Sixteen
DEIRDRE ALWAYS ARRIVED promptly, and this morning was no exception. The new, imitation old, grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven as she came into the door of Springfields.
“Lovely morning!” she said, as she went upstairs to Ivy’s room. Mrs. Spurling smiled and called after her that Katya had been busy baking for them both, and coffee would be up shortly.
“I think I’ll move in here with you, Ivy,” Deirdre said, as she settled down in a comfortable chair. “Lovely room with a nice view of the village, pleasant staff and good food. Waited on hand and foot, and an interesting man calling on you most days. What more could you want?”
“To be twenty years younger,” said Ivy tartly. “I’d like to be back in Ringford in my own house, with Doris and Ellen, and the three of us going blackberrying in the autumn. Roots is what I miss, Deirdre.”
“What do you mean, Ivy?” Deirdre asked, wishing she’d not said anything except hello.
“Family roots. Generations of Beasleys behind you. That’s what I mean.”
“Well, you’ve got me. And this is a good second best, isn’t it?”
Fortunately, before Ivy could expand further on the value of roots, there was a knock at the door and Katya came in with a tray of coffee and cookies. Ivy’s smile was warm, Deirdre noticed with surprise, and after the girl had gone, the last of the Beasleys praised the still-warm biscuits, saying only that, in her opinion, biscuits was a good enough name, since that’s what they were.
“Now, down to business.” Ivy then gave Deirdre a succinct account of what she had gleaned at the WI. “If you ask me,” she said firmly, “the most important point out of all this is that our Miriam most probably had an affair with Mr. Theo Roussel. He must’ve been hard up for a woman, but still, there’s no accounting for taste.”
Deirdre bridled. “Hardly hard up,” she protested. “He was a very attractive man in his youth,” she said. “All the girls were after him.”
“Including you?”
Deirdre shook her head. “No, he was after me,” she corrected. “We had a fling for a while, but it fizzled out, like these things do.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Ivy, but reflected that she knew only too well. It was some years ago now, but the pain of being abandoned at the altar by her lodger was still a vivid memory. “Anyway,” she continued, “it’s even more important that you get to see Theo as soon as possible. Blackmail is about the only really solid reason we’ve got for somebody knifing the old woman.”
“Ivy! You’re talking like a private eye already! And yes, I am determined to get to see Theo in spite of his minder. Have you any idea how I can do it without making a scene? I could go blasting in there with all guns blazing, but that would hardly put Theo in the mood for confiding secrets, would it?”
Ivy was silent for a few minutes. “We need Augustus,” she said. “He’s the man we want. I bet he’s solved more things of this sort than we’ve had hot dinners. He’ll tell us how to do it. No, don’t go. I’ll ring him now, see if he’s at home.”
Gus was at home, still in his pyjamas, reading a long letter from his ex-wife. She had enclosed a fistful of bills to be paid, and said that if he did not come up with the cash immediately, she would have to go to the lawyers again, and she was sure he knew how much that would cost. He sighed as he answered Ivy’s call, but when she summoned him to Springfields at once, he was glad of the diversion and showered, dressed and was on his way in a very short time. It was a lovely morning, he noticed with rising spirits as he strode down the High Street. Something would come up. Maybe he’d go to the greyhound stadium in town tonight and have a few flutters on the dogs. Yep, he’d go to the dogs! As if he wasn’t there already, he told himself, and roared with laughter, alarming Whippy who was, as usual, by his side.
BEATTIE BEATTY HAD prepared a cold salad lunch for Theo, and suggested to him that he might like to eat it in the orangery. “There’s plenty of shade under the trees,” she said, “and you wouldn’t be worried by wasps and things. Shall I set it up there for you?”
She always hoped that he would invite her to join him, be a companion and share their lives more than before. But he never did. She remembered that in his youth he had been a gregarious young man, with friends in all strata of society. But she had seen nothing of that in him for years. He kept her firmly in her place socially, reluctantly allowing her to take over the running of the estate. But he never made a personal move towards her, never a one.
“Thank you, Beattie,” he said. “That would be very nice. And shall we be quite clear that no doors are to be locked in future unless I lock them? That will be all now. Give me a call when lunch is ready for me.”
So that’s that, thought Beattie, as she went back to the kitchen. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea. Perhaps she should have let that Mrs. Bloxham have a short talk with him. She could have stayed in her usual listening place and monitored what they said. Well, she hadn’t, and so now she had to think of another way of keeping both those old women, Mrs. Bloxham and her cousin, away from any revealing conversations with her master. Master! If he was her master, it followed that she was his mistress, didn’t it? If only that were true, how different things would be.
After washing up lunch dishes-no dishwasher for her-she retreated to a seat in the garden with her book. It was riveting, and she could hardly wait for the next chapter. Set back in Victorian times, it was a story based on an actual case of poisoning, and one of such fascinating detail that she had read several passages over twice. A young Scottish woman had taken an unsuitable lover, and met him clandestinely for scenes of unbridled passion. When he threatened to expose their affair, she worked out a most ingenious way of doing away with him, luring him into unmentionable practices involving a slow poisoning through ingestion.
“Phew!” said Beattie, loosening her blouse. It was really very hot this afternoon. Maybe she should make sure that Theo had not gone to sleep in the sun. Well, a few more minutes wouldn’t do any harm, she thought, and turned the page.
GUS’S VISIT TO join Ivy and Deirdre had, as expected by Ivy, been extremely useful. “We have to be even more devious than Beattie,” he said. “Out-think the old dragon. Now, lets make a plan.”
They had put their heads together over fresh coffee and another supply of cookies, and were pleased with the result. Gus had wanted to know if they had heard of any regular trips into town made by Beattie. Didn’t she go to market every week? And did she take the morning or afternoon bus? Did Theo ever go out on his own? If so, where, and how did he manage? Did he visit any local friends or tenants? That Rose Budd was an attractive woman. Deirdre had blushed. “Really, Ivy!” she had said. “I’m surprised at you. She is a married woman.”
“Be your age, and don’t be so ridiculous, Deirdre!”
Gus had decided to change the subject. “Now,” he’d said, “the best source of answers to my questions would probably be Will at the shop. I can call on my way back.”
Now he sat in the window seat of the pub, thinking over what Will had said, and making notes.
Beattie went to market every Saturday afternoon without fail. She arranged for the wife of their one remaining farmworker to sit with Theo, who, since this was the bubbly blond Rose Budd, never complained. It was said in the pub that Rose played croquet on the lawn with him in the summer, and Scrabble in the drawing room in the winter. Other humorous suggestions were made, but not taken seriously. Remembering what Ivy had said, Gus took them seriously.
This was really good news, Gus thought, chewing the end of his pen. Now, what else? Theo had few friends, apparently. Old chums had tried, but met a stone wall in Beattie. Not that she antagonised them, but in a subtle way led them to think that Theo had become very much a recluse, not wanting friends interrupting his mammoth task of writing his memoirs. Some persisted for a while, but in the end accepted what Beattie said, and gave up. She had exaggerated the memoir writing, of course, although he occasionally set down memories of the past.