Ann Purser - The Hangman’s Row Enquiry

IVY AND ROY had already arrived at Tawny Wings when Gus came panting up the drive. Deirdre opened the door to him, and he apologised for being late. “Blame it on the primrose wine,” he said, though in fact the lovely stuff had had no ill effects. He had merely overslept, probably the result of a good supper and, touch wood, relief that his ever-loving ex seemed to have given up dunning him for money.

As they made for the stairs, he said, “You’re looking very chipper, if I may say so.”

“Feeling good,” Deirdre said, with a smile.

“Ah. Visit from the squire on Saturday? Lots to tell us?”

“Wait and see,” she said, ushering him into her office, where Roy greeted him enthusiastically and Ivy looked obviously at her watch. “Can we get going?” she said. “I have things to do later this morning.”

Gus refrained from asking what an old lady living in a retirement home with all her wants supplied could possibly have to do that was so urgent. “Obviously no apologies,” he said, “so shall we have the minutes of the last meeting?”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Augustus,” Ivy said. “We can get straight down to business. Now Deirdre, it was reported to me that Theo Roussel’s filthy Land Rover was parked outside your house on Saturday night until the small hours. And yes, before you say it is none of my business, I say it is. He is a prime suspect in our first case in my opinion, and being too intimate is unprofessional.”

There was a stunned silence, and then Roy began to laugh. “Ivy, you are a gem,” he said. “Who else could bring us back to order in such a wonderful way?” He reached out and patted her on the back of her hand, and she shook him off. “Well, Deirdre?” she said.

Deirdre was trying hard to be serious, and professional. “Ivy,” she said, “I would never dream of telling you to mind your own business.” For one thing, she said silently to herself, it would be a waste of time, like old Canute at the seaside. “No, I can assure you that any association I may have with Theo is purely in the interests of our investigation.”

Roy once more laughed. “So what happened, Deirdre?” he said. “Apart from a spot of the other, I mean.”

Finally Deirdre gave them an edited account of her return home after seeing Ivy, when Theo had turned up at Tawny Wings, again full of apologies for not being able to let her know that Beattie had not gone to market. “Apparently she told him just before she was due to go. He’d tried, but by that time I was already out in the drive, unloading shopping I’d done in the morning and ready to set off for the Hall. The old witch must’ve worked it all out very efficiently. Theo says she is a tough adversary, and I begin to see what he means.”

“What else did he say?” Ivy said sourly.

“Well, quite a lot, really. For one thing, I was able to ask him where Beattie had come from, and why to the Hall. He told me where she’d lived, but not why she had arrived to housekeep for his widowed father. I suspect he’d not give me the real reason why, if he knew it.”

“Glad you didn’t swallow everything he said wholesale,” Ivy muttered.

Deirdre continued: “Theo said he supposed she had answered an advertisement, and had got the job. She came from Oakbridge, and had good references, so his father said. Theo did not particularly like her from the start, and after his father died she gradually took over, not only the running of the estate, but Theo himself.”

“He was hardly bound hand and foot, was he?” said a sceptical Ivy.

“It was a clever, gradual process, Theo said. He even came to believe he was ill. Not seriously, but enough to curtail his activities. In the end, he gave up and left everything to her.”

“Until you came along,” said Gus generously. “I hope he’s duly grateful.”

“He is,” said Deirdre, with a dreamy smile.

“I wonder what was the real reason she came all the way across the county for a job, when all her family were back in Oakbridge?” Roy said.

“Didn’t he give any hints, Deirdre?” Ivy asked. She considered that the Land Rover had been outside Tawny Wings quite long enough for dozens of questions and answers in the interests of the investigation.

Deirdre frowned, thinking back. It had indeed been a lovely evening with Theo. He had lit a fire for her in the long drawing room, tucked her up on the sofa under a soft rug, and sat with his arms around her, sympathising with her and making her feel like she hadn’t felt for years. If ever!

“Not really,” she said. “Theo did say something about Beattie spending a lot of time up at Springfields before it became an old folks’ home.”

“Less of the ‘old folks,’ if you don’t mind,” said Ivy. “Anyway, why would she have done that? Didn’t you say it was lived in by a recluse lady with her companion, Roy?”

He nodded. “Never seen. Even the companion came and went in a car and hardly ever ventured into the village. People just let them alone, in the end. Villagers are like that. If a person wants to be left alone, that’s fine with us.”

“Even if they are living lives of quiet desperation?” asked Deirdre, remembering some of the isolated, lonely people she visited in her volunteer work.

“Nothing to do with us, if that’s how they want it,” Roy said cheerfully. “Up to them, isn’t it?”

“So do we know any more about Beattie’s association with Springfields in those days?” Gus had a familiar feeling, almost like Whippy when she got an interesting sniff and wouldn’t leave it, that they were getting near something vital, something definitely central to the mystery.

“No, ’fraid not,” Roy said. “Maybe when me and Ivy go to tea with Mrs. Bentall, she will be able to help us with that.”

“Of course!” Deirdre said. “That’s it, Roy. When are you going?”

“Tomorrow,” said Ivy. “And don’t offer to take us. We’ve already booked a taxi, so you’ll have to wait until we get back to see what we’ve gleaned.”

Deirdre’s face fell, and Ivy felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps she was being unfair to her cousin, who, after all, had been a widow for a good many years, and deserved a bit of fun before she was too old. Just as long as she didn’t get hurt by smarmy Theo at the Hall.

“Anything else, then?” Gus said.

“How about supper with Miriam?” Deirdre said, in a belated attempt at revenge.

“Good cooking, primrose wine, lots of girlhood reminiscences, but nothing useful to us. She’s not so green as she’s cabbage looking,” he added. “Knows what not to tell, I reckon.”

“Nothing else?” Deirdre asked.

“Well, I’m not sure it has any bearing on the murder, but I noticed a small photograph tucked away behind the clock on her mantelpiece. At first I thought it was Theo, which would have made sense, since Miriam had a fling with him years ago. But then I could see it wasn’t him. Old-fashioned clothes, and a different look about him. Could’ve been the moustache, but not just that.”

“His father,” Deirdre said flatly. “There’s pictures of him everywhere at the Hall,” she continued. “Even one in the kitchen on the top shelf of the dresser. I noticed it on Saturday, as Beattie was busy trying to poison me.”

Ivy had gone pale, and her hand was shaking slightly as she brushed a nonexistent hair out of her eyes. “Oh dear,” she said. “You’d better go and make us some coffee, Deirdre. Hot and strong, there’s a good girl.”

GUS HAD RETURNED home after yesterday’s meeting, deeply concerned by Ivy’s collapse. He was pretty certain that the old lady had had a slight heart attack, but she hotly denied that anything was wrong. Just a funny turn, she said. Often get them, she had assured Roy, who was upset, but full of dubious practical suggestions, like giving her neat brandy and wrapping her up in two duvets from Deirdre’s beds.