Ann Purser - The Hangman’s Row Enquiry

“Then is something else bothering you?”

Katya hesitated. “Nice Mr. Goodman. He asks for Lands’ End catalogue? Is this clothes? I did not understand all he say, but he points to his coat and says it is ‘boring.’ Is this right? I am not sure…”

“Nor am I, Katya! Still, some of our residents do make odd requests from time to time. Just tell him you have ordered a catalogue, but don’t do it. He’ll have forgotten about it by tomorrow. We really cannot add to the mountain of junk mail we receive every morning. A genuine, handwritten letter for a resident is quite a rarity, unfortunately.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Spurling. Was that Mrs. Bloxham collecting Miss Beasley? It is great compliment -is that right?-to Springfields that Miss Beasley is so happy and, er, busy, is it not?”

Mrs. Spurling suggested that Katya might have some work to get on with, and sat down again at her desk. A compliment, was it? Something she might add to the Springfields prospectus? “All our residents are happy, busy people, etc., etc.” Yes, it sounded very positive. Perhaps Miss Ivy Beasley might be regarded as an asset after all. She picked up the pile of charity demands and catalogues delivered this morning, and without looking at any of them, tipped them straight into the wastepaper basket.

THE CAR PARK spaces were not really wide enough for the Rolls, so Deirdre parked across two, saying they were lucky to find any spaces at all. They had hardly exchanged a word on the journey, too shocked and concerned with their own thoughts. Finally Deirdre said, “Usually the whole wretched car park is full, with weeping drivers going round and round knowing they are missing their appointments.”

“And then you have to pay if you do find a space,” said Ivy, noticing the machine for tickets. “Daylight robbery,” she said. “If you ask me, it’s exploiting the sick and disabled.”

Deirdre locked the car and they headed for the main entrance. There were queues everywhere: for the reception desk, the public telephones, the snack bar with its coffee machine and sad array of buns and biscuits, and, when Deirdre and Ivy finally found out where they should go, there was a long impatient queue for the lifts.

“He is sleeping at the moment,” said the nurse, as they found Burton ward. “You can sit by him for a bit, but don’t try to wake him. He needs rest and quiet.”

As Ivy looked around and heard the cacophony of sounds that exists in most hospital wards, she doubted if Gus would be very peaceful in here. As soon as he was able, she would arrange for him to have a week or so in Springfields. He would mend quickly then, she was sure.

Both women were shaken as they looked at Gus, his face twitching as he mumbled in his sleep.

“My God,” said Deirdre quietly, “he made a proper job of it, silly fool.”

Ivy shook her head. “Did you call the police?” Deirdre said no, she had just got the ambulance as quickly as possible.

“I had this feeling that Gus might not want the police involved,” she said.

“Sshh!” Ivy said, and then added in a stage whisper, “He’s coming round!”

Gus, now sedated and relatively pain free, opened his eyes, and then quickly shut them again. It couldn’t be, could it? He must be hallucinating. Then he heard Ivy’s voice, and knew they were really there beside his bed.

“Augustus, it is only Deirdre and me. You’ve been getting up to mischief, I see.”

Mischief! Gus tried a caustic reply, but the effort was too much, so he just sighed. After all, it was early in the morning, and the two must have set out very promptly to come and see him.

“You just lie quiet,” continued Ivy, “and we’ll do the talking.”

“But Ivy,” Deirdre interrupted. “We were supposed not to disturb him.”

“I don’t intend to disturb him,” Ivy said, straightening her skirt as she sat down on a chair brought by a young nurse. “There are only two things I want to say, Augustus. First, I shall make sure you are looked after properly when you come out of here. And second, our nice little Katya sent you her…” She hesitated, and then said firmly, “Well, she said her love, but I’m sure she meant her kind regards.”

“BUT THERE ARE no vacancies at Springfields at the moment,” Mrs. Spurling said that evening.

She faced Ivy, who had asked for a couple of weeks’ tender loving care for Gus when he was discharged from the hospital. “We are not a convalescent home, you know,” she added. “I do have rules to obey, Miss Beasley.”

“Rules are made to be broken,” said Ivy firmly, “but if you insist, I’ll stay with Mrs. Bloxham at Tawny Wings. Then Mr. Halfhide can have my room. I don’t have to tell you that you disappoint me. I thought you’d be more sympathetic. I wouldn’t like to have to take myself elsewhere for good…”

Katya had been sorting a pile of magazines on a small table nearby, and had overheard the conversation. She turned with a red face and said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Spurling, but Mr. Halfhide must have my room. I can kip down-is that right?-with Anya for two weeks. She is my friend, Miss Beasley,” she explained. “We came together for working at Springfields. My things I put in cupboards for some days.”

Ivy was seldom surprised, but this was a real turnup. Then she remembered Gus’s way with the girls, and understood. She would have to keep an eye on this. The girl was young and far from home. Ivy felt some sense of responsibility for her, and made a note to warn off the predatory Augustus.

“Very well, Katya,” said Mrs. Spurling, secretly relieved to have a sensible solution presented to her. She just hoped there wasn’t a union for these foreign workers who would cause trouble. Health and safety rules were bad enough. Still, it would be for only a short time. “You may tell Mr. Halfhide we shall expect him when he is well enough not to need nursing. This is not a nursing home, as you know, Miss Beasley.”

“Some residential homes,” Ivy said grandly, “have a guest room. I’ve been told the Beeches in Collsthorpe has a lovely guest room for friends of residents who come from a long way away.”

Mrs. Spurling was tempted to suggest Miss Beasley take herself off to the Beeches as soon as possible, and good riddance. But it was more than her job was worth, so she turned on her heel and headed for the kitchens, calling for Miss Pinkney as she went.

NEXT MORNING, GUS was feeling very much better. “Poor old Spurling,” he said, as he sat up in bed listening to Deirdre, who had been talking to Ivy before she popped in to see Gus for a few minutes. She was a practised hospital visitor, having spent hours with Bert on many occasions before he died. But with Gus, half an hour was quite long enough to keep conversation going in the artificial atmosphere of a hospital ward. In any case, although he was obviously much improved, he still looked tired and wan.

“Anyway,” continued Deirdre, “Ivy said she had thanked Katya for her kind offer. She also said she reckoned the girl had a crush on you, and she expected you to be very careful to discourage her.”

Deirdre was pleased to see colour come into Gus’s cheeks, and she laughed. “I told her you didn’t need to cradle-snatch. Plenty more mature fish in the sea.”

“Lead me to them,” Gus said. “A bouncing blonde would be just the thing to restore me to health and vigour… and to save me from the clutches of Miriam Blake.”

“How about the very lovely Beatrice Beatty?” Deirdre said. “That would leave Theo for me. What could be more romantic?” She paused for a moment, and then said that she had to ask him a serious question. Gus’s face fell. “Fire away,” he said.