The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery)

by Purser, Ann

  “Of course I do,” she said, in the immortal words of Harriet Morris. “It means that I shall be creating something. In my case, I shall create a memoir.”

  “It usually means making up something, creating a fictional story. Is your memoir going to be a fiction? Or the strict truth?” He was smiling now, and took her hand and kissed it. “I know you have a certain talent for embellishment, dearest,” he added.

  Ivy stared at him. Then she burst out laughing. “If you mean I’m a liar when it suits me, you’re not far wrong. Anyway, it won’t matter much either way. I’ll just keep the reader guessing.”

  An answer for everything, my Ivy, decided Roy, and said that in that case, they should have a walk up to the college to see about signing on.

  “It is a lovely day,” Ivy said. “Elvis will be here soon to take us into town, but can we go up to the Manor after lunch, and be back for tea? I would like to take a quick look at Blackwoods Farm on the way. Perhaps we’d better go downstairs and fraternise with the grim lot in the lounge now, else we shall be getting another lecture from the old dragon.”

  • • •

  ELVIS ARRIVED SOON after this, releasing them from a group of well-heeled old ladies whose favourite topic of conversation was the quality and variety of food in Springfields.

  “Off we go!” said Ivy gaily, as Elvis made sure Roy was safely locked into the back of the taxi. “The central library, please, Elvis. We shall be there about an hour or so, and then we’ll have a coffee in our usual café. Could you pick us up about twelve o’clock, to be back here in time for lunch?”

  “Right you are, Miss Beasley, outside the café about twelve,” he said. “I was thinking about you two this morning. Only a few weeks to go, isn’t it?”

  “You mean our wedding? Yes, it is really going ahead this time, and you are still free to be my best man, I hope?” Roy had asked Elvis some time ago, and the taxi man had been delighted to be included in what Katya persisted in calling the wedding of the century.

  Once in town, Elvis drove slowly to the central library, where he stopped and unloaded his cargo. Roy was whisked away to the special entrance for wheelchairs, and Ivy followed him. Inside the reference library there were rows of desks with computers, and a respectful silence was broken by Ivy saying they would need a desk with two chairs and the computer switched off.

  “No, no, dearest,” Roy said. “We shall need the computer. An excellent research tool, so I am informed. Now, let’s ask for the assistant, and then we can begin. This is rather exciting, isn’t it, my dear?”

  “I suppose so,” she said. “I don’t know how we’re going to find out much. All we know is that he was a young lodger in Barrington, at the Blackwoods farmhouse, about twenty years ago, “

  “And we know that Mrs. Winchen Blatch and he got on together very well, until he disappeared suddenly, never to be seen again.”

  Unfortunately, the library had not produced much in the way of information. The only brief reference they had of a young man in Barrington was one around that time who had won a Try Your Strength competition at a Barrington Church fete. And his name was Green.

  Ivy was irritated by this. Forging ahead, she had looked forward to reporting their findings to Gus and Deirdre. “I think we should assume it might be the same one,” she said firmly, as Roy shook his head in disagreement. “Newspapers are notorious for getting names wrong.”

  “Where do we go from here, then?” he said. “May I suggest our local café?”

  By the time they agreed to pack up and go for a coffee, the sun had gone behind heavy clouds, and they emerged into a shower of heavy raindrops. Well provided with umbrellas, they reached the café, and were welcomed inside as old friends.

  Roy covered his trundle, and went in first, manoeuvring with the help of his stick into their usual corner, while Ivy stood in the entrance porch, shaking her umbrella until it almost shrieked for mercy.

  “Not really a good morning’s work, eh?” she said, as they tucked into jam and cream scones, and large cups of milky coffee. “I hope we do better this afternoon. Do you think Mrs. Blatch will be home from hospital yet?”

  “Good heavens, I shouldn’t think so. Not if she is as damaged as Deirdre said. Poor lady will be in there for a while yet, I’m sure. Why, Ivy? Were you thinking of calling on her?” Roy was already thinking the afternoon’s plan should be postponed until tomorrow. A quiet snooze with his feet up would be very nice. But Ivy did not feel in the least tired, and would not hear of postponement.

  “I could go to the college on my own, if you like, now it’s stopped raining,” she said. “After all, it is my own decision to take this course. I don’t expect you to nursemaid me along everywhere, you know.”

  Roy sat up very straight. “Ivy,” he said firmly, “if you are going to a new place, meeting new people that neither of us has ever met and committing yourself to a course of action quite new to you, then I certainly wish to be there with you this afternoon. Is that clear?”

  Ivy blinked. “Um, yes, dear. Quite clear. So shall we compromise, and ask Elvis to take us up to the college and wait until we’re through, then drive us back?”

  Roy nodded. He had quite surprised himself in his new role of husband-to-be. “Good suggestion,” he said. “Here he is, drawing up outside. I’ll settle the bill, and then we’ll be off.”

  Elvis was pleased to be given another fare this afternoon, and agreed to pick them up about two thirty. “I expect you’ll make an appointment, Miss Beasley?” he said.

  “As soon as we get back to Springfields,” Ivy said.

  “You never say ‘back home,’ Miss Beasley,” Elvis remarked.

  “Home is where the heart is,” said Ivy simply. “And my heart is with Roy. Wherever he is, my heart is there also. Ah, now we’re back at Springfields. And there’s dear Miss Pinkney looking out for us.”

  • • •

  IN HIS NEWLY decorated study at Manor House College, the high master, as he called himself, picked up his phone.

  “What name did you say? Beasley? Miss Beasley. Yes, I’ve got that. How can I help you?”

  “I wish to talk to you about your creative writing course,” said Ivy. “Will a quarter to three this afternoon suit you?”

  “Um, ah, well, nice to talk to you, Miss Beasley. We do usually have a form of application for young students wishing to take the courses, which we require to be filled in before fixing an appointment.”

  “No need for that,” said Ivy firmly. “I live down the road, at Springfields Residential Home. And I am not a young student, though my age is of no account. I shall see you, then, at a quarter to three this afternoon.”

  • • •

  “AN OLD LADY, Pa? How old?”

  “She said her age was of no account,” answered the high master, chuckling. “Our first student, and she’ll probably be about ninety in the shade! But what fun! Why don’t you sit in on the interview, Steph? You can take notes.”

  “So how is she getting here?”

  “Taxi,” he said. “And her fiancé—yes, I did say fiancé—will be coming with her in his trundle.”

  “Trundle?” said Stephanie, his daughter and private secretary. “What the hell is that?”

  Seven

  IN THE DINING room, waiting to be served with baked sea bass and petit pois, Ivy and Roy smiled happily at each other.

  “I’m quite excited, Roy,” Ivy said. “Haven’t done anything educational since the top class in the village school.”

  “And I bet you were top of the class,” said Roy.

  “Well, actually, I was. Most years. Until a new girl came. Elizabeth Jones, her name was. Now, how’s that for a memory!”

  “And did she supplant you?” Roy had a quick mental picture of Ivy as a child, plain and fierce, and felt sorry for Elizabeth Jones.

  “Only once. After
that, she came second, most years.”

  “Well, I’m sure you haven’t lost the knack,” he said, and then patted his stomach. “Goodness, Ivy,” he said, “I’m really full. Shouldn’t have had that second scone in town! Anyway, let’s get ready for Elvis, and then sit and digest in the lounge. If, as is most unlikely, my eyes should close for a few seconds, please give me a nudge, won’t you?”

  • • •

  ONCE MORE ABOARD Elvis’s taxi, they rode slowly up to the Manor House College driveway. “I’ll go to the front entrance and drop you off there, and then wait for you round the back,” he said. “I’ll be perfectly happy with my library book. It’s due back tomorrow, so I’ll get it finished.”

  “Oh, look, they must have seen us coming,” said Ivy. “There’s a cheery-looking character waiting at the door.”

  “Good afternoon, come in, come in,” said the man, all smiles. “This way, please. We’re completely accessible to wheelchairs. Met all the regulations, you know. Now, into here, please make yourselves comfortable and I’ll order coffee.”

  “Tea, please,” said Ivy, not at all overawed. “We’re awash with coffee from this morning. Now, you sit there, Roy, and I’ll take this chair, thank you, Mister, er . . .”

  “Rubens. Peter Rubens. And you are Miss Beasley, and this gentleman is?”

  “My fiancé, Mr. Roy Goodman,” she said. “And did I get your name right, Mr. Rubens?”

  “That’s right, and this is my daughter and secretary, Stephanie. And this,” he added, indicating a tall, pleasant-looking man coming through the door, “is my new tutor, Rickwood Smith, who will be in charge of your course. Some of your fellow students have already arrived, as we have an optional settling-in period, enabling them to get to know one another.”

  Rickwood Smith nodded across the room to Ivy, with a confident and heartwarming smile. “Very pleased to meet you, Miss Beasley,” he said. “We shall be pioneers together.”

  “That remains to be seen, Mr. Smith,” she said.

  • • •

  IN THE ODD surroundings of the restored Manor House, it was a little while before both Ivy and Roy could concentrate on what was being said, but then tea arrived, and they settled down. Rubens explained the form of the creative writing course, and said that if Miss Beasley would not object, she could start the course right away, with the students already arrived for a couple of weeks’ bonding time, then take a break for her wedding and honeymoon, and a period of settling down as a married couple. After that, she could catch up easily enough. He looked across his desk at Stephanie and Rickwood Smith. “And if Miss Beasley likes us,” he said, smiling broadly, “we might be lucky enough to receive wedding invitations!”

  “Family and friends only,” said Ivy coolly. “Now, how many others will be on the course? I am sure it takes more than two pioneers to make a wagon train?”

  Mr. Rubens confirmed that a number of others had signed up. “Always a popular course,” he said. “Once people get to know the college, I expect larger classes, of course. But by then, Miss Beasley, you will be an old hand!”

  Roy cleared his throat. “Ivy dear,” he said, “wouldn’t it be more sensible if you waited six months, and then joined a new lot of students and took it through to the end?”

  “No, of course not,” Ivy replied. “I am quite happy to do the first half twice. I shall shine over the other students, don’t you think, Mr. Smith? And thank you, Mr. Rubens, for not charging me twice for the first half.”

  “As you will be part of the very first course at Manor House College, I shall be happy to do that,” he said nobly.

  Ivy fired a number of other questions at both men, Rickwood Smith in particular giving very smooth and satisfactory answers. He then handed over a bunch of introductory leaflets. “Just general stuff, but useful for you to know our background,” he said.

  “It all sounds most interesting,” she said, snapping shut her handbag. “I shall order the books on the reading list, and start practising my writing skills. Postcards from day trips to the seaside are all the writing I have done for many years. I might even treat myself to a new pen.”

  “I think you’ll be using our computer, dearest,” said Roy gently.

  Ivy nodded sagely. “Of course,” she said. “And my dear Roy will be my amanuensis.”

  “Never heard of him,” said Roy, smiling widely. “Now, Ivy, we mustn’t keep Elvis waiting. Are you ready, my dear? Don’t forget we’re calling on Mrs. Blatch to see if she’s home.”

  “Ah yes,” Ivy said. “Blackwoods Farm. Do you know it, Mr. Smith?”

  Rickwood Smith nodded, but before he could answer, Rubens jumped in. “Not yet, Miss Beasley. We mean to seek out all our neighbours, you know, once we are up and running. And I must locate the vicar of this parish, in case any of our students require the services of the church.”

  “I doubt if many of them will be churchgoers, Pa,” Stephanie said. “Take you and me, for a start. Haven’t darkened the church doors since my christening! Still, leopards can change their spots. Isn’t that right, Rickwood?”

  • • •

  “SO HOW WAS it, Miss Beasley? Are you going to be the next J. K. Rowling?”

  Ivy chuckled. “It was quite interesting, Elvis,” she said. “But I have no intention of writing anything more exciting than the memoirs of an old spinster. I shall enjoy digging up the old days, and Roy is going to help me.”

  “What was the college principal like? I’ve heard he’s quite a jolly soul. I picked up one or two people who are going to study there, and they sounded optimistic. What’s his name, anyway?”

  “Rubens, and his daughter is Stephanie. She seemed a very pleasant girl.”

  “Very pleasant, I thought,” said Roy enthusiastically.

  “That’s as may be,” said Ivy. “We met the new tutor, too, Rickwood Smith. But if anyone asked me, I would say it’s early days to be getting too friendly with any of them.”

  “More importantly, Elvis,” said Roy, “my Ivy has parted with a large cheque for the complete course. So we do hope it all comes up to scratch.”

  “I know you’ve always lived in villages, Miss Beasley,” said Elvis. “And you know what? I was looking at my diary while you were in there, and I realised that in a few weeks I shall have to say Mrs. Goodman! Don’t you forget about that, you two! It is going to be the best day of your lives.”

  They had arrived outside Blackwoods farmhouse, and Elvis brought the taxi to a halt.

  “I think it would be best if you stay in here with Elvis,” Ivy said to Roy. “I shan’t be many minutes. In fact, even if she is there, she very likely won’t answer the door.”

  Roy was reluctant to agree, saying it was a waste of time, as Mrs. Blatch was almost certainly still in hospital. But Ivy said that if she was not back in a quarter of an hour, Elvis should come in and find her. Roy watched her small, sturdy figure marching purposefully through the gate and saw her knock firmly on the front door. As he expected, nothing happened. Then she walked along the front of the house and disappeared round the corner.

  “She’s very determined, Mr. Goodman,” Elvis said. “You’ll be taking on a very strong-minded wife!”

  “Ivy is the most wonderful woman I have ever met,” Roy answered, “and I’ve had my days as a lusty young farmer, I can assure you.” This prompted a series of romantic tales from Roy’s youth, and Elvis was an attentive listener.

  Meanwhile, Ivy had arrived at the back door, and knocked even more loudly. There was still no answer, but when she explored and found the dairy door, she discovered it to be unlocked. She pushed it wider, and stepped inside, just as Deirdre had done so recently. The door swung back on creaking hinges, and when she turned from surveying the piles of junk, she found she could not open it to rejoin Roy and Elvis.

  It was stuck fast, and there was only one thing to do. She saw the door
leading to the house, and saying a little prayer to the saint of locked-in elderly ladies, she pushed against it as hard as she could. It gave way reluctantly, but she was able to get into the kitchen. Mrs. Blatch could be having a rest upstairs, Ivy thought, and walked through into the hall.

  “Coo-ee!” she shouted, but there was no reply. She shivered. It was damp-smelling and cold. And, she now decided, the house was empty. She made her way into the front room, where she found furniture covered in dust, and curtains hanging in shreds. She quickly rubbed a windowpane of glass clear with one of her gloves, and with some relief could see the taxi waiting for her.

  • • •

  “SO THERE I was, considerably the worse for wear, and with a girl on either arm, attempting to get up onto my old shire horse to take me home. Mind you,” he continued, but Elvis interrupted him. “Excuse me, Mr. Goodman,” he said urgently. “Isn’t that your Ivy? I can see her face at the window. To the left of the door? Yes, it’s definitely Miss Beasley.”

  “Get me out at once,” snapped Roy. “Come on, jump to it!”

  Elvis did not panic. “Um, no,” he said. “I think it would be best if you wait here and I’ll go and get her out. It’ll be quicker if I go on my own.”

  Roy, feeling useless and unhappy, agreed, and watched as Elvis reached the front door, heaved at it with his shoulder a couple of times, and then disappeared inside.

  In minutes, he was back, with Ivy holding his arm. He opened the taxi door for her and she climbed inside. “Roy?” she said. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I’m not!” he said. “What on earth have you been up to? Really, Ivy, I’m beginning to wonder if you are in your right mind. First taking on a college course designed for aspiring journalists, and now trapping yourself inside an empty house. And a haunted one, at that.”

  Elvis, in an attempt to pour oil on troubled waters, said that it was a bit unfortunate, and he thought Miss Beasley was not to know that nobody was at home. She had come to no harm. He said he would take them straight back to Springfields, and they could sort themselves out and forget about it.