she passed his house. He hoped she would be discreet. In his long experience of working undercover, he knew they must be alert to the unexpected. If it could happen, then it very likely would happen. Maybe not this time, but if they repeated the exercise, it would be important not to get careless.

Deirdre thought how lovely the Hall looked, as she drove up to the grand front and then round to the stable yard at the back. Gus had thought it a good idea not to park so obviously outside the front door, but Deirdre had argued that if there was a risk of Beattie returning early she could make a quicker getaway from the front. Gus had insisted, and so she agreed.

As she turned off the engine and began to open the door, she stopped. She was doing nothing wrong! All this skulduggery was quite ridiculous. There was absolutely no reason why she should not visit her old friend. If Miss Beatty had gone to market, so what? Either she would be admitted by Theo, or by Rose Budd in the house with him as usual. It was a perfectly normal course of events.

No it wasn’t. Her commonsense reasserted itself. There was a primary reason for her visiting Theo. It was to find out as much as she could from him about the Blakes, and Miriam in particular. A reunion with an old lover was a bonus. It would be important, she knew Gus and Ivy would both argue this, to make it possible to visit Theo more than once, and if the old dragon so much as suspected, let alone found Deirdre ensconced with Theo, Beattie would find a way of putting a final stop to it.

Why did she shiver at this thought? Deirdre shook herself and made for the kitchen door, which was now standing open with a smiling Rose welcoming her in.

KATYA WALKED BESIDE Ivy, feeling somehow relaxed for the first time since she had been working at Springfields. She was not unhappy there, and was well aware how lucky she had been to find work so soon after arriving in England. Her parents back in Poland were pleased and proud, and she received a stream of letters and cards from her large family back home. But still she had not relaxed. She could not understand much of what was said to her, and she still found her English classes hard going.

But now, strolling along with this funny, sharp old woman, she began to look about her, see how lovely the trees and flowers were, breathe in the air which, compared to the industrial town she had come from, was like champagne. At least, she supposed it was. She had never drunk champagne, though that nice Mr. Halfhide had promised her a glass very soon.

“Now, in we go,” Ivy said, turning through the lych-gate and into the churchyard. Either side of the path, pink floribunda roses and bushy lavender scented their way up to the church door. “Hope it’s unlocked,” Ivy said. “So many vandals these days, most churches are locked unless there’s a service or people doing the flowers and brasses.”

“ Brasses ?” said Katya.

“Candlesticks and crosses-oh, you’ll see, my dear. I’ll explain.”

“And vandals ?”

“Criminals,” said Ivy. “Like the Communists,” she said firmly.

Katya had still not understood, but meekly followed Ivy into the dark interior of the eleventh-century church.

“We could do with some light,” Ivy said loudly, and, as she had hoped, the vestry door opened and the vicar came towards them, smiling broadly. He had met Ivy when she first arrived at Springfields, and at first his heart sank. But then on better acquaintance he realised that she was a lonely old woman, far from everything familiar in her life, determined to survive and make a place for herself in Barrington. “I think she’s being very brave,” he had said to his wife. “We shall be kind to her.”

Now he went into the bell tower and switched on lights in the body of the church.

“Thank you, Vicar,” Ivy said, and marched up to the chancel, beckoning Katya to follow her. To Ivy’s dismay, she saw Katya genuflect and cross herself in front of the altar. Oh dear, she was one of those, was she. Well, Ivy reassured herself, she could soon persuade her out of all that nonsense. To Ivy, God was a solid being, always there to be consulted, one she respected but was not averse to criticising if she thought He had made a wrong decision. When no one was listening, she talked to Him as if to a benign but certainly not omnipotent friend. She could imagine His chuckle as the Polish girl bobbed up and down and muttered something incomprehensible. Poor God. Ivy was quite sure English was His chosen language.