The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry

by Ann Purser

  William laughed as he went out, saying that it was a case of the wrong side of the blanket. “Bella will tell you the whole story,” he said. “Nice to see you all. Come again soon. Sorry I have to leave you, but the cows won’t wait.”

  “So it was an illegitimate baby, was it?” Ivy said baldly. She’d had enough of all this flaffing about.

  “Ivy likes to call a spade a spade,” Roy said apologetically.

  “She’s right,” said Bella. “I don’t know much about it, but there was a baby, and we think it must have been adopted. It is certain that it never came back to Settlefield. Once or twice, when Ethel was still living in her little cottage here, she had begun to be a bit confused, and once or twice she mentioned a lost baby. We always assumed that she had had a miscarriage or an abortion, but apparently not. In her will, which was pathetically short, she referred to a child. All she said was, ‘the remainder of my possessions are to go to my child.’ No name, or indication where such a child might be found. Sad, isn’t it, Miss Beasley?”

  Ivy nodded. “It is very sad, Bella, but those were very different times from today. Now you’re lucky if you can find a child that has two parents married to each other.” She leaned forward and prodded Faith’s stomach awkwardly. “Who’s a lucky little girl, then?” she said.

  “She’s not a parrot, Ivy,” said Deirdre, suppressing a laugh. But at least Ivy had tried.

  • • •

  “SO NOW WE know Ethel Goodman had an illegitimate baby, which was taken for adoption immediately after birth. Is that right, Roy?”

  Ivy was sitting bolt upright in Deirdre’s car, full of certainty that they were on the right path at last. Roy looked at her and frowned. “You know what this means, Ivy?” he said.

  “Oh yes. It means you may have a living heir to your fortune, after all. Unless you get your bequest to the donkeys into your will as soon as possible.”

  Deirdre looked in her driving mirror and could see that Roy had a half smile on his lined old face. Why wouldn’t he come out with it now? None of them knew what he had in his will, except that Ivy would be well provided for. Was he being deliberately secretive? Was he actually enjoying all this attention? Only one thing to do, and that was to ask him outright.

  “Roy, I do hope you’ll forgive my asking, but have you made a will? I know sometimes people think they have, and either it has slipped their minds, or it is hopelessly out of date, leaving everything to somebody who has died before them.”

  “You can rest assured that everything is in order, Deirdre. I have very good lawyers.”

  “But when did you last see them, dearest? Not that I care, but Deirdre has a point,” said Ivy.

  “And thank you for your concern, Deirdre,” Roy answered blandly. “I do appreciate it.”

  “Right, well, perhaps we’d better talk about something else,” Deirdre said, aware that she had not had a straight answer to her question. “I do have a nice piece of news to give you.”

  “Out with it, my dear!” said Roy. “We could do with good news just at the moment.”

  “Well, William and Bella have asked me to be a godmother to baby Faith! Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Ivy was about to make a caustic remark about godmothers, who have all the glory and none of the hard work bringing up a baby, but she bit it back. Poor Deirdre had obviously wanted a baby years ago when Bert was alive. And although this was second best, it had given her a lovely surprise.

  “Congratulations, Deirdre!” said Roy. “I’m sure you will make a very good godmother. Little Faith is a charmer already. When is the christening?”

  “In a few weeks’ time. They want to have it quite early, before spring planting and lambing starts. Though apparently some lambs are born in January these days, or even earlier.” She had lived a long time in a village, but Deirdre was an urban person at heart, and was not too sure of the country calendar.

  “If you ask me, it’s interfering with nature,” said Ivy. “Lambs out of season, chickens in wire cages, calves being killed before they have time to grow up. It’s not right, and we shall all suffer for it in the end.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Roy placatingly. “At least you and I have reached an age where we don’t have to bother with these things. I must say that as a retired farmer, I can speak from experience, and am only too relieved that things are a lot easier on the farm these days. Nothing stays still, Ivy, and even now, things that in my day we thought were the bee’s knees in modern farming methods, are now looked on as old-fashioned.”

  “Hear, hear, Roy! Well said!” Deirdre drove into Barrington and parked outside Springfields. “Now, are you going to offer me another cup of tea?”

  “Certainly not,” said Ivy. “Me and Roy have a little glass of sherry about this time, and we would be very happy if you would join us?”

  “You’re on,” said Deirdre. “Great stuff, cousin Ivy. In we go!”

  Fifty-five

  ALF SAT HAPPILY in his armchair by the fire, watching his carer dust round his precious ornaments.

  “You’re being careful, ’ent you?” he said. “Them china figures are worth a bomb, so I’ve been told. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that. How do I know you’re not sussing out houses worth turnin’ over?”

  His carer turned indignantly, hands on hips. “Mr. Lowe! You are joking, I hope? Now, would you like another cup of tea before I go?”

  Alf chuckled. “Only teasing, girlie,” he said. “I’m very grateful for all what you’re doing for me. I shall be sorry when I’m well enough to get back to doin’ me own housework for meself!”

  “Yes, well. I’ll put the kettle on. I’ve got a spare minute or two, so I’ll have a cup with you if you promise to behave.” She had been told that the old man was still very frail, so she must avoid upsetting him.

  So it was that when Gus knocked at Alf’s door, and shouted that it was only Gus, and he would let himself in, he stepped into the cottage to find a pretty young woman sipping tea in a chair opposite the old ruffian.

  “Morning, Gus! This is my young lady, Jean Brown. Aren’t I lucky? The old dog’s not done yet!”

  The carer stood up, smiled at Gus, and said she would wash up and then be off. “I’m afraid Mr. Lowe is feeling much better,” she said. “Here, sit down, and while the kettle’s hot I’ll make you a cup of tea. Or would you rather have coffee?”

  After she had gone, with another burst of raillery from Alf about looking forward to their naughty weekend, Gus looked at him closely. The old boy’s cheeks were still pale, but there was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there for months.

  “You’re certainly looking better, Alf,” Gus said. “Had some good news, have you?”

  “You could say that,” Alf replied. “My wife has given up wanting a divorce. At last! No more pestering from Susan. Not that all the pestering in the world was going to give her what she wanted. Anyway, she’s ditched the man who wanted to marry her, and another idiot where she’s living has taken a fancy to her, and is quite happy for them to be living in sin. At her age! Good luck to him, I say!”

  “So no more worrying about a vow made when she was very young?”

  “She were young, yes. I managed to play the field until I turned thirty. Anyway, that’s enough about me, as they say. Tell me about your love life?”

  Gus paused, and then in a genuinely curious voice, said, “How old are you, Alf? The truth, now.”

  “No reason to lie. I’m eighty-two next birthday. And I mean to live to be a hundred.”

  “Good man,” said Gus, laughing. “I reckon you’ll make it.”

  Then he gave him an edited version of his own foray into marriage to a society girl, and the saga that led to their separation and divorce.

  “Is she still around?” asked Alf.

  “Somewhere,” answered Gus, and changed the subject. “I must be off soon, but I have been meaning to ask you about a family my colleague Deirdre has been getting chummy with. Jossland, their name is. Will
iam and Bella. They live over at Settlefield, where you came from?”

  Alf’s expression changed. He looked wary and suspicious. “What about them?” he said.

  “Nothing, really. I just thought you might remember the family. Bella’s side were farmers, like your own. In fact, I believe the girl was a Goodman, and a relation of our Roy. Funny how things go round and round. It occurred to me you might be interested to hear about them. They’ve got a baby, apparently, and Deirdre’s gone completely daft over it.”

  “Babies! The less I know about babies, the better I like it. My wife, her overseas, was always going on about them. I refused to have anything to do with it.”

  “Never wanted a son or daughter yourself, then?” said Gus.

  Alf yawned deeply. “Time I had a sleep, Gus, old chap. Nice of you to come again. I look forward to it. Not many people I welcome in here, but I’ve took a fancy to you. Mind how you go, and post the key through the letter box.”

  His eyes closed and his head rested back among his cushions. Gus knew better than to accuse him of pretending, and let himself out of the door, posting the key as instructed.

  • • •

  INSPECTOR FROBISHER LOOKED at his afternoon’s appointments, and saw that Miss Ivy Beasley was due to come in at three thirty. This reminded him that he was still not quite satisfied with Wendy Wright’s explanation of her husband Steven’s death. Certainly the poison identified had the right characteristics. Delayed action, capable of causing death. But wasn’t her claim that he had a malfunctioning immune system rather sudden and unconvincing? It had never been mentioned before, to his knowledge. Perhaps the old boy, Roy Goodman, would remember something about it.

  He looked at his watch. Nearly half past three. Perhaps he would have a few minutes with his eyes shut, emptying his mind before the old biddy arrived. He wondered what she wanted. That episode when she had gone missing from a furniture store in Thornwell was surely closed? A good-hearted bloke had given her a lift to Springfields, and all was well. From what he knew of that residential home, it was upmarket, with high fees. If the story got into the local paper, it wouldn’t do any good to Springfields’s reputation! Perhaps Miss Beasley was about to sue them for neglect. Confused and lost, the man had said. Well, that wasn’t the Ivy Beasley he knew and loved. And here she was, arriving punctually as usual.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Beasley. And Mr. Goodman, too. Nice to see you again. How can I help?”

  “Good afternoon, Inspector,” Ivy said. “We don’t really need your help. In fact, we have some information which might help you. I am going to hand over to Roy, as I have made a bargain which I intend to keep.”

  What is she talking about? Confused, maybe? Frobisher turned to Roy, and said perhaps he would like to elucidate.

  “Not sure about that,” said Ivy, with the ghost of a smile. “But he will tell you all about it.”

  Frobisher sighed. Perhaps he should send for a cup of tea for them all, but then he thought that might prolong the agony. No, he would see them politely off the premises as soon as possible. Unless they had some new and really useful information, of course.

  Roy began with Ivy’s dentist appointment. “Not true, Inspector, I’m afraid. It was just an excuse for my Ivy to go enquiring on her own in Maleham’s Furniture Store, from where she was abducted.”

  “What? That’s not what was said originally. Are you sure about this, Miss Beasley?”

  Ivy clamped her lips together, and gestured towards Roy.

  “She is sure, Inspector,” said Roy. “She was taken by force from the store basement, driven off into the countryside and, ultimately, after making a bargain with her abductor, unloaded at Springfields Retirement Home.”

  “But she was apparently unhurt?” said Frobisher. He was beginning to think they were having him on. But why?

  “No, no, nothing like that. The culprit was not at all violent, except for a little pushing and shoving to get her into the car. No, Ivy is quite capable of standing up for herself.”

  “I’ve noticed,” said the inspector drily. “So what was the reason for this abduction?”

  “Money,” said Ivy.

  “Donkeys,” said Roy.

  “Now, you two, I’ve had enough of this! Either you stop having fun at my expense, or I’m afraid I shall have to close this interview.”

  “Oh, sorry, Inspector,” said Ivy, apparently full of remorse. “I would just ask you to remember that my life has been threatened. The fact is that I was told I must drop my intended marriage to Roy Goodman, or else. And the ‘or else’ was distinctly threatening.”

  “Right.” Frobisher took his pen, a clean sheet of paper, and fixed them with a stern expression. “Name? Address? Where does he live? Was he the man we congratulated for being a good citizen? Have you met him before, and how do you know he was the man delivering threatening messages?”

  Roy sighed. “Carry on, Ivy,” he said.

  “If you will give me that paper, Inspector, I will write it all down for you. It will save time, and as you are about to say, you are a very busy man.”

  • • •

  “REALLY, IVY, I am surprised at you,” said Roy crossly, when they were in Elvis’s taxi returning to Springfields.

  “Why, dearest?” she said.

  “It was most embarrassing. That poor man clearly thought we were wasting his time with senile imaginings. If you’re not careful, this sort of thing will prejudice our chances of further assignments in Enquire Within.”

  “I did no more than I said I was going to. No more and no less. I wrote down details that I could remember. His underlings would have taken Frank’s particulars at the time he brought me back to Springfields, as a matter of course, but he probably falsified them. I doubt if he will do anything more about it. Frobisher, I mean. If he did take it further, Frank will convince them that I was in fact short of a marble or two. And I have not broken my word. Well, maybe chipped it a little, but that’s all.”

  “Mm, well, we’ll see. Tomorrow’s our meeting at Tawny Wings, and I for one am hoping we’ll be able to clear up the whole thing. Thank you, Elvis,” he said, as they turned into Springfields’ drive. “Now, you go ahead, Ivy. I want a word with our friend here. Off you go.”

  Fifty-six

  ROY AND IVY had spent what was left of the afternoon snoozing in Ivy’s room. Instead of separating into their separate ways, Roy had said he would be quite happy in Ivy’s armchair, and she could stretch out on her bed as usual.

  At five o’clock, Roy woke with a start. For a moment he could not remember why he was in an armchair and not his own room. Then he saw Ivy still asleep on her bed. He stood up quietly and went over to look at her. She had taken off her glasses and her hair had slipped out of its tightly restricting net. She had a half smile on her face and he suddenly saw her as a young girl, warmhearted and innocent, as yet to suffer from a bullying mother and an angry, henpecked father.

  He took her hand and stroked it gently. “Ivy, my dearest,” he whispered.

  Ivy stirred, frowned and opened her eyes. Her face was suddenly brightened by a broad smile. “Roy Goodman,” she said. “Are we married?”

  Then she woke up properly, straightened her hair, put on her glasses and lowered her legs to the floor. “Good gracious,” she said. “What time is it? Are we late for tea? Really, Roy, you should have woken me earlier.”

  “Ah, my Ivy’s back,” he replied. “No, we are not late, and I wouldn’t dream of disturbing your beauty sleep. And you are beautiful when asleep, Ivy, though I’m sure you won’t believe me.”

  “You are quite right. No woman of my age is beautiful. Neat, clean and tidy. That’s the best we can hope for. Now, what is our plan for the rest of the day?”

  “I think we should review all we know in our enquiry so far, and then be prepared for tomorrow’s meeting. What do you think?”

  “Sounds fine to me. There are still missing pieces in the jigsaw.”

  “Perhaps Gus and Dei
rdre will be able to fill in the gaps. Gus may have picked up more from Alf, and Deirdre could have gleaned helpful straws from what seems to be her daily telephone conversation with the Josslands. Being a godmother has quite gone to her head, silly girl.”

  “Perfectly natural, Ivy dear. She has always wanted to be a mother, apparently, and I think it was a lovely idea of the Josslands’.”

  “Well, that’s as may be. Now, let’s go down and have tea, and then we can retreat back up here and go through our findings methodically.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Roy with a smile. “Anything you say.”

  “Oh, and by the way, what were you talking so privately to Elvis about? Not cooking up any nasty surprises, I hope?”

  Roy smiled. “As if I would. No, I was asking him if he would do me the honour of being best man at my wedding. And he was so pleased, dear Elvis, that he drove off with the hand brake still on. Clouds of blue smoke coming from his taxi!”

  • • •

  TEA HAD BEEN what even Ivy had to admit was delicious. Griddle cakes with honey, chocolate cake and lashings of clotted cream. Feeling replete and happy, she and Roy went back up to her room, and settled down.

  “You start, Ivy. Let’s hear the result of your methodical thinking. If you see my eyelids drooping, please prod me with my stick.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Roy! Nighttime is for sleeping. Now, shall we start with our most important client? I think that’s you, Roy, so off you go. What did you know about Steven and his family before he died in Maleham’s bedroom department?”

  “Right. First, he was the son of my sister, who was obviously a Goodman, and she married a rather unpleasant man named Wright. Steven was their only child, and grew into a similarly unpleasant man. He was also my only close living relative, my sister and her husband having died some years ago. He married a nice girl called Wendy, originally from Birmingham. He visited me very rarely, and each time stayed for perhaps thirty minutes. He agreed to be my best man, though it was not, he let slip, in his interest financially that the wedding should go ahead.”