The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery)

by Purser, Ann

  And then, a voice that had been absent for so long returned inside her head. “Ivy Beasley! Don’t you be so stupid! He’ll be no oil painting with his clothes off, you can be sure of that. No good you expecting perfection at your age. Nor him neither! A good cuddle will be quite enough, so make the most of it. Now just you go to sleep, and let’s have no more nonsense.”

  Ivy chuckled. “Thanks, Mother,” she muttered, and her last thoughts before falling asleep were of Gus, struggling free from the encircling arms of Eleanor Winchen Blatch.

  • • •

  AT A QUARTER to four in the morning, Gus was once more woken, and this time by a very loud, shrill scream.

  “God Almighty!” he yelled, tumbling out of bed. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Whippy was already at the door, barking and whimpering in turn. A second scream led Gus to the door of the main bedroom, and he knocked firmly. “Mrs. Blatch! Eleanor! Open up, please!”

  Silence. Not even sounds of sobbing. Gus wondered fleetingly if she had been having a nightmare. But if so, it had been a terrifying one. He knocked again, and tried the handle of the door. He pushed, and seeing a dim light, he peered inside.

  It was all shifting shadows, and he realised a figure was standing by the head of the bed, holding a torch. Without thinking, he snapped on the light, and saw Eleanor Blatch staring unblinking at the window.

  He moved quickly then, taking the torch from her and gently moving her to sit down on her bed. Then he put his arm round her shoulder and began to talk quietly, while Whippy sat at their feet.

  “Were you having a bad dream?” he asked, and she shivered. Then in a voice broken by choking sobs, she answered him. “He was over there,” she said, pointing to the window. “Gone now. Doesn’t like the light. A creature of darkness. That’s what he says he’s become.”

  “Is that why he used the dark chamber?” Gus was quiet, almost whispering.

  Eleanor nodded. “I gave him hell, and he retreated up there. We stopped speaking.” She struggled to stand up, and put her torch down on the dressing table. “He comes back, you see. Stands over me, with something like a hammer in his hand.”

  “And so you scream. I am afraid it was a nasty dream, Eleanor. Come along, back into bed. You’ll sleep now. I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back. No wonder the hairs stood up on the back of Whippy’s head! Still, the birds are beginning to sing, so let’s have another hour or two, and you’ll have forgotten about it by morning.”

  Eleanor hesitated, then began to get back into bed. “Would you like to stay and make sure he doesn’t come back and get me?”

  Alarm bells rang loudly in Gus’s head, and he made for the door. “You’ll be fine,” he said, and went back to his own room, locking his door and making sure Whippy was at his feet.

  • • •

  IN THE MORNING, he pulled on his clothes and tidied the bed, and taking Whippy he went downstairs to the kitchen. As far as he could tell, Miss Blatch was not up yet, and he was pleased, hoping she had managed to have a good sleep after the ghostly drama.

  “Come on, dog,” he whispered. “Walkies, and then breakfast. No barking!”

  Whippy often barked joyfully in anticipation of a walk, but this morning her tail and ears were hanging low. Gus unlocked the kitchen door, but Whippy held back, growling. Half turning, he stepped on something soft, almost tripping headlong down the steps into the yard. In fright, he pulled Whippy after him, and saw that what he had stepped on was a recumbent sheepdog. He retreated a few steps, and then turned to look at the kennel. A chain snaked across the yard, and at the end of it, the elderly sheepdog, deaf as a post and nearly blind, not moving. Before he could examine it, he saw Eleanor Blatch standing at her open kitchen door, looking down.

  Nineteen

  ELEANOR HAD GASPED, but regained her composure quickly, and in a strong voice ordered Gus not to touch the dog.

  “I’m ringing the vet straight away,” she said. “I want to know exactly how he died, and whether he was poisoned. Poor old thing, he’s been in the family for so long I can’t remember how old he was.”

  She shivered, and asked Gus to be careful with Whippy. “When you come back, if the vet hasn’t been yet, can you step over him carefully? I’m sure Whippy will want to go nowhere near him.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tie Whippy up outside while I come in to get my things.”

  “But you will be back this evening, won’t you? I’ll pay double time, if money is an issue.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” replied Gus. “And yes, if it is a help, I’ll come up overnight one more time. After that, I’m afraid I have other commitments.”

  He was reassured when Eleanor calmly fetched a small blanket from the kennel and draped it carefully over the dog, then returned to the kitchen. Gus tied Whippy to a stable door, and followed her. She was busy with eggs and bacon, and asked if Gus would have time to eat something before he took Whippy. “She’s settled in the morning sun,” she said, looking out of the window. “Is she a greyhound or a whippet?”

  “Whippet,” said Gus. “And if you are sure, I’d love a quick snack. It smells too good to resist.”

  He was very struck by how serene and collected she seemed after her total panic in the night. She appeared less upset about the sheepdog than she had been about the missing hen. A hangover from the days of a working farm, when the sheepdog was part of the machinery? Or maybe because it was so old, it was a natural end.

  In an easy silence, Eleanor placed in front of him a plateful of eggs, bacon, sausage and tomato, which he ate appreciatively, pleased to see that she too was eating normally.

  “I’ll be off now with Whippy, and I’ll be back at nightfall,” he said, getting to his feet. “If you want to ring me after the vet has been, this is my mobile number.”

  He wrote it down on a scrap of paper, and handed it to her. “I’m really sorry about the poor dog,” he said. “I heard nothing, I’m afraid, but from what you say, he could easily have slipped away in the night. Gone in his sleep, as it were.”

  “More than likely,” she said quietly. “His time had come, anyway. And there’s only the old lame ewe for him to look after now. I’ll ask the vet about local Jack Russell terriers. He’ll probably have some suggestions. Have a nice day, then, Gus. See you this evening.”

  • • •

  GUS FOUND HIMSELF scuttling back down Hangman’s Row as if the hounds of hell were behind him. That was a very strong woman indeed, he thought, as he unlocked his door and went gratefully into his familiar cottage. She was like two people. One in terror in the night, and then the practical, steady farmer’s wife next morning! He was not looking forward to another night spent in her company, and thought he would phone Deirdre for support. A conversation with a sane and sensible woman would be a relief!

  “Dee-Dee? Ah, how are you this morning, my dear?”

  “What’s wrong?” said Deirdre.

  “Nothing, nothing. Just thought I would like to hear the sound of your voice. Can I cadge a coffee from you this morning?”

  “What happened? Did she try to seduce you? You’re definitely not yourself, Gussy. Come up about ten. I have to go into town later on. See you then.”

  No sooner had he refreshed Whippy’s water bowl than a shadow passed his kitchen window, and there was Miriam, frowning at him.

  “You’re a fly one!” she said. “Pretending not to see me last evening, and then my spies told me you were seen going into Blackwoods Farm. What are you up to, Gus? Wouldn’t it have been polite to explain?”

  “Sorry, sorry, Miriam,” he said wearily. “I was late. And my mission was an Enquire Within duty. Not pleasure, I assure you.”

  “What’s up with Mrs. Blatch, then? She does go round the bend every so often, you know. I could’ve warned you. She swears she sees a ghost of somebody, usually her late husband, Ted, c
oming to take her into the next world, brandishing a weapon. People reckon she does it to attract attention. She lost a nice grey cat once, and claimed it was somebody trying to frighten her.”

  “A hammer,” said Gus. “Last night he had a hammer. Anyway, she had asked for one of us to stay a couple of nights in the house. You know she had a really nasty accident, so it was understandable.” But what about the hens? Had she really shut the door?

  Miriam was still talking. “Fell out of bed, didn’t she? That can do a bit of damage. What did she tell you about that room? The locked one?”

  “The dark chamber? Oh, she said it was never used, and she went in occasionally to see to the mice. Otherwise it was locked. Had been locked for years, and as the family didn’t need the extra room, they more or less forgot about it.”

  “Lies, all lies. Did she tell you she used to lock up the lodger? Another of her stories was that he starved himself to death. Nobody believed her, of course. That room led to the fire escape. It was a safety precaution, when they built on the extension. Another of her stories was that she made the box room into a little workroom for the lodger, and he used the fire escape as his private entrance. This was all many years ago, of course.”

  “What about this lodger, Miriam? I’ve heard a lot of tales about them swanning around the village together, but nobody seems to know who he was, where he came from, or where he went when they fell out.”

  “That’s about all anyone knew. He turned up in the village, was taken in by Mrs. Blatch, and went away again to God knows where.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “He had several. Sturridge, I think.”

  “Honestly, Miriam, it is a pretty sordid tale, don’t you think? I must say I didn’t take to the woman. But when we agree to work for a client, it doesn’t mean we have to like them.”

  Miriam looked at him, unshaven and miserable, and her soft heart melted. “Come on with me now,” she said. “You look as if a freshly made apple turnover would buck you up. And a nice hot cup of tea. Come on, bring Whippy with you.”

  “Thanks,” he said, running his hand over his chin. “Give me ten minutes, and then I’ll be round.”

  She turned to go, then looked back at him. “I do remember one thing,” she said. “That lodger was a lot younger than her, and a good head shorter. See you in a minute.”

  • • •

  FEELING MUCH MORE cheerful, Gus washed and shaved, and put on some clean clothes. He was reminded of a song from South Pacific, and sang tunelessly as he came downstairs to find Whippy. “Gonna wash that girl right outta my hair,” he droned.

  That was it. He needed to clear away everything he had experienced at Blackwoods Farm. The dead sheepdog, the hooting owls, not to mention the shaking woman and her fearful vision! How could he get out of going up again this evening? He couldn’t. The others would understand, but he would definitely go down several notches in their estimation. No, he would have to steel himself. It was for one night only, after all. He locked the back door and went across the gardens to be welcomed into the lovely warm smell of Miriam’s baking.

  • • •

  “YOU’VE BEEN GOSSIPING with Miriam again,” accused Deirdre, as he bent to kiss her cheek. “I always know. It’s that scent she uses. Cheap, cheerful and very strong!”

  Gus began to think he would not mind if he never consorted with another woman in his life. “She’s a good neighbour, Deirdre,” he said. “Rescued me this morning when I was feeling grim.”

  Deirdre looked at him. “It’s that Blatch woman, isn’t it?” she said. “I knew at once when you called first thing. Best sit down and tell me all.” Once more, Gus did his best to give a dispassionate report on his night with the client. But when he came to the sheepdog laid out on the doorstep, Deirdre gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Gus! Poor woman. Not what she needed right now! It wasn’t the prankster, was it?”

  Gus shook his head. “No, it died of natural causes, more than likely. She’s getting the vet, but she seemed to accept it without being too upset. Do you think we could go back a bit, and recap from the beginning? I’d like to sort out my thoughts, if you don’t mind.”

  With Deirdre’s help, they began. First, Eleanor Blatch had approached Enquire Within, with a request to investigate a mysterious intruder, find him and get rid of him. Legally, of course. Second, Deirdre had found Eleanor on the floor by her bed, unconscious and bloody. She had been taken to hospital, treated and released after a few days. Her house had been cleaned, and probably fumigated, ready for her return.

  She had continued to ask Enquire Within for help, including some protection during the night for an unspecified time. Knowing that the police would not be likely to help on such flimsy evidence as a vengeful ghost, Gus had agreed, but very reluctantly.

  “Don’t forget the missing hen,” said Deirdre.

  “Do you mean she could possibly have made up the whole thing? Play-acted the ghostly visitor thing? She was very convincing.” Gus had gone pale at the thought.

  Deirdre shrugged. “There’s no limit to what some people will do to attract attention to themselves. Especially middle-aged women living alone.”

  Gus took a deep breath and smiled for the first time since he had woken up. “Not like you, my lovely?” he said, putting out his hand to her.

  “I may live alone, Gus Halfhide,” she answered, “but I do have plenty of friends.”

  Twenty

  WHEN GUS RETURNED to his cottage, there was a message on his phone. It was Eleanor Blatch, and her voice was firm. “Good news, Gus,” she said. “The vet says the old dog died of heart failure. Probably on the blink, but had enough strength to climb the step to the back door. Do you think he was trying to get into the house? Poor old devil. But it was natural causes, I’m glad to say. I shall bury him at the bottom of the vegetable garden, where Ted’s dad put the others. Over the years, of course. See you this evening! Bye!”

  Gus shivered. The others? He hoped they were all canine. What should he do this afternoon? He was reluctant to stay by himself, watching the hours go by until it was time for duty at Blackwoods Farm. He looked out of his window. The sun had come out, and the sound of the Budd children playing in their garden at the end of the terrace cheered him.

  “I know, Whippy,” he said. “Let’s go across to Springfields, and have a chat with Ivy and Roy. They’ll want to know how I survived last night.”

  He did not really want to go over it again, but he would have to make a proper report sooner or later, so he set off across the Green. Halfway across, a ball from the footballing lads hit him in the back. He stopped, and was about to explode, when he thought that it had probably not been deliberate, and so lined himself up and kicked the ball very accurately into their makeshift net on the other end of the Green.

  Applause greeted this, all the boys joining in. “Come and join us!” one of them shouted. He shook his head and continued on towards Springfields. What a day! What a night and a day! He quickened his pace now, feeling refreshed. Ivy and Roy were in the lounge, playing Scrabble, while most of the other residents snoozed. It was peaceful, and when Ivy welcomed him warmly and ordered tea, even including Whippy in the invitation to repair to Ivy’s room and have a chat, he felt supported, restored, and ready to face the night.

  • • •

  “SO YOU ARE beginning to suspect that she’s made it all up? Much as my beloved guessed earlier on?” said Roy.

  Gus nodded. “Not all of it. I still think she’s nervous about being there alone. Someone might have disliked her enough to frighten her years ago, and she obviously has bad dreams. Unless all that was a convincing charade.”

  Ivy nodded. “I must say I thought at the time that she was released from hospital sooner than I expected. Maybe she exaggerated her injuries. What do you think, Roy?”

  “Very difficult to say. I can’t bel
ieve she deliberately put her own chickens in danger, and now the vet said the dog died from natural causes.”

  “You said you heard footsteps in the night, Gus,” said Ivy. “It could’ve been her going down to open the hen coop. As for the night visitor, more likely a nightmare. Always been one for histrionics, apparently. Nightmares can be very frightening, though. Especially the kind where you can’t shake it off when you wake up, and it seems real.”

  “I suppose she couldn’t be taking hallucinating drugs?” Roy had a sketchy knowledge of such things, but knew it was possible.

  “Doubt it,” said Gus. “Although she could be. There’s so much we don’t know about this case, so I suppose we’ll have to carry on with it.”

  “As long as we think there’s some truth in what she says,” Ivy said. “We have every right to cancel our enquiry, if we are convinced she is misleading us with lies.”

  “Well said, beloved,” said Roy. “Shall we see what information you can glean from her tonight, Gus? Then we can come to a decision.”

  Eventually, as twilight fell over the village, Gus set off from home once more, and, steeling himself, put his mobile in his pocket and headed across the green towards Blackwoods Farm. Whippy, showing marked reluctance, followed at his heels.

  Halfway across, he caught sight of a group of people coming towards him and branching off in the direction of the pub. He sighed. He could do with a pint or two just now. Perhaps he could indulge himself with a glass of Old Hooky to blunt the effect of looking after a deranged woman? Even Whippy seemed to cheer up as they entered the pub.