The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery) (6 page)

GUS HAD TURNED
up at Springfields, and by the time Ivy and Roy had given a detailed account of their visit to the Manor House College, it was time for Deirdre to return home and get changed for Theo’s party. Once back at Tawny Wings and under a wonderfully hot shower, she thought about what had been said. Ivy was obviously full of enthusiasm, but not without her usual dose of common sense, and Roy had been quiet and very far from enthusiastic.

She slipped into the little black dress, shook her apricot-coloured curls into a pleasant disorder and took a look at herself in the long mirror. Not bad, she thought, and twirled about on her high heels. I shall give those worthy old tabs with their henpecked husbands something to worry about.

When she arrived at the Hall, she realised they had been busy gossiping already. The wives were grudging in their praise of her timely rescue of Mrs. Blatch, and their husbands gathered round her, paying her compliments and anxious to hear more about the accident.

Inspector Frobisher hung back as they all downed their champagne cocktails, but Deirdre was delighted to see that Theo had placed her next to the law.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bloxham,” he said, as they sat down. And then in an undertone he said, “I trust you can be discreet.” It was years since she and the inspector had had at the most half a dozen pleasant afternoons. She could hardly remember how it had all happened, and now smiled widely at him and said how nice to see old friends gathered together, and would he like his glass refreshed?

Deirdre had told Theo that she was certainly not going to cook and serve, and had immediately found a suitable catering company who took care of the whole thing. She was there, she had told him, to shine amongst the dull guests and brighten their evening.

Having seen everyone happily served, Deirdre turned to the inspector and said, “Any new info on the Blatch accident? My guess, as you know, was that it was an accident.”

Frobisher put down his knife and fork and turned to face her. “Off duty, I’m afraid, Deirdre. I never mix business with pleasure.”

Undaunted, Deirdre said she agreed, and added that it would give her great pleasure to know if any further information had come up to substantiate rumours that someone had struck Eleanor Blatch a whopper with a hammer.

The inspector lowered his voice. “Your first guess, that it was an accident, was undoubtedly correct. But if someone had wielded a weapon, he is as yet unknown to us. We are following several lines of enquiry.”

“Such as a burglar disturbed, or even a revenge killing attempt for some imagined insult in the past?”

“Deirdre, my dear!” shouted Theo from the other end of the table. “Do I hear you talking shop with my friend Frobisher? Talk to him about golf instead. Much more entertaining.”

The inspector grinned, and immediately began an account of his last eighteen holes, played the previous afternoon.

As they got up to go to the drawing room for coffee, he held Deirdre lightly by the arm, and said quietly in her ear that she should ring him tomorrow, as he had a small puzzle to solve regarding Eleanor Blatch, and a meeting would possibly help him to solve it.

Alcohol and good food had warmed up the guests, and there were no embarrassing silences for the rest of the evening. Golf, investments, local politics, all were thoroughly chewed over, and finally, as they left with genuine thanks for a lovely evening, Deirdre kicked off her shoes and collapsed in an armchair by the log fire.

“You were marvellous, Deirdre, my darling,” said Theo. “Quite the celebrity!”

“Mm, well, thanks for putting me next to the inspector. But he was like an oyster, clammed up for the evening. Still, he suggested a meeting with Enquire Within, so we may get further tomorrow.”

“The caterers have gone,” Theo said hopefully. “A little nightcap before bedtime, my sweet?”

“A hot water bottle would be more to my taste,” she said, her eyes heavy with tiredness.

“No need for that, Mrs. B,” he said. “I put on the electric blanket earlier, so up we go. Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire!”

• • •

GUS, MEANWHILE, HAD
heard about the dinner party, and wondered how Deirdre was getting on. He ate a solitary fish cake, drank a beer and turned on the television to watch a film about love on a motorbike. But he couldn’t concentrate, and since he had no grounds for being jealous of the squire, he forced his thoughts into a more useful channel.

Mrs. Eleanor Winchen Blatch. Age? About fifty-five to sixty, he guessed. Living alone, but not always alone, according to Deirdre. There had been a man on the scene for a while, a younger man named Sturridge who had left carrying loot, and was never seen again. Miss Blatch had been in despair, and relapsed into a sad, reclusive existence, getting by on a meagre private pension. There were no real clues as to the background of the young man. There might be more information from Deirdre’s friend in town, but other than that, it was difficult to know where to start. But if, as seemed possible, he had returned for more goodies and had been given the boot by Eleanor, he might have been the one with the weapon.

Unlikely as it seemed, searching for evidence of the vanished lodger was the first and most important step to take. He had felt that Ivy’s heart was not really in this investigation, and perhaps she was rather taken up with her new interest. Couldn’t blame the old thing, really. She certainly had all her marbles, and, as she said, she would have plenty to write about. He wished her luck, but at the same time, felt that Enquire Within needed Ivy at the helm.

He switched off the television, and considered an early night. There was a light tap at his back door and he groaned. Miriam, with a friendly suggestion of a last glass of wine.

“I felt you were a bit down when I saw you coming home,” she said. “Nothing like a glass of my old mother’s primrose wine to cheer you up. Shall I bring it round, or will you come to me?”

Gus sighed. Given a real choice, he would have shut the door on her and told her to go to hell. But that wouldn’t do. He forced himself to be neighbourly, and invited her in. He already had primrose wine left from the last bottle, and said they could share that. If he had had the courage, he would have poured it down the sink, since it was always followed by a dull headache, but he duly administered the poison and sat her down by the fire.

“So what’s new in the village?” he asked.

“Nothing much,” she replied. “Except they’re still talking about Mrs. Bloxham’s good deed. I must say I would not have liked to be in her place. That Blatch woman can be very unpleasant. I know everyone’s feeling sorry for her, being hurt an’ that, but I haven’t forgotten how nasty she was when I took her a bottle of this wine last Christmas. I thought she would need cheering up, but she told me to get lost. Didn’t want any charity, she said. So that was the last time I try to be nice to Mrs. Blatch!”

“What about that bloke, Miriam? The one who lived with her for a while. Nobody seems to know where he came from, or went back to.”

“Well,” she said, taking a good swig, “I remember hearing him talking to James in the post office one day, and I reckon he had no particular accent. I’m pretty good on accents, and he sounded slightly posh to me.”

“That narrows it down a bit,” said Gus with a smile. “No idea what part of the country?”

Miriam laughed, a throaty, primrose wine laugh, and said it certainly wasn’t Edinburgh, because she had had a friend at school who had come from Morningside, and that was an accent you couldn’t forget. Scottish posh, and he wasn’t that!

“Can we change the subject now, Gus?” she added. “I’m feeling quite sleepy. How about you?”

Gus shook his head. “Watch the news, then work to do before bedtime,” he said, but they had no sooner settled down to watch the television news than his head drooped and he was fast asleep. Miriam fetched a soft rug from the window seat, curled up beside him on the sofa, and closed her eyes.

NEXT MORNING, AFTER
breakfast, Roy received a message from Mrs. Spurling via Katya that Thornwell library had telephoned to say they had information on another mention of the strong young man living in Barrington, with the same description as the one previously found. The name was definitely Green. Would Mr. Goodman and Miss Beasley like to call in and go through some papers with the librarian?

“How very kind of her,” said Roy. “Really kind to take so much trouble for a couple of oldies, don’t you think, Ivy dear?”

“Just doing her job, I would say.” Ivy pursed her lips and continued with instructions for Elvis to take them into Thornwell more or less straightaway. “But we are not really interested in Greens, are we? Still, I suppose it might lead us somewhere,” she said, looking prim.

“Good idea,” said Roy. “And then I’ll give the librarian a ring to say we’re coming in. Such a nice woman!”

• • •

WHEN THEY ARRIVED
outside the library, a member of staff was waiting for them. “Nice to see you two again,” she said. “Our chief was really struck with how keen you were to use our facilities! She’s been glued to her computer ever since. Jacqueline, her name is. Come along now. I think there will be a cup of coffee waiting for you.”

“Tea,” said Ivy. “And thank you, that will be most acceptable.”

Her voice was about as warm as a tinkling icicle, and she was silent from then on until they had reached the reference department and found the chief librarian waiting for them.

“How very kind of you, my dear,” said Roy, at his most charming. The librarian, a pleasant-looking woman in her thirties, smiled warmly at him.

“Now, come along here and see what I’ve found,” she said.

“Before we start,” said Ivy, “could you tell me where the toilet is. One of the little trials of old age, I’m afraid. I expect you’d like to go, too, Roy,” she added, well aware that old age was not what he wanted to talk about at this moment.

When they were finally ready to start work with the smiling librarian, Ivy touched Roy’s arm. “Got your glasses, dear?” she said, with the sweetness of a stick of rhubarb. “Forgotten them again? Never mind, borrow my spare pair. Now, shall we begin?”

“Here we are, one Colin Green,” the librarian said. “I remembered you saying there might be a sporting connection, and I found this in Sleaford football club records. But I am afraid there are dozens of Greens. I have listed them all, and printed them out for you.”

“That is so kind of you,” said Roy. “I know we have to pay a small charge, but we do appreciate all the trouble you have taken.”

His mobile began to ring, and he excused himself off to the other side of the room to answer it. Meanwhile, Ivy took charge of a sheaf of papers, all of which contained particulars of sporting Green families who might have visited Barrington.

When Roy returned, saying he had spoken to Gus, who had had a question or two, Ivy asked what had they had been about. “And didn’t he ask for me?” she said.

Ivy was frowning, but Roy proceeded gently. “Afraid not, beloved. I think you have been rather taken up with planning your writing course lately, and Gus and Deirdre don’t like to spoil your new enthusiasm.”

“Rubbish! I am as concerned with Enquire Within as ever I was!”

Ivy’s face was red with chagrin and annoyance mostly with herself. What Roy had said was true, and she was determined to put the writing course firmly in its place as a secondary interest.

As they drove home with Elvis at the wheel, he asked if their visit had been productive.

“Very,” said Ivy. “We learned a great deal about dozens of men called Green, any of whom might be the one called Sturridge that we are trying to trace, and I learned a lesson on the way.” She did not elaborate, but Roy took her hand and planted on it one of his gentlemanly kisses.

“Well done, my love,” he said. “And here we are, back in time for lunch.”

• • •

AFTER A VERY
satisfactory meal, the two retired to Ivy’s room for a short nap. This had become a comfortable habit for them, with Ivy stretched out on her bed, and Roy in a chair with a cushion behind his head.

Today, however, neither felt sleepy. The morning in the library had produced not much more than a large chunk of paper for them to go through, and Ivy sat on the edge of her bed with a pen and writing pad, making notes for Monday morning’s meeting of Enquire Within.

“So, all we know is that out of this list of Greens, there might be one who visited Mrs. Blatch and stayed on for quite a time. Do you think this might be a waste of time, dear?”

Roy nodded. “I suppose it might be useful to look for local addresses,” he said. “We might as well, since that nice librarian went to so much trouble. If we do find one, we can investigate and see if he ever appeared in Barrington, sweetening up lonely women, and then disappearing with their life savings.”

“And clever with it! I think the others will agree that we need to find our particular Sturridge as soon as possible. He left Miss Blatch long ago, but there’s a possibility he may have returned, especially if he had fallen once more on hard times.”

Ivy closed her notepad and with difficulty wriggled round and lay down on her bed.

“And last but not least,” she added, “was he ever wanted by the police? There is no record of him being violent. One for Deirdre to find out from her friend Frobisher. Now for a bit of shut-eye, and you, too, Roy dear, then we shall be fresh for our tea.”