by Ann Purser
“Good morning, Elvis!” said Ivy cheerfully, now completely recovered from her chilly moment. “Is it a little warmer today?”
“It’s a right mess everywhere,” he said. “And I’ve got a wet foot from treading in this puddle.”
“No problem,” said Ivy, and immediately went back into Springfields, soon to reappear with Roy and his trundle, and bearing a pair of dry socks. “Put these on,” she said. “My father always used to say if you had dry feet, the rest of you would come to no harm.”
“Hear, hear,” said Roy, and so Elvis dutifully changed his socks, and they set off for Thornwell.
“Where to today?” he said, once they were on the main road.
“Here’s the address,” said Ivy, and handed him the piece of paper given to her by Mr. Maleham’s secretary.
“What do you want in that part of town?” he said.
“What’s wrong with it?” Roy could see Elvis’s face in the driving mirror, and he was frowning.
“It’s the rough quarter,” Elvis replied. “Used to be so bad they advised non-residents to stay away. Especially at night! It’s not quite so bad now, but I still wouldn’t go there after dark. Do you know who lives there?”
“Yes, a Mrs. Maleham. Cousin of the furniture store. Surely she must be all right?”
“Yes, well, I suppose so. Do you want me to wait?”
Ivy began to say no, they would be perfectly all right if he came back after about half an hour. But Roy remembered they were supposed to be cautious at all times, especially as they had only Elvis with them. He said that he would be happier if Elvis waited outside, and Ivy did not disagree, for once.
• • •
“HERE, FRANK, THERE’S one of them special taxis drawing up outside. What’s going on?” Beryl Maleham peeped round the side of the curtain, and saw Elvis opening the door.
“Hey, it’s that nice Beasley woman I met in the store!” she continued. “You know, her that’s getting married late in life. And her bloke’s with her, as well. How nice of her to come and visit.”
“I expect you’ll be talking weddings, with big hints to me,” said Frank. “I’m off upstairs if they’re coming in here. You can do the honours, Mum.”
• • •
ELVIS LOOKED AT his watch. It seemed like ages since Ivy and Roy had entered the house, but only fifteen minutes had gone by. The woman who came to the door was smiling and looked friendly as they went inside. How would he know if they were all right? He supposed he would just have to wait until the half hour was up, and then find an excuse to knock and investigate.
He began to think about this Mrs. Maleham. What was one of that family doing living in this disreputable quarter of town? The store was an old established one, and now they were in the new shopping place, they would be even more successful, surely? But Mr. Maleham, the boss, had seemed to him a bit of a slippery sort. He couldn’t get rid of Ivy and Roy quickly enough after they’d been shut in the lift. Or was Elvis imagining things? After all, there were quite a few customers in that day, and it was natural that Maleham wouldn’t want a fuss made publicly about a broken-down lift.
He opened his new library book—another of his favourite Inspector Montalbano stories—and began to read.
• • •
“HOW CLEVER OF you to find me!” said Beryl. “Did you ask in the store?”
“Yes, we did. It was the day we got stuck in the lift. We’d gone hoping we might see you again, but you weren’t there that day. So we asked, and Mr. Maleham gave us your address. He said he thought you would be pleased to see us,” Roy added hopefully. He wasn’t happy. The house was untidy, and an unpleasant smell of stale frying oil wafted in from the kitchen.
“Oh yes, I am pleased. Can I make you a cuppa? Miss Beasley, isn’t it? And your name?”
“Goodman,” said Roy. “And yours is Beryl, Ivy tells me.”
“And are you friends? I am sure I remember Miss Beasley telling me she was going to be married soon. Asked me about earrings, didn’t you, dear?”
“That’s right,” replied Ivy. “Roy is my fiancé.” There was something not right here, she was thinking. She felt uneasy, and did not like being called “dear” by anybody but Roy. Perhaps they would exchange a few pleasantries and then leave. It was a good thing that Roy had asked Elvis to wait. “How is your husband, Mrs. Maleham?” she said.
“My husband? Oh yeah, same as usual! He’s upstairs, bedbound, as they say.”
“A nice little house you have here,” lied Roy. “Have you lived here long? And do you have good neighbours to help with your husband? These streets of old houses benefit from close proximity to next-door friends, I believe.”
What the hell is he talking about? Frank, lurking upstairs, wished they could get on to the subject of marriage and calling the banns. He was under instructions to make sure they were postponed indefinitely, and more urgently, he needed to make sure of next Sunday, at least. But it wouldn’t do to let them see him. They’d have a pretty accurate idea of what he looked like by now.
“My son lives with me,” said Beryl. “I told Ivy about him. He’s good with his dad.”
“He’s at work, I suppose?” Ivy asked. “Maybe we can meet him someday. Always useful to know of a good, strong young man to help you in times of trouble. We’ve got our Elvis—drives that taxi out there. Not that he’s much use with our present problem.”
“What’s that, dear? Perhaps I can help?” said Mrs. Maleham eagerly.
Roy tried hard to signal to Ivy not to mention banns, but too late.
“I told you we are getting married, but we’re held up in calling the banns,” she continued. “You know that bit where they say if anyone who knows just cause or impediment etcetera, etcetera? Well, this man jumped up and said he knew a reason why we shouldn’t be wed. Never been known to happen within living memory in our church.”
“Oh my gawd,” said Beryl. “What a turnup! You must’ve been devastated.”
“Yes,” said Roy, “we were. But it’s all sorted out now. We really must be going, Ivy. Look, there’s Elvis getting out of his cab. Nice to have met you, Beryl. Perhaps we might meet again. Ivy was hoping you’d be able to come over for tea at Springfields.”
He gave Ivy a small push towards the door, and they left, promising to keep in touch.
Elvis got them safely back into the taxi, and they started off on the return journey. “Anywhere else you want to go? Was that Maleham woman pleased to see you?”
“Yes,” said Ivy, “but—”
“No, that’ll be enough for one morning,” Roy interrupted. “Back to Springfields, please. Mrs. Maleham’s house was not a nice place. We shan’t be asking you to take us there again, shall we, Ivy?”
Ivy made no reply.
Thirty-nine
ROY AND IVY arrived back at Springfields with long faces. “Ah, there you are,” said Mrs. Spurling. “Not a morning to be out and about. Wet feet and wet heads, I expect. Perhaps you’d like to go to your rooms before lunch and dry out?”
“I am perfectly dry, thank you,” said Ivy. “Roy must answer for himself.”
Oh dear, thought Mrs. Spurling. The course of true love not running smooth this morning? “The forecast is good,” she said, “so perhaps the sun will tempt you out tomorrow, when an outing will be more favourable.”
“Perhaps,” said Ivy, and walked straight up the stairs to her room. She spent five minutes changing her stockings, which were in fact soaked, and then heard a small, tentative tap on her door.
“Come in, Roy,” she said.
He opened the door and hovered insecurely. “May I have a little talk with you, Ivy dear?” he said.
“Of course. Come in properly and shut the door behind you. You never know when Big Ears is about.”
He came in and sat on the edge of a chair. “I know you’re cross with me, Ivy,” he said, “but I had a very strong feeling in that house that something was really wrong. Perhaps dangerously wrong. I can’t ex
plain it, but that’s why I insisted on us leaving straight away.”
“You were right,” said Ivy placidly. “There was something wrong, though whether dangerously so, I’m not sure.”
“Ivy! What did you see?”
“It was more what I heard,” she said. “There was somebody at the top of Mrs. Maleham’s stairs, fidgeting and breathing heavily. In other words, there was an eavesdropper, and I think I know who it was.”
“Well, so do I, I think. Her husband? The bedbound one? I don’t see that he could do us much harm? But did we do the right thing to get out of there as soon as possible?”
“Probably,” said Ivy. “If Beryl’s husband was bedbound, he wouldn’t be sitting at the top of the stairs, would he? But for now, why don’t we go down to lunch, and I’ll tell you who I reckon was the eavesdropper. Can’t be sure, of course, but we’ll see.”
• • •
THE CONTINUING THAW had frustrated Deirdre, who had spent the morning checking for burst pipes and leaks all over the house. Then, when she went to get her car, it would not start. Too damp! She was due to be at her hairdresser’s at four, and had planned to call once more at the young Josslands’ on the way. She meant to follow up Ethel Goodman’s outburst with another visit, and wished to clear it first with the young ones. She knew she would probably need their permission or approval, in order to get past the nursing home’s visiting rules.
She had called the service department of her motor business in town, and they had said they would be out immediately. “It’s probably the plugs,” she had said, and they had answered respectfully that they would soon have her on the road.
Now they had been and gone, and the engine was purring along once more. She took the road to Settlefield, and soon approached the farm. William was crossing the yard carrying a couple of buckets, and stopped to meet her with a smile. “I’m afraid Bella and Faith are out,” he said. “Mums and Babies Club in the village hall. Can I help?”
Deirdre explained that she would really like to visit Aunt Ethel Goodman again, to see whether she could stimulate her with some local talk. But she would not do so, of course, without their permission.
“You could certainly have had that,” said William. “But I’m afraid the old girl finally pegged out last night. They phoned us this morning. She was eighty-something, you know, so she’d had a good innings! Mind you, they said it was a bit of a surprise, as she really had nothing physically wrong with her. I’ll tell Bella you called. Come back when you like. Always welcome!” He set off again with his buckets, and there was not much Deirdre could do except turn the car around and head for the hairdresser’s.
“Not your usual cheery self, Mrs. Bloxham?” said her stylist. “Nothing seriously wrong, I hope?”
“No, not really. Just something very annoying, but I’ll get over it. And don’t cut me too short. Doesn’t suit me.”
“My, my, we are in a bad mood! How about a nice cup of coffee?”
“Oh, go to hell,” said Deirdre, and subsided behind the pages of a fashion magazine.
• • •
THE AFTERNOON SUN hastened the thaw, and by the time Ivy and Roy had rested after lunch, most of the snow had gone, and the roads and pavements were quite clear. “Shall we take a stroll up to Tawny Wings and call on Deirdre?” Roy suggested. “If she’s not in, we can come straight back. We can tell her about our visit to Mrs. Maleham, and your suspicions about the man lurking at the top of her stairs.”
“We could do,” said Ivy. “But perhaps a walk up to the cemetery would be better. It’s not so far, for one thing, and it gets dark so early.”
“The cemetery?” said Roy. “Why there? It’s a gloomy old place. Do you have an ulterior motive, beloved?”
Ivy shook her head. “Not really. Just thought it would be interesting to look at a few graves. Maybe some of your forebears?”
“And maybe encounter Alf Lowe at the door of his cottage?”
“Ah. Well, maybe that, too. But perhaps we should wait until tomorrow and set off earlier?”
They were no sooner settled in the lounge with a whist foursome than Deirdre arrived, looking immaculate but very cross.
“Sit down, gel,” said Ivy. “You look as if bears had eaten your porridge. We’ll finish this hand, and then somebody else can take our place.” Ivy scooped up her winnings, and they moved to a quieter corner of the lounge.
“Now, then, what’s happened to put you out of sorts?”
“It’s Ethel Goodman. She’s gone and snuffed it! Just when I was sure I would get more useful information out of her. I called at the farm, just to get the okay from them, and William Jossland told me. It was unexpected, apparently. Nothing wrong with her, except old age and senility.”
“Then her death could not have been all that surprising?” said Roy. “None of us can last forever.”
“Oh, cheer up, do!” said Ivy. “If that old girl hadn’t retired to her bed and made no effort whatsoever, she’d probably be still alive and doing a bit of baby-sitting. No, Deirdre, it’s no use getting upset. Just listen to what happened to us.”
Ivy recounted the visit to Mrs. Maleham, and said that she and Roy had come to an important conclusion.
“Which is?” said Deirdre, surreptitiously taking a biscuit off a passing tea plate.
“The eavesdropper upstairs was probably her son, Frank. He keeps turning up like a bad penny, and although we didn’t see him, we reckon he’s our bovver-boy with the earring. The same one who delivered Ivy’s first threatening message, and the same one who Elvis saw coming out of the back of Maleham’s store on the day we were shut in the lift.”
“And the same one who called on Gus while he was out, and . . . ?” said Deirdre, becoming animated and much more cheerful.
“And who stood up and challenged our banns,” said Ivy. “And who left in the church a handkerchief with an ‘F’ embroidered in the corner. Beryl told me herself that time in the store, when I first met her, that her son was big and ugly. Frankenstein, she said. Don’t you remember, Roy?”
“Of course,” he replied. “And I think you may be right, though we do need more proof before passing all this on to Inspector Frobisher.”
“I agree with you, Ivy; it looks very suspicious,” said Deirdre. “And if it is her son, Frank, do we think he’s acting on his own, or being hired by somebody to prevent you marrying Roy? And I hate to bring it up again, but do you think there’s any possibility that Ethel Goodman was hastened on her way by person or persons unknown, to stop her coming out with anything too revealing?”
“Such as what?” said Ivy.
“Such as why someone is so anxious to stop you marrying Roy, of course!”
“I think we know why, Deirdre,” said Roy, with a sigh. “It is to prevent Ivy from inheriting my estate.”
“Yes, but put yourself in the mysterious stranger’s shoes. If you were a stranger trying to stop Ivy inheriting, wouldn’t the simplest way be to make sure that Ivy was out of the way? And then you, Roy, would be next on the hit list, so that a person so far unknown would be next in line to inherit.”
“I cannot bear to think of my Ivy being in danger,” he said, once more avoiding the need to reveal exactly what he had done in his last will and testament.
“Then why don’t you change your will right now?” said Deirdre baldly. “And let it be known that you’ve done so. I’m sorry, Roy, but I can’t see the need for all this pussy-footing around.”
“And I can’t see why you can’t mind your own business, Deirdre Bloxham!” said Ivy fiercely. “Roy’s private financial situation is his own affair, and I for one am quite happy that it shall remain so. Now please change the subject.”
“Don’t be cross, dearest,” Roy said. “I quite understand Deirdre’s point of view, but things are more complicated than that. I assure you that when you are my wife, Ivy, you will want for nothing. More than that I cannot say, just at the moment.”
“Right. Change of subject,” said
Deirdre. “Find out if Gus has been to see Alf Lowe, and, if so, whether he has gleaned anything useful from him. I’ve a good mind to call on him myself, and break the news about Ethel Goodman’s demise. His reaction might be worth watching.”
“Well, I think perhaps we should leave that to Gus,” said Roy tactfully. “I do understand you are feeling frustrated on all sides, Deirdre love. But let’s leave Alf to Gus, and then maybe on Thursday at our meeting he will have something to tell us.”
Forty
THE CURTAINS IN Alf Lowe’s small bedroom were heavily lined and when he drew them tightly across the window, he sometimes slept on in total darkness until midmorning. Today he had stayed in bed all day, falling in and out of sleep. This evening, however, he had been woken by loud knocking on his door. It had turned out to be a man wishing to read the electric meter. “Don’t think I’m letting you in at this time of night!” he had said finally, and shut the door in the man’s face.
He had returned to his bed, thinking he might as well wait until tomorrow to get going again. Last night had been disastrous. Everything had gone to plan at first. Then the sight of the onetime love of his life, now a shrivelled, balding old woman in a narrow bed, with her mouth open and snoring, had unsettled him much more than he had expected.
He had set off for Settlefield in his battered old Ford, giving himself plenty of time to go slowly in the dark. Then, safely arrived, getting into the nursing home had been easy. He had managed to dodge the security light, find his way in by a garden door, and then luck had been on his side. The first room he had tried was Ethel’s, and there seemed to be no staff in sight. He had crept up to her bed and whispered loudly in her ear, “Eth! Wake up! It’s your Alf!”
Her reaction had been immediate. Her eyes had opened and she sat up in bed and almost strangled him with her arms around his neck. “You’ve come, you old sod!” she had said in a strong voice, and a vivid memory assailed him, of himself as a young man, climbing into Ethel’s window on the farm, and the warm welcome he had received. My God, she had been hot stuff! And so she had remembered him. He knew it was now or never. She was clearly quite capable of telling all about her adopted baby.
