by Ann Purser
Roy smiled. “You seem in fine fettle to me,” he said. “Still, now we’re here, we might as well entertain you for a few minutes. There must be some village news to give you.”
“Nothing about that village interests me,” Alf said grumpily. “Now, if it was Settlefield, I might be curious. Anything from me old stamping ground?”
“Settlefield? There was something, wasn’t there, Roy?”
“Ah, yes. I don’t suppose you remember her, but old Miss Goodman has passed away. Ethel Goodman, one of the Settlefield branch of the family. I didn’t know her, of course, and she was very old. Eighty-two, I believe.”
“Eighty-one,” said Alf, and then closed his eyes, as if in pain.
“You all right, old chap?” said Roy.
“Bit of a spasm,” said Alf. “Better have some kip now. Nice of you to come. Cheerio.” And he leaned back on the pillow and gave every sign of drifting into sleep.
Ivy and Roy went as silently as possible out of the ward, and made their way back to reception.
“Soon back?” said the receptionist. “I do hope he wasn’t too offensive.”
“Not at all,” said Ivy firmly. “He just needed a rest. Said he was glad we’d come, so we’ll look forward to seeing him back in the village. Good morning.”
Elvis was waiting for them, and they were soon on the road to Springfields. After a couple of miles, Ivy turned to look at Roy. “One thing, dearest,” she said. “How was Alf so very sure of Ethel Goodman’s age? That bears thinking about.”
“Yes, funny, that. I noticed it, too, and I think he realised too late that it was an unwise remark. And when he closed his eyes, I’m sure a tear ran down his cheek.”
“Here we are, then,” said Elvis. “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s the vicar’s car outside Springfields.”
• • •
REV. DOROTHY WAS waiting for them in the lounge, looking anxious. “Good morning, Miss Beasley, Mr. Goodman,” she said. “Could I have a word?”
“Of course,” said Ivy. “Why don’t we go up to my room? Sorry we weren’t here when you arrived. We’ve been visiting the sick.”
“Oh dear! Anyone I should know about?”
“He’s coming home tomorrow. Alf Lowe, it was. They thought he had the nasty flu that’s going about, but it was just a bad cold. He’s always had a weak chest, apparently.”
“Where does he live?”
“Cemetery Lane. Lives on his own, but keeps the house decent. Married, but separated. Grumpy, most of the time.”
“Right. I’ll call. I’m pretty thick-skinned. You have to be in this job!”
Settled in Ivy’s room, with coffee brought in by Katya, who, on seeing the vicar, crossed herself surreptitiously as she left them, Ivy opened the conversation.
“Let me guess why you’ve come,” she said. “It’s about my missing cat, Tiddles? Have you spotted him?”
Rev. Dorothy shook her head. “Sorry, no sign, I’m afraid. No, the reason I’m here is once more the banns question. I found this on my doormat this morning.” She handed Ivy a piece of paper, folded carelessly.
“My goodness,” said Ivy cheerfully, “this is definitely better grammar than the ones I usually get,” she said. “Not much of a threat, though, is it?”
“What does it say, dearest?” said Roy, who was not smiling.
“It says that if Rev. Dorothy reads our banns tomorrow in church, she will never read anything again. Ever.”
She handed him the paper, and he looked at it closely. “This sounds like desperation,” Roy said. “It is too ridiculous for words.”
“I can see your point,” said Rev. Dorothy. “It doesn’t specify how I am to be silenced, does it? Mind you, that doesn’t mean our blackmailer hasn’t thought of some way.”
“What are you going to do with it?” Roy asked.
“Give it to the police, of course. I’m not in favour of giving way to such threats, but I live alone, as you know, and I shan’t feel safe until this whole business is cleared up.”
“And the banns?” said Ivy sadly.
Rev. Dorothy frowned. “I’m afraid I am not prepared to take the risk. I am so sorry, but I have already contacted my superior and he has ordered me not to proceed for the moment.”
A long silence followed this, and then Roy reached out and took Ivy’s hand. “The registry office, beloved? Or shall we run away to Gretna Green?”
Ivy took his hand in both of hers, and said that if anyone asked her, she would say it was her right to be wed in church to the best man in the world, and nobody was going to stop her. A couple more weeks were not long to wait for the rest of her life’s happiness.
Rev. Dorothy sniffed hard, and fumbled for her handkerchief. “Bravely said, Ivy. You know I shall do all I can to help, for my own sake as well as yours!”
Forty-seven
INSTEAD OF THEIR usual postprandial snooze, Ivy and Roy retired after lunch to Ivy’s room to have a serious discussion about latest developments.
“Should we ask Gus and Deirdre to come down here?” Roy was very anxious about Ivy’s apparent refusal to be depressed. But perhaps that one collapse into tears was all she needed to rearm.
“Not yet,” she said. “I think you and me need to discuss our next move very carefully. That letter to the vicar was a big mistake on the blackmailer’s part. Smacks of desperation, as you said.”
Roy nodded reluctantly. “I think so, Ivy, but I really think we should urge Inspector Frobisher to get on with it. They’ve had long enough, in my opinion. I wake up every morning in trepidation for the next missive.”
“Yes, well, me, too. A little bit. But I refuse to be scared off by an idiot who can’t write proper.”
Roy looked at her curiously.
“Yes, and that’s a joke,” said Ivy. “I had a very good education at our village school, and can write a letter with the best of them. So we are dealing with a dropout, perhaps slow learner, who has no small opinion of himself, and thinks he is onto a quick profit. But he is not the one pulling the strings. I could swear to that.”
“What about Wendy Wright? Do you think she might really be the one?”
“Maybe not. The police don’t think so, as we saw. But it won’t hurt Frobisher to do a bit more digging there.”
“So you haven’t ruled her out. Who else, Ivy? If you’re not sure she’s the one, who is? I hope you’re not concealing anything from me!”
“No, I’ve been thinking some more about the Malehams. I was not sure enough to tell the police about Frank and Beryl, but now we’ve got this message in a different style. It begins to make some sense. Frank, with earring, working part-time at Maleham’s, still living with his mother. She, resentful and perhaps with a grudge against Steven Wright. The pair of them could be in cahoots.”
“But why should Beryl be interested in Frank inheriting my money? She would not know there was any possibility of that happening. There’s still that missing connection between the Malehams and the Goodman family. Honestly, Ivy, I have a very good mind to do what I threatened and give most of it to the donkeys. We’ll keep enough to pay our fees here, and off-load the rest. Then we’ll sell our story to the local newspaper, so everyone knows, and then we’ll be married in church and live happily ever after.”
“No need, my dear one,” Ivy said softly. “I think we are not far off finding the missing piece in our jigsaw. Let’s give Gus and Deirdre a ring now, and ask them to come to tea tomorrow. You are looking much too worried, and a nice snooze now will do you good.”
Roy sighed deeply. “‘What dreams may come when we have shuffled off into a nice snooze?’” he misquoted.
“Off you go, now,” said Ivy, “and I’ll give Deirdre a ring. Then I shall stretch out and count ducks.”
“Not sheep?” said Roy, picking up his stick.
“Stupid animals,” Ivy said. “Some of them go round twice.”
• • •
“HAS IVY CALLED you, Gus?” Deirdre was sitti
ng on a kitchen stool with a glass of red wine to hand. She had phoned him as soon as Ivy had finished speaking, but had had no reply. Next she tried his mobile, and he answered.
“Where are you, anyway?” she continued.
“Out to lunch,” said Gus. “And yes, if, as you say, Ivy sounded even more stern than usual, then something’s up. Did she suggest any more than asking us to tea tomorrow?”
“No. Just said it could be important, but not immediately urgent.”
“Right. So tomorrow it is. Are we going to church in the morning to hear the second time of reading the banns?”
“Oh no, that was something else she said. There’s been another hitch, apparently, so we are not to break the habit of a lifetime and go to church for no special reason. Her words, Gus. There’s life in the old thing yet.”
“Right. So, any news about Tiddles? Perhaps she has had a lead on that particular mystery?”
“Tiddles wasn’t mentioned,” she said, laughing. “I personally think the cat’s shut in somewhere nearby, and the blackmailer knows it’s missing and is making capital out of it. Ivy has planned to alert the whole village, and has already phoned James at the shop. He called Theo at the Hall, and asked him to look in the stables, where his lost cat was found a while ago. And he phoned me.”
“Right-o. So what are you doing this evening? May I call around suppertime?”
“Why not?” said Deirdre, and signed off.
Gus turned to look at Miriam, who was just coming in from the kitchen bearing a steaming jam sponge pudding. She banged it down on the table, and said that she had a good mind to tip it over his head. “What a cheek, Gus Halfhide!” she said. “Eating my delicious lunch, which I slaved over for hours, and at the same time making a secret date to have supper with that woman up at Tony Wings, whoever he is. And that on top of coming in at least two hours late!”
“Tawny Wings is the name of the house, Miriam. And I know I shall be lucky to get fried egg and beans, so there is no need for you to worry. We have Enquire Within business to discuss. And I’m sorry about being late. Blame Whippy. She got lost in the woods, and I’m worried about her being abducted, like Tiddles.”
“Oh well,” said Miriam. “I suppose I have to believe you. Do you want some of this pudding, or are you leaving room for egg and beans?”
• • •
SUSPECTING THAT GUS had been lunching with Miriam Blake, Deirdre decided to take a ready meal from the freezer. They were expensive, but delicious, and she was tempted to claim she had made it herself. An innocent enough lie. One of her own small list of culinary achievements was bread-and-butter pudding, and she set about making a substantial version, with cream and lots of sugar and sultanas. She would insist on Gus having two helpings, and that would teach him to exploit two women friends at once.
When he finally arrived and knocked at her manorial front door, she was so struck by his humble expression that she relented and asked him to come in and be cheered up with a whisky and ginger ale to keep out the cold. Not that it was cold in her large drawing room, where she had a leaping log fire as well as efficient central heating. She sat him down in a comfortable chair, and after pouring the whisky, she opened the subject of Ivy’s tears. For a moment, she thought he was going to weep, too.
But spies don’t weep, and he merely said he felt absolutely terrible. His father had been very strict about making little girls cry, right from when he was at nursery school. “No gentleman, however small, would even consider it,” the old boy had said.
“Well, if it is any comfort to you, she sounded fine. Quite her old self, and very firm about our tea party tomorrow afternoon.”
“Do you think she has anything new to tell us?”
“Oh yes. That’s the way she works. Very painstaking about getting it right before involving us. They went to see Alf Lowe in hospital, you know. I think it’s something to do with him. You never got to see him, did you?”
“No, he’d gone by the time I got up there. I shall go again on Monday, if he’s home.”
“Coming home tomorrow, apparently. It was only a cold, and they’re sending an ancillary nurse to make sure he’s comfortably settled. He shouldn’t be living on his own in this weather, really. But he refuses all help, silly old fool.”
When they had finished supper, they sat by the fire chatting amiably.
“This case has been very puzzling,” said Gus, “and I get the feeling Ivy and Roy are handling it mostly by themselves. I suppose that’s natural, since it is their proposed nuptials that are at the root of it.”
“And one victim dead already. If those threats are really serious, then the killer may strike again. Or am I being overdramatic?”
“No, not at all. They’re serious, all right. But Ivy’s safety depends on how long they are prepared to wait for the wedding to be called off permanently. Or, for her to snuff it from natural or other causes, like fear and worry. I doubt if she’s cried real tears since she was a child.”
“What about Tiddles?” Deirdre threw another log on the fire, and wriggled back into her deep armchair.
“Tiddles is at greater risk. But we shall find out more tomorrow.”
Deirdre yawned. “Gosh, I’m tired,” she said. “Early bed tonight, I think.”
“Like some company?” Gus asked quietly.
“Why not?” answered Deirdre.
Forty-eight
ROY AND IVY went to the early-morning communion service in church, to avoid a barrage of sympathy from well-meaning churchgoers. As a result, they were back at Springfields and first in for breakfast.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Ivy. “What difference is it going to make, our being married? Apart from sharing a bed, that is. I mean, we’re a bit old for passion, aren’t we?” She whispered the last words, and in truth it had taken a lot of courage for her to even mention such things.
Roy grinned. “Never too old for a bit of rumpy-pumpy under the duvet,” he said. “Trust me, Ivy. I’m a good teacher.”
“Is it true, then, Roy, that you were a bit of a lad in your youth?”
Roy frowned. “Where is this leading, beloved? Not over to Settlefield and the late lamented Ethel Goodman, I hope?”
“Possibly,” said Ivy. “After all, it is difficult to forget entirely that Alf Lowe accused you of getting a girl in the family way, and then deserting her.”
“Huh! He could talk! Known for it, he was. But are you thinking Ethel might have been that girl? There was never any talk of her being up the duff, as far as I remember.”
“If by that you mean being pregnant, yes, I am thinking of that. And you might not have heard anything because of that silly feud between the two families.”
“True,” said Roy. “But nothing much is secret in villages, and I do, or rather did, have one or two friends in Settlefield who would have mentioned it, I’m sure. No, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree there. I think Alf Lowe was just being malicious. He can’t help it.”
“Well, he should be home today, so I think it would be a Christian act to call and make sure he’s all right.”
“Whatever you say, dearest. Your wish is my command.”
“Nonsense! And when we’re married, I am going to do whatever you wish.”
“Not to mention a spot of the other,” said Roy.
• • •
THOUSANDS OF MILES away, Wendy Wright was sunning herself in her friend’s garden. The telephone rang, and after a minute there was a shout to say the call was for her.
“It’s for you, Wendy. Some man called Frobisher. I think he said he was a policeman. What have you been up to?”
Wendy went indoors and was away for five minutes or so. When she returned, her friend could see she was upset.
“It was the police from Thornwell,” she said. “They want to ask me some more questions, and although they didn’t actually ask me to return to answer them, I could guess that’s what they really want. So, as they said there was no immediate hurry, I agr
eed to return in a few days. I’ve been meaning to go back, anyway. You’ve been so kind, and I’m feeling a lot stronger.”
“Is it about Steven’s death? Have they got any new clues?”
“He didn’t say. I think they’re still a bit mystified as to how the poison got into him. But just lately I’ve remembered him being sick after we’d been out to dinner. It was very violent. He was sure something in the dinner poisoned him. Maybe there was some lingering after that. Or it could’ve been something else that actually killed him.”
“Or somebody,” said the friend.
“Yeah, but isn’t it more likely that Steven stayed late, working after everyone had gone, like he often did, and got into that bed because he was feeling rotten—maybe faint and sick—not knowing that he was going to die as a result?”
“Goodness knows,” said her friend. “You should not try to work it out. Leave it to the police; else you’ll undo all the good we’ve done while you’ve been here.”
• • •
AFTER ROY’S CONVERSATION with Ivy at breakfast time, he had been thinking hard, trying to remember his early days, when his Settlefield friends had often come over to Barrington for young farmers’ meetings, or just a drink in the pub. His sister had been engaged for a while to one of them, but had then married one of the Wright family, and produced Steven. He’d been an only child, and had no doubt been spoilt with too much cosseting. Not strong as a small boy, he had never joined in much with the farming community, preferring to play at home with his fond mother.
Roy’s sister was, of course, a Goodman of the Barrington branch and had married “out” by choosing a stranger for her husband. She’d disapproved of Roy and his early laddish ways, but towards the end of her life, they had been close, often having nostalgic conversations on the telephone. When she died, he had felt sad, as if some part of him had been amputated. He had nursed hopes of Steven, and had been a generous uncle. But Steven was not an easy person to like, and had not, in Roy’s view, improved with maturity.
Now, stretched out on his bed after a good lunch and not feeling in the least sleepy, Roy wished he could talk to her and see what she remembered of Alf Lowe. The Lowes were smallholders near Settlefield, and did not mix with the richer farming set, who looked down their noses at anyone with the odd few acres. But she might have been able to see some possible connection between him and the Malehams, though for the life of him, he could not think what it might be.