by Ann Purser
“I don’t think I yelled. I was out cold when Mrs. Bloxham found me.”
Miriam said that she was really sorry. She could have rescued him sooner, perhaps. “I could have tried that mouth-to-mouth resuscitation thing,” she added brightly.
Lucky escape, thought Gus, but said kindly, “So what have you been up to? Are the police any nearer finding out who attacked your poor mother?”
Miriam looked suitably downcast. “They’ve been back asking me questions,” she said, “but they won’t tell me anything.”
“What questions?” Gus said, and added hastily that he wouldn’t like to think she had been upset by them at such a sad time.
“Mostly about Mother. They wanted to know things like how long she’d lived in Barrington, when she married my dad, if she’d worked at the Hall, an’ on and on. They wanted to know about me, too. Where I’d worked, if I’d had any boyfriends, all kinds of personal stuff like that. It’s not fair, Gus. Not when I’m grieving for me dear old mum.”
Gus looked at his watch as obviously as he could. Miriam took the hint, but said why didn’t he come round and share a chicken casserole with her? There was plenty for two, and she’d made a plum duff for pudding. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any food in the house?” she said.
As it happened, Gus knew that Deirdre had filled up his fridge for his return, but he was interested in what Miriam had been saying about the police, and so accepted her offer with gratitude. She was delighted, of course, and said he might as well come back with her now, and she would help him through the rusty old gate.
BEATTIE WAS ON her way to the shop when she saw Miriam and Gus disappearing round to the back of Miriam’s house. Good heavens, the woman was insatiable! Not content with seducing Theo way back, now she had her claws into the Halfhide man. She walked on, feeling the ground shifting beneath her feet. It wasn’t, of course, she told herself, looking down at her feet walking smartly over the potholed tarmac. It was an illusion, and she tried to convince herself that things were just as before.
But things were different, she knew, absentmindedly waving to Rose Budd at the end of the terrace. Theo was no longer willing to accept her judgements and suggestions. He wanted to see the farm accounts, the housekeeping records, even the orders for the shop. At breakfast, he had announced that he wanted her to buy everything she could from the village shop, keeping her purchases from the supermarket to a minimum. “ ‘Use it or Lose it!’ ” he said merrily, quoting from a Post Office advertisement.
All her hard work and planning over the years had been wiped out in a single afternoon, she reckoned, and then realising that he could have many more afternoons with Rose Budd’s connivance. And now Theo had this ridiculous idea of reorganising the farm! It had all gone so smoothly, though admittedly the income from the estate had gradually diminished.
And that was another thing! Theo had said he wanted all the accounts, bank statements and cheque book stubs in his study. He would be buying a new filing cabinet to house all the financial documents relating to the estate.
“You’ve taken on so much over the years owing to my neglect and idleness,” he had said, and added that now he intended to make recompense by relieving her of all those onerous tasks. “You must go out more,” he said, smiling at her. “Enjoy yourself, Beattie. You’ve earned it.”
She was left with nothing to say. Her blood boiled, and she was sure that he was having a great time making her suffer. His apparent concern was completely false. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and it was he who was enjoying it.
She stopped at the foot of the steps leading into the shop, and looked at the seat placed there in memory of Theo’s father. “To hell with both of you!” she said under her breath. “I’m not beaten yet. Just you wait, and that goes for you, too, Mrs. Bloxham.”
“Morning, Miss Beatty,” Will said, coming out of the shop door to put out the empty milk bottle crate. “Nice to see Mr. Roussel getting out and about again.” He continued, “All due, I’m sure, to your tender loving care!”
Beattie would have spat at him if she had not spent most of her life grooming herself to be a lady. “I suppose you’ve run out of apples as usual?” she said sourly, and followed him into the shop.
Thirty-nine
DEIRDRE WATCHED THE oddly assorted trio walking slowly towards Tawny Wings. So Roy had scorned riding in a wheelchair. Dear old chap! He is a lesson to us all, she thought. No matter what happens to our crumbling bodies, it’s the will to live, to keep going whatever, that counts. She must make sure that she remembered that. No lounging around in her luxury home. Perhaps she would learn to play that neglected piano. Or take up tennis?
They had reached her gate, and she went downstairs to welcome them. “You’ve done very well, Roy,” she said. “Coffee’s all ready. I’m sure you could do with a reviving cup.”
Roy had given up drinking coffee a long time ago, on the advice of Mrs. Spurling, who said it was bad for the heart. Now he reckoned there wasn’t much damage could be done at his age, and he sniffed the lovely smell of brewing coffee coming from Deirdre’s kitchen.
“Bring it on!” he said, and allowed Gus to help him—in fact, to practically carry him—up the wide stairs to Enquire Within’s headquarters.
“Now,” Gus said, as he saw Ivy drawing a deep breath ready to speak first. “Now, shall we report on our day’s researches, Deirdre? You’ll be pleased, Ivy, that our journey was not wasted.”
Deirdre began, explaining that they had given up on the newspaper archive, but had then needed to go no further than the public library, where the librarian had been most helpful. She had been there for years, she’d said, and had seen many changes in Oakbridge, some of them not for the better.
“Get to the point, Deirdre,” said Ivy.
Deirdre sent her a black look, and said that maybe Gus would like to carry on, if her account was not satisfactory.
Gus sighed. “Very well, then,” he said. Never work with widows and spinsters, he reminded himself. “We had asked around for details of the Bentall family, but had no luck. Then Deirdre noticed a photo hanging on the wall. . . . Carry on, Deirdre.”
“It was Caroline Bentall’s father. Town mayor, chain an’ all, and a very pompous look on his face. Anyway, the librarian then told us all she knew.”
“And are you going to let us in on the secret?” Ivy said, with studied politeness.
Gus took over. “Apparently the family was well respected. Caroline was an only child, and the apple of her father’s eye. She did well at school, but was not encouraged to go to college. Her mother was a mousy woman, so the librarian said, and obeyed her husband in every way. He wanted Caroline to stay at home and got her a job in the county council offices. To be fair, the librarian said, the girl had not wanted anything more adventurous. Boys was all she was interested in, and eventually settled for one totally disapproved of by her father.”
“Mind you,” said Deirdre, “I reckon no bloke would have been good enough for his precious Caroline.”
“Agreed,” said Gus. “Anyway, she wouldn’t give him up, and then the inevitable happened.”
“She got herself in the family way?” suggested Ivy.
“Correct,” said Gus. “And was sent away in the good old-fashioned tradition, only to reappear months later somewhat slimmer. The twins were fostered.”
“But she had a family eventually? Did she marry the bloke?” Roy had been listening avidly. “That was the whole point of the story, wasn’t it? She abandoned her children. And what about the twins? Did the librarian say what happened to them?”
Gus looked at Deirdre and laughed. “Straight to the heart of it, Roy,” he said. “Yes, she married later, but not the father of the twins. It was only after she’d had a child with her legitimate husband that she reclaimed one of the twins, the girl, from the foster family. The boy was left behind, and the librarian didn’t know what had happened to him.”
“Blimey,” said Roy. “What a s
tory! Like something out of Peg’s Paper.”
“What?” Gus stared at him.
“My mother used to take it. It was a girls’ magazine. True life stories, she said, but even she didn’t believe that. Lurid, they were, and she loved them.”
“So who was the husband? Must’ve been a nice chap to take on the bigger girl.”
“He was all right, but a bit short-tempered, according to the librarian. And he insisted that as the elder girl wasn’t his, she should not have his name. So she kept her mother’s name, i.e., Bentall.” He paused, and then dropped the bombshell. “She was called Beatrice Bentall.”
“So that’s it,” Ivy said quietly.
Roy agreed that Gus and Deirdre had done really well, but probably the most important thing now was to find out what happened to the husband, and what he’d done to cause his wife to desert two perfectly nice daughters. “It was obviously his doing,” he said confidently. “And what happened to Caroline? She seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.”
“Perhaps he murdered her,” Ivy said flatly. “Or someone else did.”
The silence was prolonged. Deirdre shivered. “Shall I put the heating on?” she said. “It’s gone cold in here. I’ll go and make more coffee.”
“Have you finished, then?” Ivy asked, quite oblivious of the sensation she had caused. “Is that all your friendly librarian knew about the end of the story?”
Gus nodded. “Yep,” he said. “She went away to do her training around that time, and by the time she returned the whole thing had died down, and gossips were busy with a new scandal in the town.”
“Let me guess,” said Roy. “The town mayor had run off with his secretary, leaving his mousy wife to pick up the pieces?”
Gus laughed loudly. “You’re a national treasure, Roy,” he said. “I’ll help Deirdre with the coffee,” he added, and followed her down the baronial stairs.
IN THE KITCHEN, Gus stood watching Deirdre fill the kettle and put ground coffee in the cafetiere. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he said, seeing her frown.
“What are you thinking?”
“That we’ve uncovered something so important we should probably take it to the police. Beattie must be on their list of suspects. Time to hand over to them?”
Deirdre turned to face him. “You must be telepathic,” she said. “It was telling it all to the others, watching their reactions. Yesterday, somehow, we were so excited at finding out so much that it was like a game. You know, pass ‘Go’ and collect two hundred pounds. But now, well, I can see just how important it might be. What do you really think, Gus?”
“Haven’t had time to think it out properly,” he said. “Shall we ask the others? They’ll be looking at it from another viewpoint.”
“Right,” she said. “I reckon Ivy might have a sensible suggestion. She often has, irritatingly! You wait, when we ask them, I bet she’ll say, ‘Well, if you ask me,’ etc., etc., and produce the commonsense answer.”
They carried the fresh coffee upstairs, and Deirdre refilled the cups. “So what shall we do next?” she said. “We reckon what we found out is really important. So should we go to the police or carry on investigating?”
“Well, if you ask me . . .” said Ivy.
Forty
“IF YOU ASK me,” said Ivy, “I’d say we’ve got a long way off the track finding out who murdered Miriam Blake’s mother. Good as your research was, you two,” she continued, “it don’t really shed any light on what the police are investigating. So I suggest we carry on investigating until we find some definite connection.”
“Told you,” said Deirdre to Gus.
“Told him what?” Ivy asked.
“Never mind,” Deirdre answered. “Anyway, we haven’t heard what you and Roy discovered yesterday. Your turn now, Ivy.”
“Not me, it’s Roy’s turn.”
“Oh, come on,” Gus said. “Let’s cut the politeness and get on with it.”
“Right,” said Roy, “I’ll start and Ivy will interrupt.”
“I’m sure she will,” muttered Gus, and added loudly, “Off you go, then, Roy.”
“Well, you remember Miss Pinkney told us about the hot gossip in the village? About Mr. Roussel being seen everywhere, for the first time in years?”
Gus nodded impatiently, then began to speak.
Ivy interrupted. “Yes, he went to the pub and the shop, called in at the Budds and walked round the farm with young David. But most interesting for us, he called in on Miriam Blake yesterday, and stayed for more than an hour.”
Deirdre and Gus chorused, “Who told you that?”
Ivy’s biscuit had gone down the wrong way, and she choked into her handkerchief. Roy took over. “It was Rose Budd,” he said. “Ivy and me went for a stroll down Hang-man’s Row, and she was in her garden. Full of it, she was.”
Deirdre looked at the frail old man. “You walked all the way down Hangman’s Row?” she said.
Ivy and Roy exchanged looks. “I pushed him,” Ivy said. “He didn’t want me to, but Mrs. Spurling stopped us on the way out and said Roy was her responsibility and she could not allow him to walk so far. She produced a shiny new wheelchair, and Roy is light as a feather. Nothing to him. So it was no problem for me to push. Better than a Zimmer.”
“I’m going to get one of those electric shopping scooters,” Roy said happily. “Never thought of it before, but it would be even better if Ivy didn’t have to push.”
“So you talked to Rose Budd about Miriam and Theo,” Deirdre reminded him. She was extremely irritated to hear that Miriam had been closeted with Theo for more than an hour. “Doing what?” she asked.
Ivy shrugged. “How should we know? Rose didn’t know. She doesn’t have much to do with Miriam, and so couldn’t ask her, could she? Mind you, if you ask me, they were up to no good. We know she was his fancy woman once before. Might have picked up where they left off, so to speak.”
“Ivy!” said Deirdre. “That is pure speculation! I am sure Theo would have nothing whatsoever of that nature to do with Miriam Blake. Not after what the old mother told him about being brother and half sister!”
“And not when he had already taken up where he left off with you, Deirdre? I’ve got private doubts about the Hon. Theo. I’d hate to see my cousin led up the proverbial garden path.”
“I’m quite capable of looking after myself,” snapped Deirdre, and Gus decided it was time to step in.
“This is a really interesting piece of information, Ivy,” he said, “and one we should definitely follow up. The question is, how?”
There was silence for a minute, and Gus thought that he should probably own up. “As a matter of fact,” he said casually, “I had lunch with Miss Blake.”
“When?” said Deirdre.
“Today. Before coming up here.”
“Better explain,” muttered Roy. “These girls will eat you alive if you’ve been consorting with possible suspects.”
“Not possible suspects,” Gus said. “Chief suspect. She said the police had been back asking more questions. Some new ones, and some old ones over and over again.”
“Like what?” Deirdre said.
“Oh, about what she did before she stopped work to look after her mother. Whether she resented giving up a busy life. All that sort of thing. She was angry. Said it wasn’t fair, they should leave her alone when she was grieving for her mother.”
“Huh!” Ivy said. “For a grieving daughter she seems to have a lot of gentlemen callers!”
“Comfort and support, Ivy,” said Gus, and laughed. “But in my case, a useful piece of information gathering.”
“What else did she say?” Roy said.
“She talked a lot about Theo,” Gus said, glancing apprehensively at Deirdre. “She was really upset, and said she could never find out why he suddenly broke off their weekly love-in sessions in Hangman’s Row. I asked her if her mother had any explanation, and she said the old woman had been really cruel. Said Mr.
Theo had found better fish to fry. He was a toff, she said, and toffs didn’t get serious about farmworkers’ daughters. He’d got fed up with Miriam, and no wonder, her mother had said. He could have the pick of the county. Miriam was just handy when he felt randy. She’d gone on taunting her, and Miriam had wept for days.”
“And you believed all that codswallop?” Ivy said sharply.
“Sounded convincing to me,” Gus said innocently. In fact, he had not believed a word of it. He had decided after an intimate lunch with Miriam that she was one of those fantasists who ends up not being able to tell the difference between truth and lies. It was what she didn’t say that convinced him she knew the whole sordid story. Once or twice, when Theo’s dad was mentioned, she had started a sentence and then broken off, as if editing what she was telling him.
“Well, looks like I’ll have plenty to ask Theo next Saturday,” Deirdre said.
There was an embarrassed silence. Ivy raised her eyebrows, and said that if Deirdre asked her, she would suggest asking the questions when she first arrived at the Hall, and then there would be plenty of time afterwards for this, that and the other.
“First time I’ve heard it called that,” Roy said conversationally. Deirdre ignored him, and said icily if Ivy would like to make out a list of questions, she would certainly do her best to carry out her duties efficiently.
“The other urgent thing,” Gus said, firmly changing the subject, “will be to find out what happened to Beattie’s twin brother. Got any ideas how we do that, team?” he said, hoping to inject a professional note. Never again, he said to himself, will I work with geriatrics. Then he exempted Deirdre from this. He reckoned she was not much older than him, bless her. She’d been good company yesterday.
Now she made a sensible suggestion. “I think we should start by assuming that he kept the same name as Beattie, before she changed it. Bentall, I mean. We can look up all the Bentalls around Oakbridge first, then the whole county. There should be records of the foster parents, too, but you can bet your bottom dollar they’d be strictly confidential. Angry father of twins sent packing by Mayor Bentall, might seek custody, etcetera.”