by Ann Purser
“I always liked this time of day in Ringford,” Ivy said as they passed the shop, its blinds just being pulled down, and the sandwich board stowed away in case of theft. “There was not much traffic, and people came out for an airing after their high tea. We used to sit on a bench under the trees and watch the children playing on the green.”
“Who was ‘we,’ dearest?” Roy was curious about Ivy’s past life, and though she did not dwell on her many years in Round Ringford, every so often she would release a snippet of memory that illuminated her character.
“Me, Doris and Ellen, of course. We knew we were referred to as The Three Graces in the village but reckoned it could be a lot worse and so we put up with it.”
“A very nice name, Ivy. And very appropriate, if I may say so.”
“Oops! Look out, Roy. Looks like a boy drunk in charge of a scooter!”
With great dexterity, Roy avoided the young lad, who wove his way between the two of them, and disappeared, shouting “Sorry!” as he went.
“Would you like to have a rest at the bus stop seat?” Roy suggested.
“No, no. We must get on. Gus might well be going to the pub later on. He is apparently a very able darts player, among his many other skills.”
“Right-o. Let’s forge ahead.”
They passed Rose’s cottage, but she was not to be seen.
“Getting the boys to bed, I expect,” said Ivy. “And here’s Miriam, hovering on her doorstep. Say nothing,” she added.
“Good evening! Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Miriam was, of course, interested to see these two heading down Hangman’s Row, not a frequent occurrence. “Are you calling on Gus? He is at home. I spoke to him only a few minutes ago.”
“Mind your own business,” muttered Ivy, so that only Roy could hear.
“Thank you, Miss Blake,” said Roy. “We are really just taking the air. So pleasant in the evening, don’t you think?”
“Roy!” Ivy frowned and walked on, up to Gus’s door, where she rang the bell.
“Bell doesn’t work!” yelled Miriam. “Use the knocker!”
Gus came to the door, looking alarmed. “Ivy? Roy? Is everything all right?”
“As all right as it will ever be,” said Ivy, giving Roy a hand to climb out of his trundle. “We’ve come to call. Have you got a free half hour?”
Gus took a deep breath and said he was delighted to see them. They must come in and have a glass of wine. Whippy loved visitors and would be so pleased.
WITH TWO GLASSES of cold white wine inside them, Ivy and Roy relaxed as much as was possible in Gus’s uncomfortable chairs.
“There’s a spring gone in this one,” Ivy said, giggling a little, and bouncing up and down in the shabby chair. She had been persuaded against her better judgement by Roy to try the wine. Gus said it had a low alcohol content, but as she felt the pleasant fizzy feeling in her head, she began to doubt him. Anyway, she told herself, if I’m to enter the man’s world with my Roy, I must get used to the odd glass or two.
“So have you got the earring with you?” Gus asked. He had been given a very succinct account of Rose’s discovery and felt a rising excitement that they were really making headway.
“And now, Augustus,” said Ivy, not answering, “I want you to do something that neither of us can do. You remember that I saw Ulph—we now know that it was him—in the woods, carrying a spade covered with fresh soil? Some of us imagined a body buried dramatically at the dead of night, possibly in the light of a full moon. By some of us, I mean, of course, me. I dismissed it at the time as fanciful. Like Miriam’s severed hand. And now we have no body and no missing person. At least, not that we know of. So what else? Do we take into account that a pair of earrings had possibly been dropped in a rush to conceal treasure, or to hunt for it, and that in the mound there could be other valuables, hurriedly buried by Ulph in a shallow grave? Have we given up the idea of murder but instead are left with a b-bungled burglary?”
Wow, that wine was a good idea, thought Gus. He had never known Ivy so loquacious and so perceptive in her reasoning. Roy also was looking at her in admiration.
“So we would like you to find this mound,” Ivy continued. “I can give you a rough idea of its whereabouts. And take a spade with you to dig for worms. No, not worms! Just my joke, though you might find some of those as well.”
Gus looked at Roy, who nodded approvingly. Then Gus made a decision and cleared his throat, as if to preface an important announcement. He had thought long and hard about Katherine, about their past lives together and apart and had searched his memory for what he had heard about others of her long list of lovers, each one ruthlessly milked and then ditched. He remembered hints she herself had given him in Scotland about being hard up and Ulph using bad things he knew about her to extract money.
“I think I can save myself the job you so vividly describe, Ivy. The fact is, I reckon I know what’s in the mound. It is almost certain to be Kath’s jewellery, hidden by Ulph. She may even have connived with him, so that she could claim insurance money. I doubt it, and if I am wrong, and Ulph has genuinely stolen it, then his motive is likely to be blackmail. He is probably offering, at a price, to return the stuff. Those earrings are hers. I designed and gave them to her. That much is fact. The rest is surmise but extremely likely. Poor bloke probably had no money left after she had finished with him. Former lovers have thought of other means of revenge, most not so foolish. But Ulph has a reputation for boyish pranks. Other swains concentrated on skilfully damaging her reputation.”
“She can’t have much of one left,” said Ivy sourly.
Gus shook his head sadly. “No, you are quite right. And neither has Ulph, amongst those circles. So he turned up here, where Theo Roussel, a friend of his late father, lives. But I reckon that before he could make a considered approach to him for help, maybe in finding buyers for the jewels if she refuses to play ball, she came looking for him. She has her spies, I’m afraid. Distributes her favours according to how well they serve her.”
An absolute silence from Ivy and Roy greeted these revelations. Ivy spoke first. “Why on earth didn’t you tell us all this before,” she said.
Roy sighed. “Of course he couldn’t, dearest,” he said. “He said himself that the only thing he was sure of was that an earring had been found in the woods, similar to the ones he gave Katherine. The rest, as he just said, was surmise. But I am afraid, Gus, that Ivy’s plan still needs to be considered. She saw Ulph with a spade by the mound, and if you now find the rest of the jewellery there, you will be the one to recognise it as Katherine’s. Or not, as the case may be.”
“May I think about it?” Gus said. “I do see your point, but I don’t fancy being nicked for digging in the woods by a prowling David Budd. Especially if I had just turned up the jewellery. You can see that if he finds me with the stuff, that might well return me to the spotlight, and then I’d have no chance of seeing this whole business out. He would not hesitate to inform the police or, at the very least, his employer, Roussel. It would be more than his job’s worth to ignore it.”
“Very well,” said Ivy, beginning to feel a nagging headache over one eye. Perhaps wine on top of sherry had been a bad idea. “We shall be in Oakbridge tomorrow, hopefully finding Ulph, and with many questions to ask him.”
“With considerable tact, of course,” added Roy. “We can’t go in there with all guns blazing.”
“And we will contact you directly, when we return,” said Ivy.
Gus frowned. “It rather looks as if I, as a member of Enquire Within, am more trouble than I’m worth,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” retorted Ivy. “And buck up, Augustus. The end is, I suspect, in sight.”
Thirty-eight
ULPH’S LONG EXPOSURE to the sun, combined with more than one bottle of cheap red wine, had taken its toll. He had spent the last twenty-four hours in bed, alternately sweating and freezing, and in between lurid dreams had shouted through his locked door to
Mrs. Feather that he was fine, just tired. And no thank you, he did not need any food at the moment, just rest.
Now it was early morning, and his thirst was overwhelming. He put one foot down to the floor, and the room spun round crazily. He waited, trying to breathe deeply to stop himself fainting into darkness. He felt sick, but his stomach was empty, and all he could do was retch. At last the room steadied, and he very tentatively put down the other foot and tried standing. So far, so good. Now he must reach the hand basin on the other side of the room, so that he could fill his tooth mug with water and take a long drink.
Feeling desperately unsteady, he reached the basin, drank two mugs of water and looked at his watch, still lying where he had left it on the ledge above. It had stopped. Flat battery, he supposed, and caught sight of himself in the shaving mirror. He groaned and shielded his eyes from the sun streaming through the window. The chair and bottle still stood where he had left them outside. Well, never mind. He would bring them in when the sun had moved round. Now, back to bed and sleep, more peacefully now, he hoped.
He was halfway across what seemed an enormous distance between the basin and his bed, when a sharp knock on his door stopped him.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Feather,” he said, as loudly as he could manage.
“It’s not Mrs. Feather. She’s gone to see a neighbour. Told me to let myself out in due course. It’s me, Katherine. Open this door at once.”
Ulph swayed on his feet. Katherine! How had she found him so soon? Was it soon? He had lost count of days as he lay in a fever. Oh God, why did he send those silly coded messages? He should have known they would be child’s play to someone as clever and quick as Katherine. He reached for the end of the bed, and said, “I’m ill, Kath. You must go away and come back later.”
In his present condition he would be totally unable to carry out his plan to strike a deal with her. He could scarcely remember a word of his prepared speech. He knew only too well he would need to muster all his strength of mind and body to out-argue Katherine. He dreaded her next words.
“Rubbish! Don’t be such a juvenile idiot! Either you open the door, or I go down and find Mrs. Feather next door and tell her all I know about you. I can guarantee she’ll have you out of her house in minutes. I’ll count to ten. One… two…”
He clung on to the bedpost and said that she must give him time to get to the door. Then he would open it and she could see that he was telling the truth.
THE MARKET PLACE was now familiar to Ivy and Roy and they threaded their way through throngs of shoppers. When they arrived at number seven Folgate Street, Mrs. Feather answered the door, and said they were lucky that she had just arrived back from next door. She was sure Mr. Ulph was at home, because he had been very tired and had refused food.
“Come in, won’t you,” she said, noting that this was a very respectable-looking old couple, one of them clearly disabled, who probably needed to sit down. “Take a seat, and I’ll just go up and ask if he’s feeling well enough to see you. He did have a visitor earlier, though whether she stayed I couldn’t say. I was a little concerned because, as you see, my hallway and stairs are very dark. O’course, I can go up and down with my eyes shut, but strangers, well… I kept asking my husband to fix the light, but he never got round to it. Useless in that way, he was. All I can say is that it was a woman, and she had a nice voice. Now, what name shall I say to Mr. Ulph?”
“Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman,” said Ivy firmly. “We met him recently. He will remember us.”
It was a matter of minutes before the landlady was back again. “He is not answering his door so may have gone to sleep again,” she said. “Or he could have gone out, I suppose, if he was feeling better. I’ve been round chatting to my neighbour, and you know how long that can take! What would you like to do? I could make you a cup of tea, as you’ve come specially?”
She paused to draw breath, and Ivy looked at Roy for support.
“I think we’ll accept your offer and then try again in a few minutes,” he said. “If he still doesn’t answer, we’ll leave it to another day. Thank you, Mrs. Feather. It’s a hot day for tramping round the streets, and we have, as you say, come specially.”
Ivy and Roy drank their tea in silence. They had a tacit understanding that it would be best not to say much more at present. Finally, Ivy said conversationally, “Nice lace curtains, Roy. My mother had some just like that. Must be quite important to shield the window from prying eyes, what with the house being right on the pavement.”
“I’m sure you’re right, dearest,” he said. “Though I must say this house is a bit too dark for my taste.”
Ivy could tell he was not concentrating on lace curtains and looked at her watch. “I suppose we should think of going soon. Let’s ask the landlady to try once more, and this time I’ll go up with her.”
“It may be too steep for you,” Roy said anxiously.
“Stairs don’t bother me,” Ivy said. “Now, you wait here, and I’ll call her.”
When Ivy suggested accompanying her, Mrs. Feather was not happy. “He’s on the second floor, my dear,” she said. “Those old stairs are very narrow.”
“I’ve always lived in old houses,” Ivy replied blandly. “Up we go now. He might recognise my voice.”
After one or two pauses for Ivy to get her breath back, they arrived outside Ulph’s door and Mrs. Feather knocked once more. Silence. Ivy put her hand on the door handle and turned. Then she opened it wide enough to peep in, and at the same time said, “Mr. Ulph? Are you there?” Silence. Ivy pushed the door wide and walked in.
“You’d better come in, Mrs. Feather…” she said. “The bird has apparently flown.”
Mrs. Feather looked in. “My goodness,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s very stale in here. No, you’re right. He must have gone out with his visitor.”
Ivy walked over to the window, which was open, and said, “What’s out there?”
“It’s a flat roof, and Mr. Ulph used to get out of the window and sit in the sun. You can see his chair. I told him not to sit in the full sun, and I think that’s what made him poorly.”
“Not too poorly to walk off with his woman visitor,” said Ivy, smiling.
“Huh, men!” said Mrs. Feather, returning her smile.
“What’s that down by the chair?”
“Oh, that’ll be an empty wine bottle. I’m afraid he did indulge himself. Still, he didn’t seem to have any other pleasures, and anyway, it’s none of my business so long as he behaved himself and paid the rent.”
“And he did that?”
“Oh yes, he was a real gentleman, you know. But anyway, you would know that, being his friends.”
Ivy nodded, and looked again at the window. “I could get out there, couldn’t I?” she said. “The sill is very close to the floor and close to the roof outside. Not much more than stepping over a cat!”
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Feather. “It was very convenient for him.”
Before the landlady could stop her, Ivy had pushed up the sash window to its full extent and neatly climbed out onto the flat roof.
“Miss Beasley! Are you safe out there?”
“Perfectly safe, thank you,” she said, and walked over to the edge. She looked down into next door’s concrete yard, full of old lawn mowers and piles of wood. And she spotted something else. A man, wearing what looked like pyjamas, lay spread-eagled on the concrete, and even from the height of the roof Ivy could see his limbs were awkwardly bent. She peered over again and saw a familiar head of thick black hair.
“Mrs. Feather!” she called. “Can you come here?”
“Oh dear, no, I have no head for heights, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand,” Ivy reassured her. “I just need you to see something, before it disappears. That’s it, dear, you’ll be quite safe with me.”
Thirty-nine
ROY WAITED ANXIOUSLY for Ivy and Mrs. Feather to return, and he supposed they must have
found Ulph. They were probably encouraging him to come down, so that they could all have a good talk. Thank goodness the poor fellow was feeling better. He had seemed such a nice chap, though clearly unhappy and worried. Perhaps Ivy was just what he needed. She was famous for putting things right!
Now he could hear footsteps on the stairs, and stood up, holding on to his chair.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” he said. “And is the invalid receiving visitors now?”
The two women looked at each other. Ivy said, “You go and telephone,” and then walked across to Roy to suggest he should sit down again for a moment. Mrs. Feather, meanwhile, went out to the hallway, and Roy could hear her telephoning.
“What’s to do, Ivy?” he said. “You look quite pale. Those stairs were too much for you, though I don’t expect you to admit it!”
“No, it’s not the stairs. Looks like Sebastian Ulph is past receiving visitors. There’s a flat roof outside the window in his room, and he must have gone out there with a chair and a bottle of wine. We looked around but no sign of him. There was no safety fence or anything, and when I looked over the edge—”
“You did what, Ivy?” interrupted Roy.
“Oh, I don’t mind heights. Anyway, there he was. Flat out on the concrete yard below. More or less dead, I suspect. His arms and legs were all anyhow. Mrs. Feather is phoning the police, so we’ll have to stay here a bit longer.”
Roy was confused for a few minutes. The baldness of the news was almost too much to take in, but his main concern was Ivy herself. “You must sit down, too, my love. There, in the chair next to me. Take it easy, and we’ll try to unravel what has happened.”
“The police and ambulance are coming straightaway,” said Mrs. Feather, returning to the room. “I’ll go and put the kettle on. We all need a good strong cup of tea with sugar. And don’t worry, Mr. Goodman, the police will sort it all out.”
DEIRDRE WAS WEEDING in the garden when she heard the telephone. She rushed back inside, kicking off her gardening shoes, and lifted the receiver.