The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery) (22 page)

ROY WAS STILL
asleep, but surfaced when he heard Ivy’s voice, in a stage whisper, outside his door.

“Roy! Are you awake? I’m coming in, dearest.”

Bolt upright now, Roy called to her to come in. He was more or less decent, he said.

The door opened quickly, and was equally quickly closed behind her, and she put her finger to her lips. “La Spurling is on duty today, so we have to be quiet, unless she goes to my room and finds me gone. I had to come along to talk about something urgently, before I forget it!”

Roy pulled the bedcovers back, and indicated for Ivy to sit in beside him. She hesitated.

“Come along, Ivy. I shan’t ravish you, and you’ll get cold in your nightie.”

“Oh, very well,” she said, blushing furiously. “As long as you promise not to compromise me.”

Ivy climbed in beside him, insisting on leaving a wide stretch of bed linen between them. “It’s that premature baby of Eleanor’s,” she said. “She might have been one of those women who don’t show for months. But when it was born, and either was born dead or soon after birth, where was it taken? I’m sure Eleanor would have wanted to mark its brief sojourn in this world.”

“Ivy! That’s a beautiful thought. You are quite right, and it’s more than likely there was a note in the church register.”

“Right! First thing after breakfast, we walk up to the church and have a good look around the churchyard and cemetery.”

Roy pricked up his ears. “Do you hear what I hear, beloved?” he said.

“La Spurling, calling my name,” said Ivy. “Move over, and sit on the edge of the bed! Quickly!”

Roy muttered that he had every right to have his fiancée in his bed if he so chose. But Ivy gave him a push, and then dived down under the bedclothes behind him. Then she flattened herself out under the covers and was still.

The expected knock on Roy’s door came within seconds, and Mrs. Spurling called that she was coming in. She stood at the entrance to his room, and said she was sorry to intrude, especially as he was about to get up, but had he seen Miss Beasley?”

“Good heavens, no, Mrs. Spurling. As you see, I am in a state of undress, and I would hate to frighten my beloved into ending our engagement! Have you thought of looking in her bathroom? Or perhaps she has gone downstairs to feed Tiddles. I know that is one of her first chores in the morning.”

Apologising again for bursting in on him, Mrs. Spurling left, and her footsteps were heard going down the stairs.

“Wow! That was close!” Ivy said, popping her head out from under the duvet. She began to move to her side of the bed, when Roy turned swiftly and put his arm around her shoulders. “Whoa!” he said. “Too good an opportunity to miss, Miss Beasley!” and he pulled her back into his arms . . .

• • •

MONDAY MORNING BREAKFAST
time was usually late, as new staff coming in and changing of rosters and diet sheets, et cetera, took time. Even so, Mrs. Cornwall, already on to her last cup of coffee, noticed that Ivy and Roy came downstairs hand in hand, and looked, she said to her neighbour, decidedly shifty.

“If I didn’t know Ivy Beasley better,” she said, “I should suspect hanky-panky!”

“I reckon she’s had her moments,” said her friend. “Dark horses are always the worst.”

“Or best, depending how you look at it,” said Mrs. Cornwall sadly. “It’s so long since I had the chance. Anyway, don’t stare. You know what she’s like. You’ll get the rough end of her tongue, else. Here, have another piece of toast and we can linger a bit longer.”

• • •

AS SOON AS
they had finished breakfast, Roy and Ivy set out up Cemetery Lane.

They were at the main gate now, and Roy began to dismount. “Nobody around,” he said. “We can take our time. Those shouts are coming from the sports pavilion. I can hear the dulcet tones of Miss Pinkney hitting an ace. Now then, Ivy dear,” he added, “shall we wander round and see what turns up?”

“The baby’s grave? Yes, well, in we go.”

They walked slowly round, reading the epitaphs and commenting on extraordinary ones. “Look here,” said Ivy. “Not what we were looking for, but interesting. It’s Ted’s grave.”

Roy stood looking at it without saying anything. Finally, he turned to Ivy, and said, “Poor old Ted. He had many good years in front of him when that tractor went in the ditch. He was quick-tempered, but always ready for a game of darts or shove ha’penny.”

“Was the tractor the same one that’s in the barn? The one you sat on and played at being a farmer again?”

“And the one Gus and I are going to restore to its former glory. I do remember that it was hardly damaged at all when it took Ted into the ditch. He died outright. Broken neck, so they said.”

“He’s got no flowers,” said Ivy. “Nobody to care, I suppose.” She walked across to a new grave, covered with wreaths and bunches of flowers. She picked up one with a mixture of yellow and white chrysanthemums, and returned to put it on Ted’s weedy patch. Then she cleared out dandelions and chickweed, and stood back to admire her handiwork.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now, let’s continue our search.”

They looked very carefully, and got excited when they saw a small mound with a stone angel on it, right next to Ted. “Can you see what it says?” said Ivy.

“It’s almost rubbed away,” Roy said. “But it looks like ‘Louise, gone to live with Jesus.’ That’s all. The rest is indecipherable.”

“What’s more, you can’t read it,” said Ivy, who couldn’t resist. “But is she right next to her father, maybe?”

“Could be, but we should perhaps look around more.”

“I think we’ve looked everywhere,” said Ivy, after twenty minutes or so. “Let’s go and see if we are allowed to look in the baptismal register. They’re sure to have recorded her.”

“Right. Come on then, then we’ll go back to Springfields for coffee. Enquire Within meeting later on, and it would be nice to have something to tell them. I feel really sad about baby Louise. I bet Eleanor would have loved a little girl.”

AFTER SECOND THOUGHTS,
Ivy had decided that she would not bother Mrs. Coleridge on a Monday afternoon. “It’ll be washday on the farm,” she said, and would not be persuaded by others that in the modern age of washing machines and dryers, any day could be a washday.

Roy smiled. “But we must keep up to date, Ivy,” he said. “Though I must say I used to love washday as a child. That smell of soapsuds and everything blowing in a lovely fresh wind.”

“Huh! You didn’t have to scrub dirty collars and cuffs, nor have wrinkly hands from being in water too long!” said Ivy. “Still, if you think it would be all right to approach Mrs. Coleridge again so soon, I’ll give her a ring. I’d decided not to go to college at all today, anyway.”

• • •

“I’VE INVITED HER
for tea,” she said, after lunch. “Do you have anything special you’d like to ask her? I’m sure she’ll be pleased to meet you.”

He shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “Most of the time I’ve been thinking about my early-morning visitor, and wondering how I could persuade her to repeat her visit.”

“Mm,” said Ivy. “Best forgotten. I was thinking about the little grave in the cemetery. Very close to Ted Blatch’s grave. I am certain it was the poor little soul who never made it to this old world.”

“Well, we’ll see what emerges from your tea party this afternoon. Might turn up something interesting.”

When Mrs. Coleridge arrived, walking briskly and smiling at residents that she knew from earlier days, Ivy and Roy welcomed her warmly and led her to a small alcove already allocated by Miss Pinkney for their guest.

“So nice to see you,” the assistant manager enthused. “We love to have visitors, and Mr. Goodman and Miss Beasley brighten our lives already with their adventures around the village.”

“Perhaps I’ll apply for a job with Enquire Within,” said Mrs. Coleridge, laughing at Ivy. “We are two of a kind, I suspect.”

They settled happily with tea and cake, and Roy, of course, having been part of a farming county community, had many reminiscences to share with their visitor. After a while, Ivy, who was feeling a little left out, said she had been so interested in what Mrs. Coleridge had had to say about the Blatch family, and now she had a new question or two for her, if she didn’t mind.

“Good gracious me, no,” she said. “Ask me anything you like! Fire away, Ivy. I may call you Ivy, yes?”

“Of course,” said Ivy, “and he’s Roy, as you know.”

Roy shut his eyes and held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me. I’ve nearly got it. Pamela! Pamela Coleridge. Am I right?”

Seeing that this might send them off into yet more memories of their youth, Ivy said firmly that since they were so good at remembering, did Pamela remember anything more about Ted Blatch before he became involved with the Winchen family?

“Well, not much. As I think I said to Ivy, they were an odd family, and didn’t always join in with the rest of us in the village. Ted was very good-looking, you know, and clever. I think part of the time he knew he’d failed at farming and wanted to go on to higher education.”

“I expect you fancied him when you were young,” said Roy with a smile. “I seem to remember you were a pretty young thing.”

Ivy groaned inwardly. “Why do you think he looked outside the village for a wife? I know farming families often intermarry,” she asked Pamela, offering her another piece of coffee cake, and taking one herself. “I wonder how he met the Winchens?”

“Ah, now let me think,” Pamela said, wiping coffee cream from the corners of her lips. “It was a Young Farmers public speaking competition. Goodness knows why they thought young farmers need to know how to get up and make a speech. But there it was. A party of us went in a bus to Lowestoft, and Ted, being clever, was somehow persuaded to make the speech. I had to second the vote of thanks, and I remember how I dried up completely, and let them all down.” She stopped speaking, lost in the memory of humiliation.

“After the competition,” she continued, “we had refreshments, and we mingled with other club members. I was really soft on Ted at the time, and tried to get him to talk to me. But there was this stunning girl from a Lincolnshire branch, and guess who she was?”

“Eleanor Blatch?”

Pamela shook her head. “No. It was Mary Winchen, and I could see Ted was smitten. Of course, as I told Ivy, it came to nothing, and Eleanor was waiting in the wings.”

“So did Ted leave the village and go to college, like he wanted?” Ivy said. It occurred to her that Roy should surely have remembered some of this himself, being a local farmer. But then she recalled him saying that he did not live in Barrington, but grew up on another of his family’s farms. Nevertheless, she thought crossly, he had remembered Pamela was a pretty young thing! Or was it just her dear Roy being his usual gentlemanly self? She decided on the latter.

“He did go away for a year or so, I think. I know I gave up all hope, and married my John Coleridge, who was a good and kind husband for the whole of our marriage.”

So, thought Ivy, back to the Winchens. “I expect the first you knew of Ted’s failure to catch Mary was when Eleanor turned up as his fiancée?” she asked.

“Well, it’s a long time ago. But because I had been sweet on him, I do remember the word got round that Mary had turned him down, and I thought maybe I’d have a chance, as I hadn’t teamed up with John by then. But no, the next thing we knew was when Eleanor appeared, bold as brass and very pleased with herself. Mind you, I’m not sure she didn’t draw the short straw. He wasn’t very kind to her, so people said.”

Ivy’s nose quivered, like a mouse smelling the scent of cheese. “So he was rough with her, was he?”

“Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, Ivy, I know. But Eleanor could be very irritating. I suppose he was never really reconciled to making her his second choice.”

At this point, Mrs. Cornwall limped over to where they sat, and said, “It’s Pammie Coleridge, isn’t it?”

Pamela turned and looked up at her. “And you are Irene! Irene Cornwall. How lovely to see you again. Why don’t you sit down and have a cuppa with us?”

Ivy gave up.