The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery)

by Purser, Ann

  • • •

  GUS WAS WAITING for her as she walked into her driveway. “Don’t tell me you have been for a walk!” he said. “Our Ivy will be really pleased with you. I have just met the two dear things coming out of the church. I accused them of sloping off and getting married without telling anyone, but they denied it and said they had found a useful piece of information from the churchwarden.”

  “Come in and tell me all. I’ve some news for you, too.”

  They took long drinks of lime juice and soda out to the terrace by the pool, and Deirdre said Gus should go first.

  “Ivy was quite excited. Remember they told us about the little gravestone they found in the churchyard? Dedicated to Louise, with an angel on top? Next to Ted Blatch’s grave? Well, apparently Ted Blatch years ago bought a largish plot for the whole tribe he planned, and little Louise was buried before Ted. So that makes it certain that she was the baby born prematurely to Eleanor.”

  “How sad, Gus,” Deirdre said, sniffing. “Do you want a drop of gin in your glass? It has been a very emotional afternoon. I have been to see Mrs. Winchen, at last.”

  “And?”

  “And she is a very nice lady. Very twisted, and obviously suffers a lot of pain, but doesn’t grumble. She is still pretty, you know. Silvery hair and the bluest eyes I’ve seen. And a nice soft voice, not like the strident tones of poor Eleanor! In spite of her disability, she seemed quite a bit younger than her sister.”

  She then told Gus the rest of the story, including the strange rift between the sisters. “Though she carefully avoided telling me the cause. But she included Eleanor’s charitable act in paying their rent ever since they came back from Australia.”

  “Will you go again to see her?” Gus poured a generous slug of gin into both their glasses.

  “Oh, yes. I’ve thought of several more questions for her already. Though I shall have to approach her stealthily. She’s a bit like a little faun, and darts away when I get too close.”

  “Not very apt, dear Deirdre. Shall we go and see Ivy and Roy tomorrow and pool our findings?”

  “Good idea,” said Deirdre. “Ivy will be at college until around four, but we could call for a cup of tea. Perhaps we should take flowers for Mrs. Spurling?”

  “You can if you like, Dee-Dee. If I arrive with a bunch of red roses, she might get the wrong idea.”

  Fifty-three

  ROY WAS WOKEN by a knock at his door soon after seven. Shaking himself out of sleep, he hobbled to the door, anxious not to lose an opportunity if it was his beloved up so early. It was not. He looked up and down the corridor, but could see nobody. Then he realised the kitchen staff were banging about downstairs, and so he returned to bed, where he decided to do some useful thinking.

  The result was constructive. He was determined to walk up to the farmyard at Blackwoods. With any luck, as the painter would be there, he would find the barn door open and be able to have another look at his tractor. At least, he hoped it would be his. He must get Rickwood to name his price, and then he and Gus could arrange to have it removed to where they could work on it. Rickwood would be teaching on a Friday, so he should catch him at lunchtime if he came back to check on décor progress.

  • • •

  AT BREAKFAST, ROY announced his intention to go up to Blackwoods, where he would be busy assessing with the painter/engineer what work should be carried out next to get the tractor on the road again. “I might even have a chance to nobble Rickwood Smith about a possible price,” he added.

  “And Roy,” Ivy said, suddenly becoming animated, “we do need to find out more about Rickwood Smith and his background. I am still worried about Samantha, dear thing. She is besotted, and her infatuation cannot come to good.”

  “I wouldn’t worry, Ivy. Surely Smith will handle it properly? Seems a sensible chap to me. He is very good-looking, and probably has a suitable girlfriend waiting in the wings. If I see him this morning, I shall tactfully bring up the subject. You can rely on me, Ivy dear, to be diplomatic. At Samantha’s age, broken hearts mend quickly.”

  Ivy said no more, but was reminded of her beloved Roy’s adventurous youth. Adventurous with the girls, anyway. But she mustn’t mind, she told herself. It was even more remarkable and wonderful that he should finally have chosen her to be his wife.

  • • •

  LUNCHTIME CAME, AND Roy was still in the barn at Blackwoods. The painter had proved to be an expert on old tractors, and the two had spent the whole morning looking for rusty tools and old sacks to kneel on as they delved into the inner workings of the Ferguson.

  “Well, well! I didn’t expect to find a couple of mechanics in my barn,” said Rickwood, returning home. “I hope you won’t charge me for your time!”

  The two men described in detail what they had discovered, not noticing that Rickwood’s attention had been suddenly taken by a car turning into the yard. The tall, angular figure of Inspector Frobisher got out and approached them.

  “Inspector!” said Roy. “Good morning, sir. May I ask how things are going?”

  Frobisher did not smile. “That’s exactly what I have come to ask you, both of you. Not the painter, of course. Shall we go into the house, Mr. Smith?”

  Fifty-four

  THEY STOOD IN the kitchen, the three men, until Rickwood had finished telephoning his mother, and then to Roy’s surprise, the door opened and Ivy walked in. She did not seem in the least surprised to see Frobisher, and suggested they find somewhere to sit down, but before they moved out of the kitchen, another car drew up and Deirdre got out. She opened her boot and took out a folded wheelchair, which she opened and helped Mary Winchen to sit in it awkwardly.

  Frobisher went to the door, and the others followed, helping and getting in the way until they had negotiated narrow doorways and bumpy floors to assemble in the sitting room.

  “This is beginning to look like the end of an Agatha crime story,” said Ivy sourly. “But shouldn’t we have Gus bounding in through the French windows?”

  “No, I’m here.” Gus’s voice was heard coming through from the kitchen, and then he appeared. “I hope this is not going to take long, Inspector,” he said. “I see Mr. Goodman has started work on the tractor, and I am anxious to conclude a sale with Mr. Smith here.”

  “All in good time,” said the Inspector. “I apologise for any inconvenience I may have caused you, but new information has been received, and I need to have your help. Mr. Smith has already been assisting us with his recollections of that fateful day when Eleanor Blatch fell to her death. It was, by the way, a fatal blow to the head, probably suffered on her way down the fire escape. There is nothing to suppose anyone else was involved. Not closely, anyway.”

  “Get to the point, Barry, do,” Deirdre said crossly. “Mrs. Winchen is not at all comfortable in this chair, and it would be very good if she could be allowed to go home as soon as possible.”

  “Then we will begin with you, Mrs. Winchen. Perhaps you will tell us a brief history of your sad life so far, and I would ask the others not to interrupt. Each of you will get a chance to have your say.”

  Mary Winchen, usually pale-skinned, now looked as if all her blood had drained away. “Well, I expect you all know Eleanor was my older sister. We came from Boston in Lincolnshire, from where the Mayflower sailed long ago to a life in the new world. Well, Ted Blatch from here in Suffolk fell for me at a young farmers’ do, and though he was nice and handsome, when he proposed I turned him down. I was very young, not quite sixteen, and I knew my parents wouldn’t approve. Then Eleanor, who had met him at the same time, stepped in and made a play for him. If you remember my sister, you’ll know she was hard to refuse! So he married her instead.”

  “Didn’t you mind that?” Deirdre said, and the inspector frowned at her.

  “Yes, I did, but that didn’t make any difference. Then Eleanor got pregnant, and I was pleased for
her. But she lost the baby, and afterwards asked for me to look after her until she was stronger.”

  “And Ted?” said the inspector. “Was he upset about the miscarriage?”

  Mary Blatch looked near to tears now. “Of course he was,” she said. “I tried to comfort him as best I could.”

  “Mother! You don’t have to go on, if you’re too upset,” said Rickwood, moving to stand by her and hold her hand.

  “Oh, you might as well know all of it,” she said. “We comforted each other, and the result was that I became pregnant. We had to tell Eleanor, as Ted would not hear of an abortion, or anything like that. I was still under age, you see. He wanted to adopt the baby and bring him up as his own. But she was angry and hurt, and said with some venom that she would not ever see me again, and would arrange for me and the little bastard to be sent to Australia to distant relations, where the child would be taken away and adopted and I could work for my living. Ted gave in, eventually. Eleanor was very strong, and always got her own way. And, in a way, she was the wounded one.”

  “And so that’s what happened?” Deirdre’s voice was soft and reassuring.

  “Yes. I was too young to disobey my parents, and they sided with Eleanor, anyway. Everybody said I had behaved unforgivably, and I could see the only way out was to agree to Eleanor’s plan. I had nobody to support me, and I knew nothing about babies. Rickwood was adopted by a nice couple, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and I did not see him again, from the moment he emerged, wrinkled and newborn, until two years ago, when he had discovered his roots and came to find me.”

  Silence descended on the room, and nobody spoke until Gus cleared his throat, and said this was a terrible story, and he was sure Mary Winchen had the sympathy of all present. “But, Inspector, I don’t see why we have been brought here together. We shall do all we can to make life for Mary and Rickwood as pleasant as possible. There are great plans for the farm.”

  Rickwood nodded in thanks, and said it was his turn to speak. “I shall keep it as short as possible, but the inspector has asked me to describe once more the night of Eleanor’s death. I had been in the pub with Samantha and friends. They were all students who had come before classes started. A bonding couple of weeks, according to Mr. Rubens! Anyway, I left early, as I was going back to college where I had a spare bedroom allocated for my use. As I approached Blackwoods, I saw a light in the window of what Mr. Halfhide has christened the dark chamber. The curtains were open, and I could see the figure of my aunt moving round the room.”

  “Was she smoking?” asked Ivy.

  “Please, Miss Beasley,” said the inspector. “Carry on, Mr. Smith.

  “Yes, Miss Beasley. I knew that she used it as a smoking room, and loved to sit there with the window open. The one leading to the fire escape, that was. I stood looking at her and thinking about my mother. On an impulse, I scrambled over the cage onto the steps, and made my way to the top.” He paused, and seemed to choke back tears. “I was not sober, I must confess. We had had a very merry evening at the pub. At the top, I hesitated, the climb having sobered me up a little. Then I hopped into the room, intending to make a dramatic entrance and introduce myself as her long-lost nephew. But before I could say anything, she stared at me and then screamed, a horrible scream. I moved to reassure her, but she backed away round me and stepped out onto the fire escape, yelling that I should leave her alone. I went to restrain her, but before I could reach her . . . Oh God, she missed her footing and fell heavily, cracking her poor head as she went down, into the cage at the bottom. It was horrible, horrible, and I’ll never ever forgive myself. I rushed down after her, but when I got to the bottom, I could see that she had already stopped breathing. So I scarpered. Very cowardly, I know now. But I was scared. Scared of what everyone would think. I am afraid that’s why I was so reluctant to let you into the dark chamber. Fingerprints and that sort of thing. I have been a real idiot, I see that now.”

  Once more silence fell heavily on the listeners. Then the inspector spoke again. “I am anxious to know now,” he said, “to complete my enquiries, why exactly did Eleanor Blatch recoil from her personable young nephew, with such disastrous results?”

  “I can tell you that,” said Ivy, matter-of-factly.

  “Miss Beasley?” said the inspector, looking surprised.

  “She thought he was the ghost of her husband, Ted, returned from the dead to claim her. Look at him, Mrs. Winchen. Isn’t he the image of his father? We have seen photographs, but you remember the man himself. The short-tempered young farmer with a second-choice wife and a baby in the graveyard.”

  “Ivy! Don’t say another word!” Roy banged his stick on the floor. “I will not hear any more of this. You, Inspector, can take yourself and your suspect out of this house and away. And the rest of us will reach a place of calm as soon as we can. Terrible things have been revealed here. Too much to be absorbed without time for some of us to recover.”

  Frobisher raised his eyebrows, and sniffed. “All in good time, Mr. Goodman. Most of what needs to be said has been said. And as for my suspect, provided he does not leave this village without telling us, I shall not be requiring his presence at the station. There are one or two open questions, but that will do later.”

  He looked across at Deirdre, but her face was streaked with tears and she held on tightly to Mary Winchen’s hand. He shrugged. “Good day all, then,” he said, and left the room.

  Fifty-five

  “WELL,” SAID GUS, looking at Deirdre across the breakfast table, “I still think he could have given her a push. Revenge, Dee-Dee. He was drunk, he admitted, and not thinking straight. His father was known to be quick-tempered, and it would only have taken half a second for him to act on a sudden impulse.”

  “But why? What would he gain by it? Nothing that he wasn’t going to get, anyway. He must have known his mother would inherit when Eleanor died. Years later, probably, but . . .”

  “But he was possibly in a hurry. And, don’t forget, it was only two years since he discovered his real mother, and the circumstances of his birth. That must have made him furiously angry with his cruel aunt. That’s how he must have seen it, and when the moment, the opportunity, presented itself. Wham!”

  The telephone rang, and Deirdre went into the hall to answer it. When she came back, she was frowning.

  “That was Ivy,” she said. “She says an important development has come up. I really honestly thought the whole thing had been wrapped up! Not sure I can take any more, Gussy.”

  “What does she want us to do?”

  “She says the inspector is to be at Springfields at eleven o’clock, and she wants us to be there.”

  “Three-line whip? I suppose we’d better go, then.”

  • • •

  GUS AND DEIRDRE walked arm in arm down the road towards Springfields, and as they approached they saw Inspector Frobisher disappearing through the door.

  “Why does my heart sink at the thought of more revelations?” Deirdre said, squeezing Gus’s arm. “Do you think they’ve found some real evidence of Rickwood’s guilt?”

  “We shall see, my love. In we go, and chin up! At least we’re not in the firing line.”

  “No, but think how awful this must be for Mary Winchen. No sooner has she found her long-lost son, but he is about to be arrested for murder!”

  “Hey, slow down! You might be completely wrong. Let’s wait and see. Ah, good morning, Mrs. Spurling. You are looking particularly smart, I must say! Busy weekend?”

  “I’m always busy, Mr. Halfhide,” she said. “And, as I am sure you appreciate, much busier since dear Miss Beasley arrived. Now, here is the inspector.”

  “If you are ready, Mr. Halfhide, perhaps you would be good enough to follow me?”

  Inspector Frobisher had been enjoying a leisurely breakfast when he received a message from Miss Beasley. Now he saw his free day turning into another Enquir
e Within marathon. Rickwood Smith was chatting to Miss Pinkney, and one of the college students, a fair-haired girl he thought he recognised, sat close to Miss Beasley.

  The conference room was more crowded than usual, and at last they were all settled. All except for Mary Winchen, who was wheeled in by Miss Pinkney.

  “Right,” said the inspector. “I am a patient man, and I have been asked by Miss Beasley to meet you all again here. She stressed it was important, and so here I am. And here are you, Mr. Rickwood Smith, and your mother, Mrs. Winchen, Mrs. Bloxham and Mr. Halfhide, Mr. Goodman, and, of course, Miss Beasley. And you are?” he said, turning to the girl.

  “Samantha Earnshaw,” she said. “I am Miss Beasley’s friend, and a student at the Manor House College.”

  “And an important witness,” added Ivy, dropping a bombshell in their midst.

  Rickwood Smith stared at her, a questioning frown on his face. Deirdre and Gus looked at each other. Another of Ivy’s shots in the dark!

  Mary Winchen leaned forward to speak to the girl. “How do you do, Samantha,” she said. “We have met once or twice in Spinney Close, and I am very fond of your mother.”

  Roy, who had said nothing at all, now cleared his throat. “Ivy, my dear, I think that as it is the inspector’s free day, we must come to the point.” Not for the first time, Inspector Frobisher thanked God for Roy Goodman.

  Now Samantha took over. She addressed herself exclusively to the inspector, and her voice was firm. “On the night that Eleanor Blatch died as a result of falling down the fire escape, I had been with the other students and Rickwood Smith in the local pub, having a jolly evening. Rickwood got on well with us, and we were looking forward to the writing course starting. We liked him, to put it simply.”