The Hangman's Row Enquiry

by Ann Purser

  “You could do with a doormat outside there,” Ivy said. “Just look at those wet footprints all over your carpet! Still, if you will have white carpets, what do you expect?”

  “Nice to see you, too, Ivy,” Deirdre said, quite restored. “Tea or coffee? I heard on the radio this morning that coffee is really bad for you. Shall we have tea?”

  Ivy said she was too old to worry about whether things were bad for her or not, but she preferred tea in any case, hot and strong with two sugars, please.

  “Now,” she continued, when they were perched on uncomfortable stools in the kitchen, “I reckon you have something to tell me. No, don’t interrupt. I think you said nothing to Theo Roussel about Beatrice Beatty’s past. I think you spent a happy and fruitless two hours exchanging tweetie words and getting up to no good. Am I right?”

  Deirdre thought of lying through her teeth, and then realised that Ivy already knew the truth and it would be easier to own up. “Right,” she said apologetically. “Well, not all right. I wouldn’t say it was completely fruitless.”

  “I have no wish to hear anything about that,” Ivy said stiffly. “I’ve come along this morning to see how you can face Gus tomorrow morning. And,” she added, “to see if you’d come to church with me. It’s Holy Communion this morning.”

  “And confess my sins?” Deirdre said. Then she realised her sharp old cousin was really trying to help her out of a fix, and said that if Ivy would tell her when to stand up and sit down, she would come. “But first, can we make a plan for tomorrow?” She looked at the clock. “We’ve got an hour or so before church.”

  THEY WERE AN odd trio, Ivy, Deirdre and young Katya, walking through the lych gate and up the narrow path to the church. Ivy ignored the sidesman who tried to direct her to a pew towards the back. She marched straight up to the front, where she ushered the two others in, and then knelt herself to say a few words of greeting to her personal God.

  Just as the service was about to start, and the vicar halfway from the vestry to his seat in the chancel, the door opened and a flustered-looking Beattie came in. Behind her, dignified and aloof, came the Honourable Theodore Roussel. He looked to neither right nor left, but walked with measured step to the front pew on the opposite side of the aisle from the three women. Beattie retired to a seat at the rear of the church, and the service began.

  “Does he always come?” whispered Deirdre to Ivy.

  “Sshh!”

  “No, but does he?” Deirdre persisted.

  Ivy shook her head. “Never,” she whispered back.

  Deirdre looked surreptitiously across the aisle, and saw that Theo must have attended regularly at some time. He knew exactly when to sit down and stand up. And, she heard with a kind of proprietary pleasure, he had a fine tenor voice and seemed to know all the hymn tunes.

  When it came to the invitation to take Communion, Theo stood up and waited politely while Ivy eased herself from her seat and stood at the head of the queue. Deirdre had no alternative but to follow her, and realised with dismay that Theo had stepped out to take his place behind her. “Oh!” she gasped, with an intake of breath. Was that his hand?

  The vicar prepared to dispense the bread and wine, and they knelt humbly with hands resting on the altar rail to await their turn. Without looking at Deirdre, Theo rested his hand very briefly on hers, and then removed it to form a supplicant shape with both hands to receive the sliver of something that tasted like polystyrene.

  They returned to their seats with heads bowed, and Ivy knelt once more. Deirdre followed her example, and prayed fervently to God to help her in this undoubted crisis in her life. She wished she had a cigarette.

  As the joyful going-home hymn was sung, Deirdre risked a glance towards Theo, and saw that he was looking at her. He did not smile, but to her astonishment, he quite clearly winked. Twice she had been winked at this morning! She decided it was a sign, a definite sign from the Almighty that she was doing nothing wrong, harming nobody, and was, in fact, being a good Christian in spreading love and joy to all people. Well, maybe not to all people, but certainly to the Honourable Theo Roussel.

  Beattie, still crouched in prayer in her pew at the back of the church, waited until she was sure Theo and the three women had left and would be on their way out of the churchyard. Her head was still thumping from the shock she had been given when Theo had announced his intention of going to church. He had appeared in her kitchen, washed, brushed and looking extremely determined, saying that they should be off now. There was just time to walk. He would go on ahead, and she could catch him up.

  By running awkwardly down the drive, she had caught him up, and walked silently by his side until they reached the church. Then she had fallen back respectfully as they entered. As he had marched forward and she lagged behind, she had seen with a sinking heart the Bloxham woman, large as life in the front pew, her ridiculously dyed hair shining out like a vulgar wig on a woman for sale.

  Now she walked slowly out of the church, shook the vicar’s hand and hardly acknowledged his friendly greeting. She could no longer pretend that she was imagining things. Somehow those two had met in her absence. Not only met, she thought grimly, but restarted whatever had been postponed all those years ago. As she approached Hangman’s Row on her way back to the Hall, she could see Theo talking to David Budd over his garden fence. She would slip by quickly, and hurry back to the security of her kitchen to prepare lunch.

  She must find a way to stop all the goings-on that had so cruelly invaded her hard-won refuge. But not straightaway, she decided. It might blow over if she bided her time. If not, she would need to think some more.

  Thirty-three

  “I THOUGHT WE’D have our meeting in the summer house,” Ivy said, greeting Gus and Deirdre in Springfields’ reception hall. “It’s a criminal waste not to make the most of the summer sunshine. If you ask me, the sunlight was sent for us to be out in it.”

  “If you ask me,” said Gus, “which you haven’t, of course, I would say fine, so long as there’s a comfortable chair in that godforsaken summer house in the shadiest corner of the garden.”

  “Now, now,” said Deirdre, bursting with good humour, “it’s a really good idea of Ivy’s. We can be private, and Katya can bring us coffee out there. Have we told Roy?”

  “Still in the land of nod,” said Ivy. “Mrs. Spurling wouldn’t have him woken. And don’t worry, Augustus,” Ivy added. “I have asked for the summer house to be cleaned out and made comfortably ready for us.”

  “What did old Spurling say to that?” Gus said.

  “Nothing,” said Ivy serenely. “She made a funny sort of noise and slammed out of my room. Sometimes I wonder whether she really likes me. Not that it bothers me,” she added. “People have not liked me all my life. I’m used to it.”

  Gus was tempted to ask if she had ever wondered why, but instead said gallantly that he liked her, and Deirdre liked her, and please could they get on with the meeting, as he was venturing out for a short walk later.

  “By yourself?” said Deirdre.

  Gus raised his eyebrows and said he was sure a member of staff would be found to escort him.

  “Item one,” he said, when they were settled, “minutes of the last meeting.”

  “We haven’t got any minutes,” said Deirdre.

  “Maybe we should have,” Gus said.

  “Oh for goodness sake, can we get on,” Ivy said. “First of all, let’s hear what Deirdre learned at the Hall on Saturday.” She looked meaningfully at her cousin, and nodded her head.

  “Well, as Ivy already knows,” Deirdre said without hesitation, “it was all a bit of a waste of time. I turned up, as before, and Rose Budd left me alone with Theo for an hour or so. He was looking a bit peaky when I arrived, and said he thought he was getting a cold. We talked for a bit, but I could see he really wasn’t keen on me being there. I tried to introduce the subject of Beattie, but by then he wasn’t answering. Actually,” she added with an impressive show of compass
ion, “the dear thing dozed off. He went to sleep, and in no time was snoring his head off.”

  “So did you wake him?” said Gus suspiciously.

  “Nope. I gave up, and went to talk to Rose Budd. She’s a really nice girl, you know. Interesting to talk to, too. We discovered I’d known her mother when we were both young. And that little Simon,” she continued, “is an absolute poppet. His dad brought him into the kitchen, and we had a great game of—”

  “Whoa!” Gus said. “Are you saying you got nothing out of Theo Roussel, nothing about Beattie in the early days?”

  Deirdre nodded. “Nothing at all, I’m afraid. Poor dear was obviously not feeling well. I’ll try again next Saturday. He should be feeling better by then. Rose suggested telling him I would be back. Said it would help him recover more quickly, bless him.”

  “So what else is there to talk about?” Gus said grumpily. Perhaps he should recover more quickly himself, and get out of here and galvanise these two into some urgent action.

  “Names,” Ivy said.

  “What names?” said Deirdre. She had never told so many barefaced lies before—white lies, an annoyed Ivy had called them—but felt relieved now that Ivy’s reluctantly concocted plan had worked. Gus was looking distinctly cross, but he seemed to have swallowed her excuses.

  Their discussion took a more positive turn, and Ivy filled Deirdre in with what she and Gus had gleaned from Roy Goodman. “We need to do some serious research into that news story of the missing woman. It’s just a hunch,” Gus said, “but Ivy and I had the same thought that it has something to do with Beattie. The connection so far is that ancient news story ringed in red. Must’ve meant something important to Roy’s family. We need to know the exact name of the woman, and of the children she left, and what happened later. Now, the best research tool these days is the Internet.” He paused, waiting for a reaction.

  “What about the reference library?” Ivy said, who had an uninformed distrust of the Internet. “Nothing wrong with reference libraries,” she said. She remembered from the distant past a woman from the local reference library coming to talk to Round Ringford WI. She had droned on a bit, and some members had had a refreshing nap, but Ivy had been interested.

  Deirdre shook her head. “We haven’t got time, Ivy,” she said. “The police must be getting on with their investigations and I’ve seen Inspector Frobisher around the village several times. We don’t want Enquire Within to be beaten to the winning post. No, Gus is right. I’m computer literate,” she added proudly. “Why don’t we all get together at Tawny Wings this afternoon and start a search?”

  “Better than a boring walk with a member of staff, especially if it’s Miss Pinkney and not adoring Katya,” Ivy said slyly. “I agree with Deirdre, if you’re up to it, Augustus.”

  They agreed there was no further business for the meeting, and went back to the residents’ lounge, where they found Roy Goodman doing the Guardian quick crossword. “Morning everybody,” he said. “Have I missed something? Afraid I have only just got up. Sit ye down, and I’ll read out the clues. Keeps the Alzheimer’s at bay, you know, exercising the old grey matter.”

  Deirdre quickly excused herself, saying she had to go into town to visit her old lady. She would see them at Tawny Wings at two thirty sharp. Ivy said that if anyone asked her, she would say that crossword puzzles were a complete waste of time, and anyway, she had some letters to write in her room, which left Gus to keep the old man company. Before she went, she asked solicitously if she should order a taxi to take Gus to Deirdre’s house, but he said the short walk would do him good.

  “Four across,” said Roy, “six letters, one word, ‘killer or slang for a drink.’ ”

  “Poison,” said Gus. “Next.”

  BEATTIE’S HEADACHE HAD finally vanished, and she had awoken feeling refreshed for the first time in days. She was downstairs preparing breakfast when Mr. Theo walked into her kitchen, a smile on his face.

  “Lovely morning, Beattie!” he said.

  She had thought endlessly about how she was to tackle the new Theo Roussel, and had decided to go along with him, being pleasant and encouraging. She had no alternative, she concluded. Her quarrel was not, after all, with Mr. Theo. It was with the Bloxham woman, and she was confident in her ability to outwit her without too much trouble. If only she was not so alone, she had thought in the middle of the night. There was one person who would understand, but she dismissed that thought immediately. A real friend, not necessarily a confidante, would be so consoling. But she had brought friendlessness on herself over the years, and she was not sure how to reverse this, now that she needed someone.

  Rose Budd? No, she wasn’t much more than a girl, and they had nothing in common. Miss Beasley at Springfields? But wasn’t she a cousin of the Bloxham woman? No, that wouldn’t do. Miriam Blake? Ah, now, there was a woman of her own age, and also in trouble. Some said real trouble, but Beattie had no worries about that. It might even give her a hold over Miss Miriam. And they had several things in common. They had both lived in the village for years, and from what she had heard, they had both been more than interested in Mr. Theo and in the future of his estate. She could even hint that they might come to some compromise over Miriam’s rent.

  “What plans for today, Mr. Theo?” she said with a friendly smile.

  “Out and about, I think,” he said. “Weather’s too good to stay indoors. I shall be in for lunch, but possibly out for dinner. I will let you know later on. And you, Beattie, what have you got planned?”

  “Oh, I thought I might invite a friend for tea, if that is convenient,” she said.

  “Ah, who would that be?” he asked. He could have sworn Beattie had no friends, either in the village or anywhere else.

  “Why, Miriam, of course. Miriam Blake,” she said.

  AFTER A GOOD lunch of lamb chops, mint sauce, peas and mash, Ivy and Gus set off slowly up the road towards Tawny Wings.

  “What a pair,” said Ivy grimly, as she stumped along, rapping her stick rhythmically on the pavement for support. Gus also had a stick, but his was more for show than from necessity. He had a pang of conscience as he saw how determinedly Ivy pushed herself to use legs that would much rather have been idle.

  “Nearly there,” he said, remembering his childhood, when his mother had said those words every time they were on a journey, no matter how short a distance they had actually gone. “I am sure Deirdre will have a restoring cuppa for us both. I’m looking forward to our research,” he added. “I’ve been thinking of getting a computer myself.”

  “What stopped you?” Ivy said. She knew how much computers cost, and was pretty sure Gus had no spare cash. Not that she was thinking of buying him one! Nor, for that matter, of lending him money.

  His reply surprised her. His tone was serious when he answered. “Security. In my line of business, security meant everything. And even though I understand users are told their details are secure, I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “What details?” Ivy said curiously. She had decided early on that Gus was probably exaggerating the importance of his “line of business.” Maybe a lowly security guard, but nothing more vital than that.

  “Oh, you know, personal details, bank account numbers, pin numbers and pass codes, all that stuff. As far as I can make out, you put all that secret information on a computer and it goes off through the ether to God knows where!”

  “Don’t blaspheme, please,” Ivy said automatically, as they turned into the driveway and made their way to the front door of Tawny Wings.

  Half an hour later, the three were ranged around Deirdre’s computer screen. Ivy had to squint to make out the flickering words on-screen. “What’s Google?” she said suspiciously.

  “A search engine,” said Deirdre blandly. She actually had no idea where the engine came in, but knew what Google could do for her. It could search miraculously until it produced undreamed-of information about any given subject.

  “Right,” she said, “have you fi
nished your tea? Good, then let’s begin. Best thing is to start with the name of the newspaper that Roy found. What was it, Ivy?”

  Ivy looked blank. “No idea,” she said. “He didn’t say.”

  Gus looked smug. “I asked him later. Suffolk Independent Press,” he said smoothly. “Folded in the eighties, but was once the most popular paper in the county.”

  “Good lad,” said Deirdre, and typed the name in at speed. Ivy was impressed. “How did you learn to type so fast?” she asked.

  “At the garage,” she said. “Although Bert had all the necessary office staff, I liked to keep my hand in, and worked one day a week alongside the others. I miss it, but they wouldn’t want me now.”

  “Ooh, look, it’s doing something!” Ivy said, leaning forward.

  “Yep,” Deirdre said, busying herself with the gadget which she had explained to a puzzled Ivy was a mouse. “Let’s download this archive website. Looks the most interesting.”

  “We’ve got the date,” Ivy said, anxious to make amends for not knowing the name of the paper. “It was in the nineteen seventies.”

  “Let’s hope it was a weekly paper,” Deirdre muttered, not keen to sift through hundreds of dates in ten possible years. She read through some information on-screen, and said, “Thank goodness it was a weekly evening paper. Now, what was the name of the woman who went missing?”

  “Roy wasn’t sure, was he, Ivy?” Gus said.

  “No. But didn’t he say it was something like Bentall. Katherine, or Caroline, or some such?”

  Ivy nodded. “You know what,” she said slowly. “I think we should have brought Mr. Goodman with us. All this stuff”—she gestured at the screen—“might have triggered some more memories from him.”

  “Well, we didn’t,” Deirdre said, annoyed at Ivy’s defeatist attitude. After all, she’d hardly started on her search.

  “You could go and fetch him.” Ivy looked stubbornly at Deirdre. Gus sighed. Best keep out of this, he said to himself, though he did half agree with Ivy.