The Wild Wood Enquiry

by Ann Purser

  “What, him that was digging for badgers?”

  “Well, digging for something. I’d know him anywhere, with that funny walk.”

  “You had a good look at him, then!” Roy smiled. “You said he limped, I remember. Did he by any chance have his empty left sleeve tucked in his pocket?”

  “Couldn’t see,” Ivy said seriously. “And don’t mock. I think our Green Man may be a very important part of the Miriam Blake investigation.”

  At this point, large, fluffy scones with lots of jam and cream were put in front of them, and they tucked in. The conversation changed to the likelihood of Deirdre ever getting married again, and Ivy said that if anyone asked her, she would say her cousin had enough sense to see that neither Theo Roussel nor Gus Halfhide would be good husbands. One was after her money, and the other clearly would be better staying a bachelor.

  Fascinating as this was, Ivy’s eyes kept flicking back to the street outside. She and Roy had moved on to discussing Katya’s decision not to work up at the Hall when Ivy suddenly stiffened. “There he is!” she hissed.

  “Don’t look now, but he’s coming in,” Roy said.

  “So he is. I shall wave him over,” Ivy announced firmly. She half rose from her seat and called, “Yoo-hoo!” The busy restaurant stared at her, and the Green Man turned in alarm.

  “Oh goodness, it’s my forlorn little maid,” he said without thinking, and approached their table.

  “I beg your pardon?” Roy struggled to his feet, but Ivy took his arm and reseated him.

  “Do join us,” she said. “And please allow me to treat you to a creamy jammy scone. I have never been able to thank you properly for rescuing me in the woods. Do you live in Oakbridge?”

  “In and around,” he replied. “It is very nice to see you again. And this is?”

  “Mr. Roy Goodman, my fiancé,” said Ivy. “We both live at Springfields, a residential prison in Barrington.”

  “Did you say prison? Surely…”

  Roy rescued him. “My beloved’s little joke,” he said kindly. “We are both able enough to escape into the outside world once or twice a week. You can have no idea how depressing it can be, cooped up like a couple of chickens, day after day.”

  Ulph, who owing to rash bets on sure losers, had come close to the debtors’ prison himself once or twice, said that he had every sympathy and how pleased he was that they were able to live a relatively free life.

  “And you, Mr. er… er? What is your work?”

  “He’s a musician, aren’t you?” said Ivy, watching him closely. His reaction was interesting. He coloured, cleared his throat, and said she must be mistaken. He couldn’t play a penny whistle. “Tone deaf, I’m afraid,” he said.

  “Ah, sorry,” she replied blandly. “I could’ve sworn you were playing at Springfields with Sid and His Swingers. Olde Tyme Evening, I think it was?”

  “If only!” Ulph said heartily. “Could do with a few bawbees at the moment. Difficult to find work in my line of business.”

  “Which is?” persisted Roy.

  “Oh my goodness! Just look at that gorgeous confection!” Ulph said, gratefully receiving a plate of scones. “Well, here’s to the escaped prisoners,” he added, and lifted a fork piled high with whipped cream.

  The conversation continued easily, especially when Ulph was discovered to have an enthusiasm for rare breeds of cattle. “My late father grew apples, mostly, but he also had a herd of Dexters,” he confided, studiously avoiding any more questions from Ivy. “Had to give them up, of course, when he got ill. I’ve always thought I’d like to take up farming when all else fails!”

  “Couldn’t do better,” Roy said. “Hard work, not much profit, but great satisfaction,” he said, with a notable sadness in his voice. “I had some Belted Galloways in my day. Won first prize at the Dairy Show for years.”

  Ivy was bored. Herds of cows were all very well, but they weren’t getting much in the way of useful information out of the Green Man. So far, they still did not know his name or where he lived.

  “Well,” she said, looking obviously at her watch, “if we’re going to get everything done, we must be on our way.”

  “Where are you heading?” Ulph said. He had really taken to this nice old man. It was a long time since he had had a pleasant conversation about farming.

  “Up to the one remaining haberdasher’s,” Ivy said. “I need new hairnets, though I suppose you are too young to have seen such things, Mr. er… er?”

  “Nonsense! I remember my grandmother putting on her hairnet before retiring to bed. Made her look like a football in a string bag!”

  Roy laughed. “My dear Ivy looks even lovelier in hers,” he said loyally. “Are you going our way?”

  “Part of the way,” he said. “Now, will you let me settle the bill?”

  “Certainly not,” said Ivy. “My treat, Mr.… er…? Off we go, then.”

  But Ulph was already on his feet. The pavement was too narrow for all three to walk abreast, so Roy and Ulph went in front, still chatting about pasture and the relative merits of cattle feeds, and Ivy followed behind. Ulph was carrying a briefcase, and she peered more closely to see the name label as they walked.

  As they approached an adjoining road going off to the right, Ulph stopped. “I’ll say good-bye then. Perhaps we’1l meet again, Roy, and you can show me photos of your prize winners! Good-bye, Maid Marian.” He touched his forelock and was soon lost among crowds in the street leading to the market.

  “Wasn’t that interesting, Ivy? What a nice fellow. Hey, wait a minute, Ivy, that’s not the way to the haberdasher’s! Wait for me, dearest.…”

  Thirty-three

  IVY HAD SET off at such a pace that Roy had great difficulty in keeping up with her, even though his trundle was capable of more than four miles per hour. He had to stop frequently at first. More than once a young mother laden with shopping and children warned him crossly to watch where he was going.

  For her part, Ivy had completely forgotten that Roy might have trouble. Full of zeal for what seemed to her like a golden opportunity to find out where Ulph lived, she stepped out, skilfully avoiding prams and pushchairs and, when forced into the road, waving a stern arm at oncoming cars. When she finally caught sight of the easily recognisable hairy-headed, limping figure in front of her, she stopped. A young boy crashed into her from behind, and to her annoyance said, “Look out, Granny!” in a loud voice.

  Without taking her eyes off Ulph’s retreating back, she set off more slowly, staying close to the kerb. Reminded of Roy, she took a quick glance behind her and saw him steadily approaching as the crowds now parted like the Red Sea in front of him. She matched her pace to Ulph’s, and proceeded carefully, pulling her black straw hat over her forehead in case he should look round.

  The marketplace was tricky, and it was clear Ulph was not going to linger. Ivy took a deep breath and followed him, and Roy did his best to keep up. They found themselves in a narrow street of four-story houses, shabby and uninviting. Ulph stopped outside one of these and fumbled in his pocket. Ivy and Roy waited fifty yards back, their faces turned away. At last, their quarry found the key and let himself into the house, closing the door behind him.

  “Ivy Beasley,” said Roy as they arrived outside Ulph’s house and he struggled to get out of his trundle, “you are to sit down here at once while I give you a stern lecture.”

  “I am perfectly all right, thank you,” said Ivy, but nevertheless perched on the seat and adjusted her skirt. “First time I’ve tried one of these,” she said. “Very comfortable, aren’t they? Go on, then, speak up.”

  Roy looked at her, sitting like Queen Victoria in her favourite dogcart. “I can’t think of anything to say,” he said with a sigh. “In the face of your triumphant expression, I can only think that your mission is accomplished. And if it is at all possible, my love, to give me a little more warning when you next decide to chase a known criminal through the streets of Oakbridge, then I shall be grateful.”


  “He is not a known criminal! Not yet, anyway. And I was merely walking briskly in the same direction as Mr. Sebastian Ulph.”

  “How do you know that is his name?” Roy frowned and leaned against an overflowing rubbish bin. Without a word Ivy eased herself off the trundle and motioned him to sit in it again.

  “It’s on his briefcase. A travel label. Just as well I had my new glasses, though it was quite easy to read as you walked along.”

  “I might have known it,” said Roy. “And now, if you’ll accept a piece of advice from an old man, I think we should clear out of here pronto, before he comes out again and shoves a gun against your ribs.”

  ELVIS STOOD BESIDE his vehicle, looking anxiously up and down the busy street. He checked his watch. A quarter to one. There was no sighting of his passengers. Had he been too late turning up? No, he had noted the time, and he had arrived at the meeting place at twenty past twelve. There had been no sign of them then, and there was still no sign.

  “Now then, sir, you can’t park here,” said a uniformed parking attendant.

  “Can’t you see I’m a taxi? Meeting a couple of elderly people, one in a shopping trolley thing, and they are late.”

  “Sorry, but that won’t do. Still, as I can see you’re worried about them, I’ll give you another five minutes, and then you’ll have to move on.”

  “Right. Thanks, mate. I’ll do the same for—Oh, there they are! Thank God for that.”

  “Friends of yours, are they?”

  “Um, yeah, I suppose they are. Anyway, cheers, mate. I’ll get the ramp down.”

  Roy apologised profusely, and Ivy slipped a five-pound note into the driver’s pocket. “My fault, Elvis,” she said. “I got too interested in the market. Right, are we ready, Roy? Off we go to face a grilling from La Spurling.”

  “Did you get all you wanted?” said the driver.

  “No,” said Roy.

  “Oh yes,” Ivy said at the same time. “More than we expected, didn’t we, Roy?”

  “If you say so, dearest, if you say so.”

  ULPH, MEANWHILE, WAS thinking about his encounter. His daily craving for a cup of real coffee with cream and brown sugar had led him into dangerous waters. They had been a very nice old couple, Ivy and Roy. And what a chance meeting it had been with Ivy, his maid from the woods! He wished he had been able to answer with his own details, but he could not risk it. It seemed unlikely that two old pensioners would relay such information back anywhere that would do him harm. But if, by some extraordinary coincidence, his name and address filtered through to Katherine too soon, she would be only too anxious to do him harm.

  But would she? She would want her jewels back, of course, and he was quite prepared to return them. At a price. He knew almost certainly that she would not go to the police, because of information he held about her claims for insurance. But Katherine Halfhide had always had access to some pretty shady characters. He would not put it past her to enlist the aid of one of her thugs to wrest her jewels back by force, not caring tuppence what happened to him in the process. And anyway, he was almost ready to confront her now. He had decided exactly what he would say to her and intended to learn it like a script, word for word, so she could not defeat him in argument. She would see the sense of his proposal, and that would be an end to it.

  So he had done the right thing with Ivy and Roy. In a way, he wished he had been able to arrange to meet them again. It had been so nice talking to the old fellow about rare breeds and his father’s Dexters. He should have stuck to farming, instead of playing the saxophone. How happy old Pa would have been!

  “Mr. Ulph, can I offer you a bite of lunch?” It was his landlady, and not for the first time he wished he had had the presence of mind to give her a false name. With luck, that would have thwarted Kath’s network of contacts for as long as he needed.

  “Not just now, thanks,” he said. “I’ve got a sandwich and some coffee. I’ll be fine. And once again, I’m sorry about the swimming trunks.”

  Her face creased into a smile. “Don’t you worry about those. I’m not likely to be needing them, am I?” She disappeared, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Another nice person I am deceiving, he thought. Oh, what a tangled web, his grandmother would have said. His leg was hurting again, probably from hurrying over hard pavements. Maybe he should have a shot at cadging another swim with Mrs. Bloxham? He sighed. No, his life was fraught enough already. The best thing would be to take his sandwich and coffee out onto the rooftop and watch the birds.

  It was hot now, and there was no shade, except for the small rectangle cast by a chimney. He positioned his chair and thought about the sandwich. It was yesterday’s, and curling at the edges, and he was sick of instant coffee. He went back inside, poured himself a large glass of cheap red wine, and returned to the sun. After several gulps, he saw the doves returning, smiled, and closed his eyes.

  Thirty-four

  “THAT WAS DELICIOUS, Miriam,” Gus said, wiping his mouth with a paper table napkin decorated unseasonably with holly berries.

  “Jolly good!” she replied, gathering up the plates. “Now, do you fancy peach melba for pud? One of my best, though I says it as shouldn’t.”

  “Oh my, I’ve scarcely room for anything more! Well, just a spoonful, then.”

  “And can you finish up the primrose wine with a sliver of mature cheddar?”

  By the time Gus had managed all Miriam’s goodies, he felt so sleepy that he was not sure he could make it back to his cottage next door.

  “Come and sit over here,” Miriam said, patting the seat next to her on the sofa. “Black or white coffee? And a chocky to round off the meal?”

  “Good heavens, Miriam, do you always live like this? I wonder you’re not too roly-poly to get through the door!”

  “Of course I don’t. Only when I have very special guests…” She looked sideways at him and smiled indulgently. His eyes had closed, and when she touched his hand, it was limp and relaxed. Bless him! He had obviously had a lousy time up in Scotland with that awful wife of his. Why on earth did he marry her? She was quite good-looking but nothing special. And that earring. Of course it was hers, given to her by Gus when he was her husband and the marriage just about to begin. She must have loved him then, surely? Fancy losing such a lovely present. The mystery of finding it in the woods still nagged at her, though she intended to persist with her story that it was hers.

  She stood up, carefully avoiding the slumbering figure. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. I’d marry him with or without jewels, she thought. He needs someone to look after him. A pair of fake pearls off the market would be enough for me!

  Gus heard none of the clatter of clearing dishes and washing up. And when Miriam gently covered him with a fluffy rug, he slept on, whiffling rhythmically. “Night night, Gus,” Miriam whispered. She would keep her bedroom door open, just in case.

  NEXT MORNING, DEIRDRE had decided to rise early and bully Gus into coming with her to sign on at the local golf club. He was looking decidedly peaky on his return. Added to that, she had begun to think the occasional swim in her pool was not enough exercise to keep a middle-aged widow in trim. Too much lardy cake and ice cream. She had risen at once when her alarm went off and had a luke-warm shower. Soon, she said to herself, in my new regime, I shall take a cold one.

  Probably have a heart attack, said Bert’s photo on the dressing table.

  Deirdre laughed. It was so good that Bert’s voice came back to her so often. It meant he was not really dead, at least not to her. Was that life after death? Living in someone’s memory?

  After a piece of dry toast and a black coffee, she put on casual trousers and walking shoes and set off for Hangman’s Row. As she approached the cottages, she stopped in her tracks. Miriam Blake’s door was opening, and the wretched woman, clad only in a flimsy nightie, was waving good-bye to, yes, it was Gus, and to add insult to injury, she was blowing him a kiss!

  “Gus
! Wait!” He stopped and looked round with a furtive expression. Deirdre walked smartly up to him and said sternly that they should go inside. She had important things to say to him.

  “Oh God,” muttered Gus. “Can’t we stay out here for a bit, just to clear my head?”

  “If we must,” said Deirdre. “And it’s nothing to me where you spend the night. I have a proposition to put to you.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I expect you’ll be wanting to have a bath and change. I can wait. The thing is this. I have made an appointment for the two of us at the golf club. You and I are both in our middle years and need fresh air and exercise to keep ourselves fit. Muscles get weak, and then the flab takes over. I loathe exercise classes, and I can’t see you doing press-ups in the gym. So, rather than go alone, I thought you might come with me, and we could be rabbits together. What do you say?”

  “I say,” Gus replied, with some gusto, “that it’s all very well for you, but how do you think I am going to find hundreds of pounds for a year’s subscription to Thornwell Golf Club? And then buying new drivers and irons and putters to play with and drinks in the bar afterwards? Besides which,” he added, “I used to play with Katherine, and don’t particularly want to be reminded of those days. And anyway, I sold my clubs.”

  “Rubbish! It won’t be like that at all. We’ll just go up and practise and then come home. I haven’t a clue, and you can help me along. Mind you, I used to be good at tennis, and I don’t suppose there’s much difference. It all comes down to hitting a ball with a bat, surely?”

  “And I suppose now you’re going to offer to pay for me? Well, Deirdre, I have had quite enough of being beholden to rich women, so don’t even try.”

  Deirdre coloured and bit her lip. Then she walked up to him and slapped him hard across his lean cheek. “I shall be home later, if you wish to apologise,” she said, and stalked off.

  BEHIND HER LACE curtains, Miriam had watched the whole scene, and though she couldn’t hear what they were saying, she saw the slap and chortled. “Poor old Gus,” she said aloud, and planned to make a chocolate sponge for his tea.