by Ann Purser
“Oh, I’ve never doubted that it is right for them,” Gus replied. “But not for us, eh?”
“We take a right turn here,” said Deirdre, not answering his question. “Then I reckon the post office in that shop over there is the best place to start.”
They parked outside the shop, which was full of customers discussing the morning’s news.
“I reckon he went to sleep and ’ad a ’eart attack,” said a young man in oily overalls. “Prob’ly bin celebratin’ and thought he’d get away with it.”
“Oi don’ think so, boy,” said a motherly lady holding a wriggling toddler. “That don’ say that in my paper here. They reckon it were a revenge killing.”
“Excuse me,” said Deirdre sweetly, “but does it give the name of the murdered man?”
“Wright, dear. Not a relation of yours, I hope?”
“Oh no, no! I heard a bit of the news on local radio at lunchtime, but missed his name. Not a local one, is it?”
“Next, please!” said the shopkeeper, a mousey little woman not much taller than the counter. “There’s others waiting to be served.”
“Come on, Deirdre,” Gus said. “Was it chocolate you wanted?”
They waited until the shop had emptied, and then the shopkeeper smiled at them. “You’re not from round here, are you?” she said.
“No, but not far away. We live in Barrington. You had plenty of customers today!”
“Ah, but that’s unusual. They were all wanting to talk about the case in Thornwell. Man found dead in bed department of Maleham’s store. Funny thing, that. It’s a mystery to me how the killer, if there was one, got in and out of the store without being seen. And there must have been a struggle, surely. Unless he was drugged,” the small woman added with relish.
“Or drunk,” said Gus lightly. “The name’s unfamiliar to me, but I’m a newcomer to the area.”
“And to me,” said the shopkeeper. “There’s a lot of new names in the village. Incomers, most of them. There’s just one original farming family left now. Well, two, actually. Josslands and Goodmans have been farming round here for generations. Young couple with a new baby. She was a Goodman, and he’s a Jossland. Baby girl, I think. The farm’s down a long drive off the Oakbridge road. Were you looking for anyone in particular?”
“No, no,” said Deirdre. “But it’s always interesting to hear about local people.”
As she spoke, the familiar sound of a police car siren got increasingly louder, until it passed through the village at speed and disappeared.
“On their way to Thornwell, I expect,” said the shopkeeper wisely. “Now, chocolate, was it, you wanted? We’ve got a new supply of Green and Black’s plain chocolate. Will that do?”
• • •
“VERY PROFITABLE,” SAID Gus, as they settled back into the car. “I don’t think we should look up the Jossland family at the moment. But we can report back to Ivy and Roy. In fact, I think we should do so. It may be important to Roy to confirm he still has relatives in Settlefield.”
“I agree,” Deirdre said. “After all, it may be really nice for him to know a young couple with a baby are close by, and related to him. Not as lonely as he thought he was. It could lessen his grief over that no-good Steven.”
“I don’t think he’s grieving all that much. But I do see what you mean. Let’s go back, and then call in unannounced at Springfields.”
Twenty-three
“I MUST SAY,” said Gus, “that this chocolate cake makes up for that disgusting salad! Another piece would be so welcome.” They were back at Tawny Wings, having a late tea and deciding to call Springfields before dropping in to see Ivy and Roy.
“Are you up to revealing to Roy that he’s got blood relations after all?” Gus asked.
“It could make a great difference to his life with Ivy, and cause more trouble than if we kept quiet about it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Gus! Of course we must tell him. For one thing, it might have some connection with the murder of Steve Wright.”
“You’re not intending to implicate an innocent young couple with a new baby, are you?”
“Of course not, but we do need to know much more about them. There may be more of them, and who knows what plans they might have? Time for some input from Roy and Ivy. Shall we go?”
• • •
WHEN THEY ARRIVED at Springfields, Mrs. Spurling was on duty, and barred their way into the lounge.
“Good evening, Mrs. Spurling,” said Gus. “Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman are expecting us.”
“It’s rather late, Mr. Halfhide,” Mrs. Spurling said with a frown.
“What rubbish!” said a voice from the top of the stairs. “Why don’t you come up, Deirdre and Gus, and I’ll rouse Roy. He’s probably not asleep, anyway. He sneaks a look at the crossword to get at it first. We always do the Guardian crossword after tea, you know. Keeps the brain active.”
Mrs. Spurling sighed. “We really like residents to entertain visitors in the lounge,” she said, without much hope of cooperation.
“Enquire Within is not entertainment,” said Ivy firmly. “This will be a business meeting. Has Katya been baking? Cookies all round would be welcome.”
Mrs. Spurling went back to perusing the Sunday newspaper’s jobs section in the hope of finding a suitable appointment vacant in her field of administration.
• • •
“THIS IS A nice surprise,” said Roy, blinking sleepily as he joined them in Ivy’s room. “I do hope there’s no more bad news?”
“No, I hope it will be good news,” Gus said. “To begin at the beginning, I had lunch with Deirdre, and in talking about your nephew’s unfortunate demise, we remembered you saying there was a branch of the Goodman family over at Settlefield. We really need to know about them, since someone is clearly very anxious to stop anyone other than themselves inheriting your fortune. Steven has gone, sadly, and now is the time when a long-lost nephew or niece on another side of the family is likely to pop up and stake a claim.”
“I wish I had no money at all,” Roy said vehemently. “I have a good mind to will it all to a home for ill-treated donkeys.”
“That’s fine by me,” said Ivy. “They say money is the root of all evil, and there’s never been a truer word spoken. Anyway, Gus, all you’ve told us so far is supposition.”
“So we went to Settlefield,” continued Deirdre. “The village post office shop was full of folk talking about newspaper reports of the man found dead in a bed in Maleham’s furniture store. We listened to their conversations, but nothing interesting was said until the shop cleared and the shopkeeper told us about a young couple farming locally, and—guess what?—the wife’s name was Goodman before she married!”
“Well, that’s not unexpected,” said Ivy flatly. “Could be a distant relation of Roy. I don’t know what you’re so excited about. Who did she marry?”
“A chap called Jossland. Another farming family, apparently,” Deirdre said.
Roy nodded. “It does often happen in the farming world. Sometimes doubles the size of the farm.” He looked at Ivy and winked at her. “I suppose the Beasleys haven’t got some arable land hidden away somewhere in the county?” he suggested.
“Don’t complicate the issue,” Ivy replied sternly, and turned to Gus. “So how are we going to find out about the young couple? I should think twice before contacting them direct,” she said.
“Ask Alf,” Roy said. “Alf Lowe. He knew my family over Settlefield way, or so he claims. He might have some contacts who could enlighten us. What do you think, Gus? Are you willing to tackle the old reprobate again?”
A knock at the door brought in Katya bearing a tray of glasses and a bottle of sweet sherry, and, as requested, cookies. “Good evening, Mrs. Bloxham and Mr. Halfhide. Are you comfortable sitting on the bed, Mrs. Bloxham? I shall bring in another chair. One minute, please.”
She disappeared, and Ivy began to pour the tea. “That girl is the best thing about Springfie
lds,” she said. “If she ever leaves, then so shall I.”
“I trust you’ll find room for me?” said Roy. “I shall follow you to the ends of the earth, you know.”
“Of course you will come, too,” she answered. “I have been thinking for some time that Tawny Wings would make a very pleasant retirement home, and Deirdre could manage it perfectly well.”
“Ivy! What are you saying? Hands off my ancestral home! What would Bert have said? No, don’t even think of it!”
Katya appeared once more, carrying a chair, which Gus took from her and placed near the window for Deirdre.
“So, Gus is going to tackle Alf. What about the rest of us?” Deirdre looked quite pale at the thought of Tawny Wings Home for the Elderly, and was anxious to get back to the business in hand.
“There will be a funeral to attend for me,” said Roy. “There is no date for it yet, but I must go.”
“And I shall come, too, and see what I can pick up in the way of useful information,” said Ivy.
“Which leaves me,” said Deirdre. “All this talk about overhearing and gleaning something useful from Alf seems unnecessary to me. I shall try the direct approach. I don’t see why I shouldn’t, Ivy. You can all get on with things, and I shall arrange to call on Mr. and Mrs. Jossland and their new baby at Hartwood Farm. There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t introduce myself as a voluntary worker for Social Services—which is true—just calling to make sure they don’t need any help. I might even take a small teddy bear with me as passport.”
Twenty-four
UNAWARE THAT THEY were the subject of speculation, the Josslands at Hartwood Farm were sitting in their large kitchen, drinking coffee and marvelling at the small miracle in the cot by the window.
“She looks quite like me, doesn’t she?” said Bella. “My blue eyes, and those sweet little wisps of blonde fluff are my colour, too.”
“It’ll all change,” said knowledgeable farmer William. “All babies have blue eyes. Then they change colour to what they’re always going to be. She could take after your aunt, Ethel, and have brown eyes and ginger hair.” He grinned at his young wife. “Maybe we should call her Ethel? Good old-fashioned name.”
“It’s horrible! She’s going to be Faith, after my mother.”
“Faith Ethel, then?” said William. “The ancient old duck might leave her some money; you never know. Some say she’s loaded, and she never married.”
“That nursing home is eating up all her savings,” Bella said. “Still, Faith Ethel is a reasonable compromise. Oh look! She’s smiling!”
“Wind,” said William cruelly. “They all do that. Now, I must get out to the cows, so I’ll see you in a bit. Bye, Faith Ethel,” he added, blowing a kiss to the baby. “Looks hungry to me. Better get milking, Bella.”
He made his way to the door, opened it and then stopped. “Are we expecting anybody?” he said, as he saw a woman crossing the yard.
• • •
“MY NAME IS Bloxham, Deirdre Bloxham. I am a voluntary worker for the social services department in Thornwell, and we try to keep in touch with our new mums, just in case they need extra support.” All of this was perfectly true, though Deirdre would have to make sure she organised the paperwork in the office.
“Do you have any proof of identity?” said William. He was large and tough, and he filled the doorway, blocking Deirdre’s view inside the kitchen.
“Yes, of course,” she said, bringing out a card to confirm. “Is it inconvenient? I could always come back.”
Bella appeared, carrying the baby, and said she was welcome to come in. “William has to see to the cows now, so I’ll be glad of your company. It’s a bit strange, isn’t it, when there’s suddenly a new little person in the household!”
Deirdre, whose knowledge of new babies was scant, but who had a warm and capable personality, had seen many young mothers through those difficult first few weeks. Now she asked to hold Faith Ethel, while Bella put on the kettle.
“Do you live locally? I don’t think I’ve seen you around, have I?”
“I don’t come this way often. I’ve lived in Barrington for many years, and before that I was brought up in Thornwell. Not really a country girl, you see! But my husband, Bert, owned Bloxham garages. All around the county. You’ve probably noticed them.”
The girl was obviously impressed. “Does he still own them?” she said.
“He’s passed on, sadly,” said Deirdre. “Much too soon. He loved his business, and was very popular with customers. So now I run them, with the help of an expert staff. Perhaps your husband will have heard of us?”
“I’m sure he will. Now, shall I attempt to put my small daughter down in her cot? I think she’s already decided she’d rather be cuddled!”
“They’re very knowing, even early on. Friend of mine claims her tiny son was intellectualising—whatever that means—at one week old!”
Bella laughed loudly, relaxing properly for the first time since the birth of Faith Ethel. “It is really nice to meet you, Mrs. Bloxham,” she said. “Apart from Auntie Ethel, who’s a hale and hearty eighty-year-old and daft as a brush, none of my relations or William’s are left.”
“No mother, then, to help you?” said Deirdre. “Or even mother-in-law? Though they can be a mixed blessing, I know.”
Bella shook her head. “They were pals, the two families. The generations intermarried a number of times way back. All gone now. My mother had multiple sclerosis, and died a couple of years ago, and Dad had an accident with a tractor. William’s parents are both gone, too. He was a very late child—mother in her forties when he was born—and he’s a good bit older than me. So there we are, and though I’ve lots of friends, we are a bit isolated down here. You’re not in a hurry, I hope? I do tend to rattle on, once I get started.”
Deirdre shook her head. “No hurry,” she whispered. “Look, she’s fast asleep, little precious. May I just sit here holding her for a bit?”
Bella was only too pleased to have this nice woman keeping her company. She seemed to be a natural with babies. She wondered whether Mrs. Bloxham had children of her own, and asked her tactfully. And then the conversation continued comfortably until Deirdre looked at the old shelf clock and said she would unfortunately have to be getting back.
“I’ll give you my address etcetera,” she said, “and you must call me at any time if you’re stuck on anything. I can usually help. Nothing medical, of course. You must get your doctor or midwife for that. But I’d really like to see how Faith progresses! Have you thought of another name for her?”
Bella made a face. “Unfortunately, I have agreed to the old aunt’s name. Ethel Goodman, that is. William’s idea, of course. So she’s Faith Ethel. Perhaps you’d like to come to her christening in due course?”
“Love to,” said Deirdre, really meaning it.
• • •
IVY AND ROY had retired to Ivy’s room after lunch, feeling the need to stay together to face the dire happenings that had fallen on them in the last few days.
“You’d think, wouldn’t you, Roy, that two old parties such as us could get spliced without any fuss or inconvenience to anybody?” Ivy sat in her usual chair, which enabled her to look out of the window at goings-on in the village street.
Roy reached across and took her hand. “Dear little hand,” he said consolingly. “Don’t you worry, beloved; we shall have that gold band on this finger in a very short while.”
“No word from the others this morning. Deirdre must have found nobody at home at that farm at Settlefield. A barmy idea, if you ask me. You can’t just go knocking on doors and expect people to tell you their business straight away.”
“She can be very persuasive,” said Roy, with a grin. “She can twist our Gus round her little finger. Anyway, she’ll probably pop in later.”
“And Gus is off tackling Alf Lowe. He’s welcome to that job, though I must say there’s something likeable about the old man, horrible as he is.”
“He can’t be both, can he, my dear?”
“Oh yes,” said Ivy confidently. “I’ve known several men like him. My own father, for a start. I don’t like to mention the subject, Roy, but I think the most interesting thing brought up by Alf Lowe in his story—untrue, I’m sure—is about your involvement with an old friend of his. I can’t remember the name, but there was some woman you were supposed to have been engaged to, and then ducked out of it. There’s never smoke without fire, in my experience, and he might be trying to off-load some other bloke’s guilt onto you.”
Roy’s expression was mutinous. “I’m afraid I disagree with you there, Ivy,” he said. “I have already explained that the whole thing was a fabrication. I think we are being deliberately led astray on that one. But why? That is the real nub of it.”
“Money,” said Ivy flatly. “A pot of gold waiting to be collected in the event of your passing on. Little do they know that now I am almost your wife, you are going to be the longest-living person in the world!”
“But who are these ‘they’? Steve has gone, so it was nothing to do with him.”
“Except that he was one person between them and the pot of gold, and is now removed. Poor old Steve. And if the attempt at preventing our wedding succeeds, then another contender has been eliminated, for the moment. Me, that is. That possibly leaves these Josslands, with a wife who was a Goodman, over at Settlefield.”
“You’ve forgotten the man who interrupted our banns. Where does he fit into all this?”
Ivy was silent for a few minutes. “Something to do with Alf Lowe and his low-life relations? Could be someone hired to do the job?”
Roy frowned. “Ivy, my dearest, do you realise what this means?”
“Yes, of course. It means that whoever is prepared to murder once, might try again. And this time, the one most in the way of he or she inheriting your millions is me. But only once we are married. Do you suppose I should hire a bodyguard?”