Ann Purser - The Hangman’s Row Enquiry

To her horror, the supposedly shy old man reached out and patted her hand. “In this place, we have all the time in the world, my dear,” he said. “Shall we say four o’clock?”

Ivy blinked. “Well,” she said, “I have someone coming to see me at three. But she’ll be gone by then,” she added, quickly adjusting herself to this new situation. Goodness, how was she to have known that Mr. Goodman had a roving eye!?

Katya hovered, announcing lunch, and, smiling at the two elderly residents, offered to take them into the dining room.

Mr. Goodman stood up without help, offered his arm to Ivy, and refused Katya’s offer of help, but in the nicest possible way.

Swept off my feet! thought Ivy in surprise, and positively glided in to lunch.

WHEN GUS RETURNED home, he opened the door and knew immediately that someone else was in the house. His long experience of undercover work had given him a sixth sense. He could feel the presence of an intruder in his private space in seconds. This had served him well in tricky situations, and now he moved forward as silently as a ghost. There was not much daylight in the cottage at the best of times, owing to tall, overhanging yew trees on the opposite side of the lane. But now it seemed extra dark. He saw then that the curtains had been drawn across the small front window. His heart began to pound.

Nobody in the sitting room. He breathed more easily. Perhaps the intruder had beat a hasty retreat. Gus silently tiptoed up the stairs and as he put a hand out to open his bedroom door he heard the tiniest footfall behind him. He swung round, but too late. A crack on the head felled Gus to the ground. Satisfying himself that his target was unconscious, the intruder stepped over him and fled.

IN MIRIAM’S COTTAGE next door, she had left her sickbed and was watching television, at the same time eating a hearty brunch from a tray on her lap. She had hatched her plan, and now looked forward to putting it into operation. Miss Beasley was a cousin of that woman at Tawny Wings, she knew, and Miriam had decided she’d have more luck with the lonely old woman at Springfields than the rich, well-established widow.

The noise of Gus’s garden gate clicking shut reached her, and she turned down the television sound. By the time she had put down her tray and got to the window, there was nobody to be seen. But wait a minute, by craning her head round the lace curtain she spotted a figure moving very fast along the footpath that edged the wood a hundred yards up the lane. Man or woman? Too far away to tell, she decided, and went back to the television. It was not Gus, she was sure of that. Ah, well, her neighbour was still a bit of a puzzle, but he reckoned without Miriam’s cunning! All those years living with her mother had sharpened her wits, and she grinned to herself. Miss Beasley was the one. Sitting up at Springfields like an old spider, she would be the one.

GUS STIRRED, AND shrieked with pain. His head felt the size of a beach ball, and even a tiny movement stabbed him with sharp knives. Waves of nausea overcame him, and he blacked out. When he briefly became aware again, it was dark, and he had no idea where he was, nor did he much care. He drifted back into a blessed state of unknowing.

When he surfaced again, he was aware of a distant knocking sound. With huge difficulty he struggled to his feet, felt overwhelmingly faint and put out a hand to save himself from falling. The banister at the top of the stairs supported him, and he felt his way slowly along the landing, and stopped. Now he had his bearings, and knew that his next step would send him hurtling downwards. He tried out his voice, and that seemed to be working.

“Who is it?” He tried desperately to control his nausea, and sat down on the top stair.

“Me! Deirdre! Gus, are you there? Are you all right?”

He shook his head, and then wished he hadn’t. Another step. Very carefully, he made his way down and managed to reach the front door before collapsing on the Welcome doormat.

Deirdre pushed the door open until she could just squeeze inside. At the sight of Gus, prostrate in front of her, she gasped, but being first and foremost a practical woman, she pulled her mobile from her pocket and dialled 999. “Gus! Speak to me,” she begged.

He opened one eye and said hoarsely, “Has he gone?” Then he passed out again, and Deirdre cradled his poor head in her arms, praying for the ambulance to turn up.

IVY HAD HAD a busy day, but was still up and about, not feeling at all like sleep. First the Blake woman, who had called as promised and sat, looking the picture of health, in Ivy’s best chair, nattering on about nothing very much, until Ivy had pointedly asked what exactly was the advice she needed. Miriam Blake had then said people were being horrible to her, not exactly accusing her of killing her mother, but dropping such heavy hints that she had begun to avoid conversations in the village. What should she do? It was making her so miserable. Ivy had said she was sure that once the real murderer had been found, all would be well. Miriam would just have to put up with it. Then the questions began. Why had Ivy come to Barrington? Was she close to her cousin at Tawny Wings? Had they grown up together, and been teenaged friends? And on and on, until Ivy became thoroughly annoyed and had more or less shown her the door.

Then on to her game of crib with Mr. Goodman, and while waiting for him to decide which card to play, she had pondered on Miriam Blake’s motives. It was Deirdre, of course, who had been the subject of most of the questions. Deirdre Bloxham, attractive and rich, a merry widow and old flame of Theo Roussel.

“Penny for them?” Mr. Goodman had said, playfully wagging his finger at her. She had gritted her teeth and concentrated on the game. She had won, of course, and left his room promising to have the return match with him very soon. He had said a few interesting things already, and she needed to follow them up.

Finally, settling between her cool sheets, she had said her prayers and reported to the Almighty that life at Springfields was looking up.

IT SEEMED ONLY a couple of hours later that she was awoken by her telephone ringing. She looked at her bedside clock and saw that it was already eight o’clock.

“Ivy? It’s Deirdre. Can you be ready by half past nine? We have to go into the General Hospital in Tresham. Gus has had an accident. I found him, and the ambulance men were brilliant. We need to see him. I’ll pick you up half nine. Bye.”

Ivy had not moved so fast for a long time, and by nine fifteen she had washed, dressed, breakfasted and was waiting in the reception hall for Deirdre to collect her.

The grand car cruised to a halt, and Deirdre came swiftly up the path. “Ivy?” she shouted as she opened the door.

“I’m ready,” said Ivy. She called to Mrs. Spurling that she did not know when she would be back, but not to worry about lunch, and then the pair were moving off at speed towards Tresham.

Mrs. Spurling frowned. This could not go on. Springfields was supposed to be for the elderly and infirm. Miss Beasley was certainly elderly, but not at all infirm! She treated the place like a hotel, issuing orders right, left and centre, and obeying none of the rules that made the home run like clockwork.

She turned to go back into her office, and saw Katya waiting for her. The girl was not looking happy, and Mrs. Spurling wondered if Miss Beasley had been sharp with her. But on asking her outright if this was so, Katya had said, “No, of course not! Miss Beasley is very kind to me and makes me feel homely. She is an interesting person, do you not think, Mrs. Spurling?”