by Ann Purser
“This tallish man with lots of hair,” said Deirdre, suddenly very interested, “did you see his face?”
“Not really,” Miriam said. “It was too dark. But there was moonlight, and I could see what looked like a bright white shirt under a black coat. Made me think it might have been somebody who’d been at the ball.”
“Was he carrying anything?” Deirdre asked. “Like a musical instrument or similar.”
“He was carrying plastic bags—you know, like supermarket carriers. I couldn’t see all that well. The moon went behind a cloud, and as you know, we’ve got no streetlights in the lane.”
Ivy sighed. “Well, that might be of some help,” she said, and looked around the others. “Any more questions for Miriam? Or shall we arrange to meet again, when we have considered what steps to take?”
“I can be available more or less any time,” Miriam said.
“Not you, not yet,” said Ivy firmly. “We have work to do now. We’ll be in touch.”
“And thank you so much for coming along,” said Roy, with a friendly smile. “I’m sure we shall be able to clear things up for you in due course. Good morning, my dear.”
After Deirdre had shown her out and come back up to join the team, Ivy said that if anybody asked her, she would say they might as well give up before they started.
“Oh no,” said Deirdre. “I think we’ve something very interesting to investigate. Just listen, Ivy, while I tell you about a man I met at the ball.”
Thirteen
AFTER ROY AND Ivy had gone back to Springfields, Gus stayed behind with Deirdre, and they talked some more. “Do you think they really saw a hand, Gus?” Deirdre said. “I reckon they convinced themselves, like people do, after they’ve had a fright. It could have been anything, perhaps an old rubber glove that had been left behind at blackberry time. I always wear gloves when I go blackberrying. Saves having purple fingers.”
Gus thought for a moment, and then said, “That does seem quite likely, sweetie, which is why I asked about a ring on the finger.”
“That would have made all the difference,” Deirdre answered. “Given us something to get our teeth into.”
“Mm,” said Gus. “Even so, she was so sure about it being a human hand, and Rose Budd, too. And, knowing Miriam as I know her, it just isn’t in character for her to offer to pay fees for us to investigate, if she isn’t sure of her facts. The puzzle, as far as I can see, is why she is so keen to find out. Most of us would just shrug and say it was easily explained and forget it. We’ve had at least two good explanations of what it could have been, a shadow or a rubber glove.”
“Did either of them touch it? I can’t remember Miriam mentioning it.”
“No, she didn’t, but I can ask her. She’s sure to be round to see me later on, with an offer of something tasty.”
“Well, I’m still not convinced. But I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and start working on the supposition that it was a murder and the body has been removed.”
“Meanwhile, I shall give some more thought as to why Miriam is so keen to pursue an investigation into something so unsupported by evidence.”
IVY AND ROY had come to much the same conclusions, except that Ivy’s doubts were stronger than Deirdre’s. “Still,” she said, as she walked beside Roy’s vehicle, “if she’s prepared to throw good money after bad, then the least we can do is to try and make some sense of what she has told us.”
They reached Springfields, and Ivy said she thought she would have a quick nap. “I often think better after a spot of shut-eye,” she said, and asked Roy to make sure she was awake in time to go down to lunch.
Stretched flat out on her bed, Ivy closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander. Much of what Miriam had told them this morning they already knew. The only new piece of information was her story of the man walking up Hangman’s Lane at eleven o’clock at night. Tallish, with a lot of dark hair, and wearing what sounded like formal evening clothes. But eleven o’clock? Most people stayed at a ball until well after midnight. Deirdre’s account of her meeting with a saxophone player not wanting to meet Katherine Halfhide was interesting, but not necessarily connected, though the description sounded the same. And where was he going, up Hangman’s Lane with his supermarket shopping? There were no more houses after the Row, and he would soon come to the woods, which stretched on both sides for at least half a mile up the road.
Ivy began to doze. She dreamed she was at the ball, floating round the dance floor in a long evening frock, waltzing in Roy’s arms to the strains of Sid and His Boys. The last time she had tapped her foot to their rhythmic beat was when they came to play for an Olde Tyme Evening at Springfields, and she had thought them very polished and professional, considering Sid was a local tax officer and his Swingers had all seen the other side of fifty years old and came from Oakbridge.
Except one, thought Ivy, sitting up with a jerk. There had been one, playing a long curly silver thing with lots of buttons, and he was clearly not a plumber, nor was he any older than forty. He was tallish, with lots of dark hair, and was wearing a very smart dinner jacket, white shirt and black tie, not very appropriate for playing to old folks, half of them asleep, at Springfields.
“Ivy? Are you awake, my love?” It was Roy, of course, and Ivy woke up properly.
“Come in, do,” she said. “I am perfectly decent. All I need to do is put on my shoes, and then we can be off downstairs to lunch. There are good smells reaching up here, quite appetising for once.”
Roy came into her room, bearing a beautiful red rose, which he handed to her, going down shakily on one knee. “For you, Ivy dearest,” he said, and she smiled tenderly.
“You pinched it, out of our gaoler’s garden!” she said. “But thanks, anyway,” she added, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “I suppose you’d like a hand to get up?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I may have been a bit rash, but we can always send for Katya.”
“Nonsense!” replied Ivy, putting her arm through his. “Up we come!”
To Roy’s amazement, he was hoisted to his feet with a strong lift. Ivy dusted down his trouser knees and said she hoped he would stay upright for any further romantic gestures he might have in mind.
When they were comfortably seated in front of plates of roast chicken and fresh peas, Ivy told Roy about her dream. “What do you think?” she said. “Could it be an omen? I believe in omens, you know. That man in Sid’s band answers exactly Miriam’s description of the nighttime stroller in Hangman’s Lane.”
“And there was something else,” said Roy, chasing a rolling pea around his plate with a fork. “Miriam mentioned he was holding supermarket carrier bags.”
Ivy began to laugh. “He could have been shopping at a late opening supermarket! There is one on the outskirts of Oakbridge. Oh, Roy,” she added, “it’s going to be hard to take this thing seriously.”
“I have a suggestion, my dear,” Roy said. “Do you fancy a little walk this afternoon? Down Hangman’s Lane, in the direction of the woods? The scene of the supposed crime might at least give us a hint of the direction we should take.”
Ivy nodded. She considered how she could tactfully mention that Miriam and Rose had walked into the woods, through bracken and fallen branches, so it would be impossible for Roy to negotiate a path for his vehicle.
But Roy had thought of this and said that he would wait at the edge of the road, and she should venture only as far as it was easy walking. That might be enough to set their imaginations working. And in any case it was a lovely afternoon, and it was a shame not to make the most of it.
IN THE DEEP, dark woods, a man with a woolly hat pulled down over his ears straightened up from his task and stretched his back. It was heavy work, and he thought bitter thoughts about the need to do it. It had taken him longer than he thought, but he was back here today to finish the job. He sat on a tree stump and lit a cigarette, carefully stamping out the match. Years ago, when he had been playing tr
uant from school, one of his fellow cricket dodgers had lit an illicit cigarette and, in a panic of possible discovery, had thrown away the glowing butt end and caused a major fire.
He sighed, and closed his eyes. What a life! Playing in a two-bit band when he had studied at the Royal College of Music and been a star pupil. Women had been his undoing, or so his old father said. The old boy had rather liked the idea of his son romping through London’s eligible females, but when it came to bailing him out of debts incurred on his merrymaking adventures, the worm had turned, and paternal disapproval sent him packing.
It was quite a decent mound of earth now, he decided, and began to push two or three holes into it, trying to imitate the badger. He knew badgers cleaned out their tunnels regularly and left the rubbish outside the entrances, so he dragged handfuls of matted dead grass and scattered it around. That would have to do, and he reckoned he would recognise it when the time came. He picked up his spade and turned to leave, when he heard a sound. Fox? Angry badger? He knew it was a human being, when a voice not far away said loudly, “Go away, you nasty creature!” So it was a woman, coming his way. He stayed motionless whilst he decided what to do.
Fourteen
IVY WATCHED AS the snake slithered off into the undergrowth, and she took deep breaths to slow down her pounding heartbeat. Not many things frightened Ivy, but snakes she could not abide. She supposed it was a phobia, and a childhood trip to a zoo had made her tremble with panic at the thought of the reptile house.
She wondered now whether it would be more sensible to go back to Roy. But she had hardly reached the edges of the interior where folk seldom ventured. Sometimes a family would take a picnic and see how far they could penetrate, but they never got very far. She pushed on through the nettles, well protected by good thick stockings, but decided as soon as the brambles thickened she would return to Roy.
Then she saw him. A man, bent double to push through overhanging branches, running away from her. His progress was impeded by the thicket, but he was soon out of sight.
“Hey! Stop! Stop at once!” Ivy was quite restored now and intent on discovering who could be so anxious to get away from her. There was something familiar about him, but he did not turn around for her to see his face.
She began to follow, but even before she had to stop to catch her breath, he had disappeared. A helicopter droned overhead, obscuring any sounds that might tell her which direction he had taken. The sun had gone in, and the woods was dark now, with a thundercloud overhead. Ivy turned to retrace her steps and realised that she had no idea which way to take. She was lost, spots of rain had begun to fall between the trees and even one of her thick stockings now had a large hole.
What to do? Ivy did not panic. She stood quite still and called “Roy!” at the top of her voice. No answer. She tried again, but there was still no reply. Surely she had not gone so far into the woods? She had no position of the sun to guide her, so she set off at random, keeping her eyes open for any landmark she might have noticed as she chased the fugitive.
ROY LOOKED AT his watch. Ivy had been gone half an hour, and he began to worry. He called out, but there was no answer. She had obviously strayed too far away to hear him. He felt spots of rain and worried even more. She had no coat and certainly not an umbrella. It had been such wonderfully dry weather lately that even Ivy had left her brolly in its stand.
He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled her number. No signal. Well, there wouldn’t be a signal in the middle of the woods, would there? He looked up and down the road, but it was empty. No walkers, bikers or cars out for an afternoon drive. He decided to give her ten more minutes, and then go to the Row for help. Someone should be at home there, possibly Miriam Blake, who would be keen to help.
Ten minutes passed, and Roy gave one more shout, as loud as he could make it. Again, no reply, so he set off back towards Hangman’s Row. Gus’s cottage came first, and then Miriam Blake. He guessed Gus had stayed to lunch with Deirdre but thought it worth a try. There was clearly nobody at home, so he tried knocking on Miriam’s door. Each time, as he parked his vehicle, climbed out and made his way up the cottages’ short paths, he was aware of time ticking by. With a feeling of relief, he heard steps approaching from within. Miriam opened the door, took one look at him and opened it wider.
“Mr. Goodman! What has happened? You’re looking as if disaster has struck!”
“I sincerely hope not, Miss Blake,” said Roy. “I am so sorry to trouble you, but I am a little worried about Miss Beasley.” He explained Ivy’s mysterious disappearance and Miriam took immediate action.
“I know those woods like the back of my hand,” she said. “Right from when my dad used to take me with him looking for poachers. I suppose it wasn’t very sensible of him, really, but Mum used to say she was glad to get rid of us for a few hours’ peace.”
Gathering up raincoats and umbrellas, they left the cottage, and until they reached the spot where Roy had parked, Miriam kept up a monologue of inconsequential chatter. Roy was irritated, but consoled himself by seeing that she required no answers or comments. He let her run on, and when they finally came to a halt, so did Miriam’s voice.
“She went in over there, through that gap in the hedge,” Roy said. “I saw her take a left turn, and then she was out of sight. Then I heard her voice yelling at some animal—could have been a snake, because she’s terrified of those—and then nothing more.”
“How long ago would you say that was?”
“About an hour now,” replied Roy, real fear in his voice. “What do you think can have happened?”
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Goodman! People get lost in these woods all the time. I’ll go in now and we’ll both be back in two ticks, you’ll see.”
BEHIND A TREE, the man watched Ivy scrambling along a narrow, sandy path, overgrown with brambles. He felt sorry for her. She must be at least seventy, he reckoned. He wished he could rush out and help her find the way out, but he knew this would be madness.
Then Ivy stumbled and collapsed to the ground gasping with pain. He did not even consider the consequences but rushed forward to help her.
“Oh Lord,” he said, “you have taken a tumble! Never mind, my dear, have a moment’s rest and then we’ll get you up. Meanwhile, let me see your twisted ankle.”
Ivy didn’t know whether it was the appearance of a man jumping out from behind a tree or the pain shooting through her leg that caused her head to swim and a strong feeling of nausea to overtake her.
“Sick,” she muttered, her hand over her eyes.
He leaned over and pulled her into a sitting position, resting her back against his legs. Then he gently moved her head down between her knees as far as it would go and told her to take deep breaths. After several seconds, she whispered that she felt better, and he helped her to sit upright.
“Who are you?” she said, her customary confidence returning.
“The Green Man of the Woods,” he said in a mock menacing voice.
“Rubbish,” said Ivy. “Here, help me to get up, and then perhaps you can direct me out to the road. Someone is waiting for me there.”
He looked around him, smiling. She was a game old thing, he thought. Reminds me of Grandmama, God rest her soul. Have I seen her somewhere before?
“Afraid there are no signposts,” he said. “But if you can walk a little, we are bound to come out somewhere useful. There’s a golf course runs alongside one of the edges of the woods. Ready? Right, heave-ho, my hearties, and off we go.”
MIRIAM, MEANWHILE, WAS walking in the opposite direction. She was following the easiest of the several little paths, which led to where she and Rose had seen the hand. It would be useful, she thought, to take another look. But nothing had changed from the time she and the policemen had investigated. She frowned. It was there, exactly there, she said to herself, and bent down to move the nettles to one side with a stick. Something shiny caught her eye. She picked it up and held her breath. It was a tiny pearl e
arring, the pearl mounted in gold and a chip of sparkling diamond in the drop.
“Miss Blake! Any sign of her?” she heard Roy shout. For a moment, she had quite forgotten about Ivy Beasley. Now she slipped the earring into her pocket and continued to walk, calling out and blowing a whistle she had thoughtfully collected before they left.
Fifteen
“THERE YOU ARE, Miss Beasley!” Miriam was about to retrace her steps and tackle another direction, when she caught sight of the solitary figure thwacking nettles with a stout stick, making her way back through the trees. “We have been terribly worried about you!”
“Who’s we?” asked Ivy sharply.
“Why, Mr. Goodman and me, of course! He was so anxious and came to me for help. And you’re soaking wet! Here, take this umbrella, and we’ll get you back to Springfields as soon as possible. I could call for a taxi on my mobile?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Blake. A little summer rain never hurt anybody. We’ll walk back, and I can hold this umbrella over Roy.”
“I already gave him one. I’ve got loads of umbrellas. You never know when you might need them. Like now.” Miriam was beginning to feel miffed. After all, she had found Miss Beasley, and there were still several paths to choose from before they reached the road.
Ivy caught the change in her voice and realised she had been unnecessarily short. She knew she had a sharp tongue, and was rather proud of it, but not too proud to admit when she had been mistaken. Also, Miriam Blake was a client.
“It was very thoughtful of you, Miss Blake,” she said now. “I can’t think how I missed the path. I am usually good at finding my way. But this time, without you spotting me, I could still be roaming the woods and sleeping under leaves when it got dark.”