by Purser, Ann
The word “story” stuck with Ivy. She realised that she would indeed be telling a story, and she would need to sift and reject subjects that might be of great interest to her alone. She had a question or two to ask Rickwood, but decided early on that she would note them down and ask him at the next session, when she would have had time to think about them.
Lunchtime was held in a converted barn at the back of the house. It had been sympathetically turned into a kind of canteen, where the tables were small, six places at most, and the serving counter was colourful with fresh flowers.
Samantha, who had gained courage quite quickly, and made several sensible contributions in class, now asked Miss Beasley if they could share a table, and Ivy gratefully sat down next to her. Two more students joined them, including Alexander the pest, and talking was animated and easy. Then Rickwood Smith appeared, and took the last chair at their table. The conversation immediately stalled, until Ivy said that if she had known the teacher was going to join them, she would have brought him an apple. Alexander chuckled. “An apple for the teacher,” he said. “Very good, Miss Beasley.”
“And how is your mother, Mr. Smith?” said Ivy, in with both feet as usual. “I understand she has difficulty in getting about?”
“She has been disabled for many years, Miss Beasley. A riding accident, back in Australia, I’m afraid. The horse threw her, and she landed on her back on a large rock. But we are very lucky with caring help, so that she is able to stay in her own home.”
“My mum calls to see her often,” said Samantha. “She likes chatting to her. I expect she’s very pleased to have you home for a while. Is it true that Mrs. Blatch, the one who died recently, was her sister?”
Rickwood nodded. “But we had no communication with Mrs. Blatch, unfortunately. Years and years ago there was an almighty row, and the serious feud was a result. I was forbidden by my mother to visit my aunt Blatch.”
“Good gracious, Mr. Smith,” said Ivy. “But a sister is a sister. Your mother must have been at least a little sad?”
Before Rickwood could answer her, Peter Rubens appeared, looking flustered. “Rickwood, old chap, could you spare me a minute? Unhappy parent on the phone. You’d think we were a nursery school sometimes!”
When they had gone, the students closed ranks and began to talk about the morning’s work. “And how about you, Miss Beasley,” said a nineteen-year-old, handsome and expensively turned out. “Did you enjoy your first morning?”
“Yes. Quite unexpectedly, I enjoyed it very much. And you? What is your name again?”
“Alexander,” he said. “This is my second attempt at creative writing, and I must say Rickwood seems an excellent tutor. Unlike my previous one, who was a batty old duck who seemed to think Barbara Cartland was the goal towards which we should all strive.”
“Ah,” said Ivy, with a bland smile. “My favourite author. Wonderful storyteller, Alexander. When you have written as many books as she has, and had them published, you can call yourself a writer!”
By the time they had all assembled back in class, Ivy was feeling quite at home and looking forward to Rickwood’s next session.
“Welcome back,” he began, “I hope you have all charged your batteries with a good lunch? Good. This afternoon I plan to have a question and answer session. This will be the programme for all our day sessions, so it might be quite useful if you think of questions in advance. Who is going to start us off?”
The pest put up his hand. “I’d like to know,” he said, “what are my fellow students’ opinions of the writing of James Joyce?”
Silence. None of them have ever read any James Joyce, thought Rickwood. He looked around, and Ivy caught his eye. “If anyone asked me,” she said, “he ought to have been hanged. In fact, I’m not so sure that he wasn’t. I never read anything he wrote, but I used to hear him on the wireless, trying to spread bad rumours over here during the war. Yes, I’m pretty sure he was hanged. Lord Haw-Haw, that was his nickname. What did he write, then?”
“Um, not sure if we’ve got the right man here,” said Rickwood.
Samantha put up her hand. “I’d rather hear about Lord Haw-Haw than that Irish git who never knew when to stop. Go on, Miss Beasley.”
Ivy was only too happy to talk about the traitor’s broadcasts, and answer questions from the others about wartime, and how traitors were dealt with.
Rickwood sat back and listened. When he looked at his watch, he saw they had only ten minutes before they broke up for the afternoon.
“Time to shut up shop,” he said. “I must say our first day has moved forward much more than I anticipated. You all showed great promise, and I look forward to seeing you again on Monday. Now, Miss Beasley, do you have a lift back to Springfields?”
“Nothing wrong with my legs, young man,” she said. “And I see my fiancé is here, waiting in the yard to escort me back to base.”
She waved through the window, and was relieved to see a happy smiling face. Roy had obviously had a good day, too.
• • •
MOST OF THE students were staying in accommodation at the college, but Samantha appeared on the drive as Ivy and Roy set off back to Springfields.
“Where are you staying?” asked Ivy. “Um, this is Samantha, and this is my fiancé, Roy Goodman.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Samantha said, offering a hand to Roy.
“Delighted,” said Roy, giving her his kindest smile.
“I’m living with my parents. They live in one of the houses in Spinney Close. It’s a new development, between the farm spinney and the big house. Tawny Wings, that is. Lovely name, isn’t it, Miss Beasley?”
“And a lovely person who lives there,” said Roy loyally. “Mrs. Deirdre Bloxham. Her husband sadly died some years ago, but she works very hard for people who need help.”
“Also works with us,” said Ivy. “We have an enquiry agency, operating from Springfields, the old folks’ home down the road.”
“Goodness! You certainly are busy, Miss Beasley! I must tell my mother. She will be very interested to hear about you. Wasn’t it interesting what Rickwood had to say about his mother and his aunt?” She smiled, and said she had discovered a shortcut through the farmyard and across the field. “The whole place is deserted and falling to pieces. Such a shame. I should think it was a really nice house a while back?”
Ivy and Roy exchanged glances, Ivy almost imperceptibly shaking her head. “Spinney Close, did you say? Aren’t there one or two old persons’ bungalows there?”
“There are,” said Samantha. “They are already occupied. One by the lady who is the mother of our tutor. Mrs. Winchen, she’s named. Hardly ever goes out. My mum calls on her regularly to make sure she is okay, as I told you. Of course, now Rickwood is staying with her, she doesn’t need Mum so much, but they have become quite good friends. Poor Rick escapes to the henhouse in the spinney, when his mother insists on television turned up loud. It’s been cleaned up and quite sweet inside. He finds it peaceful and quiet. I’ve taken him cups of tea occasionally. My house is only a step away.”
“How interesting,” said Ivy evenly. “Now, Samantha, mind how you go, dear. We meet again on Monday afternoon. Enquire Within meets every Monday morning, so I hope I won’t miss anything important! Good-bye for the present.”
“Bye!” said Samantha, walking briskly into the entrance to the farm. Ivy watched until she was out of sight, and then said to Roy that they’d better be getting on. “La Spurling will be watching out for us,” she said.
“And?” said Roy.
“And what, dearest?”
“And when shall we tell the others that we have found out where Mrs. Winchen lives, and have a contact if we wish to visit her?”
Ivy smiled. “You read my thoughts, Roy dear,” she said, and set the pace for him to follow in his trundle.
• • •
“Seems to be,” said Ivy. “But you can’t always tell from first acquaintance. She was very shy at first, but soon came out of her shell. Seems very attached to our tutor.”
“And what about you, dear Ivy Beasley. How did you get on?”
“Splendidly, Roy,” answered Ivy enthusiastically. “Once I had reorganised one or two things, and let the tutor know exactly how I felt about the course, we got on splendidly. They’re all young enough to be my grandchildren, of course, but I was myself, not trying to join in their youthful excesses.”
“And the memoirs?”
“We made a start. One or two good pointers, such as keeping in mind who your reader is likely to be, and what will interest them.”
“Well, I am your first reader,” said Roy, accepting another piece of cake from a waiting Katya, “and everything about Ivy Beasley interests me. So you can choose what you like. Bad as well as good! Though I suspect there is not much bad in your past life, my love.”
“All power to your elbow, Miss Beasley,” said Katya triumphantly. Everyone laughed, and she protested that she had just learnt the saying from cook in the kitchen.
“And a very good one it is, too,” said Ivy. “Now, no more talking, Roy, until we have finished our tea.”
• • •
SAMANTHA, WALKING ACROSS the field, felt much more cheerful than when she had crossed to start her first real day at college. And she hadn’t felt much better when they had all assembled. That know-all chap and his James Joyce! But Miss Beasley had put him firmly in his place! She pushed her way through the spinney undergrowth and came out exactly beside her mother’s rear garden.
The houses were very well designed, and although the rooms were small, the windows were large and the sitting room full of light. She went in through the back door, and found her mother, with a familiar person smiling at her.
“Ah, this is my daughter, Mrs. Bloxham. Sam, this is our neighbour from Tawny Wings.”
“Nice to meet you, Sam,” Deirdre said. “I just popped in to welcome your parents to the village, and you, too, of course. She has been telling me that you are studying at the Manor House College? My cousin Miss Beasley has also started today. Creative Writing is her course.”
“Oh, what a coincidence!” said Sam. “She befriended me today when I was feeling very nervous. She is a very kind old lady, and interesting to talk to. I imagine she is well loved locally?”
“Um, well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, “said Deirdre, smiling. “Interesting, certainly, but Ivy is known for her sharp tongue! Well loved, no; but certainly yes, by her fiancé, Roy Goodman. He is an absolute sweetie, and some people can’t see what he sees in our Ivy.”
“I can,” said Samantha firmly.
Deirdre, highly amused at the girl’s description of Ivy, got up to leave. “I have had a nice chat with your mother, my dear,” she said. “I am sure we shall be seeing more of you, and do call in whenever you like. Good-bye both!”
• • •
TWO NEW FRIENDS in one day, thought Samantha, as she settled back in a chair. “Any interesting news from you, Mum?” she said.
“Only the visit from Mrs. Bloxham. So kind of her to call. She was telling me about her work for an enquiry agency in the village. Enquire Within, they are called. They do all kinds of work, from finding lost cats to solving murder cases. With the help of the police, of course”
“Murder cases! Surely there are no murders in Barrington? It seems such a quiet little place.”
“You can never tell, Sam. Sometimes the quietest are worst. Anyway, let’s have tea and you can tell me about your day.”
Twenty-eight
“YOU HAVEN’T TOLD me how you got on in the library with Gus.” Ivy was tired of answering questions from fellow elderly residents about becoming a student at her great age, and had escaped with Roy to her room straight after supper.
Roy smiled. “Thought you’d never ask!” he said. “Well, as a matter of fact, we turned up some very interesting stuff about the Winchen side of Eleanor’s family. And this would be the Spinney Close Mrs. Winchen, also. They came from Lincolnshire, up on the east coast. Pork butchers in Boston, a port on the Witham, in the fens of Lincolnshire. They were quite wealthy folk, having been in business there for generations. Pork is a great specialty of the fens, apparently. Pork pies are especially delicious, so we discovered.”
“Roy! I can’t see how pork pies are going to get us any further forward with our investigations.”
“Maybe so,” said Roy. “But I haven’t finished. We discovered that a local hostelry, now no longer there, had served its best pork to royalty.”
“Roy!”
“Patience, beloved. We know Eleanor was a Winchen, and had added her name to Ted’s when they got married. There were two sisters, and the other one, Mary, was the younger of the two. That’s as far as the library records go.”
“Good gracious, Roy. That puts my first day as a college student well into the shade. Really good work by you and Gus! You must remember the Winchen sisters when you were young? Maybe visiting Ted at his parents’ farm?”
Roy shook his head. “Not that I can remember. There was only ever Mr. and Mrs. Blatch, and son Ted. I remember him bringing home his bride, but we moved in different circles. They didn’t encourage guests. The old Blatches retired to the south coast, Eastbourne I think it was. Then Ted and Eleanor farmed, until he was killed when a tractor he was driving toppled into a ditch, and he died, and Eleanor was left a young widow. The rest we know.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Ivy.
Twenty-nine
THE TEAM HAD not been idle over the weekend. Gus had grilled Miriam Blake for her knowledge of the Winchens, whilst consuming with gusto her roast lamb Sunday lunch. Deirdre had agreed to go for a drink with the squire, to see if he remembered any particular references to the Winchen family, and Roy and Ivy went to church as usual, staying after the service to have coffee and cake, and talk casually to the older churchgoers about Mrs. Blatch’s own family in Lincolnshire. Here they had drawn a blank, though one or two thought they remembered Mrs. Winchen, now up in Spinney Close, visiting her sister, Eleanor, at the farm when they were young. Although Monday was no longer wash-day, Ivy had spent much of yesterday sorting out her clothes into those she would need for the honeymoon, and others which could be packed away for next spring.
Now it was Monday morning, and all were assembled in the office at Tawny Wings. Ivy took the chair as usual, and said that each should in turn report on new developments.
“Shall I start, Chairman?” said Gus respectfully. Ivy nodded. “Off you go,” she said.
“Miriam was very interested when I mentioned the Winchens. I asked innocently if she knew anything about that part of Eleanor’s name, and she laughed. Said it was her maiden name, which she had tacked on to Blatch when she married Ted. She said everyone in the village laughed. Wasn’t Blatch good enough for her, they had said. Poor Eleanor had had a tough time after Ted died, and had ended up more or less a recluse. Until her lover arrived. Miriam was very knowledgeable about that! Seems he came out of nowhere, asking for accommodation, and Eleanor took him in. Miriam seemed to think he was years younger, and said half the women in the village would have gladly taken him in!”
“Meaning herself,” said Ivy acidly.
“Probably,” agreed Gus. “Then, of course, when he left suddenly, everyone claimed they had always known what a bad hat he had been, and blamed Eleanor for being a silly old woman.”
“Good heavens,” said Deirdre. “You and Miriam must have had a fun lunch! What else did she say?”
“Not a lot, really. And she certainly didn’t mention Eleanor’s sister Mary, except that she had turned up as a mature lady living in Spinney Close, and severely disable
d.”
“And Deirdre, how did you get on with Roussel?” Ivy did not approve of Deirdre’s assignations with the squire, but had to admit that the connection was useful.
“He was very superior, I’m afraid,” said Deirdre. “Said how could he be expected to know the family trees of half the inhabitants of Barrington? But apparently when Ted had gone, and Eleanor had more or less given up, she had approached the Roussel estate, offering Blackwoods Farm for sale.”
“But they didn’t buy it?” This was news to Roy, who owned several farms in the district, and was not, as far as he could remember, approached by Eleanor.
“No. No money. The usual thing with landed gents. They live in genteel poverty, mostly. And Theo’s lot were no different. Anyway, that’s all he could remember, and we moved on to other things.”
“Mm,” said Ivy. “Now, since we all have the matter of Mary to follow up, I suggest we close the meeting now. I have a special dispensation to be at the college straight after lunch on a Monday. I told them that Enquire Within must come first, and they agreed. So, I’ll be off now, and suggest we meet for tea tomorrow to see what has emerged. I mean to ask Samantha to introduce me to her mother, and then I shall bring up the subject of Mary Winchen. There will surely be a lot to discuss, including what plans Rickwood has for the farm. It has occurred to me and Roy that he probably inherits. Though with the feud between his mother and Eleanor, it is not at all certain.”
• • •
AFTER IVY HAD gone, with Roy faithfully following in his trundle, back to Springfields for lunch, Deirdre took pity on Gus.
“I can’t run to a roast lunch, I’m afraid,” she said, as they arrived in the kitchen. “But there’s cold pheasant and redcurrant jelly. And I can rustle up a salad of some sort. We’ll open a bottle and think some more about Mary. I like the idea of Mary, the mysterious sister. I’ve said good morning to her once or twice, when she has been sitting in her garden in the sun. And her son, Rickwood, is always very polite. So come on, Gus, here’s the corkscrew.”