The Hangman's Row Enquiry (32 page)

A good try, but a lie, if ever I saw one, thought Beattie. “You’d certainly be very welcome, Mrs. Bloxham,” she said. “Membership is dropping, even though we try hard to attract younger members, having more interesting speakers, all that.”

“I’m not exactly a younger member,” Deirdre said.

“Young at heart, though, Mrs. Bloxham. My poor mother used to say you are as young as you feel.”

“Poor mother?” said Deirdre. She was rallying now, and thought she might as well make use of this mishap. “Is she still with us?”

Beattie shook her head mournfully. “Died years ago,” she said. “After a long and painful illness. My sister nursed her until the end. So sad.”

“And where did she live?”

“Oh, over the other side of the county. Local family.”

“So you still have relations over there? That must be very nice. I’m sure you keep in touch. Of course, I have my cousin Ivy living close by now, and I find it a great comfort. Since my Bert died, I mean.”

“Ah, we seek comfort where we can find it, don’t we,” Beattie said. “Now, have one of my biscuits. Fresh from the oven.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Deirdre said, “I won’t take your special biscuits.”

“Mr. Theo’s favourites,” insisted Beattie. “He would never forgive me if you didn’t have at least one. There are plenty.”

Deirdre hesitated. They were small biscuits, wafer thin, and rather than argue she took one and ate it in three mouthfuls. It had a sharp lemony flavour, a little bitter. She refused a second. Let Theo eat the lot if he liked them so much.

At this moment the kitchen door opened, and Theo stood looking in. He winked at Deirdre. “Mrs. Bloxham?” he said. “What a lovely surprise. Beattie, won’t you make us more tea and we can have a chat in the drawing room. You can bring me up to date with village news, De—er—Mrs. Bloxham. But first, Beattie, I wonder if you would just run down to the post box on the corner and get this letter off. I would like it to arrive tomorrow. Thank you, my dear,” he said, and patted her arm.

As he walked off, talking animatedly to Deirdre, Beattie scowled. “Damn, damn, damn,” she said.

 

DEIRDRE FINALLY LEFT the Hall just after three, having had two more biscuits and a second cup of tea. Theo had told her about Beattie’s last-minute change of plan, and Deirdre had explained about Ivy not watching out for Beattie on the bus, and so they had had no warning.

“She’s quite an adversary, our Beattie,” said Theo.

“Never mind, we’ll think of another way,” Deirdre said, rising and kissing him on the cheek. “Now you’re out and about, there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t call on me. I must go now, and bring Gus up to date, but I’ll be in touch.”

“My darling,” said Theo, and kissed her hand.

 

BEATTIE SAW HER go off down the drive in the Rolls and looked at her watch. She would wait until Deirdre was well out of sight, then she would still be in time for tea with Miriam. She was almost certain that her plan would continue to work.

Gus, meanwhile, was surprised to see the Rolls slow down and park outside his gate. He rushed to the door. “What’s up?” he said. “You’re early, aren’t you? Is he ill?”

“Let me in,” Deirdre said. “I need a strong drink. Whisky, preferably.”

Gus poured them both a dram of High Commissioner and they sat down. Deirdre gave him a dramatic account of her encounter with Beattie, and said it was a narrow squeak. “Nothing lost, though,” she said.

Deirdre gulped down her whisky and Gus was alarmed to see her slowly turning a greenish yellow. “Ugh!” she said. “How long have you had this stuff? It’s—” She got no further before rushing for the bathroom, from where Gus heard repeated retching. Then there was silence.

Gus frowned. What was the poor girl up to? He finished his own drink, and went up to the bathroom. “Deirdre? Are you all right? Need any help?”

Silence.

He knocked again, and when there was no answer he turned the handle and pushed open the door. “Deirdre?” He saw her curled up on the floor like a foetus in the womb, and he touched her cheek lightly. To his huge relief she moaned.

In an instant he had her up in his arms, and took her along the landing to his bedroom. “There,” he said. “Got you in my bed at last.” He could have sworn a tiny smile crossed her face. He put a rug over her and said he would be back in a couple of seconds. Water, he remembered, was the thing. She would be dehydrated from heaving up the entire contents of her stomach.

 

AN HOUR LATER, she was sitting wrapped in a warm rug, a cup of hot sweet tea beside her chair, which Gus had drawn up close to the fire.

“What on earth did you have for lunch?” he asked, as he settled in a battered old chair opposite her.

Deirdre shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said. “In fact, I was a bit rushed, so I just had a boiled egg and toast. The egg was really fresh—one of the organic new-laid ones Will has in the shop.”

“Is that all? No manky old banana, or curdled milk?”

“Nope.”

“So nothing else to eat until you came here?”

“Ah,” she replied, remembering. “Biscuits. Beattie had made some of her beloved Theo’s favourite biscuits—yuk yuk—and insisted on my sampling them. I had three. She insisted on my taking the two iced with a star. But surely? They were wafer thin, and tasted strongly of lemon.”

“An old dodge,” Gus said.

“What d’you mean?”

“It’s a cover-up. To obscure the taste of something nasty, you use a strong flavour of something nice, like lemon.”

Deirdre was aghast. “
Poison
, d’you mean?”

Gus shrugged. “Could have been. That kitchen’s pretty primitive up at the Hall, so I’m told. Could have been something put down for the rats, and still clinging to Beattie’s hands. Or maybe designed to give you a really nasty bellyache, though unlikely. Anyway,” he added, “you’re not going home until you feel really strong enough. Tomorrow morning, if necessary.”

“But the car . . . ? What will people think?”

“To hell with people. Think of it as a generous act to give them something new to talk about. Now, drink up that tea.”

 

NEXT DOOR, BEATTIE and Miriam sat primly on the edge of their chairs, trying not to look out of the window. Miriam had seen the car arrive and park outside Gus’s house, and had watched Deirdre hurry in. Then Beattie had arrived for tea, full of guesses as to what the big car could be doing there. Now they made an effort to talk of something else, but the subject returned inevitably to Mrs. Bloxham and Mr. Halfhide.

“Of course, you know she’s anybody’s? Anything in trousers,” said Beattie. “She’s been up at the Hall, pestering Mr. Theo. Honestly, Miriam, the woman is shameless.”

“Does he know her, then?”

“Apparently. In the old days, when they were young. She seems to think they had undying love for each other, but as you know, Theo played the field. Like father like son, I say! But, do you know, Theo didn’t even recognise Mrs. Bloxham when they met again.”

Miriam blushed. Did Beattie know about Theo and herself? She couldn’t remember how long ago Mother had stopped it. Had Beattie been at the Hall by then?

“So now she’s after Gus Halfhide, d’you think? Shame, if he falls for it. He’s a really nice man.” And
mine
, she added to herself.

“As I said,” Beattie replied tartly, “she’s anybody’s. And, of course, she’s wealthy. That’s an added attraction for the men.”

Miriam wanted to say that she personally wasn’t rich, but Theo had seemed to find her attractive. Instead, she said wistfully that even now, years later, Mrs. Bloxham was a pretty woman.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Beattie said. “But from the look of Mr. Halfhide, he would be after a few pounds in the kitty, never mind whether she was pretty or not. What is a still youngish man doing living in a farm cottage, seemingly hiding from the world?”

“He says he’s been an investigating journalist,” Miriam embroidered, and was shocked to see the change in Beattie’s face.

“
What
did you say?”

“Oh well, I expect it’s a silly joke,” Miriam said quickly. “He laughed when he said it, but there is something about him, sort of secretive. I don’t know nothing about his past or his family. And we have shared some time together lately. He needs looking after. I gave him a proper lunch, and he’s had tea with me once or twice. But never a word about his parents, or whether he’s got brothers or sisters.”

She looked at Beattie, sitting so upright, so neatly and circumspectly dressed, and thought much the same could be said of her. Where had she come from? She just arrived at the Hall out of nowhere, mother had said, and had been there ever since.

They both said they must be getting on with some work, and stood up. Miriam caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror over the fireplace, and saw with a sudden jolt that they looked alike. Same high forehead, heavy eyebrows, slightly curving nose. Only their mouths were different. Miriam had full, generous lips, and Beattie’s were thin and drawn tightly together. Good God, she thought. We could be sisters.

After she had seen Beattie off back to the Hall, she looked boldly at the car, still parked outside Gus’s house, and then she glanced into his front window. It was not easy to distinguish the figures, but she was sure Mrs. Bloxham was sitting by the fireplace and Gus was leaning over her, straightening what looked like a shawl around her shoulders. Whippy was curled up on her lap.

Miriam’s blood rose, and, beetroot-faced, she hurried back into her own house, banging the door behind her. “Who cares if he saw me!” she muttered. “He’ll have to have a good explanation next time he comes to tea!”

IVY WALKED SLOWLY down the High Street, conscious that the ache in her back was slowly fading. It had been quite an effort to leave the comfortable chair in Springfields lounge and set out with her stick. But now, after stepping out gently, she had reached the shop, and intended to turn back. Then she thought maybe she would treat herself to a box of Black Magic chocolates, and climbed the steps.

“Good afternoon, Miss Beasley!” Will said. He had just glanced at the clock and saw that it was nowhere near closing time so he might as well fill in time by being nice to an old lady.

“Are you still happy in our village?” he said pleasantly.

“No option,” said Ivy. “Anyway, it’s adequate for my needs now. Of course, at one time I was much more active and Ringford relied on me for all kinds of things.” She wandered round the shop, reflecting that the one good thing about Barrington was that she had arrived as a blank sheet. All they knew about her was that she was Mrs. Bloxham’s cousin. Had she still been in Ringford, where her reputation was of an upright, unrelenting spinster with a sharp tongue and frugal habits, her decision to buy herself a box of Black Magic would have set tongues wagging for days.

“There we are, then,” Will said. “Don’t eat them all at once!”

Shall if I like, Ivy muttered childishly to herself as she left the shop. She walked a few paces and then saw the town bus on its return journey coming towards her. Perhaps she would just hover and watch out for Beattie Beatty returning. The bus stopped, but as it moved on again, Ivy could see that Miss Beatty was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, she turned and continued on her way back to Springfields.

“Ivy,” said a soft voice behind her. Deirdre’s car had driven up so quietly that she hadn’t heard it. “Jump in,” her cousin said.

Ivy was about to say that her jumping days were over, when she saw that Deirdre’s face was pale and drawn, not at all what it should have been on returning from a visit to her admirer at the Hall. She clambered into the car, and they coasted on towards Springfields.

They settled safely in Ivy’s room with a tray of tea, which, on seeing Deirdre’s shaky progression up the stairs, Katya had prepared as quickly as she could. Then, in fits and starts, Deirdre gave a detailed account of all that had happened and Ivy sat silently thinking.

Deirdre wondered if she’d gone on too long, and exhausted Ivy. The poor old thing had been a bit middling herself. So she concluded her story by saying, “I suppose it might have been an infection, or something I ate yesterday. Gus seemed to think so.”

Still Ivy said nothing, then sighed. “More like poison,” she said.

“Unlikely, Gus seemed to think. What do you reckon, Ivy?”

“Could be poison. Rat poison, probably. They always have it around somewhere on farms. Young Budd could have trampled it in after setting traps. Just unlucky, maybe.”

Deirdre did not believe it. She had reached the firm conclusion that Beattie was mad, and had tried to poison her with doctored biscuits. Or, at the very least, had meant to make Deirdre so ill that she would never set foot in the Hall again. But she supposed that she should not frighten Ivy, and nodded in silent agreement.