The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery) (24 page)

AFTER ELVIS HAD
taken Ivy and Roy home to Springfields, Gus stayed behind to help Deirdre clear up.

“Bags I stack the dishwasher,” he said.

“Fine,” Deirdre replied, grinning. “I see the overgrown schoolboy is back.”

“A turn of phrase, my dear, to keep our feet on the ground. Suppose I get on with stacking, and then we can have a cosy bed talk.”

“I don’t recall inviting you to stay the night. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get back to the tearful Miss Blake?”

“I have no idea what her overnight hospitality is like, but I know yours is top of the range.”

“Well, actually, to be serious, I would like a little reassurance in all this. There is still someone out there who perhaps killed Eleanor Blatch, and may be responsible for others, for all we know. And does not at all like what we are up to.”

“Who also fed a lone lame sheep? It’s hard to square a vicious killer with somebody soft enough to bother with a poor old animal, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do. In fact, I think the dead sheep is a red herring. Don’t laugh, Gus!”

“But seriously, I suppose it depends on the circumstances. The night before Eleanor died, I was in the house, but admittedly not quite my sharpest self owing to a couple of splendid pints of Old Hooky. And, of course, as you know, Deirdre, I did have earplugs in. I don’t think even screams from her as if from the fire escape would have penetrated my heavy sleep! I’m afraid we must plod on patiently.”

“You’ve done very well, Gus. Not many would have bothered. Why don’t we plod on upstairs?” said Deirdre, taking his hand.

• • •

AT MIDNIGHT, IVY
woke. The wind had risen, and was whistling loudly through a crack in her window frame. She would have to tell Mrs. Spurling in the morning.

Now, as she lay wide awake, thoughts of Winchens and Blatches came back into her mind. There was something she had forgotten when talking to Roy. Something to do with Mary? Or Eleanor?

Eleanor’s baby. That was it. They had talked a while back about the possibility that little Louise in the graveyard might be Eleanor’s, and she and Roy were going to check in the church records. Tomorrow they would go.

As she drifted back into sleep, Ivy dreamt of a young woman, lovely and light at heart, bundled off at a moment’s notice to Australia, like a convict expelled for life.

IVY HAD AGAIN
been woken early, this time by a cockerel crowing persistently in the garden below. She slipped out of bed, and without putting on her slippers, pushed open her window and shooed as loudly as she could.

“Miss Beasley!” said a voice from behind her. “What do you think you are doing by that open window and with no dressing gown or slippers?”

Ivy turned and saw Katya, carrying a tray of morning tea, and beaming at her, her smile belying her tone of voice.

“A little fresh air won’t hurt me,” she replied. “And how blooming you are looking! The bump seems to get bigger every day. It’s big enough to use as a shelf for your tray! Do you think it is a boy?”

Katya blushed. “We have decided to wait for the birth before we find out. Now then, let me help you on with your warm dressing gown.”

When Ivy was sitting up in bed, Katya lingered to make sure she was all right. “Guess what I saw this morning, Miss Beasley,” she said. “A removals van stopped outside Springfields, and asked the way to Blackwoods Farm. Apparently there is a new person moving in today.”

“Do you think it is the person who has inherited it? So many rumours have been around. It was going to be a rare breeds farm or a wild animal safari park. Rickwood Smith would be the new owner, that’s another one. What’s the latest in the village?”

“I have heard it is a man on his own, and it is the person you are talking about. Still, nobody knows what he is going to do with it. A great deal more to discover!”

“I hope he won’t close the footpath through to the spinney. Such a nice walk, and several people use it to get to work in the Manor House College.”

“We shall see,” said Katya. “It is not so long to go now until I shall be pushing a pram and having to stick to the roads!”

• • •

RICKWOOD SMITH, NOW
assured by his mother that she considered him to be in charge of the Blackwoods estate, decided to go for a walk along the footpath to the farmhouse. He had dropped the idea of selling up, and decided his life would be in Barrington from now on. His mother was delighted, and said that though she would stay put, he would be always within call.

Now he had the decorators in, some new furniture delivered and the painter should be arriving for work. He wished to brief him on colours and textures sympathetic to the old house.

Halfway across the field, he met a familiar pair, one silver-haired and limping and one striding out in buttoned waterproof overshoes the like of which he had seen only in early photographs of smart ladies’ rainwear. “Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman! No college for a couple of weeks, of course, and so you decided on a morning stroll? Am I right? I am so pleased to have run into you, as I’ve had good news this morning and am dying to tell someone. And who better than you two? Here, Mr. Goodman, please use my shooting stick while I tell you. You can sit on it and have a moment or two’s rest.”

“Out with it then, Mr. Smith,” said Ivy. “We have heard so many rumours about this place.”

“Some wrong, some right, I expect. Well now, as you probably know, Mrs. Eleanor Blatch was my mother’s sister, and therefore my aunt. After she died, poor soul, the matter of inheritance became very simple, though, of course, very sad. My mother is next in line, with the whole estate willed to her by Aunt Eleanor, and as you may have heard, she is unfortunately very disabled after a riding accident in her youth in Australia. In the outback, you know! She has therefore handed over responsibility for Blackwoods to me, and as soon as I can arrange it, I shall be moving into the farmhouse, still being close to my mother, of course.”

“Wonderful for you!” said Roy, putting out his hand in congratulation.

“And for the rest of us, we hope,” said Ivy. “What are you going to do with it all, Mr. Smith? You will presumably be giving up your tutoring at the college?”

“Not so, if it can be arranged. I love the work there, and you know yourself, Miss Beasley, what fun we have, and how interesting your fellow pupils can be.”

He then outlined his plans for keeping rare breed cattle and sheep, and restoring the old barns to be a centre for the performing arts. “I went to drama school myself in Australia, years ago, so that will be a bit of self-indulgence! So, now, Miss Beasley, what do you think of all that?”

Roy looked at Ivy, who, he thought, for once in her life was speechless. But no. She took a deep breath, pursed her lips and said, “I’ll let you know, Mr. Smith, when I have seen how it all turns out. Good day to you.”

Roy, who felt Ivy had been less than gracious, handed the shooting stick back to Rickwood, and said, “I wish you luck, sir. And if you want to know anything about breeding cattle, you know where to come.”

DEIRDRE HAD RISEN
late, and had a quick breakfast before checking her diary. First thing she had to do this morning was ring Mrs. Winchen and make an appointment to call and have a chat.

“Hello? Is that Mrs. Winchen? Oh, good. My name is Deirdre Bloxham, and I’m glad to catch you at home.”

“I’m never anywhere else,” said a soft voice. “How can I help you?”

Deirdre explained her social services role, and asked if there was a convenient time when she could pop in and see her. “Only for a chat, to make sure you have everything you need, and are comfortable. I know you have your son living with you, but sometimes it’s nice to chat with a fellow female!”

There was a small silence, and then the quiet voice said, “He’s not going to be living with me for much longer. But he won’t be far away. Now, do you want to come this afternoon? It is my best time, so why don’t you come and have a cup of tea around three o’clock?”

Easy, thought Deirdre. Not at all the old dragon I was expecting. She sounds very amiable. Very different from her sister, Eleanor! Although she had liked Eleanor, and admired her for her spiky courage, there was something unreliable about the older sister, always an uncomfortable feeling that she could turn against you at any minute. Perhaps the result of a reclusive life, thought Deirdre, and hearing the gardener’s knock at the door, she went to organise her new rose bed.

• • •

THE OLD PERSONS’
bungalows were almost within shouting distance of Tawny Wings, and Deirdre stepped out along the road, cheerfully looking forward to meeting Mrs. Winchen at last. She had no idea what to expect. She knew the poor woman had had a riding accident in her youth, and was severely disabled. Not so severely that she could not produce a son. But maybe Rickwood had come along before her accident. Something to find out.

Number three, Spinney Close, was bathed in sunlight, and as Deirdre opened the gate and walked up to the front door, she noticed that the garden was trim and colourful. In the centre of a small green lawn a fountain trickled tunefully over an umbrella held over two children sitting on a bench. It was charming, worked on solar panels, and was in full view of the person sitting in a chair by the window.

The door was ajar, and Deirdre pressed the bell, at the same time announcing her arrival in a loud voice. The poor lady might be deaf, as were many of Deirdre’s clients.

“Come in, dear!” replied Mrs. Winchen. “I’m not able to get up, but you’ll find me in the front room. I saw you coming,” she continued as Deirdre entered. “And I think I recognise you. Aren’t you the lady who lives in Tawny Wings? I look across the field from my bedroom at the back, and often see you in the garden. Am I right?”

After that, it was plain sailing as the two women found topics of conversation interesting to both. Finding a suitable point at which to introduce the subject of Rickwood and Australia, Deirdre asked how long Mrs. Winchen had been in this country.

“I believe you spent many years abroad?” she said. “You must find Barrington rather dull after your travels?”

“Well yes, Mrs. Bloxham, I do, in a way. But Rickwood is my only relative, and it is nice to be close to him. Sons are always a little special, and we have come together only quite recently. Do you have any children, my dear?”

Deirdre made an excuse for being childless, and brought the subject back to Mary Winchen.

“But wasn’t Mrs. Blatch your sister?” she asked. “Forgive me if I am intruding on your grief. Poor Eleanor’s death must have been a terrible shock.”

To her acute embarrassment, Mary Winchen laughed.

“Oh dear, Mrs. Bloxham, what will you think?” she said, putting her hand in front of her mouth. “It is only that Eleanor had become a complete stranger to me and to Rickwood. She banned us from her sight when we returned from Australia. I was already very disabled, and she found a cottage for us on the farm, and then when the bungalows were built, moved us into this one. And, to be fair, she paid the rent then and did so right up until her death. I had had no contact with her since first arriving back in this country.”

“And Rickwood? Would she have nothing to do with him, either? You must tell me to mind my own business, you know, if I go too far. We do like to have some kind of background information, as it can be quite useful in the ways we can help.”

“Well, as I said, I hadn’t seen her for years and years, and that is how it continued. It was easy for her, because as long as she didn’t come near Spinney Close, there was no risk of her seeing me. Rickwood has only come to Barrington recently, and she would not have recognised him if she saw him, though . . .” She stopped speaking, and adjusted her position in her chair. Deirdre could see that her spine must be very twisted, and felt so sorry for what was clearly considerable pain.

“And are you going to move with him into the farmhouse?” she said.

“Oh no, this bungalow is specially adapted for me. I live in this wheelchair, or curled up in bed. Carers come in and look after my intimate needs! I am very fortunate.”

“The village is very curious about what he plans to do, but from what I gather he won’t be doing any of the outrageous suggestions going around the gossip shops!”

“Indeed no. He has always wanted to farm. And he has plans for rare breeds. The old barns he will restore and use for a variety of purposes. I think he will be very happy here in Barrington now. Oh, yes, and I know he hopes to continue helping students at the college.”

“Sounds good,” said Deirdre. “He will have many strings to his bow.”

“Except one,” said Mary Winchen.

Deirdre’s pulse quickened. “Which one is that?” she said.

“I quote,” said Mary Winchen. “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ The divine Jane.”

Deirdre stared. Was the dear thing rambling? Perhaps she had overtired her and it was time to go. But one thing she wished to know more than anything else was the name of Rickwood Smith’s father. Who was Mr. Smith? The last piece of the jigsaw. She stood up and was encouraged by her client’s smiling face.

But Mary Winchen got in first. “Time to go, Mrs. Bloxham, I think,” she said. “It has been so pleasant talking to you, and you can assure them back in the office that my carers are working well and I lack for nothing, at present. Do come again when you can. Good-bye, my dear. I shall wave to you over the field!”

• • •

GUS WAS WAITING
for her as she walked into her driveway. “Don’t tell me you have been for a walk!” he said. “Our Ivy will be really pleased with you. I have just met the two dear things coming out of the church. I accused them of sloping off and getting married without telling anyone, but they denied it and said they had found a useful piece of information from the churchwarden.”

“Come in and tell me all. I’ve some news for you, too.”

They took long drinks of lime juice and soda out to the terrace by the pool, and Deirdre said Gus should go first.

“Ivy was quite excited. Remember they told us about the little gravestone they found in the churchyard? Dedicated to Louise, with an angel on top? Next to Ted Blatch’s grave? Well, apparently Ted Blatch years ago bought a largish plot for the whole tribe he planned, and little Louise was buried before Ted. So that makes it certain that she was the baby born prematurely to Eleanor.”

“How sad, Gus,” Deirdre said, sniffing. “Do you want a drop of gin in your glass? It has been a very emotional afternoon. I have been to see Mrs. Winchen, at last.”

“And?”

“And she is a very nice lady. Very twisted, and obviously suffers a lot of pain, but doesn’t grumble. She is still pretty, you know. Silvery hair and the bluest eyes I’ve seen. And a nice soft voice, not like the strident tones of poor Eleanor! In spite of her disability, she seemed quite a bit younger than her sister.”

She then told Gus the rest of the story, including the strange rift between the sisters. “Though she carefully avoided telling me the cause. But she included Eleanor’s charitable act in paying their rent ever since they came back from Australia.”

“Will you go again to see her?” Gus poured a generous slug of gin into both their glasses.

“Oh, yes. I’ve thought of several more questions for her already. Though I shall have to approach her stealthily. She’s a bit like a little faun, and darts away when I get too close.”

“Not very apt, dear Deirdre. Shall we go and see Ivy and Roy tomorrow and pool our findings?”

“Good idea,” said Deirdre. “Ivy will be at college until around four, but we could call for a cup of tea. Perhaps we should take flowers for Mrs. Spurling?”

“You can if you like, Dee-Dee. If I arrive with a bunch of red roses, she might get the wrong idea.”