The Hangman's Row Enquiry

by Ann Purser

  “His father,” Deirdre said flatly. “There’s pictures of him everywhere at the Hall,” she continued. “Even one in the kitchen on the top shelf of the dresser. I noticed it on Saturday, as Beattie was busy trying to poison me.”

  Ivy had gone pale, and her hand was shaking slightly as she brushed a nonexistent hair out of her eyes. “Oh dear,” she said. “You’d better go and make us some coffee, Deirdre. Hot and strong, there’s a good girl.”

  Fifty

  GUS HAD RETURNED home after yesterday’s meeting, deeply concerned by Ivy’s collapse. He was pretty certain that the old lady had had a slight heart attack, but she hotly denied that anything was wrong. Just a funny turn, she said. Often get them, she had assured Roy, who was upset, but full of dubious practical suggestions, like giving her neat brandy and wrapping her up in two duvets from Deirdre’s beds.

  In the end, Ivy had insisted that nothing was wrong. She had had a sudden thought, which was so serious that she had startled herself.

  “What was it?” Gus had asked gently. But Ivy replied that until she knew much more, hopefully from Mrs. Bentall, she would not disclose what might well be a red herring. They had to be content with that, and after coffee Deirdre had insisted on taking her cousin and Roy back to Springfields.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right to go over to Oakbridge tomorrow?” she had dared to ask Ivy, who had replied that she wished to hear no more about it. Deirdre had said that if that’s how she wanted it, she must remember she had a mobile and use it if necessary.

  Now Gus looked at his watch. The pair were setting off around three o’clock. The taxi should be arriving anytime now to collect them, and as he had heard nothing alarming from Springfields, or from Deirdre, he assumed Ivy had completely recovered. He would give anything to be a fly on the wall of Mrs. Bentall’s best sitting room.

  THERE WERE NO flies of any sort on Renata Bentall’s pristine cream-coloured walls. Ivy was gratified to see that the house was clean, warm and welcoming. After all, she had said to Roy coming along this morning that for all they knew, Mrs. Renata Bentall lived in a down-at-heel, two up two down, workman’s cottage in a back street of Oakbridge. But as they drew up outside, Ivy saw something that brought tears to her eyes. Not only was the house detached and large, but the discreet sign said “Victoria Villa,” the same name as the solid redbrick house that had been her home in Ringford, her only home until she had ended up at Springfields.

  Renata Bentall had seen them coming, and was standing with a big smile at the wide-open front door. “Come along in,” she said. “I’ve been really looking forward to seeing you both.”

  Ivy, straight backed and without her stick, walked up the path as Roy reminded the taxi driver that they wished to be collected at precisely half past four. He leaned close to the driver, and said softly, “Don’t be late, chum. She’s a stickler for punctuality.” The man winked at Roy. “See you later, sir,” he said.

  Renata had been baking all morning, and the tea tray was loaded with scones and jam and cream, and a perfect chocolate sponge, so light that Roy had two large wedges and even Ivy asked for just a tiny second slice. Their cups were refilled with fresh tea and diluted to requirement with hot water from a silver jug. Everywhere there was evidence of wealth, and Ivy relaxed. At least there was no danger for them here, no poisoners or conspirators.

  “Do tell us more about your family,” she said to Renata. “Other people’s lives fascinate me. I was so confined in a small village all my life,” she added, ignoring the truth that this had, in fact, been entirely her own choice.

  “Ah, well, where shall I begin?” asked Renata.

  “At the beginning,” said Roy jovially. He, too, was enjoying himself. Goodness, what a difference Ivy had made to his life. He had been coasting along to a final wooden box exit from Springfields, when this wonderful new adventure had come along, and all because of Ivy.

  Renata then told them about her marriage to Char-lie Bentall, and his distant relation a generation back, known as Buster because of his initial zealous drive to bust through all the corruption he found at the town hall when elected Mayor. “His family were proud of him,” she said. “O’ course, my husband Charlie’s parents were from another branch of the Bentalls, but the doings of the mayor’s daughter were juicy gossip for all. Caroline was Buster’s only child, and he doted on her. At the same time, she had no freedom and had to do exactly as he said, poor thing. My mother used to say no wonder she went off the rails.”

  “Oh dear,” said Ivy. “How was that?”

  “Oh, the usual,” Renata said casually. “Got herself pregnant, no husband, nor any likelihood of one. Produced twins, had them parked out with a couple somewhere, then later on got married to one of the no-good Jessops. Our Jessop lot came from a northern branch of the family originally, and needless to say wanted nothing to do with the Oakbridge clan. So then Caroline had another baby girl, and reclaimed Beattie. That was the girl twin. They said Caroline’s Jessop husband beat her up, but we never heard the truth of that. Oh, goodness,” she added, “this must be so boring for you! Do tell me more about yourselves?”

  “So Caroline married a Jessop, and later on you married a Bentall?” asked Ivy.

  “That’s right. I suppose my Jessops and Charlie’s Bentalls were like a Greek chorus standing on the side of the stage, watching Caroline’s tragedy unfold.”

  Ivy made a mental note, and then said, “Go on, then. I’ve never met anybody related to a town mayor.”

  Renata returned to telling them of the rumours about Caroline and the terrible time when she went missing. “Never found, you know. The boy twin, Keith, stayed with his foster parents and was not heard of again in the family. It was difficult to trace him, as they were not official foster parents, just a couple of people on the make, paid by Buster. And they did a bunk at some stage. Nobody knows where they went, or Keith himself, for that matter. I heard he’d changed his name, though goodness knows what he calls himself now.”

  “So nobody knew who the twins’ father was? How sad,” Ivy said, trying her best to make it sound like a casual question.

  Renata thought for a moment. “I don’t really remember,” she said, “except my mother said that there was a rumour that Caroline had been seen several times all dressed up, getting into a car driven by a good-looking man with a big moustache. The rumour died away, like they all do in the end, and eventually everything settled down.”

  “I can see it must all have been a big shock to the Bentall family at the time,” Ivy said, trying to keep herself calm. “A bit like when my father died and we discovered he’d had at least three mistresses, all of whom came to the funeral!” And may God forgive me, she added to herself, for such black lies.

  Renata laughed. “Do tell, but first you must have another sliver of cake. And you, Roy,” she added. “I do think we should be on Christian name terms, don’t you, Ivy? I am sure we’re going to be great friends.”

  The rest of the visit passed very pleasantly, until at four thirty precisely there was a knock at the door, indicating the taxi had arrived. Ivy was irritated to see that they had a different driver, and although he was perfectly polite, more polite than the other man, she took an instant dislike to him. Oily, she said to herself, much too oily.

  They drove away from Renata’s house and Roy waved enthusiastically until they were out of sight. “What a nice woman,” he said.

  “And a very nice chocolate cake,” said Ivy. “Shall you manage your supper?”

  Roy laughed. “You had just as much as me, Ivy,” he said. “All those tiny little extra slivers added up to my wedges, you know.”

  Ivy did not answer. She was looking to left and right as they drove through the town. “Is this the right way?” she said. “I don’t remember that new supermarket over there. I am sure I would have noticed. Ugly great place, you couldn’t miss it!”

  Roy peered out of the window. Ivy was right. They were definitely on a different route. “Hey,
where are you going?” he said to the driver, tapping him on the shoulder. “This is the wrong way out of the town.”

  “Got to make a call,” he said gruffly, all his politeness vanished.

  “We aren’t paying you to make private calls!” Ivy said sharply.

  The driver did not answer, but stopped the car and got out. They could see him making a call on his mobile, and it lasted a good five minutes. Roy said crossly that they did not need to stand for this, and he would walk back with Ivy and find another taxi. “Not far, Ivy,” he said, “I’ll give you a hand.” He took hold of the door handle. “It’s locked!” he said.

  At that point the driver returned, and without looking at them or answering their questions about the locked doors, he drove off and switched on the radio at what sounded to them like full volume. Roy looked anxiously at Ivy, who was sitting up ramrod straight, with closed eyes.

  “Ivy? Are you all right?” he said.

  “I’m thinking,” she said. After a few minutes she turned to him and whispered behind her hand, “He’s one of them.”

  “One of who?” Roy mouthed back to her.

  The driver turned his head and said loudly, “Shut up, both of you!”

  After that, they said nothing, and Roy wondered why Ivy was looking so fixedly at the back of the driver’s head. In fact, she was looking past his head and at his reflection in the driving mirror. It was obvious, and she was amazed Roy hadn’t noticed it. The eyes and mouth were Beattie Beatty’s. Even his voice had the same inflections, the same slight hesitation at the beginning of sentences. This was not surprising, she realised with horror, as the pair of them were twins.

  Fifty-one

  THE TAXI WAS going very slowly, but the radio continued at full blast. Ivy and Roy sat motionless, holding hands in the backseat. The driver hummed to himself, and when he knew the words, joined in with the blaring music. Roy reckoned they were about halfway home, though he couldn’t be sure. It was an unfamiliar route, but he vaguely remembered that it ended up as a grassy track that led straight to the Hall.

  Suddenly the driver switched off the radio. “Had a nice time this afternoon, did you?” he said, seeming more relaxed.

  “Very pleasant, thank you,” Ivy said. To Roy’s amazement, she seemed quite calm and collected. “Now will you tell us why we are not taking the proper route back to Barrington. And why we are locked in?”

  “Locked in for your own safety,” he said. “Company policy. Sorry you don’t like this way home,” he added. “It is a bit longer, but much nicer landscape. And anyway,” he continued, his voice changing back to its coarse rasp, “it’ll give you time to put your twos and twos together. What is it you call yourselves? Enquire Within, is it? Very subtle. I know what I’d call it.”

  “We’d be grateful for any suggestions you have to make,” said Ivy, and the driver frowned. Why wasn’t the old bag looking scared? Well, give it time.

  “Nosey Parkers Inc.,” he said. “Pity you couldn’t keep your nose out of our business. Still, we’ve got everything in hand. Just had to bring things forward a bit.”

  “How clever, Keith,” Ivy said, and the driver twisted round sharply at her use of his name, causing the taxi to swerve dangerously into the path of an oncoming lorry. It hooted fiercely, and the lorry driver waved a clenched fist.

  Keith laughed. “We get used to it in this job. Road rage, they call it, Miss Beasley. Beattie and me have a different kind of rage and have waited a long time to use it. Not you, nor your boyfriend there, nor Mrs. Tawny Wings Bloxham, nor the mysterious Mister Halfhide, are going to stop us.”

  Ivy said coolly that he could do what he liked, so long as he dropped Mr. Goodman and herself off at Springfields, as he was hired to do.

  “No can do,” he said, and switched the radio back on even louder. Nothing more was said until they bumped along over the rough track and arrived in the Hall stable yard. Ivy had signalled to Roy to keep silent, and now he glanced curiously at her. She had been rummaging about in her handbag, her hands busy inside its capacious interior. What on earth was she doing? Now she looked up, smiled at him reassuringly, and zipped up her bag. The car stopped, and Keith opened Ivy’s door.

  “Out!” he said, and then did the same with Roy. “Both of you, inside,” he continued. “And don’t try any funny business.”

  “Good God, what d’you think we shall do, man?” Roy exploded. “Do a runner down the drive? Disable you with a rugby tackle? You’re talking to two old people in their dotage! You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself!”

  “Hear, hear!” said Ivy, and added that actually Mr. Goodman was not very strong. She was sure, she said, Keith wouldn’t want to be responsible for anything serious that might happen to him. He ignored this and indicated that they should get out and go into the back door of the Hall, where Beatty stood waiting for them. He followed close behind.

  “Good job you phoned to give me time,” Beattie said to her brother. “So it was okay with the other driver?”

  He nodded. “All fixed,” he said. “Are the others here?”

  Beattie nodded. “They think it’s a social occasion,” she said, and her laugh sent a shiver down Roy’s spine.

  Gus and Deirdre sat in the long drawing room, tiny glasses of sherry on a small table beside them. As Ivy and Roy came in, with Keith prodding them from behind, Gus took one look at them and leapt to his feet. “Ivy! Roy! What on earth has happened? And who are you?” he added, seeing Keith following.

  “Are you blind, Halfhide? Long-lost twin, that’s me,” Keith said. “Beattie, pour coffee for the old gent. Don’t want him snuffing it in the squire’s drawing room. Then we can start.”

  “Start what?” Deirdre said. She had recognised the twin brother immediately.

  “Start explanations,” Keith answered impatiently. Beattie gave Roy his coffee, but Ivy reached in front of him and waved it away imperiously. “Probably poisoned. Don’t drink it, Roy. Nor the sherry,” she added, seeing that Gus and Deirdre had scarcely sipped theirs.

  “Good thinking,” said Gus. He admired the way Ivy had in those few words banded the four together. Four against two, Gus calculated. Should be child’s play, even though he didn’t like the look in Keith’s eye. The two of them had clearly been plotting something for a while, he reckoned, and Enquire Within had got in the way. His thoughts churned on as they waited for Beattie to sit down.

  Deirdre had begun to shake, and Gus took her hand. “Get on with it, then,” he said angrily to Keith. “And anyway,” he added, looking round, “where’s the boss?”

  “Out,” said Beattie shortly. “Not back until tomorrow.” Ivy noticed her glance towards the door in the corner, and did not believe her.

  Gus unexpectedly began to laugh, and they all stared at him. “Blimey,” he said. “You’ve been reading too much Agatha Christie. Here we are, gathered together under duress at the Hall, waiting for all to be revealed. So who’s the murderer, and where’s the police inspector? This is a total farce, and I’m off out of here. Come on, gang, follow me.”

  “Not s’fast, Mr. Halfhide,” said Keith, the phrase causing Gus to laugh again. “Typecast!” he said delightedly. He pulled Deirdre to her feet, and then she screamed.

  “He’s got a gun!” she yelled, and the others froze.

  “Keith!” Beattie said. “There’s no need for that. Give it to me.”

  But he took no notice, and said they were all to sit down and listen. He added with a sneer that as they had not “enquired within” very far, he would oblige them by filling in the gaps in their investigations. “After all,” he said, “you’re not going to be around to do me any harm.”

  He levelled the gun at each one of them in turn and Beattie stepped forward. “Keith!” she said. “Put that thing down. Where did you get it? This is not what we planned at all! For heaven’s sake let’s just get out of here, and forget the rest.”

  Gus, completely serious now, motioned to Ivy and Roy to sit down, and helped
Deirdre back into her chair. “Make it brief,” he said to Keith. “You have very little time.” His voice was quiet but authoritative, and Keith bridled.

  “Bluffing will get you nowhere,” he said, and began his explanation in a strangely flat voice, as if reciting a prepared text from memory. It was a sorry story. Unkind foster parents and Beattie, his one comfort, taken back by their mother. He had been abandoned. As soon as he could, and still underage, he had left the foster home and made his own way, moving from place to place, sometimes living rough, and occasionally taking temporary jobs. “For a while, quite a long while, as a matter of fact,” he said with a twisted smile, “I was the guest of Her Majesty. To put it another way, I was in the nick.”

  “And likely to go there again,” said Ivy. Gus shook his head warningly at her. He had seen a few madmen in his time, and knew they were not to be trusted to act rationally. You had to humour them.

  Keith lifted the gun and pointed it at Ivy. “Shut up!” he said. “Or else you’ll be sorry.”

  He then continued, taking them through the time when he discovered that his mother and other sister were living in seclusion and under false names at a house called Springfields in Barrington.

  “All cunningly arranged by my beloved father,” he said.

  “No need to mention that,” Beattie said. “For God’s sake hurry up, Keith.”

  His voice became a self-pitying whine. “I was not allowed out to see them,” he said. “So I didn’t find out until weeks later that Mother had died and my other sister had overdosed and gone the same way.”

  Beattie’s face was set hard. “They were cremated,” she said. “It was for the best.”

  “Why are you telling us all this?” Deirdre said, regaining her confidence with her hand held tightly by Gus. “It’s nothing to do with us.”