by Ann Purser
She always hoped that he would invite her to join him, be a companion and share their lives more than before. But he never did. She remembered that in his youth he had been a gregarious young man, with friends in all strata of society. But she had seen nothing of that in him for years. He kept her firmly in her place socially, reluctantly allowing her to take over the running of the estate. But he never made a personal move towards her, never a one.
“Thank you, Beattie,” he said. “That would be very nice. And shall we be quite clear that no doors are to be locked in future unless I lock them? That will be all now. Give me a call when lunch is ready for me.”
So that’s that, thought Beattie, as she went back to the kitchen. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea. Perhaps she should have let that Mrs. Bloxham have a short talk with him. She could have stayed in her usual listening place and monitored what they said. Well, she hadn’t, and so now she had to think of another way of keeping both those old women, Mrs. Bloxham and her cousin, away from any revealing conversations with her master. Master! If he was her master, it followed that she was his mistress, didn’t it? If only that were true, how different things would be.
After washing up lunch dishes—no dishwasher for her—she retreated to a seat in the garden with her book. It was riveting, and she could hardly wait for the next chapter. Set back in Victorian times, it was a story based on an actual case of poisoning, and one of such fascinating detail that she had read several passages over twice. A young Scottish woman had taken an unsuitable lover, and met him clandestinely for scenes of unbridled passion. When he threatened to expose their affair, she worked out a most ingenious way of doing away with him, luring him into unmentionable practices involving a slow poisoning through ingestion.
“Phew!” said Beattie, loosening her blouse. It was really very hot this afternoon. Maybe she should make sure that Theo had not gone to sleep in the sun. Well, a few more minutes wouldn’t do any harm, she thought, and turned the page.
GUS’S VISIT TO join Ivy and Deirdre had, as expected by Ivy, been extremely useful. “We have to be even more devious than Beattie,” he said. “Out-think the old dragon. Now, lets make a plan.”
They had put their heads together over fresh coffee and another supply of cookies, and were pleased with the result. Gus had wanted to know if they had heard of any regular trips into town made by Beattie. Didn’t she go to market every week? And did she take the morning or afternoon bus? Did Theo ever go out on his own? If so, where, and how did he manage? Did he visit any local friends or tenants? That Rose Budd was an attractive woman. Deirdre had blushed. “Really, Ivy!” she had said. “I’m surprised at you. She is a married woman.”
“Be your age, and don’t be so ridiculous, Deirdre!”
Gus had decided to change the subject. “Now,” he’d said, “the best source of answers to my questions would probably be Will at the shop. I can call on my way back.”
Now he sat in the window seat of the pub, thinking over what Will had said, and making notes.
Beattie went to market every Saturday afternoon without fail. She arranged for the wife of their one remaining farmworker to sit with Theo, who, since this was the bubbly blond Rose Budd, never complained. It was said in the pub that Rose played croquet on the lawn with him in the summer, and Scrabble in the drawing room in the winter. Other humorous suggestions were made, but not taken seriously. Remembering what Ivy had said, Gus took them seriously.
This was really good news, Gus thought, chewing the end of his pen. Now, what else? Theo had few friends, apparently. Old chums had tried, but met a stone wall in Beattie. Not that she antagonised them, but in a subtle way led them to think that Theo had become very much a recluse, not wanting friends interrupting his mammoth task of writing his memoirs. Some persisted for a while, but in the end accepted what Beattie said, and gave up. She had exaggerated the memoir writing, of course, although he occasionally set down memories of the past.
Gus left the pub, and returned home to telephone Deirdre. Tomorrow was Saturday, market day, and while Beattie was in town they would have two and a half hours to allow Deirdre to renew her friendship with Theo. The key player would be Rose Budd, and Gus was confident that he could draw her into a plot to foil the old dragon. But first, Deirdre, then Ivy, to keep the old thing informed. Then Rose. She had said to ask her if there was anything he needed to know, so he had the perfect excuse for knocking on her door.
“Hello? Deirdre, is that you? Gus here. Now, good news, but listen carefully.” He explained that they had to time the visit so that Beattie would have no suspicions. Ivy would be lookout, sitting on the seat outside the shop, when the afternoon bus picked up passengers. Then she would return later with Gus’s mobile phone in her handbag, and would ring the Hall to alert them to Beattie’s return.
“What about Rose Whatsit?” Deirdre said. “Will she let me in? You bet old Beattie has given her strict instructions to admit nobody!”
Gus smiled modestly. “I think you can leave Rose to me,” he said. “I’ve met her already, and she was extremely friendly and helpful. I’m sure she would have every sympathy with an attempt to brighten the life of the old boy. Will at the shop says that her husband works like a slave on the estate, and is certainly not overpaid for his labours. Beattie holds the purse strings, it seems. Any attempt to get one back on the old dragon will be enthusiastically received, I reckon. Anyway,” he continued, “if Rose won’t play ball, I’ll think of something else and let you know. So, best bib and tucker tomorrow afternoon, and best of luck.”
“Bearing in mind what Ivy suspects about Theo and Miriam Blake,” Deirdre said slowly, “my most important task is to find out what went on, what he knows and thinks about the whole murder mystery, isn’t it? Persuading him to be our client seems to have taken a backseat, especially since Ivy decided we should keep our heads down for a bit?”
“Absolutely,” said Gus. “Quite right. Get him talking, not too much reminiscing about your own steamy affair with him, and gently point him in the right direction. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He wasn’t that sure, but knew that this was a chance not to be missed. It was Deirdre on trial, really.
IVY NEXT. SHE grasped the whole plan in minutes. No, she didn’t need a tutorial on how to use a mobile. Young Katya had one, and would be a willing teacher. “The young are so much better at it than we are, Gus,” she said, well aware that he would object to being bracketed with an old lady in her seventies.
He grinned to himself. Ivy Beasley was one of the best, he decided. Meeting Ivy had made his settling in Barrington worthwhile. Then he thought of his ex-wife’s letter and enclosures, and wondered if Ivy would be up for loaning him a small amount to help him out. Of course not! No point in asking, and in any case, it would scupper the whole project if he was in debt to her. At the moment he was precariously at the helm of Enquire Within, but at any time his position could be challenged by the cousins.
Gus looked at himself in the cracked kitchen mirror, and smoothed down his thinning hair to disguise the fact that his head was beginning to show through. He straightened his shoulders, persuaded himself that he was still an attractive proposition, and set out to tackle Rose Budd.
Seventeen
THEO ROUSSEL WOKE up with the pleasant feeling he had every Saturday. Today, Beattie was going to market, and, even more pleasant, Rosebud would be coming to make his tea and keep him company. He couldn’t believe his luck when Beattie had set up this arrangement. The only thing he could think was that she considered, mistakenly, that a young and lovely blonde would never in a million years fancy such a sedentary old man.
He got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, opened it and peered up and down the corridor. No sign of Beattie. It was early, and she would not bring his cup of tea for at least half an hour. He crept quietly along to his study and taking a key from its hiding place, he moved the portrait of his grandfather to one side and carefully opened the safe door.
He took out a small
box, opened it and extracted an exquisite sapphire and diamond ring. It was like a small regal crown, released into the light, sparkling as if it was brand-new. He smiled, muttered that the sapphire would match her eyes, and slipped it into his pyjama jacket pocket. Then he shut the safe door, straightened the portrait, and silently retraced his steps to his bedroom.
When Beattie knocked at his door before bringing in his early morning tea, he was able to give a convincing performance of a man waking up for the first time, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
“Market day, Mr. Theo,” she said. “Up we get as soon as we’ve finished our tea. I need to get breakfast out of the way, then a basketful of ironing, quick lunch and then off on the bus. Anything you particularly fancy from the market? They had some lovely ripe peaches last week.”
Then why didn’t you buy them last week, Theo said to himself, but he answered that peaches would be just the thing. Perhaps she could look for strawberries, too, and then he could have a fruity pudding tonight.
The morning went as always for Theo. He enjoyed his breakfast of bacon and fresh mushrooms gathered by Rose’s husband David, then settled in his study with the Times crossword. Bouyed up by the thought of Rose coming after lunch, he hummed to himself as he consulted a pile of dictionaries and Roget’s Thesaurus at his elbow. He prided himself on being able to complete the crossword before dinner, and as Rose was unfortunately no help at all with the clues, he would have only this morning and an hour or so after tea to finish it today.
GUS WALKED BRISKLY along the terrace and stopped at the Budd’s house. He had tried to find Rose several times yesterday, but there had been no one at home. It would be bad luck if they had gone away on holiday! But no, someone was coming to the door. It was David Budd, and he smiled in a friendly way at Gus.
“Mr. Halfhide? Rose told me you’d met. Is there anything we can help you with? Come on in. We’re in our usual squalid muddle, but that’s children for you. Rose!” he shouted. “Here’s Mr. Halfhide!”
David was a good-looking thirty-year-old, his face tanned by an outdoor life, and with not an ounce of spare flesh on him. He had done well at school and set out to be an architect. But the years of study needed to qualify were too daunting for him, and in any case, he had always wanted to be a farmer like his maternal grandfather. Agricultural college had proved ideal, and he had enjoyed his time there. In fact, it was there he met Rose. It had been love at first sight for both of them, and in due course they were married.
There was no money for David to buy a farm, and so he had ended up in Barrington, working on the Roussel estate. It suited him well, apart from having to deal with Miss Beatty. But he kept well away from her, and apart from paying lip service to some of her more bizarre instructions, like keeping a piglet in an old rabbit hutch in the empty stable, he had the management of the land more or less to himself.
Even the piglet project was dropped when, as David had tried to warn her, the piglet grew too big for the hutch.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Halfhide?” Rose said, clattering down the stairs in lilac-coloured plastic clogs.
“Please, do call me Gus.”
“Okay—and I’m Rose and he’s David. And little snot-nose there is Simon.”
“I won’t take up much of your time,” promised Gus, as they insisted they should all sit down and have a coffee.
David nodded. “I do have to get going very soon,” he said. “Otherwise old gimlet-eyes at the Hall will be giving me a lecture on punctuality.”
“It’s about Miss Beatty that I’ve come,” Gus explained. “Beattie and Theo, that is. My good friend Deirdre Bloxham is an old flame of Theo, and would very much like to chat about old times with him. Try to bring a bit of outside interest into his life, she says. She arranged to call on him, but Miss Beatty made several excuses and Deirdre had to go away without seeing him. Since then, she has been unable to get through to the Hall. The phone rings, but as soon as someone answers it their end, it goes dead.”
“We could certainly get the telephone engineer to look at it,” David said sympathetically. He felt permanently sorry for his boss, though privately thought the man was not that old, and should stand up to the Beattie woman.
Gus shook his head. “Nothing wrong with the phone, I’m sure of that,” he said. “It’s being monitored by Beattie Beatty. You can hear her breathing.”
“So how can we help?” Rose said, lifting Simon onto her lap and feeding him with a soggy biscuit dipped into her coffee.
Gus explained the plan. Deirdre would arrive at the Hall immediately after Beattie had been seen by Ivy boarding the bus to town. Rose would admit Deirdre directly to the drawing room where Theo would be sitting waiting for his first game of Scrabble.
Then Rose would make herself scarce, leaving the two old friends alone together.
Rose went very pink and clapped her hands like a little girl. “What a lovely surprise!” she said. “He’ll be so excited to see her. They’ll have a good two hours. I can keep an eye out for other visitors, or raise the drawbridge if, heaven forefend, Miss Beatty returns on the early bus. Which, to my knowledge, she never has.”
Gus was alarmed. “I didn’t know there was an earlier bus,” he said.
“Just runs in the summer,” said David. “It comes back an hour after they’ve got there, so there’s hardly anybody on it.”
They talked a bit more about how they could make the arrangements foolproof, and then Gus got up to go. “It is so kind of you both,” he said.
“Theo’s a sweetie,” Rose said. “We’d do anything to brighten his life. I’m always hoping that one day he’ll get so angry with Miss Beatty that he’ll send her packing and live a more normal life. There’s nothing wrong with him, you know. Fit as a fiddle, and all his marbles in place.”
“I hear he was quite a ladies’ man in his youth?” Gus said, as he stepped outside into the sunshine.
“Still is!” said David. “Rose has to keep him at bay sometimes, don’t you, duckie?”
Rose didn’t answer, but laughed so much that Simon bounced off her lap and began to yell. She followed the men into the garden, and assured Gus that all would go smoothly. “If it works,” she said, “we can make it a regular assignation. One in the eye for old Beattie. I reckon she has hopes of a Roussel ring on her finger one of these days.”
“No!” said Gus. “That must be prevented at all costs.”
“And she’s not the only one,” said David, grinning. “Somone approaching down the lane has had similar ideas.”
Gus turned his head. It was Miriam Blake, still in her shop overalls and smiling broadly at the sight of her new neighbour. The three stood in the Budds’ garden and said hello as she passed.
“She’s a new woman,” whispered Rose, and David nodded. “Must’ve found the nest egg,” he said.
“Sshh!” Rose waved a hand to Gus and disappeared into the house, and David said he was going Gus’s way and would accompany him the few yards to his end of the terrace to save him from marauding spinsters who were more than likely lying in wait for him.
Eighteen
IVY WALKED STEADILY along the street from Springfields down to the shop, where she purchased a packet of Polo mints and said she was quite puffed out, and would sit for a while on the Hon. John Roussel memorial seat outside.
After about ten minutes, she was delighted to see a familiar figure approaching briskly from Hangman’s Row into the High Street, and then along to the bus stop outside the shop.
Beattie Beatty recognised Ivy, and managed a gruff “Good morning,” then turned and looked along the street in the direction of the oncoming bus. She was cutting it a bit fine, thought Ivy, as the bus stopped and Beattie climbed aboard. Thank goodness she made it, else all our plans . . .
At this point, to her horror, Miss Beatty reappeared at the bus door and came rapidly down the steps into the street! She rushed across the pavement, into the shop, and disappeared. Ivy thought fast. Should she phone Gus str
aightaway? She prayed to God that she had mastered the mobile phone in her handbag.
But no, after only a few seconds, Beattie rushed out of the shop and clambered clumsily back into the bus, to be greeted by cheers from the passengers already seated. As Ivy stared, she saw Beattie find a seat next to the window and, scarlet-faced, mop her brow with a tissue wrestled from a new packet.
So, she forgot to put a hankie in her pocket, Ivy guessed as the bus moved away. Just like her to keep everybody waiting. Now, her next job was to ring Gus and give him the all clear. She took the frighteningly small mobile phone from her bag, and switched it on. So far so good! She had memorised his number and carefully pressed the buttons. With each button, the thing beeped at her. She supposed that was to tell her she’d pressed it hard enough. What next? She put it to her ear, but there was no ringing tone. She stared at it again.
“You have to press the green telephone, Miss Beasley,” a girl’s voice said. Ivy looked up in surprise and saw Katya beaming at her.
“Good heavens, girl!” Ivy said. “Just in time to rescue me!” She pressed, and listened again. Now it was ringing, and then Gus’s familiar tones. “All clear,” she said, as arranged. Nothing more. He said nothing in reply, and then there was the dialling tone. “Oh my,” she said, breathing fast and patting her chest to quieten her thudding heart, “I feel just like Mata Hari.”
“Are you all right?” Katya said, looking worried. “Can I get you glass of water?”
“No, no. I’m fine, my dear,” Ivy said, and indeed, she was beginning to feel quite chirpy at the idea of having completed this part in the plot successfully. She stood up, and Katya said she would come back to Springfields with her. It was her afternoon off, but she had nothing planned.
