The Hangman's Row Enquiry (21 page)

THE NEXT AFTERNOON was after all sunny and bright. Ivy sat on the seat beside the bus stop and this second time felt more confident. She chatted to people going in and out of the shop, and kept her eye on Hangman’s Row, waiting for the dumpy figure of Beatty to appear.

Once more, all went well. Beattie saw Ivy sitting there, and asked if she was coming on the bus. “We could go to market together,” she said, in spite of a reluctance to have anything to do with Miss Beasley. She realised a bus journey would be the ideal opportunity to pump the old woman for more details of Deirdre Bloxham and her easy come, easy go ways with the opposite sex. She was sure this exgirlfriend of Theo had something to do with the strange way he had been behaving lately. But how? She had kept a close ear to telephone calls, and a close eye on correspondence and visitors. There had been no opportunity for a return visit from Deirdre Bloxham.

“Perhaps next week,” said Ivy. “Young Katya is taking me for a walk later. But yes, Miss Beatty, next week I might like to come with you.”

Even as Ivy said this, a horrid possibility occurred to Beattie. Today! And last Saturday! While she was at market, had Theo somehow managed to get in touch with the Bloxham woman? And was Rose Budd to be trusted?

Ivy could not believe her eyes when Beattie came hurrying down the steps of the bus, just as it was about to depart, exactly as she had last week. But today was different. Beatty reached the bottom step, stopped and shook her head, turned and went back into the bus.

Ivy heard the driver shout, “Make up yer mind, missus!” and the bus departed.

Ivy had been practising with her mobile phone, and in seconds was talking to Deirdre. “She’s gone,” she said. “But it was touch and go again. This time, she didn’t get right off the bus. Just came to the bottom step, then went back in again. Goodness knows what that was about, but she had a face like thunder.”

Deirdre, looking her very best, felt a sudden shiver. She was not cold. It was a beautiful day. It was like someone had walked over her grave, her mother would have said. She gave herself a shake, and said she was on her way.

All the way to market, Beattie boiled with fury. That must be it. While the cat’s away the mice will play. Never a truer saying than that. Perhaps she should have got off the bus and returned to confront Theo and that wretched girl Rose. But it would be too soon. They’d wait until she was well on the way to town. “You can’t trust nobody,” she muttered to herself. She had learnt that at an early age, but years of living in security at the Hall had softened her. Well, now she was hard again. She would get a lift back early with that helpful Broomfield woman next to the shop. She knew she always went into town on a Saturday and came back in the early afternoon. She would find her car in the car park, and wait by it, no matter how long it took. Then they would see how clever they were!

 

ROSE STOOD BY the kitchen door in the stable yard, grinning from ear to ear as the big car glided to a halt.

“You’re looking very smart,” she said, greeting Deirdre. “Do you know,” she confided, “Mr. Theo has taken his best tweed jacket out of mothballs for your visit! Smells a bit, but it shows how much he’s looking forward to seeing you again, bless him.”

“You like him, then?” Deirdre said.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Rose said. “It’s you-know-who that’s the real nuisance. She rules the roost. Decides everything on the farm, though David says she knows damn all about farming. Anyway, come on in. He’ll be so pleased to see you.” She winked. “And I’ll keep out of the way,” she said. “Just don’t forget that the old dragon will be back at the same time as last week.”

Theo was waiting for her in the drawing room. This time he advanced on nimble feet and embraced her warmly. “Mmmm!” he said. “Same lovely scent as last week!”

He did not immediately let go of her, and Deirdre’s blood quickened. “Same old Theo,” she said. “You haven’t forgotten how to get a girl going!”

They walked over to the sofa, and sat down, still holding hands. “Would you like coffee?” he said, “Or shall we go straight to bed?”

Deirdre laughed. Did he really mean it? She decided to call his bluff, and said straight to bed would be great. But he hadn’t been bluffing, and still holding her hand, he led her up the wide staircase and along to his room, where a large bed with clean sheets put on that morning by an unsuspecting Beatty, awaited them.

He put his arms around her, and she did not mind the whiff of mothballs. “It’s been too long, Deirdre Bloxham,” he said. “But we’ve all afternoon to make up for lost time.”

All Ivy’s strictures about remembering why she was there flew out of the window. Useful conversation later, she said to herself, plenty of time later.

SADIE BROOMFIELD WAS very surprised to see a figure standing by her car as she returned from the supermarket. She was shortsighted, and could not see exactly who it was. Surely not a policewoman! She had definitely put money in the machine and the ticket was on her car’s dashboard, visible to anyone.

As she got nearer, she saw that it was Miss Beatty from the Hall. What on earth was she doing there? Not my favourite person, she said to herself. Nobody’s favourite person. Still, if the woman was in trouble, it was her neighbourly duty to help.

“Miss Beatty!” she said. “Can I help you?”

Beattie explained that she needed to get back early to the village. “Something’s come up, I’m afraid, and I must be back as soon as possible. I knew you were in town most Saturdays, and hoped to find you. I recognised your car, of course,” she added, as pleasantly as she could. “Such a sensible little vehicle,” she added.

Sadie’s car was a bright red Smart Sport, and she was very proud of it. “Delighted to give you a lift,” she said. “Jump in, while I stow my shopping. There’s room for all,” she said. This was an exaggeration, but in due course she, Beattie and the shopping were shoehorned in, and they set off.

Conversation was difficult. Sadie had never spent more than two minutes in Beattie’s company, and now had nothing to say to her. She had tried asking what the emergency was, but got no answer. Miss Beatty was silent for at least half of the return journey, until she said suddenly, “Do you know Mrs. Bloxham?”

“Only by sight,” Sadie said. “Seems a nice enough woman. She always smiles.”

“Huh!” said Beattie. “She won’t be smiling when I get home.”

Sadie was about to ask her more about this odd remark, when a loud bang followed by a series of bumps caused her to stop the car and pull into the side. She got out, and her heart sank. It
would
happen this afternoon, when she had that unpleasant passenger! A flat tyre, and the first one since she had bought the car. She had no idea how to change it, nor did she intend to try.

Beattie had clambered out and came round to see what had happened. She saw the flat tyre, and said, “Now what do you intend to do? I must get home as quickly as possible.”

Sod you, thought Sadie, and considered telling her to walk. Instead, she dialled the AA rescue service, and explained to Beattie that they would have to wait until an engineer arrived. “Or you could thumb a lift from this lorry coming along,” she said nastily.

Beattie said nothing would persuade her to ride in a lorry with a strange man, and stood with her arms folded, watching while Sadie delved into the car pockets and slots to find the technical instructions for the car.

Time passed, and the AA still did not arrive. Sadie wondered if Beattie needed the loo. It had been a long day, and she had stood vigil by the car, waiting for Sadie to finish her shopping.

As if reading her thoughts, Beattie said that she had noticed a cottage a hundred yards back, and thought she would take a walk to see if she could use their toilet. “Don’t go without me!” she said, and set off at a fast pace. On the way, the bus from town passed her, and the driver waved merrily. She signalled violently, but he did not stop. Probably against the rules, she thought sourly, and trudged on.

Meanwhile, Sadie had had a call from the AA, apologising for the delay, but saying the engineer was now on his way. From where? Sadie had asked. Birmingham, said the girl.

Sadie looked in her driving mirror. No sign of Beattie returning, so she must have been lucky. The bus passed by, but Sadie could see that they had not stopped for her. She supposed she had better telephone the Hall and let them know what had happened. Mr. Roussel would be wondering where his housekeeper had got to. She had the number in her head from times when she was working in the shop and had to consult Beattie on their order.

“Hello? Who is that?” Rose Budd answered, sounding worried. Sadie explained, and Rose said she had to get home to the family, but was sure Mr. Theo would be fine by himself until Beattie returned. He was in a very good mood, she said, and giggled. Sadie was puzzled, but much more worried about her car, and so thanked Rose and ended the call.

The AA man arrived an hour later. Once there, he fixed the tyre swiftly, and they were once more on their way. Beattie had relapsed into a sullen silence, and Sadie was heartily relieved when she drove round into the stable yard and helped Beattie out of the car.

As she drove back down the long drive, Sadie reflected on her passenger’s failure to say thank you for the lift. After all, Sadie had been hijacked. Ah well, she thought, that’ll teach her to cadge lifts in future. She smiled to herself. It was obvious the poor woman had not been missed. She remembered the giggle. Had Rose Budd and Mr. Roussel been up to no good? Well, good luck to them, Sadie thought, and as she unpacked her shopping she looked forward to a restoring cup of tea.

 

BEATTIE ENTERED THE Hall and went straight to her kitchen. Everything in order. She lifted the kettle and filled it, wondering how she was going to explain the delay to Mr. Theo. He would want to know what made her come back with Sadie Broomfield instead of catching the usual bus. It would have to be a sudden illness, she decided. After all, she had nearly fainted this morning, but she was not sure he had even noticed. She heard his footsteps on the tiled hallway, and looked apprehensively at the door.

“Ah, there you are!” he said. “Did you have a good time? Met a friend, did you?” He was beaming, and she was so surprised that for once she could think of nothing to say.

“Well, you’re home now, and needing a cup of tea, I’m sure. No, no,” he added, as she asked if he would like tea, though it was a little late. “No, I have been well looked after,” he said, and chuckled. “I thought I’d have a stroll in the park. Should have a dog again. We must get a dog, Beattie,” he said, and disappeared.

A stroll in the park? A dog? A nasty, snappy little terrier, no doubt. Beattie sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. What was going on? The wonderful security she had made for herself at the Hall was falling apart. A tear fell on the scrubbed surface, and she rubbed it away quickly. This would not do. It would take more than a young woman with no conscience to defeat Beatrice Beatty. For a start, she thought, the Budd family were entirely reliant on her for their cushy cottage in Hangman’s Row, and Rose’s husband took his orders from her.

Then she remembered Theo’s sudden decision to have a word with David Budd this morning. Was this start of a new regime?

No matter, she said to herself. I’ll fight them all. I’ve fought my way out of tricky situations before, and I’ll do it again. There are one or two things I could mention to Mr. Theo that might make him think twice about undermining my position.

Feeling more cheerful, she went upstairs to draw curtains in the rooms he would be using later this evening. As she entered his bedroom, she paused. She sniffed, and walked over to the bed. It was rumpled. Not significantly, just the counterpane not quite straight, not as smooth as she had left it this morning. She sniffed again. She had smelled that perfume before, but could not remember where. She perched on the edge of the bed, overcome with dizziness once more.