The Wild Wood Enquiry

by Ann Purser

  Deirdre suggested finishing up the last scone and took it to her plate before any of the others could stake a claim. “Exhausted from all our investigating,” she explained.

  “Half for me, then?” said Gus. “No, no thanks, Deirdre, only joking.”

  Ivy cleared her throat. “Well now, we should correct Katya’s assumption,” she said.

  “Eh?” said Roy.

  “I mean she said we were out for a stroll, but in fact we, too, were investigating, weren’t we, Roy?”

  “Oh yes, of course, my love. It was Ivy’s idea, and we went down to the Hall and up through the gates, straight in without a by-your-leave, and progressed up the long drive. As we approached, we could see the Hon Theo standing on the front steps, staring at us.”

  “And he would have sent us off with a flea in the ear,” said Ivy, with a smile. “But I reminded him of our previous encounters, and he softened. Right, Roy?”

  “Right, my dear. We had a chat, and then we came back down the drive and out into the village. But, before you interrupt, Deirdre, during our chat we brought up the subject of Ulph. He was most helpful. Confirmed that Ulph’s father was an old friend, now dead, and that Ulph—Seb, he called him—was a black sheep, with a history of minor transgressions, who had got involved with an unsuitable woman.” He paused, and Ivy took up the story.

  “Foolish man, on the whole. Butterfly-minded. Skips from one thing to another. Still, the mention of the unsuitable woman was very useful confirmation.”

  “Very useful,” Gus said. “Certainly something to bear in mind. Thank you, Ivy.”

  Forty-six

  IN A SMALL modern pub smelling strongly of last night’s beer, anonymously sited between two Oakbridge suburban housing estates, the landlady trudged wearily upstairs to clear out the two bedrooms that had been occupied. The first had been inhabited by a regular commercial salesman on his rounds in the east of England. It was neat and tidy, with the sheets and pillowcases folded into a pile ready for the wash.

  She hoovered round and dusted where necessary and moved on to the second room, where things were very different. The bed was exactly as the occupant had left it, with screwed-up newspapers and dog-eared magazines strewn over the floor. She stepped into the tiny bathroom and gasped. The hand basin and shower tray still had the remains of scummy, bright red something lingering round the edges.

  “Good God!” she said aloud. “Blood!” She still had in her mind the case of the man pushed to his death from a lodging house in town. But when she gingerly rubbed a finger around and sniffed it, it smelled strongly of cheap scent. Then she looked in the waste bin and pulled out an empty packet of Flame Red hair colouring. “Flaming cheek!” she said, and added, “And my best white towels!”

  Downstairs she checked her visitors’ book. Jean Smith had been the last entry, and she fumed. “Well, Miss Smith,” she muttered, “that’s the last time you visit my establishment.”

  IN THE ENTRANCE hall at Springfields, Ivy and Roy sat waiting for their taxi to take them to Oakbridge. “Ah, there he is,” said Ivy. “Come along, my dear, we can meet him halfway down the path.”

  Mrs. Spurling emerged from her office. “Off out again, Mr. Goodman?” she said. “And where are we going this morning?”

  “Oakbridge,” answered Ivy, helping Roy into his trundle. “We shall be back in time for lunch.”

  “Which is at one o’clock,” said Mrs. Spurling acidly.

  “And delicious as ever, I’m sure,” said Roy as he allowed Ivy to precede him down the path and out into road, where their taxi was waiting.

  Elvis had the door open ready, and Roy drove up the ramp with confident panache.

  “Oops!” said Ivy, as he bumped into the back of the seats. She started to laugh, and Roy noticed once more that small catastrophes amused his beloved. It was as if she wished to take the sting out of an embarrassing or not too painful moment.

  “All set, then,” Elvis said. “Off we go. Straight to the coffee shop?”

  “Yes, as ever,” said Ivy.

  Elvis was in a good mood this morning, having had a long and fruitful run to Heathrow and back yesterday. “And if you don’t mind my saying, when shall I have the pleasure of running you two to the church? I guarantee to get you there on time!” he added, and burst into a selection from My Fair Lady, which kept them entertained all the way to Oakbridge.

  When they were welcomed to the café and comfortably settled at their usual table, Roy reached under the table and took Ivy’s hand.

  “So maybe we should think about booking Elvis for one morning next spring?” he said. “It’s time I made an honest woman of you, don’t you think?”

  “I have never been anything but an honest woman,” retorted Ivy. “And if you mean when shall we get married, I have been giving it some serious thought.”

  For one horrible moment, Roy thought she was about to break off the engagement. But no, she smiled and said that if anyone asked her, a Christmas wedding might be a very good idea. Everyone was already geared up for the season, and they could save on decorations and probably refreshments, too.

  Roy could not contain his excitement and beckoned to their favourite waitress. “I just have to tell someone, my dear,” he said. “This wonderful woman has just agreed to marry me at Christmastime!”

  “Very nice, too,” she answered. “I hope I’ll get an invite! Now, have you got all you need for the moment? Those doughnuts are especially nice today.”

  “There was one more thing,” Ivy said. “It’s just a question, really. Can you remember a regular customer for coffee, a man with lots of dark hair and a hangdog look about him?”

  “Oh, you mean Mister Mystery. That’s what we girls call him. Or should I say, called him. Poor devil threw himself off a roof in town. Dreadful shame. He was quite nice, really, when he warmed up and started talking to us. Why do you ask?”

  “We were surprised when he got quite friendly with us one morning. Just before he, um, died.”

  The waitress nodded. “Did he tell you about his wife? Divorced, apparently. He was sad about that. I reckon that’s why he jumped. Yeah, he did look miserable as sin most of the time. But I reckon he had a good heart. You could tell, couldn’t you?”

  At this point, a portly customer lost his patience and called the waitress over to give his order.

  “Well!” said Ivy. “His wife, eh? I wonder who that could be. Not Katherine, surely. Gus would have told us if Ulph had been married to her.”

  “Perhaps Ulph was telling a good story. People do, you know. But it is certainly worth reporting to the others. Not a wasted journey at all. I think we have a useful new piece of the puzzle, and, to me more important, my fiancée has named the day!”

  “Not finished here yet,” Ivy said, smiling warmly at him. “Don’t forget we are going to Folgate Street when we’ve finished our coffee. We asked Elvis to pick us up in the marketplace, so it will be a nice stroll.”

  The doughnuts were so good that they had two each and then made their way through the shoppers to the entrance to Folgate Street. All trace of the tragic accident or incident had vanished, and the usual straggle of people passed along the narrow street.

  “Must’ve been terrible traffic jams in the days of horses,” said Ivy. “I wonder if they had one-way streets in those days.”

  “Good question,” said Roy, who was concentrating on negotiating his way on the pavement. “I guess the noise would have been deafening.”

  Ivy stopped suddenly. “Roy, do you realise what we’ve missed in all of this?”

  “So sorry, madam,” Roy said to an unfortunate robed and veiled woman who had collided with him.

  “Roy! We have not once thought of Ulph going over the edge to his death, screaming! It would be a certain reaction to being pushed, surely. But maybe not if he intended to jump? We should find out if anyone around here heard him go.”

  To Roy’s dismay, Ivy stepped up to number seven and knocked firmly.

  Th
e door opened at once, and Mrs. Feather looked out. “Yes?” she said, and then recognised them and opened the door wider. “Well, it’s you two!” she said. “Nice to see you again, and in happier circumstances, I hope,” she added. “Are you coming in for a cuppa?”

  “Just had coffee,” said Ivy, “but I have a favour to ask, if you don’t mind.”

  “Come in anyway, and rest your weary legs,” said Mrs. Feather. She had taken a liking to Roy and a kind of admiration for Ivy, who had survived so well under close questioning that fateful day.

  Roy parked his trundle somewhat reluctantly as he mistrusted the local lads, but he followed Ivy into the house with Mrs. Feather.

  “Now, Miss Beasley, what can I do for you?” Mrs. Feather looked forward to a postmortem of the tragedy, but Ivy surprised her.

  “If it’s not inconvenient, I’d like to take a look at the rooftop where Ulph used to sunbathe,” she said. “Just need to satisfy myself on a point that’s been niggling in my mind. You know how it is, I’m sure. Oh, and before I forget, can you remember any more about what his visitor looked like? The one who came to see him on that dreadful day?”

  “No, ’fraid not,” said Mrs. Feather, shaking her head. “It really was too dark in my hallway. I only saw her when she went up, and she had gone by the time I came back, as you know. Tallish, dark, I think. I’ve been lying awake at night going over and over the whole thing, wondering if I could’ve prevented it in some way.”

  “I’m sure you did your best,” Roy said. He was beginning to worry about Ivy going out on the roof. He supposed she would be safe enough, just so long as she did not go peering over the edge.

  “Be very careful, my dear,” he said mildly.

  “I would let you have a look out there,” Mrs. Feather said, “but I have a lodger in Mr. Ulph’s room at the moment. I make it a rule not to trespass! But I tell you what,” she added. “I could take you into the next room. It’s not a room, really, but a large walk-in cupboard, where I keep all the bed linen and so on. Would that do? It’s got a window, if you want to look out.”

  “Fine,” said Ivy. “Let’s go.”

  WHEN THEY WERE safely settled in Elvis’s taxi and on their way home, passing the long string of nineteen thirties bungalows more suited to the seaside than an ancient market town, Roy decided it was time for an explanation.

  “So, did you find anything interesting in the linen cupboard?” he said.

  “Sorry about all that, Roy,” Ivy said, not at all contrite, “but it struck me so suddenly that anyone living in the next house could look out of their window and see Ulph’s terrace rooftop. There’s a passage between some of the houses, so they’d certainly spot anything going on.”

  “And?” said Roy kindly. He didn’t want to discourage Ivy, but he was certain the police would have thought of this at a very early stage.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Ivy said. “But it might not have occurred to investigators that even if nobody had seen anything, they could well have heard Ulph yell as he went down. That is, if he really screamed with terror, an’ that.”

  Roy shivered. “Don’t, Ivy dear,” he said. I can’t bear to think of it. Poor young man.” He shook himself. “Anyway, what did you discover?”

  “There is a window opposite, and somebody was looking out of it. It was a boy, about ten years old, I should think, and he waved to me. I waved back, of course.”

  “So, are you planning to find the boy and ask him if he saw or heard anything that day? I can’t think of any reason why his parents would allow such a thing, especially as the police must already have been asking if he saw anything.”

  “Not necessarily heard, though. And I recognised the child,” Ivy said smugly. “He helps at the market sometimes, behind the fruit stall, and his mother has sold me oranges. You couldn’t mistake the boy. He is unfortunately overweight, obese even. I don’t know what these women feed their children on these days.”

  “So next market day,” said Roy with a sigh, “we are going to Oakbridge again, hoping the fat boy is not at school?”

  “It’s still summer holidays,” Ivy said triumphantly. “And he could well be on the stall. Very good at helping his mother, I noticed. Good memory, too, with counting up change and so on. And don’t forget,” she continued, “we must tell Gus again about that visitor Mrs. Folgate mentioned. I expect the police will be onto it already but may not have discovered the woman’s identity yet. So, here we are, back at Springfields.”

  “Back home, you could say,” Roy suggested. “And a job well done.”

  Forty-seven

  IVY MADE GREAT play of checking her watch against the old grandfather clock in Springfields’ entrance hall. “Absolutely on the dot,” she said loudly, as they passed the window of Mrs. Spurling’s office, where she sat absorbed in a telephone call.

  “I must just pay a visit, then I’ll meet you in the dining room,” said Roy. He had parked his trundle and now walked to the gents’ as quickly as old age would allow, thinking that if only the good Lord, when making Adam, had invented a tap fitted in the right place, many an embarrassing situation would be avoided.

  Everyone was seated in the dining room when Ivy and Roy made for their table.

  “Ah!” said an elderly lady, known to dislike Miss Beasley and her autocratic ways, “so now I suppose we can start lunch! The VIPs have arrived.” A number of residents laughed, but Roy’s friend Fred said loudly that it was a pity some people were jealous of the grit and determination of others he could name.

  Ivy took no notice whatsoever, and Roy did his best with a charming smile at the jealous old duck at the next table. “I was going to make an announcement about our wedding date,” he whispered to Ivy. “But perhaps now is not the time.”

  Ivy shook her head. “Have to consult the gaoler first,” she said. “You can bet she’ll find a reason why it won’t be convenient.”

  “Oh, come now, Ivy! Fair’s fair. Don’t forget how cooperative she was with your birthday celebrations.”

  “Mostly Katya’s doing, that was,” Ivy replied.

  “But how about Tiddles? That was a real triumph over inclination for La Spurling. She hates cats and took some persuading.”

  “That was your undoubted charm,” said Ivy, her eyes twinkling. “Now then, when are we going to tell the others what we discovered in Oakbridge?”

  Roy looked at his watch. “I suppose we could walk up to Tawny Wings? The forecast is for a thunderstorm over the coast, but it may not reach us here. Do you feel like more exercise, my love?”

  “Of course,” Ivy said. “An hour or so with our feet up, and then we shall be ready for anything. I’ll ring Deirdre after lunch, and see if she’ll be at home.”

  GUS ALSO RECEIVED a call from Ivy and agreed to a meeting at half past four. He said that he would take Whippy for a walk first and then call at Tawny Wings on his way back.

  “She hasn’t had a proper walk for weeks,” he said. “Mind you, Ivy,” he added, “it has not been the weather for long trudges round the countryside. But it is a bit cooler today, don’t you think? A storm forecast. So, see you there at four thirty.”

  He had just locked up and put Whippy on the lead when Miriam appeared in her garden. “Hi, Gus! Going for a walk? Mind if I join you? I haven’t had any exercise today, what with writing letters and paying bills. I’ll just get my wellies.”

  Gus’s heart sank. His intention had been a longish, solitary walk with only Whippy to distract him. He needed to think about the subject he least wanted to consider. His ex-wife, Katherine, who had been out of his life for so long, and now seemed inextricably bound up with him, appeared to be closely connected with the death of a relatively inoffensive young man.

  Who else either knew about or wanted to retrieve that jewellery, which had most likely been buried in the woods? Kath, having bullied Ulph into telling her the whereabouts of the jewellery, could have gone straight to collect it.

  Miriam was not in the least dis
couraged by Gus’s obvious lack of enthusiasm, and the two of them plus dog set off. “I am sick of the woods,” Miriam said as they shut the garden gate. “Let’s go across the park and round the fields. The ground is so dry, it will be fine. Mr. Theo has told me it’s okay to go anywhere round the estate so long as we don’t leave gates open or disturb the game. That only applies to Hangman’s Row tenants, of course.”

  “If you like, then,” Gus said. “Last time I walked round the fields, I met the squire, and he was very pleasant. I think he’s a bit of a fool, but his heart’s in the right place.”

  Miriam looked at him with a smirk. “Very pleasant in my past experience,” she said. “Still, that’s all over. And now I’ve got you!”

  Oh no you haven’t, said Gus to himself. “Yes, well,” he said. “Enough said about that. Come on, Whippy, you can sniff all you want when we get to the park.”

  Gus was thankful that Miriam could keep up a monologue without requiring an answer, and after a while he stopped listening. His thoughts went back to Katherine, wondering where she was now and whether the real truth about Ulph’s death would ever emerge.

  They reached a stile into the next field, and Gus automatically offered his hand to help Miriam over. She grasped it firmly and then quite deliberately lost her balance, falling straight into Gus’s hastily outstretched arms.

  “Oops-a-daisy!” yelled Miriam. Gus set her straight, and then withdrew until he was at a safe distance from her.

  “Oh, look! There’s Mr. Theo with his dog, old Wullie. Do they get on, Gus? Maybe we should put Whippy on her lead?”

  All this cosy chat was increasing Gus’s irritation, and he answered sharply that since Theo’s dog was a male and Whippy female, he was sure they would be fine. Unfortunately, Miriam took this as an acknowledgement of her presence and tucked her hand through Gus’s arm.