The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery) (23 page)

SAMANTHA HAD WOKEN
with a headache, and so was late in setting off for a day at college. Since the expedition with the dead-cat hot water bottle, she had given up using the footpath over the field, and taken the longer road route through the village. But she looked at the clock and decided that the sun was shining and she would go by the footpath, for one time only. With luck, she would meet Rickwood!

As she entered the spinney she quickened her step and so did not see the snaking bramble across the path. She caught her foot, and went down heavily. Cursing everything and everybody, she sat on the hard ground and examined herself for injury. Then she heard footsteps behind her, and saw Rickwood approaching, looking anxious.

“My dear Sam,” he said, crouching down beside her, “Let me have a look.” His hands were gentle, and he found a clean white handkerchief in his pocket, which he tied neatly round the graze. “We’ll get someone to look at it in college, unless you want to go back home. Are you feeling steady enough to get up?”

He put his arm around her waist and helped her up, then let go immediately.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It really wasn’t much. Caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Come along, then. We are a little late, but the class will probably be fine, even without Miss Beasley in charge. Bless her!”

“Actually, we’re not a bad lot, and she is really nice at heart. Hides her light under a bushel, as they say. And it’s amazing how well she’s fitted in. Perhaps I could hold your hand for a minute or two to steady me?”

• • •

NEXT MORNING, BRAVE,
warmhearted Ivy Beasley was conducting a major row with Mrs. Spurling, on the subject of curbing the escapades of Enquire Within.

“At least as far as you and Mr. Goodman are concerned,” said the manager, her face scarlet with annoyance, “you two are my responsibility, however hard you may argue around that fact. I care for you, and if anything happens to you, I shall be accused of negligence in my duty.”

Roy sat up very straight in his chair. He had been with Ivy in her room when Mrs. Spurling had burst in, having discovered that they had been out in the rain before breakfast, and had returned wet through, with squelching feet and damp clothes.

Ivy began to speak, but Roy interrupted. “You are quite right, Mrs. Spurling, and we are at fault. I know Ivy will join me in apologising sincerely. We were so keen on an early-morning constitutional—my father swore by it—that we forgot to tell staff, and were caught in a shower of rain. But look at my Ivy’s rosy cheeks, Mrs. Spurling,” he said. “Fresh as a daisy, she is, and ready for anything.”

Mrs. Spurling was mollified and said shortly that she hoped “anything” would not include such foolish behaviour which upset the whole Springfields community.

“Rubbish!” said Ivy. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, and all we did was nip out for a short stroll and run into a small shower. And now I shall go and change m’feet. Come along, Roy. You’ll need clean socks. I mean to catch Samantha on her way to college.”

After which, Mrs. Spurling returned to her office and in desperation telephoned the local job centre, saying she would take anything, any job, even scrubbing floors, whatever they had on their books.

Ten minutes later, Ivy set off and met Samantha coming along the road.

“Good morning, Miss Beasley! Just the person I wanted to see!”

As they walked along, Samantha told her about her fall and how helpful Rickwood had been. Ivy frowned. She recognised signs of a girl halfway to falling in love!

“Do you know, Miss Beasley, I hope you won’t mind my asking, but do you know if Mr. Smith, Rickwood, has a wife? Or girlfriend? We girls at college are curious, as we know he lives with his mother, but is tutoring on a more or less temporary basis. And now the rumours are all of his taking over Blackwoods and turning it into a wildlife park. The girls said you would probably know, as you keep your ear to the ground.”

“That’s a long speech, Samantha! Can I summarise it by asking if, following his gallant rescue of a pupil caught by a bramble, that young student is fancying him rotten, to use current parlance, and would like to know what are her chances?”

Samantha blushed deeply, and nodded, crestfallen. “I know what you’re going to say, Miss Beasley,” she said. “I am a silly young girl who should be thinking about working hard at my writing course and not wasting time fancying men old enough to be my father. But I know he works respectably in the old henhouse, and is always extremely careful about chatting up girl students. That is, he doesn’t. Chat them up, I mean. And that includes me. He gets plenty of opportunity! He’s very interesting to talk to during break times. Did you know he’d spent most of his early life in Australia?”

Ivy stopped in her tracks. “Australia? What was he doing there?”

“Not sure. He never actually says where he lived, or anything like that. Mostly he tells us about the wildlife. Kangaroos and snakes. That kind of thing.”

“Don’t even think of him, Samantha. Not only is he much too old for you, but still an enigma. You girls are not the only ones wanting to find out more about him. No, my dear, steer very clear of that one. But if he should let slip what he was doing in Australia, make sure to let me know.”

They walked on, and although Ivy changed the subject, she was not at all sure that Samantha would act on what she had said.

“AN INVITATION FOR
you, Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman,” said Miss Pinkney happily. She had taken over from her superior after Mrs. Spurling had gone off, saying she had an important interview to attend.

“Invitation?” said Ivy, who had come back from college feeling very perky. “It’s like I am on the verge of discovery, Roy dear. Of what or who or where, I do not yet know. Now, Pinkers, who is this invitation from?”

“Mrs. Bloxham, of course. She asked if you two would like to go up to Tawny Wings for supper this evening. You were out, Miss Beasley, and Mr. Goodman was asleep in his chair, so I said I was sure you would accept, but I must confirm with you.”

“How kind!” said Roy. “She is a busy lady, you know, with all her social work. It will be a nice change, don’t you agree, beloved?”

Ivy grinned. “Let’s hope she’s got something decent for us to eat. Another one of Deirdre’s appalling slimming salads will be the death of me.”

“She does her best, Ivy,” said Roy firmly, “And her invitation could be a genuinely kind and sincere offer to two old folks locked up in an old dodderers’ retirement home.”

“Well said, Mr. Goodman,” said Pinkers, “except the old dodderers bit! Now, Miss Beasley, can I help you to change into your best dress?”

“No, thank you, dear,” she said. “I am quite capable of dressing myself, and in any case, so long as I don’t wear my old mother’s squirrel coat that smells strongly of mothballs, I am sure I am smart enough for supper at Tawny Wings.”

Elvis was ordered to collect them at a suitable time, and they retired upstairs for a short rest. “I wonder if she’s invited Gus?” Ivy said.

“I have no idea. But if, as you suspect, she wishes to know more about your tête-à-tête with Pamela, then yes, it will be an informal Enquire Within meeting, and he will probably be there.”

Ivy patted his arm. “Not deliberately leaving you out, dear,” she said. “Our tea party was such a damp squib that I need time to sort it out. As you know, Pamela’s visit drew a complete blank, but my chance encounter with Samantha today has been more fruitful. I am rather worried about that young one. She has obviously fallen hook, line and sinker for Rickwood Smith. So far he seems to have been the perfect gentleman, but I’d hate for her to get hurt.”

“I wouldn’t worry, dearest. I have one small suggestion, before we set forth,” said Roy. “Speaking of Samantha, we seem to have lost all interest in the henhouse. The one on wheels, in the spinney.”

“Should we be especially interested in the henhouse? One of us looked at it once, but could see no signs of life, except that, as we know, Rickwood works in there, when he can’t get any peace in his mother’s house. I don’t think there’s much more to say about the henhouse? I think I’m right in saying that, but we can check with Deirdre.” She paused, and then added, “I remember Samantha saying something about her father warning her that the field and the henhouse are private property, to be left alone.”

• • •

DEIRDRE WAS WAITING
at the open front door for her guests. Roy accepted Elvis’s arm to be escorted into the house, and as they had expected, they found Gus already in the best armchair in front of the fire.

“A chill in the air this evening,” he said, rising to assist Roy, and bending to risk a peck on Ivy’s cheek. “This is very nice of you, Deirdre,” he said. “Wonderful smells coming from the kitchen.”

“Roast beef with all the trimmings,” she said. “I don’t often get the chance to cook a really splendid piece of beef, and the butcher has done me proud.”

“So is this a purely social occasion?” asked Ivy bluntly.

“It can be, but as the four of us are here together, we’ll probably talk Enquire Within business, won’t we?”

“After supper,” said Gus with a smile. “I mean to enjoy the beef with no thoughts of graveyards or cigar smoke.”

In spite of his declared intentions, it was not long before Ivy asked if Deirdre had ever walked through the spinney and across the field. “I know you go everywhere by car,” she said.

Deirdre bristled. “Of course I have,” she said. “When my Bert was alive, we often walked that way on Sunday afternoons. Across the field and up past the Manor House, and then back across another footpath farther out of the village. Bert loved a good walk, and we had an old spaniel who always went with us.”

Her chin wobbled, and Ivy reached across and took her hand. “Don’t take any notice of me, duckie. Come on, now, eat up your beef. Best I’ve ever tasted.”

As always, it was Roy who poured oil on troubled waters. “A good old boy, your Bert,” he said. “He could examine a car engine like a doctor does his patient! Many’s the time I’ve seen Bert with his head under the bonnet, his ear cocked, as if the engine were speaking to him.”

Deirdre gave him a watery smile, and said if everyone was finished, she had an enormous sherry trifle in the fridge, needing to be eaten up and the bowl licked clean.

It was not until coffee was poured out in the drawing room that the subject of Blatches and Winchens was introduced. Gus said he would like to sum up things so far, and then they could discuss their next moves.

“The case we were asked to take on was the apparent manifestation of Eleanor’s deceased husband Ted, in Blackwoods Farm. Eleanor Blatch was frightened by evidence of his ghostly presence in her house, appearing at night and instructing her how to kill herself and join him in paradise. And she swore it was Ted.”

“Who,” said Ivy, “as we now know, could be unkind and possibly quick tempered. Violent, do you think?”

“I’d forgotten that bit,” said Deirdre. “Carry on, Gus.”

“We were supposed to get rid of this ghostly person, and for this reason, I spent a couple of nights there. In the meantime, following a supposed attack on Eleanor, we set out to investigate the background to Eleanor’s family in Lincolnshire. We have discovered she had a sister, a younger sister, Mary. We can trace no other early record of this Mary Winchen, except for a letter suggesting she might have been sent to Australia as a young woman, to be adopted and given work by a suitable family.”

“And it is no coincidence that Samantha told me this morning that Rickwood told the girls at college that he had spent some time in Australia. With his mother, presumably.”

“And now Mrs. Mary Winchen is living in Barrington, with her son, Rickwood. And there has been a family feud between the two sisters for many years.”

“Thanks, Deirdre. All coming together, isn’t it? That is a very important point. To continue, on my second morning at Blackwoods, I came downstairs and found Eleanor, stone cold dead at the foot of the fire escape.”

“Did you tell the police about the stone cold bit? I know autopsies can decide the date and time of death, but this would confirm that she died some time the previous evening, wouldn’t it? Don’t forget the police have been involved in this from the moment you found her.”

“I’m not likely to forget that, Ivy. The police then arrested me and took me to the station to be interrogated. I was, of course, released after questioning. But not before Miriam Blake had seen me in the police car, and burst into tears.”

“I don’t think that’s important to our investigation,” said Deirdre. She asked if Gus was going on much longer, because she wanted to fetch refills for the coffeepot.

“Not long, Dee-Dee,” he said. “Because I knew you were fond of Eleanor, and admired her courage, I more or less agreed to continue looking for a possible killer, supposing he was not a wraith but does exist in person in this world and in Barrington. Future enquiries to be in conjunction with the police, of course.”

At that point, the house telephone began to ring, and Deirdre went off to answer it. When she came back, she looked upset.

“What’s wrong, girl?” said Ivy.

“That was my friend, Inspector Frobisher. He thought we’d like to know that a dead sheep has been found in the farmyard at the back of Blackwoods farmhouse. Some lads were trespassing and playing football in the field. When they came back through the farmyard to go home, they noticed it, lying by the door into a feed store. Very old, said Barry Frobisher, and one front leg shorter than the other. Lame, he said.”

A stunned silence greeted this, and then Ivy said briskly, “Did he tell you how long it had been there, dead?”

“Not long,” he said. “Possibly the natural end to a very long life. For a sheep.”