by Ann Purser
“Don’t joke, Ivy! I shall be glad when Gus comes back and we can ask his advice. Meanwhile rescue is at hand for all those poor donkeys.”
Ivy ignored him. “And then, of course, my love, there is you. It all hinges on getting rid of you, should the murderer be in a hurry. I’m afraid that is the real nub. But never fear; I do not intend to let any harm come to you, and I am sure that Enquire Within, with some help from Inspector Frobisher, will be able to trace the villain very soon.”
“I’m glad you’re so confident!” said Roy. “I must say I feel more and more uneasy as we uncover new information. Ah, there’s Deirdre coming up the path. Let’s hope she has some good news for us.”
Deirdre was followed by a dishevelled Gus, who looked as if he had been dragged out of bed.
“Sorry to come at lunchtime, Ivy,” Deirdre said. “I just rescued Gus from an attempt to clear the brambles at the bottom of his garden, and brought him up here.”
“Is it urgent, then?” said Ivy. “La Spurling doesn’t like our mealtimes to be disturbed.”
“Mrs. Spurling is off duty, and Pinkers won’t mind a bit. She might offer us lunch?” Gus knew that Miss Pinkney had a soft spot for him, and he went off to find her. He returned beaming, saying they were all to have lunch together in the table in the alcove, so that our conversation could be private. “Isn’t she a darling?”
“Not many people have called her that,” said Ivy. “Poor thing. Well-done, Gus. Come on into the dining room, everyone.”
Needless to say, all the other residents were consumed with curiosity. One or two said in very loud voices that it was all right for some. Others had to abide by the rules and stick to visiting times, they said. Gus helped a grateful old lady into her seat, and Deirdre earned undying devotion by tucking an elderly man’s table napkin into his collar, and so eventually they were settled. Deirdre began to tell them in detail about her morning’s achievement.
“Did you talk to both husband and wife?” Ivy asked.
“Oh yes, and the baby. The sweetest little soul named Faith. I cuddled her until she went to sleep. All warm and smelling of Johnson’s baby powder.” She paused, dreamy-eyed.
“It’s no good you getting broody, Deirdre Bloxham,” Ivy said sharply. “You’ve lost your chance at motherhood. Could we get on?”
“Yes, well, I asked about the family, and Bella—that was the girl’s name—said that the Josslands and Goodmans had been marrying each other for generations. But now, for a number of reasons, natural selection, I suppose, there are just the two of them left, plus an aged spinster aunt named Ethel.”
“Ethel what?” interrupted Roy, his voice unusually sharp.
“Ethel Goodman,” said Deirdre, playing her trump card. “How about that, then?”
“Well, you certainly had more luck than we did. Our investigations yesterday morning included Theo and Mr. and Mrs. Bourne, old friends of Roy. And all we discovered was that there was an old farrier at the Hall years ago, who got the sack because of a loose horseshoe, and who looked uncannily like the man who challenged our banns. Might be worth remembering, if nothing else.”
Twenty-five
THEIR CONVERSATION WAS broken up by Katya coming in with puddings. She beamed at the table for four, and said how nice it was that residents felt they could ask guests for lunch. “So much more like an hotel than an, um, old folks’ home,” she said.
“I’ll deal with this,” said a voice behind her. It was Mrs. Spurling, back on duty earlier than expected. “I shall not make a scene in front of other residents,” she said, “but perhaps you can explain to me how two non-residents appear to be having lunch at Springfields’ expense?”
Before any of the others could draw breath, Roy had struggled to his feet. “Please leave us, Mrs. Spurling,” he said. “I shall be in to see you in your office in due course, but in the meantime, Mr. Halfhide and Mrs. Bloxham are our guests, so you will charge the expense to my account. I have more to say, but it will be best said in private when we have finished lunch.”
There was an astonished silence, and then Mrs. Spurling stalked off. Roy sat down, beamed at the others, and said he felt much better. “Do carry on, Deirdre,” he said. “You were just telling us about an aged person called Goodman, who may be a long-lost relative of mine. Isn’t it exciting? I do hope she turns out to be a nice person and a new friend for you, my dear,” he added, turning to Ivy.
“There’s only one Goodman for me,” she said, her voice a little wobbly. “And that’s you, Roy. That Spurling woman is impossible, and you really put her in her place. And now, Deirdre, what about all the rest of the Goodmans of Settlefield?”
“Well, the baby’s father, William Jossland, is quite a bit older than Bella, and his parents have died of more or less natural causes. He was an only child, and he married Bella Goodman, herself an only, and they have produced dear little Faith. Bella’s parents are also dead. Mother died from multiple sclerosis, and Father had a fatal accident on his tractor.”
“Not surprising,” chipped in Ivy. “Those enormous great things are a menace on the road and the field. Get one of those in a ditch and you’ve had it. And they shake the village houses to their foundations when they go by. So both Bella and William are orphans, so to speak?”
“That’s right. And Bella seems to come down in a direct line from the farming Goodmans. Oh, and by the way, I did not mention anything about you and Ivy, or Steven Wright, or any of the people we are investigating. I just established contact, and a delightful contact it was.”
“I am really pleased,” Roy said. “I must arrange to meet them in due course. I am sure Bella will be a pleasant addition to our family.”
“And also an addition to the list of people made vulnerable by possibly inheriting your fortune,” said Ivy. “But perhaps you’d like to tell the others about the donkeys?”
“What donkeys?” said Deirdre. “What on earth are you talking about, Ivy?”
“Private joke,” said Roy. “Ivy is teasing me.”
They finished lunch, and got up to leave the dining room. “Excuse me one moment,” said Roy. “I have a date with La Spurling in her office.” He hobbled off chuckling.
“So now I must away to think,” said Gus. “And visit Alf Lowe and see what he has to say about Miss Ethel Goodman. Not much hope of getting the truth out of him, but I shall try.”
When he had gone, Deirdre took Ivy’s arm and said she would like to ask her a personal question.
“Depends what it is,” said Ivy.
“It’s this. Do you know whether Roy has made a will? And if so, and it seems very likely that he has, do you know who are the beneficiaries? I’ve noticed he skirts around the subject whenever it comes up.”
“I have never asked him, and he has never said. As far as I am concerned, I don’t want any of it. The donkey joke was because he is so unhappy about all the trouble his money seems to be causing, that he declared he was going to leave the whole lot to look after neglected donkeys.”
“Not such a bad idea,” said Deirdre. “Still, we have to respect his wish to keep his will private. Hope you don’t mind my asking, Ivy, but I’m beginning to get a bit scared.”
“Don’t worry,” said Ivy. “We should hear something soon about the Maleham’s furniture store report. Let’s hope the police are a bit nearer finding the murderer, if murder it was.”
“Did you ever meet Steven’s wife?” Deirdre said. “I just wonder if she might know a bit more.”
“She might even have done him in, nasty piece of work that he was,” said Ivy. “Come on, girl, let’s go and ring up Frobisher and see if he’ll tell us anything. And after that, we’ll call the Reverend Dorothy and see how she’s getting on sorting our banns out.”
• • •
WHEN GUS APPROACHED Alf Lowe’s cottage, he was surprised to see Miriam coming down the path towards him.
“Hi, Gus,” she said. “Where are you off to?”
“And where have you
been?” said Gus, laughing. “I’m going to call on Alf Lowe. He promised to tell me some tales about the Roussels. They’ve been squires up at the Hall for generations, and since the Honourable. Theo is my landlord, I thought it would be entertaining.”
“I could tell you some entertaining stories about the squire,” Miriam answered. “More entertaining than Alf Lowe’s. I doubt he knows much more than that his old father was given the push as estate farrier, after one of the hunting crowd was thrown off in a field because his horse lost a shoe that had only just been put on. The rider was badly injured and never walked again.”
“Good gracious!” said Gus. “There’s always a disaster lurking round the corner in this village. So where have you been? No, don’t tell me. You’ve been putting flowers on a grave in the cemetery.”
“Right first time,” Miriam said, taking his arm. “Mum and Dad are up there. Come on, I’ll walk you back up to Alf’s cottage. I hope you’ve not much sense of smell; otherwise you’re in for an unpleasant interview.”
Alf must have been looking out of his window, thought Gus. He had barely knocked on the door, where paint was peeling off in unsightly strips, when it opened to reveal Alf. “She’s not coming in here,” he said, and began to shut the door.
Miriam put her boot in the narrow opening. “Don’t worry; you wouldn’t catch me in your hovel, Alf Lowe!” she said. “It’s just Gus Halfhide here who wants a word with you. Watch where you tread, Gus,” was her parting shot, and she walked quickly away.
“Come in, Halfhide,” said Alf. “Can’t stand that woman. Biggest gossip in Barrington.”
“Her heart’s in the right place, though, Alf. She’s a good neighbour.”
“Yes, well, I’ve known her longer than you have. Anyway, what can I do for you? And how are you getting on with putting the frighteners on my wife?”
“We are pursuing our enquiries,” Gus lied. They had, in fact, done nothing about Alf’s case, since the murder of Steven and the challenged banns had occupied the team full-time. He looked around Alf’s sitting room and was surprised to see that it was fresh and clean. There were cheerful rugs on the old brick floor, and a bright fire leapt in the polished grate. Old oak furniture had been polished to an enviable patina, and one or two excellent hunting prints adorned the walls.
“You’ve got it all very nice and cosy in here,” he said now. “I envy you the prints. I know a bit about them, and those are highly desirable.”
“I’m aware of that, young man,” said Alf. “So don’t bother offering to buy them. They were my dad’s, but after the accident he put them up in the loft. I got them down again after he passed on.”
“A hunting accident?” prompted Gus.
“Yeah. The son of a visiting nobleman was thrown in the field. Broke his back, poor devil. Dad got blamed, because he had shoed the horse, and it somehow got lamed. We thought it jumped badly over a hedge, but it was never proved. My dad got the sack, and never really got over it.”
“Sacked by Roussel, was he?”
“Yeah. Theo’s Dad. Theo’s your landlord, I suppose?”
Gus nodded. “Don’t see much of him, though. I think he keeps away in case I ask him to spend money on the cottage!”
Alf laughed. “So what have you come for? Do you want some questions answered? I hear there’s been an unpleasant event in poor old Roy Goodman’s family? And what about him and his intended having their banns challenged? My God, that was a turnup! Stupid old fool should know better, I reckon. There’s bound to be skeletons in the cupboard when you get to his great age.”
“Not Roy, surely? He seems such an honourable person. Though last time we talked you mentioned a breach of promise involving him and some woman? What was all that about?”
“That was years and years ago, and I only heard about it secondhand. Apparently he was walking out with Ethel Goodman—his cousin from over Settlefield way—and she claimed he suggested they got engaged. Anyway, it was all over the farming community, because they was cousins, and that ain’t reckoned to be healthy, is it? A few months went by, and the word went round that he had broken it off. She was heartbroken, and her dad, who was a brute of a man, said he’d get his lawyers to sue for breach of promise.”
“And did he?”
“Dunno. It all went quiet, and people forgot about it. But the poor girl never married. Still alive, in a nursing home in Settlefield. Lost her marbles completely, so they say.”
“I suppose she wasn’t in the family way, or anything like that?”
“Why?” Alf asked suspiciously.
“Well, because it is possible. And if there is a son, say, somewhere, it could well have been him challenging Roy and Ivy’s banns. I doubt if it would be a legal challenge, even so, but it could put the cat among the pigeons in a big way. See my point?”
“Oh yes, I see it,” Alf said. He got up and put a shovelful of coal on the fire, then turned to the window and stood looking out. “It’s goin’ to snow again, Gus. You’d best be on your way,” he said.
Twenty-six
THE SNOW HAD been falling all night, and Ivy was awoken early by the bright, clear light filling her bedroom. The sun was up, and when she got out of bed and went to the window, it was—to put it in Katya’s words when she brought in Ivy’s early-morning tea—“a beautiful fairyland! It reminds me so much of home, Miss Beasley.”
“It’s all very well now,” replied Ivy, turning to take her tea. “But by the time the farm traffic and delivery vans to the shop have ploughed backwards and forwards, it’ll all be dirty slush.”
“Then you and Mr. Goodman must put on boots and walk around the garden. There are snowdrops under the hedge, and celandines in the spinney. Mr. Goodman could take photographs. He likes to do that, yes?”
“Quite right, my dear. We shall ask you to come with us, in case, like babes in the wood, we get lost. Everywhere looks different under snow. Now, I must be up and about. Lots to do today. Thank you for my tea.”
• • •
IN DEEPER WOODS down Hangman’s Lane, Gus and Deirdre were laughing like children as they walked hand in hand through the heavy fall of snow, and watched Whippy leaping in a series of arcs in an attempt to see where she was going.
“How long have you had her, Gus?” Deirdre asked.
“Can’t remember. She must be six or seven now. I’d be lost without her.”
“I know.”
The two trudged along in companionable silence, until Gus said, “I think I’ve got some important new information, and I don’t know what to do with it, Dee-Dee.”
“What’s it about? Alf’s Susan, or Steven’s murder, or Ivy’s banns? We’ve got a lot on at the moment.”
“That’s the problem. It could relate to the murder and the banns, but it was Alf who gave me the information yesterday. I went up to see him, and he was communicative for once. Asked me in, and you’d be amazed how clean and bright it is inside that cottage.”
“Is that the important information?”
“No, of course not. It’s to do with Roy, and, incidentally, Ivy, too. We all know about his contention, though he admitted it was secondhand, that Roy was engaged to be married in his youth, and then broke it off for someone richer. This was a very long time ago, of course, and Roy denied it hotly.”
“I could never see that it matters much, though,” said Deirdre. “After all, it would be extremely unlikely that such a nice and probably good-looking young farmer would not be an attractive proposition for the local girls.”
“You’re right, absolutely right. And I think it would have been much better if he had laughed it off, saying he had quite forgotten it, instead of denying it so furiously. But he did, and I think that was what upset Ivy most. And, of course, there is the obvious link with the interrupter of the banns. Though again, that in itself can only be a small hiccup. If Roy had decided against marriage altogether when young, there would not now be even a sniff of something untoward.”
“There’s some
thing else, isn’t there,” said Deirdre, looking up at the sky. “Something we haven’t thought of. Perhaps we should turn back. The sky looks full of snow, or maybe rain. Come on, turn around. We can follow our own footsteps.”
“But I think I have thought of it,” Gus continued, whistling for Whippy to follow them. “Supposing the Ethel girl was pregnant?”
Deirdre stopped suddenly in her tracks, and Gus barged into her. “Gus!” she said. “Do you think she could have been? And does Roy know? And if he does, he must be going through hell! Oh Lord, Augustus, this is a much more dangerous situation than we—or, at least, me—have thought.”
Deirdre always spoke the careful English of the nouveau riche, and her lapse in grammar indicated to Gus how shocked she was. And he loved her for it.
“So, my lovely, what on earth are we going to do?” he asked.
“Think,” said Deirdre, as they emerged out onto the lane. “You are going to make some coffee, and we will sit and think. And if Miriam Blake interrupts us, I shall tell her we are about to be overcome by lust, and will she please leave us alone.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Try me,” answered Deirdre. “I’m formidable when roused.”
• • •
THE REST OF the day was necessarily curtailed for Ivy and Roy by further falls of snow. There was no question of going out with the trundle. Even Roy could see that he would most likely be bogged down and have to be rescued.
After lunch, Ivy suggested they set up a pontoon school, but Roy said who would play with them? They couldn’t ask Deirdre and Gus to venture out in the snow, and Roy whispered that there wasn’t one single other resident who could count up to ten, let alone twenty-one.
This was, of course, not true, but Ivy was silent for a while. Then she spoke, like the oracle. “Pinkers and Katya. I think they will agree to play, if you ask them, Roy. You know you can charm the birds off the trees.”
“Are you sure, dearest? I don’t think La Spurling would approve.”
