The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery)

by Purser, Ann

  Roy stood looking at it without saying anything. Finally, he turned to Ivy, and said, “Poor old Ted. He had many good years in front of him when that tractor went in the ditch. He was quick-tempered, but always ready for a game of darts or shove ha’penny.”

  “Was the tractor the same one that’s in the barn? The one you sat on and played at being a farmer again?”

  “And the one Gus and I are going to restore to its former glory. I do remember that it was hardly damaged at all when it took Ted into the ditch. He died outright. Broken neck, so they said.”

  “He’s got no flowers,” said Ivy. “Nobody to care, I suppose.” She walked across to a new grave, covered with wreaths and bunches of flowers. She picked up one with a mixture of yellow and white chrysanthemums, and returned to put it on Ted’s weedy patch. Then she cleared out dandelions and chickweed, and stood back to admire her handiwork.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Now, let’s continue our search.”

  They looked very carefully, and got excited when they saw a small mound with a stone angel on it, right next to Ted. “Can you see what it says?” said Ivy.

  “It’s almost rubbed away,” Roy said. “But it looks like ‘Louise, gone to live with Jesus.’ That’s all. The rest is indecipherable.”

  “What’s more, you can’t read it,” said Ivy, who couldn’t resist. “But is she right next to her father, maybe?”

  “Could be, but we should perhaps look around more.”

  “I think we’ve looked everywhere,” said Ivy, after twenty minutes or so. “Let’s go and see if we are allowed to look in the baptismal register. They’re sure to have recorded her.”

  “Right. Come on then, then we’ll go back to Springfields for coffee. Enquire Within meeting later on, and it would be nice to have something to tell them. I feel really sad about baby Louise. I bet Eleanor would have loved a little girl.”

  Forty-seven

  AFTER SECOND THOUGHTS, Ivy had decided that she would not bother Mrs. Coleridge on a Monday afternoon. “It’ll be washday on the farm,” she said, and would not be persuaded by others that in the modern age of washing machines and dryers, any day could be a washday.

  Roy smiled. “But we must keep up to date, Ivy,” he said. “Though I must say I used to love washday as a child. That smell of soapsuds and everything blowing in a lovely fresh wind.”

  “Huh! You didn’t have to scrub dirty collars and cuffs, nor have wrinkly hands from being in water too long!” said Ivy. “Still, if you think it would be all right to approach Mrs. Coleridge again so soon, I’ll give her a ring. I’d decided not to go to college at all today, anyway.”

  • • •

  “I’VE INVITED HER for tea,” she said, after lunch. “Do you have anything special you’d like to ask her? I’m sure she’ll be pleased to meet you.”

  He shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “Most of the time I’ve been thinking about my early-morning visitor, and wondering how I could persuade her to repeat her visit.”

  “Mm,” said Ivy. “Best forgotten. I was thinking about the little grave in the cemetery. Very close to Ted Blatch’s grave. I am certain it was the poor little soul who never made it to this old world.”

  “Well, we’ll see what emerges from your tea party this afternoon. Might turn up something interesting.”

  When Mrs. Coleridge arrived, walking briskly and smiling at residents that she knew from earlier days, Ivy and Roy welcomed her warmly and led her to a small alcove already allocated by Miss Pinkney for their guest.

  “So nice to see you,” the assistant manager enthused. “We love to have visitors, and Mr. Goodman and Miss Beasley brighten our lives already with their adventures around the village.”

  “Perhaps I’ll apply for a job with Enquire Within,” said Mrs. Coleridge, laughing at Ivy. “We are two of a kind, I suspect.”

  They settled happily with tea and cake, and Roy, of course, having been part of a farming county community, had many reminiscences to share with their visitor. After a while, Ivy, who was feeling a little left out, said she had been so interested in what Mrs. Coleridge had had to say about the Blatch family, and now she had a new question or two for her, if she didn’t mind.

  “Good gracious me, no,” she said. “Ask me anything you like! Fire away, Ivy. I may call you Ivy, yes?”

  “Of course,” said Ivy, “and he’s Roy, as you know.”

  Roy shut his eyes and held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me. I’ve nearly got it. Pamela! Pamela Coleridge. Am I right?”

  Seeing that this might send them off into yet more memories of their youth, Ivy said firmly that since they were so good at remembering, did Pamela remember anything more about Ted Blatch before he became involved with the Winchen family?

  “Well, not much. As I think I said to Ivy, they were an odd family, and didn’t always join in with the rest of us in the village. Ted was very good-looking, you know, and clever. I think part of the time he knew he’d failed at farming and wanted to go on to higher education.”

  “I expect you fancied him when you were young,” said Roy with a smile. “I seem to remember you were a pretty young thing.”

  Ivy groaned inwardly. “Why do you think he looked outside the village for a wife? I know farming families often intermarry,” she asked Pamela, offering her another piece of coffee cake, and taking one herself. “I wonder how he met the Winchens?”

  “Ah, now let me think,” Pamela said, wiping coffee cream from the corners of her lips. “It was a Young Farmers public speaking competition. Goodness knows why they thought young farmers need to know how to get up and make a speech. But there it was. A party of us went in a bus to Lowestoft, and Ted, being clever, was somehow persuaded to make the speech. I had to second the vote of thanks, and I remember how I dried up completely, and let them all down.” She stopped speaking, lost in the memory of humiliation.

  “After the competition,” she continued, “we had refreshments, and we mingled with other club members. I was really soft on Ted at the time, and tried to get him to talk to me. But there was this stunning girl from a Lincolnshire branch, and guess who she was?”

  “Eleanor Blatch?”

  Pamela shook her head. “No. It was Mary Winchen, and I could see Ted was smitten. Of course, as I told Ivy, it came to nothing, and Eleanor was waiting in the wings.”

  “So did Ted leave the village and go to college, like he wanted?” Ivy said. It occurred to her that Roy should surely have remembered some of this himself, being a local farmer. But then she recalled him saying that he did not live in Barrington, but grew up on another of his family’s farms. Nevertheless, she thought crossly, he had remembered Pamela was a pretty young thing! Or was it just her dear Roy being his usual gentlemanly self? She decided on the latter.

  “He did go away for a year or so, I think. I know I gave up all hope, and married my John Coleridge, who was a good and kind husband for the whole of our marriage.”

  So, thought Ivy, back to the Winchens. “I expect the first you knew of Ted’s failure to catch Mary was when Eleanor turned up as his fiancée?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s a long time ago. But because I had been sweet on him, I do remember the word got round that Mary had turned him down, and I thought maybe I’d have a chance, as I hadn’t teamed up with John by then. But no, the next thing we knew was when Eleanor appeared, bold as brass and very pleased with herself. Mind you, I’m not sure she didn’t draw the short straw. He wasn’t very kind to her, so people said.”

  Ivy’s nose quivered, like a mouse smelling the scent of cheese. “So he was rough with her, was he?”

  “Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, Ivy, I know. But Eleanor could be very irritating. I suppose he was never really reconciled to making her his second choice.”

  At this point, Mrs. Cornwall limped over to where they sat, and said, “It’s Pammie
Coleridge, isn’t it?”

  Pamela turned and looked up at her. “And you are Irene! Irene Cornwall. How lovely to see you again. Why don’t you sit down and have a cuppa with us?”

  Ivy gave up.

  Forty-eight

  SAMANTHA HAD WOKEN with a headache, and so was late in setting off for a day at college. Since the expedition with the dead-cat hot water bottle, she had given up using the footpath over the field, and taken the longer road route through the village. But she looked at the clock and decided that the sun was shining and she would go by the footpath, for one time only. With luck, she would meet Rickwood!

  As she entered the spinney she quickened her step and so did not see the snaking bramble across the path. She caught her foot, and went down heavily. Cursing everything and everybody, she sat on the hard ground and examined herself for injury. Then she heard footsteps behind her, and saw Rickwood approaching, looking anxious.

  “My dear Sam,” he said, crouching down beside her, “Let me have a look.” His hands were gentle, and he found a clean white handkerchief in his pocket, which he tied neatly round the graze. “We’ll get someone to look at it in college, unless you want to go back home. Are you feeling steady enough to get up?”

  He put his arm around her waist and helped her up, then let go immediately.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “It really wasn’t much. Caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “Come along, then. We are a little late, but the class will probably be fine, even without Miss Beasley in charge. Bless her!”

  “Actually, we’re not a bad lot, and she is really nice at heart. Hides her light under a bushel, as they say. And it’s amazing how well she’s fitted in. Perhaps I could hold your hand for a minute or two to steady me?”

  • • •

  NEXT MORNING, BRAVE, warmhearted Ivy Beasley was conducting a major row with Mrs. Spurling, on the subject of curbing the escapades of Enquire Within.

  “At least as far as you and Mr. Goodman are concerned,” said the manager, her face scarlet with annoyance, “you two are my responsibility, however hard you may argue around that fact. I care for you, and if anything happens to you, I shall be accused of negligence in my duty.”

  Roy sat up very straight in his chair. He had been with Ivy in her room when Mrs. Spurling had burst in, having discovered that they had been out in the rain before breakfast, and had returned wet through, with squelching feet and damp clothes.

  Ivy began to speak, but Roy interrupted. “You are quite right, Mrs. Spurling, and we are at fault. I know Ivy will join me in apologising sincerely. We were so keen on an early-morning constitutional—my father swore by it—that we forgot to tell staff, and were caught in a shower of rain. But look at my Ivy’s rosy cheeks, Mrs. Spurling,” he said. “Fresh as a daisy, she is, and ready for anything.”

  Mrs. Spurling was mollified and said shortly that she hoped “anything” would not include such foolish behaviour which upset the whole Springfields community.

  “Rubbish!” said Ivy. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, and all we did was nip out for a short stroll and run into a small shower. And now I shall go and change m’feet. Come along, Roy. You’ll need clean socks. I mean to catch Samantha on her way to college.”

  After which, Mrs. Spurling returned to her office and in desperation telephoned the local job centre, saying she would take anything, any job, even scrubbing floors, whatever they had on their books.

  Ten minutes later, Ivy set off and met Samantha coming along the road.

  “Good morning, Miss Beasley! Just the person I wanted to see!”

  As they walked along, Samantha told her about her fall and how helpful Rickwood had been. Ivy frowned. She recognised signs of a girl halfway to falling in love!

  “Do you know, Miss Beasley, I hope you won’t mind my asking, but do you know if Mr. Smith, Rickwood, has a wife? Or girlfriend? We girls at college are curious, as we know he lives with his mother, but is tutoring on a more or less temporary basis. And now the rumours are all of his taking over Blackwoods and turning it into a wildlife park. The girls said you would probably know, as you keep your ear to the ground.”

  “That’s a long speech, Samantha! Can I summarise it by asking if, following his gallant rescue of a pupil caught by a bramble, that young student is fancying him rotten, to use current parlance, and would like to know what are her chances?”

  Samantha blushed deeply, and nodded, crestfallen. “I know what you’re going to say, Miss Beasley,” she said. “I am a silly young girl who should be thinking about working hard at my writing course and not wasting time fancying men old enough to be my father. But I know he works respectably in the old henhouse, and is always extremely careful about chatting up girl students. That is, he doesn’t. Chat them up, I mean. And that includes me. He gets plenty of opportunity! He’s very interesting to talk to during break times. Did you know he’d spent most of his early life in Australia?”

  Ivy stopped in her tracks. “Australia? What was he doing there?”

  “Not sure. He never actually says where he lived, or anything like that. Mostly he tells us about the wildlife. Kangaroos and snakes. That kind of thing.”

  “Don’t even think of him, Samantha. Not only is he much too old for you, but still an enigma. You girls are not the only ones wanting to find out more about him. No, my dear, steer very clear of that one. But if he should let slip what he was doing in Australia, make sure to let me know.”

  They walked on, and although Ivy changed the subject, she was not at all sure that Samantha would act on what she had said.

  Forty-nine

  “AN INVITATION FOR you, Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman,” said Miss Pinkney happily. She had taken over from her superior after Mrs. Spurling had gone off, saying she had an important interview to attend.

  “Invitation?” said Ivy, who had come back from college feeling very perky. “It’s like I am on the verge of discovery, Roy dear. Of what or who or where, I do not yet know. Now, Pinkers, who is this invitation from?”

  “Mrs. Bloxham, of course. She asked if you two would like to go up to Tawny Wings for supper this evening. You were out, Miss Beasley, and Mr. Goodman was asleep in his chair, so I said I was sure you would accept, but I must confirm with you.”

  “How kind!” said Roy. “She is a busy lady, you know, with all her social work. It will be a nice change, don’t you agree, beloved?”

  Ivy grinned. “Let’s hope she’s got something decent for us to eat. Another one of Deirdre’s appalling slimming salads will be the death of me.”

  “She does her best, Ivy,” said Roy firmly, “And her invitation could be a genuinely kind and sincere offer to two old folks locked up in an old dodderers’ retirement home.”

  “Well said, Mr. Goodman,” said Pinkers, “except the old dodderers bit! Now, Miss Beasley, can I help you to change into your best dress?”

  “No, thank you, dear,” she said. “I am quite capable of dressing myself, and in any case, so long as I don’t wear my old mother’s squirrel coat that smells strongly of mothballs, I am sure I am smart enough for supper at Tawny Wings.”

  Elvis was ordered to collect them at a suitable time, and they retired upstairs for a short rest. “I wonder if she’s invited Gus?” Ivy said.

  “I have no idea. But if, as you suspect, she wishes to know more about your tête-à-tête with Pamela, then yes, it will be an informal Enquire Within meeting, and he will probably be there.”

  Ivy patted his arm. “Not deliberately leaving you out, dear,” she said. “Our tea party was such a damp squib that I need time to sort it out. As you know, Pamela’s visit drew a complete blank, but my chance encounter with Samantha today has been more fruitful. I am rather worried about that young one. She has obviously fallen hook, line and sinker for Rickwood Smith. So far he seems to have been the perfect gentleman, but I’d h
ate for her to get hurt.”

  “I wouldn’t worry, dearest. I have one small suggestion, before we set forth,” said Roy. “Speaking of Samantha, we seem to have lost all interest in the henhouse. The one on wheels, in the spinney.”

  “Should we be especially interested in the henhouse? One of us looked at it once, but could see no signs of life, except that, as we know, Rickwood works in there, when he can’t get any peace in his mother’s house. I don’t think there’s much more to say about the henhouse? I think I’m right in saying that, but we can check with Deirdre.” She paused, and then added, “I remember Samantha saying something about her father warning her that the field and the henhouse are private property, to be left alone.”

  • • •

  DEIRDRE WAS WAITING at the open front door for her guests. Roy accepted Elvis’s arm to be escorted into the house, and as they had expected, they found Gus already in the best armchair in front of the fire.

  “A chill in the air this evening,” he said, rising to assist Roy, and bending to risk a peck on Ivy’s cheek. “This is very nice of you, Deirdre,” he said. “Wonderful smells coming from the kitchen.”

  “Roast beef with all the trimmings,” she said. “I don’t often get the chance to cook a really splendid piece of beef, and the butcher has done me proud.”

  “So is this a purely social occasion?” asked Ivy bluntly.

  “It can be, but as the four of us are here together, we’ll probably talk Enquire Within business, won’t we?”

  “After supper,” said Gus with a smile. “I mean to enjoy the beef with no thoughts of graveyards or cigar smoke.”

  In spite of his declared intentions, it was not long before Ivy asked if Deirdre had ever walked through the spinney and across the field. “I know you go everywhere by car,” she said.

  Deirdre bristled. “Of course I have,” she said. “When my Bert was alive, we often walked that way on Sunday afternoons. Across the field and up past the Manor House, and then back across another footpath farther out of the village. Bert loved a good walk, and we had an old spaniel who always went with us.”