The Hangman's Row Enquiry (14 page)

He began to doze, but was awakened by a sudden thought. He had told Deirdre about his affair with Miriam Blake and the old woman blackmailing him, and his final lucky escape. Had that been wise? It had sounded sordid as he described the episode, and he remembered vividly his own feelings of disgust.

But Deirdre had laughed, hadn’t she? No doubt in her marriage to that garage mechanic she had seen all sides of life. And when he’d told her about the anonymous letter and Miriam being his half sister, she had looked really excited, and wanted to know all the details. All he knew from the anonymous letter, he had said, was that his father, the Hon. John, had employed Miriam’s mother as a cleaner, and required a few extras on the side. Miriam had been the result, and a husband—poor old John, employed on the estate—had been found for her mother in time for the birth certificate, and although he was lazy and a bad influence on the other workers, his job was safe so long as he kept his mouth shut.

With this ammunition, Theo had been able to counter-threaten both Miriam and her mother. He would ruin their reputations with spreading the story of illegitimacy far and wide. As for his own reputation, he knew from experience that the entire village probably already knew about his visits to Miriam. Squire’s privilege, the old blokes in the pub would say with a nudge and a wink. But the letter implied that the secret of Miriam’s biological father
had
been successfully kept. The old woman had seen at once that they had more to lose than he had, and a truce had been reached. He had, of course, not visited Miriam since.

His eyes closed slowly, and he smiled. Deirdre . . . Little Deirdre with the red hair and a charming Suffolk accent . . . Roll on next Saturday, he thought, and in seconds was asleep.

 

GUS HAD ALREADY been round to Tawny Wings for a report from Deirdre, but had found nobody at home. Deirdre’s car was not in the garage, and he was reluctant to conclude that she had not yet returned. So where had she gone? He had seen her car going past his window away from the Hall, and then he had checked off Beattie, as she lumbered home with her shopping. He wondered why the silly woman did not drive herself to market and not have to carry home heavy bags. Probably the parking problem, he decided. By the afternoon on market day, parking was impossible, with jams of cars trying to get away in all directions. The bus was a better option.

He looked briefly in the garden, but was left with nothing to do but to go back home. Just as he was emerging from the baronial gates, Deirdre drove back in, tooting as she passed him. He turned around and joined her as she unlocked her front door.

“Come on in, Gus,” she said cheerfully. “It’s little drinkies time, isn’t it?”

Oh God, thought Gus, remembering his father’s strictures never to work with women.

But he smiled and said that would be terrific, and followed behind as she led the way into her sparkling kitchen.

“Sit down, boy,” she said, as she opened the fridge door and took out a frosted bottle of white Frascati. She poured him a generous glass, and taking another for herself, perched on the high stool next to him.

“Bottoms up!” she said, raising her glass.

Why not, thought Gus, and said he hoped she had had a pleasant afternoon.

That was all the opening Deirdre needed, and for the next half hour she gave Gus a highly entertaining account of the success of their plan. “Couldn’t have gone better,” she said, and looking sly, added that she meant from all points of view.

“Did he drag you off to bed, then?” Gus said. Ivy wouldn’t like that, he thought. “Call a spade a spade” was her motto, but she drew a definite line at vulgarity.

“Of course not!” Deirdre grinned, and said maybe next time.

“But to be serious for a moment,” Gus said. “Did you talk about the murder at all?”

“Hardly at all,” Deirdre replied. “It somehow did not seem necessary. As I’ve told you, we chewed over his affair with La Blake very thoroughly, and the revelation that she was his half sister was quite a shock, I can tell you. I mean, fancy tupping your half sister without knowing it!”

“Marginally better than if you
had
known it,” said Gus drily.

“Well, anyway, the murder plot certainly thickened with that revelation! Now we have three possible suspects: Miriam, who hated her mother; Theo, who also hated the old woman and had still regarded her as a loose cannon; and Beattie Beatty, who hates everybody but Theo, and loves either him or his money, or both.”

Gus laughed. “Very good summing up, Deirdre,” he said. “Full marks! So on Monday, we shall have plenty to talk about at our meeting. We must fill Ivy in with what has happened.”

“Oh goodness, she was the first person I told!” Deirdre said. “It’s more than my life’s worth to keep her in the dark for longer than necessary. She’ll have mulled it all over by Monday and come up with some good ideas. You’ll see. She didn’t rule Round Ringford with a rod of iron for all those years for nothing! Cousin Ivy coming to Springfields is the best thing that’s happened to me since Bert died, now I’ve got to know her.”

“Better than renewing your friendship with Theo Roussel?”

Deirdre laughed like a girl. “Now, Gus,” she said, “naughty, naughty! Ready for a fill-up?”

SUNDAY BEGAN PLEASANTLY for Ivy. Katya had asked if she could accompany her to church, and although Ivy was pleased, she hoped there wouldn’t be too much bobbing and crossing. They were early. Ivy was a firm believer in arriving in good time, and she led Katya up the aisle to the front pew. In Ringford, the front pew had always been Ivy’s, and she was not intending to change her habit of a lifetime. “We can keep an eye on the vicar and all those brats in the choir,” she whispered to Katya.

The church was fuller than usual, and when the people were invited to the altar to take Communion, a snaking queue formed to receive the bread and wine. Katya went ahead of Ivy, and when they reached the organ, the girl became so absorbed in friendly Fanny Neston’s plump hands moving over the keyboard that Ivy had to nudge her to keep going.

After the service, a special benefice one, coffee and biscuits were served, and Ivy introduced Katya to the few people she knew. After a few minutes, Miss Neston had come down from the organ and asked for a glass of water.

“Thirsty work?” Ivy said, greeting her. “This is Katya, my Polish friend from Springfields. She also plays the organ, don’t you, dear?” After seeing that the two became instant friends, Ivy eased herself away and made for the vicar’s wife in order to give her a few suggestions, including how to avoid such long queues for communion. She glanced over at Katya from time to time, and saw that she and Fanny were still getting along famously. Then she saw the pair of them going back to the organ and soon there were floating runs of notes that certainly would be beyond the skill of Fanny Neston.

Ivy felt a glow of pride. Her good deed for today, then. Now, she thought, as she noticed that the vicar’s wife had melted away, I must go back to Sunday lunch to see whether Mrs Spurling has taken note of my complaint about last week’s leathery chicken.

She walked up to the organ and whispered to Katya, who was in full flow, that she would see her back at Springfields. Then she walked briskly out of the church and through the sunny churchyard into the street. To her surprise, she heard a voice calling her name. She turned around and was not delighted to see Miss Beatty hurrying to catch her up.

“Good morning!” said Beattie, now in quite a different mood from the grumpy woman who had boarded the bus and scarcely acknowledged Ivy.

“Morning,” said Ivy. “I must get back, I’m afraid . . .” she began, and then remembered that befriending Beattie Beatty was one of her Enquire Within tasks. There had been no opportunity at the WI, she told herself, not entirely accurately. Well, now here was another chance.

Gus Halfhide, strolling happily along to the pub with Whippy, saw the unlikely pair and grinned. Blimey, talk about body language! Not exactly bosom pals, he reckoned, seeing the distance between them. Now why are they stepping out together, if only reluctantly? He could take a good guess at Ivy’s motive. Pumping Theo’s housekeeper for information was her assignment. But Beattie’s reason for this unlikely duo?

Whippy whimpered, and Gus looked at the emptying church. There was Katya, deep in conversation with funny little Miss Neston. He could see that Fanny was doing most of the talking, but then he knew that Katya’s English was still minimal, though she seemed to understand more than she could speak.

Katya caught sight of Gus and Whippy and waved. She had met them several times around the village, and Gus had always been most kind. She said good-bye to Miss Neston and came over to make a fuss of Whippy.

“She’s so pleased to see you!” Gus said. “It’s a compliment, you know. Whippy chooses her friends carefully.”

“What is
compliment
?”

Gus pondered. What
was
a compliment? “It’s something nice that somebody says to you. Meant to make you feel good.” Well, that wasn’t quite it, but it would do.

“So I must thank Whippy!” Katya said, and smoothed the little dog’s head.

“May I walk you home?” Gus said, in his best gentlemanly manner.

“Of course,” Katya said. “You are a nice person to walk with. Is that compliment?”

 

MEANWHILE, IVY AND Beattie were walking slowly. Each had decided to spin out this opportunity for probing, and when they came to the seat outside the shop, Ivy suggested they rest in the sun for a few minutes.

“Dedicated to a Roussel, I see,” Ivy said, as they sat down.

Beattie nodded. “Mr. Theo’s father,” she said.

“Nice idea,” Ivy said, looking closely at her companion.

“I can think of more accurate ways of remembering him,” Beattie said, a touch of acid in her voice.

Ivy attempted an innocent expression. “Oh, really?” she said. “How would you remember him?”

“I’d rather not,” said Beattie. “He was a rotten husband and a rotten father. Responsible for a lot of trouble in the village and on the estate.” Then she clamped her lips together, making it quite clear that she had no more to say on
that
subject. But Ivy was not so easily foiled.

“His son is a lot different, so I’ve heard? A real gentleman, so they say up at Springfields.” This was a lie, as Ivy had never heard anything of the sort. Theo Roussel was hardly ever mentioned.

Beattie visibly relaxed. “Oh, yes,” she answered. “Mr. Theo is a lovely man. He is quite a private person though. Likes to sit in his study writing his memoirs and doing the
Times
crossword. Friendly, too,” she embroidered. “He always asks me to help if he’s stuck with a difficult clue.”

What a whopper! thought Ivy. This stupid woman couldn’t do the crossword in the
Women’s Friend
. “He must rely on you a lot, Miss Beatty,” she said.

“Oh, you can forget the ‘Miss,’ ” Beattie said, spotting the loaded question and sidestepping it. “It is so nice to talk to somebody who is fresh to the village,” she said. “What brought you here, Miss Beasley?”

Ivy did not return the invitation to use her Christian name, but said that her cousin Deirdre had organised it. “Most of my old friends are either in Heaven—or the other place—or in the local old folks home in Ringford. I wasn’t happy about moving, but now I’m here I intend to make the best of it.”

“Ah, yes. Your cousin Deirdre lives at Tawny Wings, doesn’t she? Such a nice person, though I don’t know her well. A widow, I believe?”

“And a merry one,” chuckled Ivy. She knew exactly where this was leading, and decided to give Beattie Beatty her money’s worth. “When our Deirdre was young, she was a real goer, as they say. I secretly envied her, but with my mother there was no chance I could have a good time with a different lad every night, like our Deirdre.”

“I am sure she settled down,” Beattie said sourly. “I believe her husband owned the big garage in town?”

“Bert? Oh, yes, he was one of many. Deirdre always aimed high, mind you. Money was her goal, and if possible a title to go with it!” She chuckled again, but this time at the look on Beattie’s face. “How come Mr. Theo never married?” she asked.

“It was his choice,” Miss Beatty said sniffily. “As you and I know, there is a lot to be said for the unmarried state.”

“Not so sure about that,” Ivy said. “I had the one chance, but nothing came of it.”

“Well, Mr. Theo was very popular with the girls, come to that,” Beattie said defensively. “He could have married any of the eligible girls around.”

“Ah, yes, of course!” Ivy said, as if she had just remembered something. “I
knew
I’d heard his name somewhere before. Must have been when we came over from Ringford to see Deirdre’s family, when she was unattached and fancy-free. It was Deirdre who mentioned him. Always off out somewhere, she was! Mind you, she was a very pretty girl. Still is, in her way, don’t you think?”