by Ann Purser
“Nope, carry on. It’s a woman. Maybe Doris May.”
As they drew near, the figure emerged from the trees and stood in the middle of the drive, confronting them. It was indeed Doris May, Deirdre saw, and she watched them approach with no trace of a welcoming smile.
“What do you want?” she said. “I am about to go out. I have to catch a train to London, and have very little time.”
Gus apologised for bothering her, and began to explain about Bernie Smithson. He was cut off almost immediately by Doris May.
“I have no time for that rubbish now,” she said. “And if you have any ideas about breaking and entering, I can assure you that the Manor is safely secured, with a direct line to the police if the alarms go off. So just go away, and I will do nothing more. If you insist on snooping around here suspiciously, I shall report you. I know who you are, and where you can be found, so you would be well advised to go away and not return. Now, I intend to see you off the premises before I leave.”
Forty-seven
THE VILLAGE WAS quiet, as always on a Sunday morning, and Ivy and Roy made their slow way along the High Street towards the church, the chill wind causing Ivy to shiver. Katya had warned them that it was a beautiful day, so long as they were well wrapped up. Now Ivy was glad of her fur tippet, even if it did smell of mothballs, and had a malevolent looking fox’s head at one end. She bent down and gently adjusted Roy’s thick woolly scarf, and he looked up at her from his vehicle and smiled. “It’s only because I love you, Ivy, that I am breaking the habit of a lifetime and coming to church with you this morning. I do hope the vicar won’t be too warm in his welcome, in case I never darken his door again.”
“Oh, you will, Roy. Once you see how much good it does you to have a little talk with Him, you’ll be a regular. And in any case, I have no intention of going with you to a dingy registry office in Thornwell when the time comes. If you’re still keen on taking me to the altar, then the altar has to be there in front of us!”
It had rained in the night, and the church path was slippery. “Hold on to the back of my seat, Ivy,” Roy said, delighted that she was thinking positively about marriage. “Can’t have you hobbling up the aisle.”
The churchwarden had seen them arriving, and rushed out to give a hand. Roy said that he would manage perfectly well, but Miss Beasley could do with a supporting arm until they were safely in the church. This did not go down well with Ivy, but she swallowed a sharp comment and took the churchwarden’s arm with good grace.
There were the usual half dozen elderly parishioners, and two helpers from the home for autistic young people escorting the lad whose face lit up when the organ played. Ivy took Roy’s hand and led him to her front pew, and they sat down.
“Vicar’s away on retreat,” Ivy whispered. “Don’t know who’s coming instead. Hope it’s not that retired one who’s deaf as a post and loses his place in the book.”
At this point, the vestry door opened and the replacement clergyman appeared, tall and bearded and clad in a chalk white surplice.
“Looks as if he’s been rushing, Ivy,” whispered Roy. “We’re late starting, anyway.”
The service was conducted with great efficiency and, in spite of the delayed start, seemed to Ivy to finish at least ten minutes before the usual time. As they made their way to the church door, she saw the vicar was using the “passing on” technique. This had been explained to her by a nice young curate at Round Ringford as a firm moving-on motion as hands are taken for a farewell at the church door. Apparently it was recommended by the church for avoiding long chats with certain people known for delaying the rest of the congregation after a service.
“Wait a bit, Roy,” she said. “We’ll let the others go first.” When they were the only ones left, and the vicar’s smile had become rather fixed, Ivy led Roy to the door and extended her hand.
“Very nice service, Vicar,” she said. “We haven’t seen you here before, have we? Where do you come from?”
“Oh, from the other side of the county,” he said, smiling genially. “And am I right in thinking you are Miss Beasley?”
Ivy confirmed this, and was surprised that he knew her name. Perhaps their usual vicar had warned him! Ivy chuckled and said, “And you’re from Oakbridge? Such a pleasant town.”
“Well, not the town itself,” the vicar said. “A village, actually. A few miles into the country. Measby is the name. You know it, I expect?”
“I have heard of it,” said Ivy enigmatically. “Can’t think why. Something to do with some sort of scandal?”
“Good gracious me, no!” the vicar replied firmly. “Nothing so exciting happens in Measby. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going. Cares of office, you know!” he added lightly, and disappeared back into the church.
“Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it, Roy?” The two made their steady way back to Springfields. “Funny coincidence that the man should come from Measby. And even stranger that he should know my name. We must tell Deirdre and Gus tomorrow.”
Roy got out of his vehicle when they arrived at Springfields and took Ivy’s arm. “You’ll have to be careful with all this investigating, dearest,” he said. “You’re beginning to see spies round every corner. I am sure that vicar was as innocent as the day is long.”
“Possibly,” said Ivy, and unhooked her fur tippet, stroking the fox’s head with an affectionate hand. “Do you think Tiddles would like to play with this?” she said.
Forty-eight
DEIRDRE HAD, FROM force of habit, since it was Monday and her mother had always washed on a Monday, put her small amount of washing in the noisy machine, and set it going. As a result, she did not hear the other team members at the door and was greeted by a frowning Ivy when she finally opened it.
“About time, too!” Ivy said, and marched in and straight up to the Enquire Within office. “Right,” she continued, taking off her coat and folding it onto a chair. “Now we’re all here, let’s start.”
The others quickly settled and, with Deirdre operating an unfamiliar coffee machine and attempting to take the minutes at the same time, the meeting got off to a shaky start.
“That’s new, isn’t it?” Gus said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “The coffee machine, I mean, Dee-Dee.”
Ivy noted the affectionate version of her cousin’s name but said nothing. She was not at all sure of Gus’s reliability, but Deirdre was a toughie herself, and it was no good worrying about their relationship.
“Yes, well, it was reduced at the kitchen shop in Thornwell, and I reckoned it would be just the thing for our meetings. Second cups, and all that.”
Ivy lost patience. “For goodness’ sake! This is not a mother’s meeting, you know. Who is going first? You two have lots to report, I expect and hope, from your visit to Measby?”
“Quite right, Ivy,” said Gus firmly. “Shall I report, Deirdre?” She nodded, and he continued. “When we arrived, we parked a little way outside the village. We had agreed a plan, which took in visiting the vicar, the graveyard, the Reading Room archive and the Manor. We hoped to speak to Doris May.”
Roy had perked up when the vicar of Measby was mentioned. “Did you talk to the parson?” he said.
“Let him finish, Roy dear,” said Ivy.
“Well, yes, we did. He wasn’t all that helpful, but we discovered that the old gambler’s name was Bernard Smithson, and he had no known relations. The vicar was quite pleased in the end that we’d turned up, actually. He was clearly hoping we’d pay for a headstone.”
“Your fault, Gus,” Deirdre interrupted. She turned to the others. “Our Gus came up with this story that we were Bernie’s long-lost relations, researching the roots of the Smithson family.”
“Well, it worked,” Gus continued. “The vicar sent us round to the graveyard to see the grave.”
“Very creepy and shivery,” said Deirdre, ignoring Ivy’s frown. “And there were two really mangy little wreaths of dead flowers.”
“One was from a Bill a
nd Jean, the old boy’s neighbours, apparently. But the other had a most interesting label.” Gus was now determined to stick to his task. “It said ‘Bernie—Gone but not forgotten. D.M.O.’ ” He paused, waiting for Roy and Ivy to catch on. He hadn’t long to wait.
“Doris May Osborne,” said Ivy. “Go on, Gus.”
Gus then described how the kidnapper Margaret had tried to ambush Deirdre in the Rolls, and he added their discovery of Doris May’s wedding details in the Reading Room.
“And guess what?” Deirdre could not resist the punch line. “Her maiden name was Wilson!”
Ivy and Roy looked at each other. “Alwen,” Roy said. “Oh, dear.”
“So then I wanted to come home,” Deirdre said. “But Gus said that our plan had included a visit to find Doris May. He was going to use the same story about tracing Bernie’s family, and said I could stay in the car. But I was really spooked by then, and went with him up to the Manor.”
Gus took over. “This is probably the most important thing we discovered. Doris May knew exactly who we were, where we lived and how to find us. She gave us a nasty, vicious warning that unless we stopped snooping it would be the worse for us.”
The silence that followed this revelation seemed to go on forever. Finally, Ivy said could she have another coffee, and this triggered second cups all round. Then she cleared her throat and said that she thought it had become clear that their next move would be vital to their investigations.
“So, what shall it be?” Roy said, gazing at Ivy with admiration.
Ivy looked at Gus, and said, “You know what it is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he answered. “You are quite right, Ivy. We must find out right away what is going on in Measby that is so sensitive to discovery. They are quite clearly operating a scam of some sort, and Bernard Smithson was a victim. But one impoverished old man is not going to be worth their while. It’s a ring, involving some we already know. Doris May, Margaret and hubby—”
“—and possibly the vicar,” said Roy. “Go on, Ivy, tell them about church yesterday.”
“That vicar you called on,” she said. “He took the service yesterday. After the service, we had the usual word at the church door, and he addressed me by my name. Then he tried seeing what we knew about Measby. It wasn’t much, but enough to make me suspicious. Now,” she continued, “Roy says I’m seeing spies round every corner, but don’t you think it’s a bit of a coincidence that he turned up here? I’ve enquired around, and apparently he’s never been to our church before.”
“But how would he know our vicar was away, and how would he get to replace him?” Deirdre was frowning.
“I expect there’s a list of vicars willing to fill in,” Roy said. “He was probably a last-minute volunteer. And from what you said about Doris May, she probably knows about Ivy and me, and the likelihood of our being in church. You bet she’s got her hooks into that vicar and he was obeying orders.”
“Oh my God!” said Deirdre, running her hands anxiously through her apricot curls. “Do you mean Doris May has an informant here in this village?”
“I’m afraid that’s probably so,” said Gus. “Which means, as I’m sure Ivy has concluded already, that we have to act quickly. So what do we do, Ivy?”
“You know perfectly well, Gus. And who better to do it? We visit a gambling den, and the nearest is Ozzy’s Casino in Thornwell.”
Gus paled. “Must I?” he said.
“Why not?” Deirdre said. “You’re not trying to tell us there’s any danger for you in going to a crummy little casino in a provincial town like Thornwell. You’d never even been to the place before you moved to Barrington.”
“There’s danger and danger,” said Gus enigmatically. “But so long as I have someone with me, I’m willing to go. Are you up to it, Deirdre?” he added, and Ivy noticed a pleading note in his voice. What was all this? A smooth, sophisticated operator like Gus, apparently nervous of visiting a small-town casino?
Deirdre was thinking much the same, but then it clicked. Addiction. She had forgotten but now realised this would be difficult for him.
“I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “I know Theo has been a gambler in his time, mainly up in London at the big casinos, but he probably knows quite a bit about the local one as well. Why don’t I ask him to take me for an evening at Ozzy’s? I’m almost sure he’d think it was a big laugh. A fun thing to do. What d’you think, Gus? I’m not doubting your experience, but—”
He interrupted her eagerly. “No, no. Great idea, Deirdre. Should have thought of it myself. Theo is our man. Can you organise it fairly swiftly?”
Deirdre looked at her watch. “He’ll be in town until this afternoon,” she said. “I’ll ring him after lunch.”
Ivy and Roy had listened to the other two without speaking, and now Roy looked across at Ivy and said, “So what shall we do? There must be something.”
“Oh, yes, there is,” she said. “We think of a nice, friendly outing for you, me and Alwen. Something that takes most of the day. Somewhere where she can’t storm off in a huff, or in tears.”
“A day out together, when we can have a nice long chat?” said Roy, his old face creased in smiles. “I can think of just the place, my love.”
Forty-nine
NEXT MORNING, ALWEN was already at the breakfast table when Roy and Ivy came into the dining room. She turned and looked at them, and nodded without smiling. “Good morning, both,” she said in a voice that sounded as if it had emerged from some dark dungeon beneath.
“Good morning, Alwen!” said Roy. On an impulse he leaned over and planted a small kiss on her pale cheek. “And how are we this fine morning? ‘The sun is shining to welcome the day, and it’s hey, ho, come to the fair!’ ” He produced a quavery tenor voice and sang the last encouraging line.
This was too much for Ivy. “That’s quite enough of that, Roy,” she said. “Really, Alwen,” she said confidingly, “you’d think he’d been at the brandy bottle before breakfast!”
“Just trying to cheer up this young lady here,” Roy said, winking at Ivy. He was growing more sure of her, and had decided that a little gentle teasing would be good for their future relationship.
Earlier on, they had worked out a plan for persuading Alwen to go with them on an outing for the day. Fortunately Mrs. Spurling had gone to visit an ailing sister, and Miss Pinkney was in charge. Roy had had a word with her, and she had agreed that both she and Mrs. Spurling had been worried lately about Mrs. Wilson Jones. She had seemed so depressed, and nothing would lift her out of it. Yes, she said with enthusiasm, it would be a very good idea if Roy and Ivy could persuade her to have a day out with them.
“It would take her out of herself,” Pinkers had said, and she agreed to do what she could to persuade the poor soul.
Now the three sat at the table and Ivy and Roy tucked into scrambled eggs and bacon, while Alwen toyed with a piece of dry toast.
“We were wondering,” began Roy, “whether you’d be able to do us a favour today, Alwen?”
“Depends what it is,” she muttered.
“Well, it’s like this. Ivy and I have for some time wanted to pay a visit to Easterwold on the coast.”
“Cold, wet and windy, that’s Easterwold,” Alwen said.
“Now, now, Alwen,” Roy said, patting her hand. “Look out of that window. A beautiful blue sky likely to be so for a whole day, according to the weather forecast. We plan to have our special taxi to take us over and bring us back, and we want you to come with us. Don’t we, Ivy?”
Ivy said there was plenty of room in the taxi, even with Roy’s vehicle aboard, and it would be a comfortable ride.
“Why do you want me to come?” Alwen said suspiciously.
Roy was about to reply when Ivy got in first. “Because you could share the expense of the taxi,” she said bluntly. “It’ll be quite a bit, and Roy and me, well, we’re not made of money.”
Roy’s heart sank. Ivy had really put her foot in it this t
ime. But to his amazement, Alwen began to chuckle. “I like that, Ivy,” she said. “There’s a lot to be said for plain speaking.” She looked across at Roy. “All right then. What time is the taxi coming? And if you take my advice, you’ll put an umbrella in your bag.”
THE DRIVE TO Easterwold was, as promised by Roy, comfortable and relaxing. The taxi was adapted to take Roy’s vehicle, and there was plenty of room for the ladies to sit and gaze out of the windows. The last few miles took them through colourful heathland and marshes, where flocks of birds rose up as they passed, and Alwen proved to know their names, much to Ivy’s annoyance. She had lived in the country all her life, and apart from knowing a sparrow from a robin, and a blue tit from a blackbird, she did not consider it necessary to join the loony company of bird-watching twitchers, who went from one end of the country to the other in pursuit of the greater spotted bobtailed whatsit.
“I saw a marsh harrier once,” Roy said cheerfully. “Made my day, that did.”
The taxi dropped them in the centre of the village, and Alwen looked around with interest. “My goodness, it’s changed since I was last here,” she said. “All these people! It was a shabby, empty little place then. But according to George, it had once been a busy trading port. Corn, timber and, of course, fish, so he said. Funny,” she added, “I’ve not thought of Easterwold for years and years, and now I remember things like that. A real symptom of old age, that is.”
“There’s a nice little café for a coffee, girls,” Roy said, at once assuming a jaunty holiday air, determined not to let Alwen’s spirits sink. “Follow me, and I’ll treat you to a toasted tea cake.” He parked his vehicle outside, and they went in, selecting a table by the window.
“We’ll probably have to settle for one of them muffin things these days,” Ivy said, but had to backtrack when a pleasant girl in a frilly apron said of course they could have a toasted tea cake. “With jam or marmalade?” she added.