by Purser, Ann
“Hey, look at this!” shouted one of the girls, emerging from a small loose box with a pail full of—what? Ivy had an idea, but one of the lads walked over to the girl. “Sheep nuts, you dope! Everybody knows that!”
There was a chorus of contradiction, some saying that of course not everybody, and some pronounced the contents of the bucket as chicken corn, all squashed into pellets and containing every vitamin that a hen could possibly need to lay an egg a day.
Then, having exhausted that amazing discovery, another girl was exclaiming at the sight of a lame sheep approaching from the other side of the gate.
“It’s heard you rattling the bucket,” said the boy who knew all about farming. “Best give it a few pellets on the ground. It may have been fed this morning already.”
“Do you think it’s laid an egg?” said one joker. The little group moved through the gate and into the field, and Ivy followed. She had made a small note. “Sheep well fed. Who is feeding it?”
The sheep was not stupid. It singled out the girl who had held the bucket and butted her back. She screamed, giving a predatory male the excuse to hug her close.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” said the knowledgeable student, “It’s only a sheep! And a lame one at that!”
The students were now walking in single file across the field, keeping to the muddy path that led straight to the spinney. Rickwood had lingered behind with Ivy and Samantha, saying he wanted the students to have a completely new confrontation with what the field could offer.
Ivy resisted the temptation to say that it was only a field, wasn’t it? Both she and Rickwood were rewarded with a sudden yell from one of the lads. “Hey! Look at this!”
He was holding up high what looked like a dark-coloured rag, and Ivy and Rickwood hurried to look. By the time they caught up, one of the girls had turned away in tears, and a hush had fallen over the rest. “It’s a dead cat, I think,” said Samantha, bolder than the rest.
Ivy marched forward and looked closer. “It’s a hot water bottle cover, you sillies,” and took it firmly away from the girl. “Probably dropped by a child. I’ll take it back and wash it out. Then we can put it in the shop, in case anyone claims it.”
“Very reassuring, Miss Beasley,” said Rickwood under his breath. “Why don’t we put it under the hedge and collect it later. Now, shall we move on?”
All were busily noting down the discovery of a hot water bottle cover in their notebooks. Ivy did the same, and added, “Nicely made cover. Finders keepers?”
They were now two thirds of the way across the field, and the pace quickened. As they reached the spinney, one of the girls announced her intention of going back the long way round, by road.
“I’d feel safer, Rickwood, with houses and cars and people to look at. I don’t mind going off on my own, and I’ll make lots of notes.”
“Sorry, can’t allow that,” said Rickwood. “Rules, rules. We all have to stick together. We’ll go to the other side of the spinney and then turn round.”
“But it’s starting to rain, so please can we all go back round the road? We can walk faster, and it will be just as interesting. More interesting than a stupid sheep and a hot water bottle cover, in fact,” said the girl.
“I have seen you all taking copious notes, so I am sure our expedition will have been profitable. And we’re more than halfway through. So come on, adventurers, storm the spinney and then we’ll turn back.”
The thought of being more than halfway round seemed to buck up the group, and they set off through the trees at a good pace, Ivy and Rickwood bringing up the rear. The rain was not so heavy under the leafy trees, but as they emerged into the field, the wind was now driving it, almost sleet, horizontally across.
“Can we shelter in Rickwood’s old henhouse over there? Or we can go back to my house?” shouted Samantha.
“I have a key to the henhouse, so we could shelter in there,” said Rickwood, “but from the look of the sky, the rain has set in for the rest of the day. Shall we take a vote? Everyone has rainwear, and we can dry out when we get back to college.”
“But I think Miss Beasley should go back to my house,” persisted Samantha. “My mother’s at home, and would be only too pleased to see her.”
Ivy smiled, and took the girl’s arm. “Very sweet of you, my dear,” she said, “but we’ll share my umbrella and be perfectly all right. Come on now, everybody, best feet forward!”
Eventually, damp and grumbling, the group began to walk the muddy path, even muddier now, back towards the farmhouse. Suddenly the leader stopped. “Hey, everybody!” he shouted. “First to notice something different gets a free pint in the pub tonight!”
All dutifully looked round the rain-swept field, shaking their heads. But Ivy smiled. She knew exactly what was different. The hot water bottle cover which had been put under a hedge had disappeared into her large brown bag.
• • •
BACK IN COLLEGE, dried out against radiators, the group once more assembled in the tutorial room. A watery sun had emerged, cheering up the assembled group.
“Coffee all round?” said Rickwood. “And tea for Miss Beasley. And then, while memories are still fresh and notes decipherable, we will reveal what we have seen.”
This was more productive than Rickwood had hoped, and as each read out their notes and elaborated on them, he was delighted with the range of what had been spotted by a group of chiefly urban youngsters. Ivy, too, was pleased that in spite of the mud and rain, it had been a successful expedition.
There was one left to present her notes, apart from Ivy, of course, and that was Samantha. “It was a familiar route for me,” she said. “But strangely enough, looking at the field through the eyes of the others, I noted several previously unnoticed things. The hot water bottle cover I mistook for a dead cat, of course, and that was not there when I came to college this morning. I am sure of that. But when we were trying to get into the henhouse, I noticed footmarks. It was really muddy where we had been walking round, and most of the marks had been sludged together. But round the back, off to one corner, I noticed prints heading off in the opposite direction towards the corner of the spinney. Did anyone go out that way?”
All the rest claimed they had followed the route they had already taken. Rickwood said he had counted them all as they set off to return, and none had been missing. “Very well spotted, Samantha,” he said. “Whose prints do you think they are?”
Samantha smiled at him. “Yours,” she said. “I’ve been watching you, sir.”
“Indeed,” said Ivy approvingly, and making another note in her own little book. “Perhaps we can investigate further,” she added.
“Another day?” said one of the girls anxiously. “And in our own time? And when it stops raining?”
• • •
ROY WAS EXTREMELY glad to see the college vehicle draw up outside Springfields, and Ivy nimbly alighting. He limped over to greet her in reception, asking her tenderly about the heavy rain, and had it all been too much for her?
“Quite the contrary,” she said. “It was most revealing. There was grumbling, of course, but we all arrived back in college in one piece. Even Rickwood Smith was impressed with the success. It was most amusing at times to hear the students’ notes, and as always, one clever-clogs had clearly made it all up.”
“Like what?” asked Roy. He saw from Ivy’s pink cheeks and shining eyes that she had had a great time.
“He noted a half-hidden unexploded wartime bomb over by an oak tree, and also a gap in the hedge where he had seen an enormous bull looking through, and so on.”
Roy laughed. “Let’s hope he was making it up, then. Perhaps we should avoid the field path in future.”
“Oh yes, and then there was a real dead body halfway across the field.”
“Don’t be silly, Ivy! Come on, tea awaits. Who was it, anyway?”
> “It wasn’t a who. It was a cat. At least that’s what the students thought. I thought for one awful moment it was Tiddles, my very own Tiddles! But it wasn’t. It was a furry hot water bottle cover. We put it under a hedge to deal with on our return. But it had gone!”
“Probably the fox came back for it,” said farmer Roy. “Come along now. Anya has made us lemon tarts for tea.”
Thirty-nine
ALMOST AS SOON as Roy and Ivy sat down to tea, Mrs. Spurling advanced on them with a red face. “It’s Mrs. Bloxham,” she said disapprovingly. “She says it is urgent.” She thrust the phone into Ivy’s hand and waited, lips pursed.
“God, Ivy, what an old dragon!” said Deirdre. “Anyway, before she locks you in your bedroom, I am longing to hear what happened on your student walk? Can me and Gus come over this evening, about half six? More convenient for me. Would that be allowed by La Spurling? . . . Okay? Bye.”
Ivy handed the phone back wordlessly to Mrs. Spurling.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Roy, smiling his sweetest. Sometimes he felt quite sorry for their manager. He could see that Ivy’s fierce independence made life very difficult for the poor woman, and he tried to alleviate the tension it created all round.
Mrs. Spurling walked away, thinking for the umpteenth time that she could not for the life of her understand what nice Mr. Goodman saw in the impossible old baggage.
“Gus and Deirdre are coming at half past six,” said Ivy to Roy. “They want to hear what my student walk produced. It will be nice to see them, so perhaps you could exert your charm and order coffee—and one pot of tea—in my room ready for them? Thank you, my dear!”
Roy was not at all sure that Ivy wasn’t mocking him. He could see a glint in her eye, but decided to ignore it. She could outwit him without effort.
• • •
IN THE FALLING twilight, the old sheep limped over the field towards the henhouse, and stopped a few yards from it. It baa-ed several times, and then settled down to wait.
Usually around this time, a handful of sweet-smelling hay was brought out, but so far it had not appeared. After a while, the sheep gave up, and wandered back to the other side of the field.
Samantha, walking back from college, where she had stayed for a social gathering of students in the bar, shone her torch over the muddiest patches on the path. She did not notice the sheep coming up behind her, and suddenly felt a strong push in her back, and she screamed.
When she turned around and saw what had shoved her forward, she shouted angrily at it, and vowed not to return home this way again. It was a foolish thing to do, anyway, she decided, and quickened her pace. Almost up to the spinney, she stopped. She could see the henhouse through the trees, and was certain the door opened and then quickly shut. Oh Lord, keep me safe, she said to herself. Then the door opened again, and she ran.
“Samantha! It’s Rick! Don’t be afraid. Come back.”
She had only a few yards to go to the other side of the spinney, and reached her garden gate with relief.
“What on earth is the matter with you, Samantha?” said her mother, as she flopped onto the living room sofa without taking off her Wellingtons. “Those muddy boots! You surely didn’t come back over the field path in the dark?”
Samantha nodded. “It is the last time I do,” she said. “It’s not only the mud. There was someone in the henhouse. The light was on, so I came on home as quickly as possible.”
Her father came in and asked what was up. Samantha gave him a brief account. She did not own up that she knew all along that it was her tutor who worked in there at odd times. She rather wished she had stopped when he called. He had such a lovely warm voice . . .
Her father nodded wisely, and agreed that she shouldn’t go that way until the field would be dry, and the evenings lighter. “It is private property, Sam. We are trespassing when we use that path, although it has been a shortcut for years, so the villagers say. But as long as you are not threatened in any way, it is nothing to do with us if the henhouse stores the instruments for the town band.”
“A person, Dad,” said Samantha. “Our tutor, Rickwood Smith, works in there. Not trumpets.”
Her father shrugged. “Same difference,” he said. “You did well to steer clear. Come and watch the telly and calm down.”
• • •
IVY’S ROOM HAD once more become a meeting place, with extra chairs for Gus and Deirdre, and a tray of coffee and biscuits on a small table in front of them.
“How pleasant!” said Deirdre. “I don’t know why you grumble about Springfields, Ivy. They always seem most accommodating. And where on earth did you get that furry thing? Don’t tell me it’s a nightdress bag?”
Ivy shook her head. “Hot water bottle cover. I found it and brought it back to be company for Tiddles. Sleight of hand, dears, and none of the others noticed. But let’s talk about my expedition this afternoon. The students did well and enjoyed most of it.”
“Never mind the students! We want to know what you learned about the farmyard and the footpath. The spinney, too, if you got that far.”
“Who was with you on the expedition?” Gus asked Ivy. “Anyone we would know?”
“None you would recognise, I doubt,” said Ivy. “Except, of course, Rickwood Smith. He was leader for the afternoon. Nice chap. But then, you’ve met him, Gus.”
“Mm, I’m reserving judgement until I have seen more of him. He’s been very uncooperative about the dark chamber. I’m certain he could open the door, and probably does when there’s nobody about. He’s acting as if he owns the farm already. Very proprietorial, he is.
“You’ve probably seen most of the students in the pub. There’s one who always has a lot to say for himself. And then there’s another knows all about farming. And, of course, young Samantha, who is my special friend.”
“Smiley-faced girl?” said Gus. “Lives in the village? I think she’s been down to the pub with some other girls. That could be Samantha. I think she’s usually called Sam by her friends.”
“Very pretty,” said Ivy. “If I’m not mistaken, the poor child has developed a crush on our tutor, Rickwood Smith. Not a good idea, I think, but it is none of my business. On the other hand, I would not like to see her come to harm.”
Gus nodded sagely, but in fact was deep in thought about how he could get his hands on the Ferguson tractor. He said he was sure Samantha’s parents would be on the lookout for her, but who was keeping an eye on the Fergie?
“Somebody has locked the barn, but I can see it’s still there. That peephole in the door is useful. Smith is very cagey about it. He says he has plans for the place when everything is finalised. He seems pretty sure now that he will be the new owner. Could be his mother, I suppose, but since she is very disabled it might well be him in all but name.”
“Ye gods,” said farmer Roy. “And we know he is thinking of selling up. If he stays, anything could happen. There’ll be donkey rides and rare breeds on show. School parties, and reptile houses!”
“Tour buses and car parks!” said Ivy. “Tree walks and ice creams. At a price! I know all about diversification, but these hobby farms are a waste of time, using up good pasture land that could support proper farm animals. And,” she added, “he’ll be too busy to continue with the writing course, I suppose. Always supposing he stays in the village.”
“And if he moves into the farmhouse, I shall call with my collecting tin,” said Deirdre. “A very good way of snooping! What say you, Ivy?”
“You snoop with your tin, I shall proceed more stealthily. First, I shall ask at college if anyone knows about the new owner of Blackwoods Farm. I still think it is too soon for Rickwood or his mother to have been legally approved as Eleanor’s sole beneficiary.”
Roy groaned. “I do hope you spend a little time on your memoirs, dearest. I suspect your class is becoming a useful offshoot of Enquire W
ithin!”
“Of course!” answered Ivy. “Why else do you think I applied for the course?”
Roy laughed, and then smothered a yawn.
“We must go,” said Deirdre. “It’s been a great evening, both. See you in church on Sunday, maybe? Meanwhile, I’m off in the morning to see a client in Spinney Close. Social services have asked me to visit.”
“Who’s that, then?” said Ivy.
“Mrs. Winchen, of course. Who else?”
Forty
“SO WHAT ARE you two dear things up to today?” Miss Pinkney smiled fondly at Roy, as he and Ivy sat reading the newspapers after breakfast.
“Oh, a quiet day, I think, Pinkers,” he said. “This and that, you know.”
“And a spot of the other?” said his friend Fred, propping himself up on the back of a chair. “You two must be close to being spliced.”
Ivy nodded. “Not long to go now,” she said. “But we’ve sort of decided not to talk about it too much, in case it should have to be cancelled again!”
“Possibly for good,” said Roy, uncharacteristically gloomy.
“Cheer up, friend!” said Fred. “And hey, have you heard the latest?”
“Tell us,” said Ivy.
“Blackwoods Farm, the old Blatch place. People are saying the new owner is moving in himself and turning the place into a safari park. How d’you fancy lions next door to you, Ivy?”
“Not at all, Fred. It’s not so much the lions I object to. It’s all the charabancs and hordes of so-called wildlife enthusiasts. I think I preferred the hobby farm rumour. In any case, you’ll be able to say good-bye to peace and quiet in Barrington.”
“Is that what’s bothering you, too, Roy?” said Fred. “Not like you to have a miserable face. Mind you, I can see you, being a farmer, you’d not like that kind of thing where there should be native sheep and cattle, and the odd sheepdog running round the fields with his shepherd. Nor me, chum! Nor me. Let’s hope the planning application gets turned down.”