The Measby Murder Enquiry

by Ann Purser

  “I can’t tell you that,” answered Alwen. “I can only ask you to trust that what I am going to do will be for the best.”

  “The best for who?” said Ivy suspiciously.

  “All of us,” Alwen said. “But chiefly for Gus. It is his best chance.”

  “Go on then,” Ivy said. “But come straight back and tell us what’s happening. And don’t look like that, Deirdre,” she added. “There’ll still be plenty of time to meet the deadline, if necessary.”

  Thirty

  THE TAXI ARRIVED half an hour later, and Alwen Jones left word with Miss Pinkney that she would be out for an hour or two but would get back in time for supper. She had decided not to warn Bronwen that she would be arriving to see her, as almost certainly her daughter would invent a reason why she would unfortunately not be at home.

  As the taxi drew up outside their house, Alwen could see two cars in the drive and knew that both Bronwen and Trevor were at home. Good, she thought, and hoped it was a good omen for the rest of her mission.

  The front door opened, and Bronwen stood there, looking alarmed.

  “Mother! How lovely to see you! But is everything all right?”

  “Ye Gods,” muttered Trevor behind her. “Don’t say she’s coming to live with us! Has she got any luggage? Why did I come home for those papers?”

  Alwen limped up to the door and said briskly that she had come to see them about an important matter, and could she please come in. And she could do with a cup of tea, she added.

  “Now then,” she began, tea on a side table and Bronwen and Trevor facing her. “This is an urgent request, and if you can help me, as I know you can, I shall show my gratitude in due course by giving you—Bronwen, that is—the financial support I know you need until things look up for you both.” She looked Trevor in the eye, and said, “I’m no fool, Trevor Evans, and it will be in your interests to make sure your marriage survives.”

  Bronwen and Trevor glanced quickly at each other, and then Bronwen said that if she could help her mother in any way, of course she would be delighted to do so.

  “I thought you might,” said Alwen drily. “Right. Trevor, you can go now, out of earshot, please. And Bronwen, listen closely to what I have to say, and don’t interrupt. This is an important matter for us and for several other people I care about.”

  DEIRDRE HAD REMAINED in an uncertain frame of mind. Now it seemed they were all trusting Alwen Jones to work a miracle. This was nonsense, of course. That cagey old woman would do exactly what suited her, and Deirdre had no faith in her ability to save Gus, nor did she think Alwen cared a fig what happened to him.

  She had noticed that if neither Roy nor Ivy were in the lounge, Alwen always sat alone, not talking to any of the other residents. Too superior by half! Then why had she come to Springfields in the first place? Of course, it didn’t take much to see that neither of her daughters visited more than duty required. And Enquire Within should not forget that the mysterious brewer William had left her to bring up their two children, never to return. Alwen had been a schoolteacher, Deirdre recalled, and they were renowned for treating their own families like wayward children. A difficult woman to live with, then? And possibly rather a chilly mother, coping on her own.

  And what was the miracle that a mere conversation with daughter Bronwen—she presumed it was Bronwen—could work?

  Thirty-one

  THE HOURS DRAGGED by, and Deirdre had not been able to settle to anything. In the end, she decided to return to Springfields and wait out the time with Ivy and Roy. For once, she didn’t care whether her jacket matched her skirt, and she grabbed the nearest on her way to the front door.

  She found Roy and Ivy watching television in Ivy’s room, and they turned in surprise as she came in. Ivy took one look at her face and said kindly, “Sit down, Deirdre.” They watched the end of the programme and then switched off. Before they needed to find some topic of conversation that wasn’t the incarcerated Gus, there was a feeble knock at the door and in came Alwen Jones, stern-faced and with such a weary limp that Roy struggled to his feet to help her, forgetting that he needed a helping hand himself. In the end, it was Ivy who found the strength to take Alwen’s arm and settle her next to Deirdre, who was looking anxiously at her watch.

  “Well? What’s the miracle answer?” she said. “Is Gus going to be released? Is he safe? And what about the ransom?”

  “Let the poor woman draw breath,” Roy chided. “You can see she’s exhausted. Deirdre, you could call for Katya to bring us a hot drink.”

  “We’ve had our hot drinks,” said Ivy. “Doubt if the budget will run to a second. Now, Alwen,” she added, “get it off your chest, whatever it is. Deirdre has decisions to make.”

  “Right,” said Alwen, pulling herself upright and speaking as if she was addressing an unruly class of mixed infants. “Now listen carefully. You are going to have to take me on trust again. I can tell you only that Gus will be all right. He won’t necessarily be released just yet, but neither will anything bad happen to him. I can guarantee that. I have sufficient influence over events to set your minds at rest on that. As for the rest, I shall be as anxious as you to have the whole thing cleared up, anonymous phone calls and all.”

  “What about the ransom?” Deirdre’s face was white, and Ivy saw her fists clenching and unclenching. Poor Deirdre, she thought. She loves him, silly girl.

  Alwen shook her head. “No need. Final details to be worked out, but the ransom will be paid.”

  “So where do we go from here?” Ivy said. “And why on earth should we trust you, when so far we don’t believe a word you’ve said about getting your twenty thousand back, nor a lot of that stuff about bungee jumping and your ex-husband.”

  Roy groaned softly. Straight in with both feet, he thought. Had Ivy blown the whole thing?

  Alwen stared at her, and passed a weary hand over her eyes. “Believe what you like, Ivy, but what I have said about Gus is the truth. The ransom will be paid and he will be released, but it will take a short while to sort everything out. I can only suggest you take a vote between you, and then Deirdre will either accept it or not. I have done my best,” she added, “and now I’m off to bed. I shall see you in the morning. Good night.”

  Silence fell, and Deirdre slumped back into a chair. Finally Ivy said that if anyone asked her, she would say taking a vote was a good idea. Or, if not a good idea, at least it was better than any other she could think of.

  “She wasn’t going to tell us the address for the ransom, anyway,” Roy said. “So what do you say, Deirdre?”

  “Take a vote,” muttered Deirdre reluctantly.

  Ivy got to her feet and faced the other two. “Right,” she said, “those in favour of accepting what Alwen said, and not doing anything rash at the moment?”

  Roy put up his hand, and very slowly Deirdre followed. “That’s it then,” Ivy said. “And now, as acting chairman, I suggest Enquire Within retires to bed and awaits further developments.”

  Roy smiled fondly at her, and said she must concentrate on getting her beauty sleep, because he hadn’t forgotten that tomorrow was a special day, a birthday day, and plans were laid to make sure she would enjoy it, especially now that reprieve for Gus looked likely.

  Thirty-two

  ROY WAS UP with the lark, to the amazement of Mrs. Spurling, who was sitting behind her desk filing her nails in the office. She always did this job early Sunday mornings, sure that she would not be interrupted, and could look at her e-mails at the same time.

  When she saw Roy approaching, she quickly slipped the file into her drawer, and picked up a pen. That was one good thing about being in charge of a bunch of oldies, she thought. None of them could move fast enough to catch her unawares. She was wrong, of course.

  “Have you got it?” Roy said, peering anxiously round the office door.

  “Certainly have, Mr. Goodman,” she answered, with as much warmth in her voice as she could manage when dealing with a project of which she
heartily disapproved. She noticed that Roy was dressed in his new jacket, with a snowy white handkerchief folded neatly in his breast pocket.

  “I thought after breakfast would be the best time,” he said. “We can gather in the lounge. Mrs. Bloxham has promised to come up about half past nine, and we can look at cards and open presents before church. Ivy is determined to go this morning. I tried to persuade her that the Almighty would be sure to wish her a happy birthday, without her having to go to church to listen for it.”

  Mrs. Spurling could not help smiling. “What did she say to that?” she asked.

  “Told me not to be blasphemous, and said that if anyone asked her, she would say that she had so much to be thankful for already, without presents, and wanted to go to His house and say thank you to her Maker. An answer for everything, our Ivy!”

  “Well, let’s hope she is thankful for this one.” Mrs. Spurling looked towards the corner of the office, and said that she would stand by the lounge door and wait for Roy to give her a signal to bring it in. “Probably best to leave it until the last,” she said.

  To Ivy’s surprise, Alwen turned up for breakfast, still pale and slow, but with a big smile and a quavery version of “Happy Birthday to You” as she sat down.

  “That’s very nice, and by the way, we took your advice,” said Ivy. She saw a look of relief cross Alwen’s face, and added, “You could have had an extra hour in bed this morning, you know.”

  Alwen shook her head. “Can’t miss such an important date,” she said. “If I’m as tough as you at your age, Ivy, I shall be more than pleased.”

  “Never give up hope, Alwen, that’s the secret,” Roy said, checking that a certain small box was safely in his pocket. He looked fondly at Ivy. This birthday morning she had been persuaded to take great care with her appearance. Katya had coaxed her thick grey hair, usually confined under a net, to lift into feminine waves, and Ivy had selected her best dark blue dress with white collar and cuffs. Neat but not gaudy, she had said approvingly, looking at herself in the mirror.

  A special breakfast had been prepared by Anya, and Katya set it down on the table with a flourish. She kissed Ivy on her cheek, wished her a happy day and lifted a silver cover from a dish which she had found at the back of a cupboard, tarnished with neglect, and hastily cleaned early this morning. Revealed were curly slices of bacon, perfectly poached eggs, sizzling small sausages and stuffed tomatoes topped with crunchy fried bread crumbs.

  “Wow!” said Roy. “Our lovely Anya has done you proud, Ivy.” He looked closely at her and saw her chin quivering. He patted her hand, and said, “Will you be mother and pour the tea, my dear? Katya will serve breakfast, I’m sure.”

  After they had left the dining room and were comfortably settled in their lounge corner, Katya—who should have been off duty but had turned up anyway—brought in a large washing basket full of presents wrapped in birthday paper, and a pile of cards. “You have many friends, Miss Beasley!” she said.

  A good many of the cards had come from old friends in Round Ringford, and Ivy was visibly moved, muttering that she was glad she hadn’t been forgotten. One of the cards wished her a happy Father’s Day, and she roared with laughter on seeing the spidery writing. “It looks like old Ellen Biggs!” she said. “In her dotage, the old thing. I could have sworn she had gone before. Still, nice that she remembered the date.”

  At last the pile of wrapping paper had been removed, the cards were set up in a row along the tops of low bookshelves, and Mrs. Spurling had stationed herself by the door.

  Ivy was very happy and cheerful, of course, but she had not missed the fact that there had been nothing from Roy. Ah well, she thought, perhaps his family didn’t bother with birthdays much. Certainly her own mother and father had scarcely remembered hers, even when she was quite small.

  She looked across at him, and was surprised to see him waving his hand towards the door. Then, to another chorus of “Happy Birthday to You,” sung by all residents who could more or less remember the tune, Mrs. Spurling entered, carrying a neat basket with a lid. She handed it to Roy, and retreated.

  He stood up, cleared his throat, and announced that there was one more present for Ivy, and it was from him, with—he hesitated—his best wishes. He put the basket down on her lap, and she stared at him, not daring to think what might be inside.

  Finally, she twisted the fastener and gently opened the lid. And now she could not stem the tears as she lifted out a small black kitten, mewing in a tiny voice and looking straight at her with huge blue eyes in its heart-shaped face.

  Everybody clapped hard, and several residents mopped their eyes. Mrs. Spurling signalled to Katya to fetch the coffee trolley, and Ivy took the kitten from the basket, cradled it in her arms and got to her feet.

  “I . . . I . . .” she began, and then started again. “I am not usually lost for words,” she said, and several people cheered. “But now I want to thank you all for a lovely start to my birthday, the best I can remember. And, of course, a special thank you to Roy, who has remembered how much I missed my Ringford cat. . . .” She paused, took a deep breath and then leaned forward to kiss Roy’s cheek.

  “Oh my God,” whispered Mrs. Spurling to Katya, who was standing with her at the door, waiting to bring in coffee. “Look at his face! I reckon we shall have everybody in tears if this goes on much longer. Come on, wheel in the trolley.”

  “What will you call her, Ivy?” said Roy, beaming from ear to ear.

  “Tiddles, of course,” Ivy said. “That’s a proper name for a kitty. I once knew a cat named Posy Moon, and the poor little thing looked permanently embarrassed. But Roy,” she continued in a whisper and with a surreptitious look at Mrs. Spurling, “how on earth did you get permission for me to have a cat?”

  “Not easily,” he replied. “But Katya and I arranged a residents’ petition. Only one person refused to sign it, and that was old Mrs. Worth, who’s gaga anyway. The rest all voted for you to have Tiddles, so long as you make sure you house-train it so’s it won’t pee on their shoes.”

  “On their shoes?” said Alwen, who had been very quiet up to now.

  Everybody laughed, and they did not notice that Alwen suddenly jerked around in her seat to look out of the window at the path leading to the road. Coffee was served all round, with plates of Katya’s special cookies, and Ivy looked at her watch. “Soon have to get ready for church,” she said.

  “Not this morning, Ivy, I hope,” said a voice from the door. They all stopped talking and stared. A tall, stringy figure with whispy hair blown in all directions by the strong breeze stood smiling at Ivy.

  “Gus,” she said, and walked slowly towards him. “What kept you?”

  Thirty-three

  GUS PUT HIS finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he said. “I’ll tell you later, Ivy. Pretend I’ve been on a mercy dash to a dying aunt in Outer Mongolia.”

  “A likely story!” Ivy replied. “Who’s going to believe that? Anyway, come on in and have some coffee. You look terrible, if you don’t mind my saying so. I’ll get Katya to bring you something to eat. By the way, this is Tiddles.”

  Gus put out a finger and tickled the kitten behind its ear, and a ridiculously loud purr from the tiny creature made them both smile. Deirdre, sitting transfixed in her chair next to Alwen, watched Gus take Ivy’s arm and escort her back to the birthday corner.

  “Gus has just got back from an urgent trip abroad,” Ivy said in a loud voice. “His poor old aunt kicked the bucket in, er . . . Cape Town, wasn’t it, Gus?”

  He nodded, and took a vacant chair next to Alwen. She looked at him without speaking, and he saw fear in her eyes. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “No casualties.”

  Deirdre pulled herself up shakily. “If you’ll excuse me, Ivy, I have to go outside and make a telephone call. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” she said. Twenty minutes later, she had still not returned.

  “Do you think she is all right?” Alwen said.

  “I’
ll go and check,” Gus said. “She’s probably trying to get through to someone on her mobile. The signal is useless in Barrington.” He walked quickly out of the lounge, and Ivy watched him as he passed the window in the direction of the summer house.

  DEIRDRE HAD BEEN sitting in a damp canvas chair, staring into space. Fallen leaves swirled about the neglected summer house, and the wind was chilly, but she was unaware of them. How had he escaped? And why had he not even looked at her?

  “What’s up, Deirdre?” Gus appeared from round the corner and took her hand, which was icy. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

  Deirdre came to life. “Of course I’m bloody well pleased to see you! But how did you do it?—and why ignore me when you did finally show up?”

  “Answer to your first question, they let me go. And to the second, I have to keep up the old private, unemotional Halfhide image. Wasn’t sure I could do that if I looked at you first. Sorry.”

  “Ah, there you are!” It was Mrs. Spurling, all smiles. “Do hurry back. We’ve persuaded Ivy not to go to church, and Miss Pinkney is going to lead us in singing our favourite hymns. Special requests from Ivy, of course.”

  “Right-o!” said Gus, taking Deirdre’s hand. “We can’t miss that, can we, Mrs. Bloxham?”

  Deirdre stepped out onto the path, still holding Gus’s hand, and said, “I bet I know what Ivy’s first choice will be.”

  “ ‘Abide with Me’?” suggested Mrs. Spurling. This was the hymn most familiar in her line of business. “ ‘Rock of Ages’?”

  “Nope,” said Deirdre.

  “ ‘Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam’?” Gus was having trouble keeping a straight face.