The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery) (16 page)

AT BREAKFAST NEXT
day, Ivy was pleased to see that Roy was none the worse for yesterday’s adventure. She was relieved that he had resisted the temptation to scale a wobbly wooden ladder up to the skylight, and believed him when he said he had spent most of the time pretending to drive the Ferguson tractor.

“So what next?” she said, helping herself to another piece of toast. “We’re expecting Deirdre and Gus to come after tea to pool ideas?”

“Good idea, beloved,” said Roy. “You go now and confirm with them and I will meet you in the lounge to plan.”

Deirdre had been looking forward to a quiet cup of tea and her favourite soap on the telly. She agreed reluctantly, said good-bye to Ivy, and dialled Gus. Engaged. He was probably receiving the same reminder. She put on the kettle for a quick cup of tea, and began to look at the newspaper, delivered ten minutes earlier by a straw-haired youth with the most engaging grin. George, it was, from an old village family, the Robsons. The father had a small business fixing the multitude of small failures in the inhabitants’ daily lives. Nothing too small, was his motto, and he had been in and out of most houses, changing fuses, mending leaks, painting and decorating for years.

She looked out of the window at a blackbird consuming a worm on the lawn. Robsons, she thought. In and out of people’s houses. The old grandmother would remember the Blatches when they were still farming, surely. Perhaps she would call and talk to her. The charity collection box stood on the kitchen table, and Deirdre saw an excuse to visit. She had yet to go up Robsons’ lane. It would be something to ask the others about, anyway.

She was the first to arrive at Springfields, and Ivy said that Gus would be coming as soon as Whippy had had her walk. Meanwhile, the small conference room had been warmed up, and Katya was preparing a tray of tea and buns. It was Mrs. Spurling’s day off, and Miss Pinkney had taken a scarlet potted poinsettia and placed it on the conference table.

Gus arrived, puffing from having jogged all the way from Hangman’s Row to Springfields. “I shall have either sharpened my brain or exhausted my body. Or both. In any case, Roy, sir, what is it that gets us here this afternoon?” Roy gestured towards Ivy. “Ask the boss,” he said.

Ivy then described what had happened to Roy in the old barn yesterday, and at the mention of the Ferguson tractor, Gus came to life.

“Wonderful!” he said. “Do you think we can buy it and get it going again?”

“Please concentrate, Gus!” said Ivy. “In spite of all our excitements, it has occurred to me that we are no nearer finding out exactly what happened to cause Eleanor to tumble to her death, or whether it was accident or murder. I am sorry to be so blunt, but these are the facts.”

Gus reflected that he had never known Ivy to be anything less than blunt, but she was quite right. He postponed all further thoughts of the Ferguson tractor, and said that they had moved a little way forward, in discovering Mary Winchen. Eleanor, a woman with a sister and nephew, however much estranged, was a very different cup of tea from a sole widow with no apparent relations or friends. Or, he added, potential enemies.

“On another tack,” Roy said. “I have been thinking about Rickwood Smith. He was on foot, without a car, when he found me. And as I turned to wave him good-bye, he was heading for the gate into the field. I do hope he didn’t get too wet and muddy.”

Ivy said she knew where he was going. Samantha had discovered a footpath from Spinney Close, across the field and out through Blackwoods farmyard, and then directly to the college. “Anyway, dearest, I shouldn’t worry about him. He seems well able to take care of himself.”

Then it was Deirdre’s turn to make a proposal, and she told them about the Robson grandmother and what she might remember of the Blatches at Blackwoods Farm.

“Excellent idea,” said Roy. “She worked in the farmhouse at one time as a kind of dogsbody, doing anything and everything. She could well have heard or seen something of the Winchen family, who must have visited once or twice, surely.”

“As for me,” said Gus, “I think I feel a trip coming on. A couple of days on the Lincolnshire coast, Deirdre? Do you fancy it? And some investigating into the pork butchers in town?”

“Be serious, please, Augustus,” said Ivy. “You may be needed here in Barrington.”

“Wait a minute, Ivy,” said Deirdre. “I think Gus is being serious, even if he doesn’t sound it, especially since we know about the existence of a sister. It’s a really good idea, and we may find out much more about Eleanor’s background. I don’t think all the conversations in the world with Mrs. Winchen can guarantee giving us a clue to the reason for the feud. And that, after all, is what most concerns us at the moment.”

Ivy was taken with Deirdre’s mention of the Robsons. “Would it be a good idea if
I
called on Grandma Robson, and see what she remembers?” she said. “She and I must fall into the same age group, just about. I’ll go later on.” Ivy was smiling at Roy, who duly said Ivy must be years younger, if looks had anything to do with it.

“And then,” continued Ivy, “I shall see Rickwood Smith tomorrow, and I can check that he is none the wiser for rescuing my fiancé!”

Gus and Deirdre then went into a huddle to decide on travel plans, and Roy left the room to, as he said, point Percy at the pavement.

• • •

AFTER THEY HAD
disbanded, agreeing that useful things had been decided and nothing more needed to be discussed, Ivy said that as she would be going out later she would now sit comfortably for the rest of the afternoon with Roy and finish the rib in her knitting. “If you persist in getting shut in cold barns for any length of time,” she said, “I must finish this warm jumper for you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, dear,” said Roy. “You know, thinking about this day’s work with the four of us, I realise that I have nothing in particular to do enquiry-wise. Gus and Deirdre are off to Boston, Lincolnshire, and you are bearding Grandma Robson in her den.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Ivy said. “Your old-fashioned gentlemanly charm might work wonders.”

AGREEING THAT THERE
was no time like the present, Ivy and Roy set off in the bright sunlight of a late-summer evening. Ivy knew where the Robsons lived, and as she stood waiting for the bell to be answered, she wondered how it had accommodated three generations of one family. She had got as far as mentally arranging for Grandma to sleep in the box room, mother and father in the best double bed, and George and his smaller brother in what used to be called the guest room, when the door opened. Ivy quickly said she had a message for Grandma, if she could have a word?

“Who are you, then?” said granddaughter Daisy suspiciously. “Aren’t you one of them from up Springfields?”

Ivy announced herself, and said she would not be very long. She introduced Roy, and said Mrs. Robson would remember him, as he had farmed in the county for years. A few minutes would do.

“Who is it, Daisy?” came a voice from inside the house.

“A Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman from up Springfields wants a word with you. Says she’s got a message.”

“Tell her to give it to you. I’m sitting by the fire!”

“You’d better come in, dear,” said Daisy, obviously having decided Miss Beasley was not a burglar or selling anything, and she recognised Roy as a very respectable retired farmer.

“What’s this message, then,” the old lady said. “They’re not thinking of putting me in Springfields, are they? She darted a look at her granddaughter hovering in the doorway. “Go on then, Miss Beasley,” she added. “Get on with it.”

“Well, first of all, my message was to tell you that we represent an enquiry agency, Enquire Within, and if you need our help—no matter what—we’d be pleased to oblige. And then, in connection with one of our present cases, to see if you remember any mention of the Winchens when you were working for the Blatches at Blackwoods Farm.”

Mrs. Robson senior stared at Ivy with a frown, and said she couldn’t remember what happened yesterday, so there wasn’t much chance of her remembering the Winchens.

“But you did perhaps see one or two of them when Eleanor Blatch was young and just married to Ted?” said Roy. “She had been a Winchen, and some of the family might have visited the farm at that time?”

“Wait a minute, now,” said Mrs. Robson. “Oh lor, Miss Beasley, I ain’t going to be much use to you!”

“But there must have been Winchens of some kind visiting the farm? After all, Eleanor was a girl Winchen before she met Ted. Do you remember if there was one called Mary among them?”

Mrs. Robson senior frowned. “Mary . . . Mary . . . Now that rings a bell. Yes, I’m sure one of them was called Mary! But no, it was Margaret. Or was it Marion? Oh, I don’t know, dear. It might have been the Wrights next door. I’m a poor old thing, as you see.”

“I think you’d better rest now,” said Daisy. “I’ll show you out, Miss Beasley, Mr. Goodman.”

“Come again, dear,” shouted the old lady, when Ivy had reached the door. “We can talk about old times.”

Ivy nodded her thanks to Daisy, and she and Roy returned slowly to Springfields. The old lady had been unreliable, certainly, and she seemed sure of Mary at first. But that was about all! A wasted journey.

Miss Pinkney was waiting for them. “Here you are then, fresh as a daisy from your walk. Come and have supper, my dears.”

• • •

GUS AND DEIRDRE,
still trawling through railway timetables and possible routes from Tawny Wings to Boston, Lincs, finally decided that the train connection was not good, and it was not that far away, so they’d go by car.

“We’ll take the Bentley,” Deirdre said. “You can drive, and I’ll argue with the satnav. She’s called Prudence, by the way, and is reasonably reliable.”

Deirdre booked them in for a couple of nights into the Peacock and Royal Hotel in the main marketplace. “It looks a nice old place,” she said. “And that amazing church called the Stump is just a few yards away.”

“I hope the church clock doesn’t chime all night, then,” said Gus. “Could disturb our beauty sleep.”

“No comment,” said Deirdre. “Let’s pack a few things, and I’ll pick you up first thing tomorrow. We’d better tell Ivy and Roy, and also see if she had any luck with old Mrs. Robson. I’ll give her a ring.”

• • •

“SO YOU TWO
are off on a jolly,” Ivy said. “Well, try not to forget what you are there for. Pork butchers named Winchen, especially. And with an emphasis on the mystery of Eleanor Winchen Blatch’s sisterly feud. If we can establish a reason for such a serious, almost lifetime estrangement, we might establish some answers.”

NEXT MORNING DAWNED
with clear blue skies and puffy white clouds speeded along by a brisk wind.

“Wrap up warm, Miss Beasley, if you’re insisting on going up to the college,” said Mrs. Spurling. “There’s a definite change in the weather. For the life of me I can’t see why you cannot be content to stay in the warm with my other residents.”

“I have explained many times,” said Ivy, “and I don’t propose to explain again. I know you are responsible for us, and if we go down with pneumonia it will be you who gets the blame, et cetera, et cetera. If it will help, I will sign a piece of paper saying I take full responsibility for myself in walking two hundred yards up the road to the Manor House College, and back again. Will that do? Oh, and no, I shall not be requiring lunch today. Thank you.”

Mrs. Spurling could think of nothing polite to say, and so turned away and slammed herself into her office.

Ivy grinned, and went to find Roy in the lounge. “I am off to college, dear,” she said. “And there is absolutely no need for you come with me today. I know all the ropes now, and shall be back here, considerably wiser, around a quarter to four.”

Roy, who respected Ivy’s independent nature, agreed, saying that if she felt like having a companion on her way home, she was to ring him at once.

Once more, Ivy walked along Manor Road and stopped at Blackwoods Farm. It looked even sadder with the windows boarded up and weeds taking over the front garden.

Was it too soon for a will to be read and ownership safely established? After all, Eleanor, as far as they knew, had had no children and refused to acknowledge her sister, Mary, and nephew, Rickwood. There was the elusive lodger, of course, but he had vanished years ago, and they had turned up nothing to connect him with her demise. She thought hard, and as she walked into the front entrance to the college, decided to ask Roy if he thought Rickwood could have inherited so soon.

• • •

SAMANTHA ARRIVED IN
the class ten minutes late, and was full of apologies. “Sorry!” she said, as she sat down next to Ivy. “Plumbing problems! You’d think it would be impossible in a new house, but no, this morning we had no water in the bathroom!”

Students had been asked to bring along the results of an assignment, and in particular, a short specimen chapter telling the story of an event in each’s past life. Instructions had been to avoid a standpoint of everything being better in the good old days, and not always putting oneself in a good light.

Discussing this with Roy, Ivy had said that if anyone asked her, she would say everything
was
better in the good old days. He had tried to help by taking as examples things like cooking, travel and the national health service, and each time Ivy had given him watertight reasons why these had been much better years ago.

When it was Ivy’s turn, the entire class waited in happy anticipation. Clearing her throat, Ivy began with a vivid description of Victoria Villa in Round Ringford, where she had been born and lived until coming to Springfields.

Far from giving the expected rose-tinted account, she described a battle-axe mother and browbeaten, henpecked father, and her own struggles to keep clear of both. And it was humorously written! By the time she related how her father had been scolded out of the house one night, and greeted the postman next morning from the garden shed in his pyjamas, Samantha and all the rest of the class were laughing aloud.

“So we couldn’t say you were an indulged child?” said Rickwood the tutor.

“Good heavens, no. Mind you, my mother’s favourite saying was ‘spare the rod and spoil the child.’ All the children in the village knew how to dodge, though. We knew right from wrong, and expected it.”

At coffee break time, Samantha brought a cup across to where Miss Beasley sat fiercely cleaning her spectacles.

“That was great, Miss Beasley,” she said. “Well done. I’m afraid my effort will sound a bit pallid.”

“If you can use words like ‘pallid,’” said Ivy, “and what’s more know what they mean, I should think you’re on the right lines, dear.”

At lunchtime, Ivy once more sat at a table surrounded by young people. One of them asked if she felt a bit out of it, being so much older than the rest. She did not bother to answer, pretending to be deaf, but asked Samantha if she would like a little walk around the garden before getting back to class.

“Of course. And I can help you find your way back inside, since you’re so old, Miss Beasley.”

Ivy smiled. She was, in fact, beginning to feel quite at home at Manor House College.

• • •

BACK INSIDE FOR
the afternoon, the question and answer session began enthusiastically. After a discussion about describing the weather and the landscape, and how boring this could become, Ivy asked how much other students had noticed about their surroundings, here in Barrington village.

“Good question,” said Rickwood. “Anyone?”

Several students offered answers, and then Ivy said she had noticed a footpath across the field to Spinney Close. Had others gone that way at all? Samantha said she used it every day, as it was a shortcut to college. The others shook their heads. Mostly, they said, they went down to the pub.

Then Alexander, the know-all student with a heart of gold, said that he had actually gone that way once or twice. A friend he’d met in the pub lived in the new houses. They’d gone that way for a walk, and he had noticed the disused farm buildings. The others teased him, asking if he had an ulterior motive. But Ivy brought them back to the footpath. What had they thought of the field, and had they noticed the lame sheep?

“I tell you one thing I noticed,” said Samantha. “There’s one of those old henhouses in the spinney. I can see it from my bedroom window. Somebody goes in there occasionally. I keep meaning to have a look inside. Yesterday, for instance, I could swear I saw you, Rickwood, leaving the henhouse and walking across the field?

“Well spotted,” said Rickwood. “I was collecting eggs. No, but seriously, I do escape there occasionally. It’s clean and tidy, and peaceful when I have work to do. My mother is a little deaf, and loves the telly turned up loud. Aunt Eleanor never came that far away from the farmhouse, so no risk of upsetting her.”

“Perhaps it would be a good idea, Rickwood,” Ivy said, seeing a good way of useful observation, “to get us to go for a field exercise on Monday afternoon to see how different our descriptions would be? Don’t forget the lame ewe. Somebody’s feeding it. Then when we get back to base, we can discuss how we handle what we’ve seen,” said Ivy.

Rickwood the tutor hesitated. He thought his students might think this too childish an exercise. On the other hand, it could produce results. Something to vary the monotony, he thought. He would not need to get permission, of course. If anyone questioned them being there, he could say his aunt had said he could go where he liked on the farm. There was nobody to contradict that now! He cheered up, thinking it could work. He would have to be careful and keep his eyes open.

One or two said they hadn’t suitable shoes, but most of them liked the idea, and it was agreed they would assemble on Monday afternoon and set off through the farmyard and into the field.

“Anyway, I’ll ring you, Ivy and Samantha, if it’s cancelled,” said Rickwood, “otherwise assume it’s all go!”

“No need for Samantha and myself to come in to college,” said Ivy. “We’ll wait for you others by the gate.”