Ann Purser - The Hangman’s Row Enquiry

Mrs. Spurling backed out of the room, saying she would find Miss Blake’s number and give it to Ivy at lunchtime.

“Now,” Ivy said, “where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?”

“Your friendly chat with Beattie,” Gus reminded her. He was puzzled. He doubted if Miriam was really ill, but her instruction that he should not go with Ivy denied the possibility that it was a ruse to get him into her clutches. Unless it was a double bluff? He would not put anything past devious Miriam.

Ivy then seemed to put the episode out of her mind, and told the other two about Beattie’s obvious fury at the suggestion that Deirdre was an attractive woman, still interested in Theo, and a very determined person once she had set her sights on something.

“Ivy!” Deirdre said. “Is that entirely true?”

“Yes,” Ivy replied firmly. “And old Beatrice Beatty stormed off as if an ole bull was behind her.” She chuckled again at the memory. “But that wasn’t all,” she continued. “Before she went, we had a talk about Theo’s father, and Beattie hasn’t got a good word to say for him. I reckon she knows all about old Mrs. Blake an’ her bun in the oven that turned out to be Miriam. And who the father was no doubt, Deirdre, that’s why he hasn’t sacked the woman years ago.”

There was a silence between them, and then Gus said slowly, “Do we know exactly when Beatrice Beatty took up her job at the Hall? We need to know how old she is, where she was before she came to the Hall, and as much about her family background as possible.”

“Does that have anything to do with the murder of Mrs. Blake?” Deirdre said. “And if it does, wouldn’t I be the best person to find out what we need to know? From Theo, I mean. He should know all the answers.”

“You don’t fool me, Deirdre Bloxham,” Ivy said with a laugh. She turned to Gus. “That Beattie doesn’t know what she’s up against,” she said. “If you ask me, our Deirdre has set her sights on being the present Mrs. Hon. Roussel! Go to it, gel,” she added, and patted Deirdre’s arm.

Gus was out of his depth, but bravely swam on, saying he thought it was a very good idea, and as they seemed to have worked out a successful way of getting Deirdre into the Hall, they should set up another meeting as soon as possible.

“That’ll be next Saturday market day, then,” said Deirdre. Gus thought how very attractive she looked, her face glowing and excited. He almost felt envious of Theo Roussel, but reminded himself that he had younger fish to fry.

“So what next for me?” Ivy asked. “When I agreed to this business of ours, I expected something to occupy most of my time. So what next, Augustus?”

Gus felt that things were moving so fast he could scarcely keep up. It was a new experience for him, and he hadn’t had a single sleepless night worrying about debt collectors, nor any violent urges to find the nearest racecourse and lose his shirt on a limping nag.

“Eyes and ears open, Ivy,” he said. “I suggest you make yourself indispensable to one or two of the residents who have local families. Probably some of them have lived in this area all their lives. Should be mines of information. Unlike some, you’re in the prime of life, Ivy,” he said, hoping to flatter, “so how about offering to read romances, or play cards with those not as fortunate as you?”

“Cards?!” exploded Ivy. “Mother would turn in her grave! Cards were the work of the Devil, according to her.” She frowned, and then her face cleared. “Still, she’s not around, is she,” she said cheerfully, for the first time ever, feeling the shadow of her mother lifting away from her. “I could even tell fortunes, at a pinch. Good idea, Augustus. I shall make a start tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with this afternoon?” Deirdre said smugly. She looked at Gus. “And what about you, Gus? How are you planning to move the investigation forward?”

“Ah,” said Gus. “Well, I’d rather not say until our meeting next week. I hope to have revelations for you then.” A born liar, his father used to say, thought Gus sadly. But he was soon buoyant again. “Now Ivy,” he said, “let’s send for little Katya and see if she has any more of those delicious biscuits. You’d like a biscuit, wouldn’t you, Whippy-dog?”

Ivy looked at the curled up little whippet, wrinkled her nose and pointedly opened a window. “Not biscuits, cookies,” she said, and rang the bell.

MIRIAM BLAKE HEARD the telephone ring, and sprang nimbly out of bed. She was fully dressed, and just remembered in time to affect an invalid voice as she picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she quavered.

“Miss Blake?”

“Yes, who’s that?”

“Miss Beasley. What’s all this about a message from Mr. Budd? I am sure it must be a mistake. Well?”

“No… not a mistake, Miss Beasley. I do have something of a confidential nature to tell you. I can’t confide in any of the old gossips, and I know you are something of a stranger here. I need some advice, Miss Beasley, and I wondered if…”

Her voice trailed off. Ivy frowned. What was the woman up to? With all that they now knew of her and her mother, she was deeply suspicious.

“And what’s all this about being ill? Sounds like it’s a doctor you need, Miss Blake. On no account do I intend to make my way down to your cottage. I suggest you-” She broke off, clearing her throat where a piece of cookie had lodged, and in that small pause she realised that information of any kind, and especially coming from the daughter of the murder victim, could well be important for Enquire Within.

“I suggest you first of all get better,” she continued, “and then come up to Springfields. My room is completely private and we shall not be disturbed. When do you think that might be?” Her suspicion that the illness was faked was instantly confirmed when Miriam said she could be with Ivy by about three o’clock in the afternoon.

Ivy looked at her watch. It was nearly lunchtime, and Gus and Deirdre would be back home by now. She dialled Gus’s number. Just when she was about to give up, thinking he must have called in to the pub, the receiver was lifted and she heard a voice.

“Augustus?” she said.

“Um, no,” answered the voice. It was clearly a man, and Ivy felt a momentary stab of alarm.

“Who are you, then?” she asked bluntly.

“Um, just a friend. He will be back shortly.”

Before Ivy could continue, there was a click and the dialling tone. She put down the receiver, and felt a shiver down her back. Why? It could have been anybody-some old friend of Gus’s come to stay. Or a… a what? How had he got into the cottage? Gus hadn’t mentioned having a guest, or even a caller. In fact, as he and Deirdre left, Ivy had heard him say he had to go up by Tawny Wings and would walk Deirdre home.

Two strange calls in one morning. Ivy shook herself. Just a coincidence, she was sure. She left her room and walked downstairs to the dining room. Remembering her new instructions, she smiled kindly at the shy old man who always sat in the corner. “Lovely day,” she said, and took a seat next to him. He looked up, and she attempted a gentle tone of voice. “Do you play cards, Mr. Goodman?” His reply startled her.

“Rather!” he said. “Cribbage, Miss Beasley? I have a board in my room. Would you care for a game this afternoon?”

Ivy bristled. This was a bit sudden, wasn’t it? Still, in for a penny. “Yes indeed,” she said. “My father taught me long ago, but Mother disapproved of any form of gambling so we had to play when she was out.”