The Hangman's Row Enquiry Read online

  He looked around his room, at family photographs and portraits, and sadly came to his senses. Beattie was family. She had made herself so, and more than once had hinted at tales she could tell. And then again, she could be very sweet to him on good days. What would the poor woman do, if he sacked her? Where would she go?

  Not yet, he told himself. Maybe later. Definitely later, when he could work out some kind way of doing it. Meantime, he was quite enjoying the subterfuge!

  Twenty-six

  NORMALLY A METHODICAL girl, Katya found herself muddling up her personal possessions, putting books in with boots and makeup in her wash bag. Her mind was not on the job, she told herself. She could think of little else but the exciting prospect of having Gus Halfhide sleeping in her room for two whole weeks. She would be able to pop in to see him, and help him down the stairs when he was ready. She would bake cookies for him from the recipe book her mother had insisted on giving her, sure that in England her daughter would find nothing nice to eat and consequently starve.

  Finally her room was empty of all belongings, sparkling clean and cool, with fresh curtains billowing in the breeze from the open window. Mrs. Spurling had said that Mrs. Bloxham would be bringing Mr. Halfhide from the hospital to Springfields around eleven o’clock. “It is kind of you, Katya,” she had said, “to give up your room. I will make sure he is gone after the two weeks. Miss Beasley is insisting on paying for the room while he is here, so I have decided to give this extra fee to you. It will be a nest egg for you.”

  Never mind about nest eggs! thought Katya. She had seen some really lovely clothes in Tresham’s finest shop. How nice of Mrs. Spurling! She would work extra hard to please her.

  “Oh, just one more thing,” Mrs. Spurling said. “I shall be glad if you will keep the matter of the extra money to yourself, Katya. Have you understood? Do . . . not . . . tell . . . anybody . . . about . . . the . . . extra . . . money . . . I . . . shall . . . be . . . giving . . . you,” she added with emphasis. “The others might be jealous.”

  Katya nodded and said she understood. She did understand the words, but had no idea why she had to keep it secret. Still, that was no problem for her. She shut the door on the immaculate room and went downstairs and into the garden. A few roses would cheer him up, she was sure.

  DEIRDRE HELPED GUS into the passenger seat of her car, and covered his legs with a soft tartan rug.

  “For God’s sake, Deirdre!” he said. “I only had a bash on the head! And it’s not as if we’re in the middle of winter. Here, fold it up and keep it for the next deserving case.”

  Deirdre laughed. “Make the most of it, Gus,” she said. “The charitable impulse is soon exhausted. Now, back to Barrington,” she said. She looked at her watch. “Just time for a quick gin at Tawny Wings before I surrender you to the care of Mrs. Spurling.”

  “Better not,” he answered. “I don’t want to arrive smelling of gin. Ivy’s bound to notice, if nobody else does. No, we’ll have a celebration drink this evening. Is alcohol allowed?”

  “Not sure,” said Deirdre, “but if it’s not, our Ivy will change the rules. She’s developed a taste for a small sweet sherry before supper.”

  They talked idly on the way back to Barrington, speculating on who Gus’s intruder might be. “You haven’t told us much about your past,” Deirdre said bluntly. “What exactly did you do?”

  “I told Miriam, and I thought I had told you. No mystery about it. I was an investigative journalist, among other things.”

  Deirdre laughed. “Yeah, and what else?” she said.

  Gus looked at her. “I’m telling the truth, Deirdre,” he said. “I was working undercover. Sworn to secrecy of course. Solemn oath, and all that. But I made a few enemies on the way.”

  “So you think one of them might be after you?” Deirdre could still not be sure she believed him.

  “Possible,” said Gus. “It’s happened before.”

  “Is that why you came to Barrington? Hiding away from trouble?”

  “There’s never a real hideaway,” he said, “but yes, I did think our village would be remote enough, especially if I kept my head down. Ho hum!”

  “You reckoned without the gossips network. It was all round the village a couple of days after you arrived. Anybody in the shop or the pub could have picked up all the details of the new tenant in Hangman’s Row. The one with the funny name. Is it your real name, by the way?”

  “Don’t ask,” replied Gus. “I’ve had so many, I’ve forgotten which is the real one.”

  They drew up outside Springfields, and Deirdre helped Gus out of the car. “Just look a bit feeble,” she whispered in his ear, “else old Spurling will have you out on your ear, Ivy or no Ivy.”

  A small reception committee awaited Gus. Mrs. Spurling stood with a fixed smile, while on her left was Katya, with a dazzling smile, and on her right, Ivy looked on impassively as Deirdre manoeuvred Gus through the swing doors.

  “Welcome, Mr. Halfhide,” greeted Mrs. Spurling, as Katya rushed forward to help a wobbly-looking Gus. Ivy’s voice was sharp as she said that she was sure that Gus would prefer not to be fussed. “After all,” she added, echoing his own words, “he only had a bang on the head.”

  “There is always a danger of concussion,” Mrs. Spurling reprimanded Ivy. “We can’t be too careful, can we, Mr. Halfhide?” She thought privately that the man was making the most of his opportunity, but Miss Beasley was paying well, so her protégé would get the best that Springfields could offer.

  Gus himself was thinking that Ivy was quite wrong. He was looking forward to being fussed as much as possible, especially by young Katya. How pretty she looked, with her pink cheeks and hair neatly brushed into a ponytail! He took a couple of steps forward, and was surprised to find he genuinely felt weak. He accepted Katya’s arm gratefully, and Mrs. Spurling said he should go straight to his room. She would send up coffee and biscuits, and the two ladies could join him there, if they wished.

  Deirdre took his other arm, and he winked at her. “So kind,” he murmured, and she squeezed his arm until it hurt. “Don’t overdo it,” she whispered, and they continued on their slow way up the stairs.

  Katya vanished once Gus was settled, but reappeared ten minutes later with a tray of coffee. “Specially baked for you, Mr. Halfhide,” she said, handing round a plate of golden cookies.

  “Does that mean we can’t have one?” Deirdre said, smiling.

  “No, it means that Katya is following the aims of Springfields Residential Home, to make all its guests welcome and comfortable,” Ivy said severely.

  The three investigators of Enquire Within chatted desultorily for a short while, and then Gus said, “Right. So where are we, ladies? Shall we have a summing up of the situation so far? Start with what we do know, and then we’ll make a plan for finding out what we don’t know. Would you like to begin, Ivy?”

  “Augustus,” Ivy said gently, “you ain’t quite right yet, my dear. Since you went in to the hospital, Deirdre and me have spent time visiting you, arranging for you to come here for a bit, an’ I for one haven’t given much thought to Enquire Within.”

  Deirdre nodded. “Most important thing is to get you better. I haven’t got anything new to report.”

  Gus looked smug. “Well, I have,” he said. “A small thing like a bash on the head doesn’t bother Augustus Halfhide. Duty first, I was told when I first got into this investigating business.” Well, that was not far from the truth, he excused himself.

  “So what secrets did the nursing staff of the hospital reveal to you?”

  “It wasn’t a nurse. It was Miriam Blake,” he said with a smirk. “My delightful next-door neighbour. She came to see me, bearing red roses.”

  “Coo-er!” said Deirdre.

  “And as we talked of this and that, she mentioned that Beatrice Beatty is trying to get rid of her.”

  “What!?” chorused Deirdre and Ivy.

  “Oh, not that,” Gus said. “No, of course not, you silli
es. No, she wants Miriam out of her cottage. The rent is small, from when her mother was alive. Now Beattie has first of all put up the rent to an astronomical amount—”

  “So Miriam Blake said to me,” interrupted Ivy.

  “—and Miriam can’t and won’t pay it. She has told Beattie she will see a lawyer if necessary. I think she is quite enjoying facing the Beatty woman.”

  “What about Theo?” Deirdre asked. “Can’t he intervene?”

  “Not according to Miriam. She says what we all know already, that Theo is putty in Beattie’s hands. He leaves everything to her.”

  “Except his money, we hope,” said Deirdre. “Anyway, I’ll see what I can do next Saturday when I go to see him. I reckon the worm will just about have started to turn.”

  “There’s more,” said Gus, helping himself to another cookie. “Miriam said she remembered Beattie in the early days. When she first came to the Hall she was mouse-like. Did exactly what she was told, and never ventured an opinion. There were rumours went round the village that there was something bad in her past. But gradually things changed, according to Miriam. Finally, Theo had more or less handed over everything to Beattie to manage, and it’s been like that ever since.”

  Ivy sat up like a ramrod in her chair. “Did you say something bad in her past? Did Miriam say what it was?”

  “I asked, but she said the rumour died down, and in the end got forgotten.”

  “But not by Miriam,” Ivy said. “Write that down, Deirdre. Question for Miss Blake.”

  “This is not a meeting, Ivy,” Deirdre said, checking on Gus, who was looking really tired now.

  “Just a memo,” Ivy said blandly. “We might forget. Then we must leave him to get some rest. He’s beginning to look a bit peaky.”

  Gus protested that he was fine, but Ivy was firm. “Come along, Deirdre,” she said. “I’ve had a letter from our cousin in Thailand I want to show you. See you later, Gus. You might feel like coming downstairs to meet Mr. Goodman. He’s eighty-six and has lived in Barrington all his life.”

  Oh, how lovely, groaned Gus to himself, but then he remembered that Ivy was paying for all this, and he felt obliged to sing for his supper. “That would be very nice,” he said.

  “WE HAVEN’T GOT a cousin in Thailand,” Deirdre said, as they went along to Ivy’s room.

  “I know we haven’t,” Ivy said. “I just wanted to get you away. Poor Augustus was wilting.”

  “Yes, well, he’s quite a tough flower,” Deirdre said huffily. “What do you really want?”

  “I want to know if you are really visiting Theo Roussel this Saturday, because if you are, the weather forecast is not good and I am certainly not sitting on the seat outside the shop in the pouring rain so that you can cuddle up to the squire on the sofa.”

  “Ivy!” Deirdre stared angrily at her, then suddenly burst out laughing. “You are a tonic, Ivy,” she said. “Thank goodness you decided to come and live in Barrington. You’d be wasted mouldering away in Ringford.”

  “I don’t moulder,” said Ivy. “But I’ll give you this, Deirdre Bloxham, life at Springfields is very far from what I expected! And this is mostly due to Augustus. We two would have mouldered away, as you put it, in this village like any other village. WI, church, market day in town, whist and cribbage. Nothing more exciting than what I’ve been doing all my life. But now, well, you know . . .”

  This was a long speech for Ivy, and Deirdre was amazed to see that she was actually blushing. Ivy blushing! What was it about Gus? she thought. He was not really conventionally attractive. Skinny body, thin gingery hair all over the place, oddly uncoordinated in his movement. But his smile was warm, and made you feel good.

  “So,” said Ivy, back to her sharp self, “we must keep going. On second thoughts, I shall be able to shelter from the rain in the shop, and can see Beattie safely on the bus. And you must remember you’re at the Hall to find out as much as you can about Beattie before she came to work there. Theo must know a bit about it. He wasn’t always a recluse.”

  “He certainly wasn’t,” said Deirdre. “Not by a long chalk. Leave him to me, Ivy. Enquire Within is on the war-path.”

  Twenty-seven

  GUS, WITH HIS shoes off and stretched out on the counterpane of his comfortable bed, slept more soundly than he had for weeks. He did not wake up until a light tapping at his door caused him to look at the clock beside him. It was six o’clock, and the sun was in the west, shining low through his drawn curtains.

  “Who is it?” he called sleepily.

  “Katya. May I come in, Mr. Halfhide?”

  Gus hastily ran his hands through his scrappy hair and rubbed his eyes. “Of course,” he replied, and Katya poked her head round the door. “Supper in fifteen minutes,” she said. “You like supper here? Or to come down the stairs and be happy with the others?”

  Gus laughed delightedly. “Oh, I must come down and be happy with the others,” he said, and swung his legs off the bed. “Oh, steady on, Gus,” he said. “Still a bit dizzy, I’m afraid, Katya,” he added, and stretched out his hand. She immediately came forward and took his arm. “Let me help you,” she said. “Perhaps you sit in the chair? I will put on your shoes.”

  She was kneeling down tying his shoelaces when Mrs. Spurling entered.

  “I’ll do that,” she said abruptly. Katya stood up, red in the face, and rushed out of the room. Mrs. Spurling looked Gus straight in the eye.

  “It will be good for you to tie your own shoelaces, Mr. Halfhide,” she said. “Or if you can’t manage—genuinely—we can find you a pair of slippers to wear while you are here. Katya is a vulnerable young girl. I believe I do not have to say any more. Now, will you be all right to come down for supper? Take it steadily. The exercise is necessary for your recovery.” She marched out of the room without further comment.

  Suitably chastened, Gus arrived in the dining room and saw Ivy beckoning to him. She was sitting at a table by the window, with a neatly groomed little man next to her. Gus sat down carefully, and Ivy said she was glad to see he was looking rested.

  “This is Mr. Goodman,” she continued, and turned to the old man. “And this is Mr. Halfhide. He is a friend of mine, recuperating from a nasty accident.”

  Gus thought a spot of informality would warm the atmosphere, and said he would much rather be Gus than Mr. Halfhide. He looked enquiringly at Mr. Goodman.

  “Good idea,” the old man said, “I’m Roy. They ask you in here if you’d like to be known by your Christian name and I said yes. But it made no difference. They all call me Mr. Goodman. Because of my great age.” He chuckled, and added that he was a boy at heart. “Always a boy at heart,” he repeated, and smiled warmly at Ivy.

  She ignored him, and said she understood that cod was on the menu for this evening. She could recommend it, she told Gus. “Fried in batter,” she said.

  “With chips?” said Gus.

  “Of course,” said Roy delightedly. Here was a man after his own heart. “Do you play cards, Gus?” he said. “We usually have a game of whist after supper.”

  Gus frowned. “Pontoon’s my game,” he said, looking warily at Ivy.

  “Vingt-et-un,” she said, with a decidedly English accent. “Dad was an excellent player. And we always played for matches,” she added firmly.

  “Fine,” said Roy, producing a box of Swan Vestas from his pocket. He was a pipe smoker, but it was not allowed at Springfields. He kept the matches in his pocket as a comforter and would hold them in the palm of his hand when feeling down.

  Now he said that a game of pontoon would be marvellous. He felt brighter than he had for ages, and hoped the Lands’ End catalogue would arrive soon. He noticed that Gus had a most attractive jacket. Perhaps he would get one like that. Maybe Ivy would help him choose, though he suspected she had very conservative tastes.

  The cod arrived, and Gus was pleased to see a full bottle of tomato ketchup on the table. “Great!” he said. “Let’s get stuck in.”

  THE G
AMBLING THREESOME was the object of great interest in the lounge after supper. Four ladies, all somberly dressed as befitted their widow status, had their usual game of whist, but could not concentrate. The frequent bursts of laughter and whoops of triumph from Gus and Mr. Goodman disturbed them. One of them put her finger to her lips as she caught Ivy’s eye. “Ssshh!” she said. Her message fell on deaf ears. Ivy was enjoying herself, taken right back to the rare occasions when her mother was out for the day, and she and her father settled down to a hand or two of pontoon. They had played for matches, as they were doing now, but she remembered that her father had a bar of chocolate at the ready for the winner. And Ivy was always the winner.

  This time, Gus won, and Ivy miraculously produced a bar of Fruit & Nut from her capacious handbag. “Well done, Gus,” she said, and suggested another game tomorrow evening.

  “Ra-ther!” enthused Roy. Really, things were definitely brightening up at Springfields.

  With coffee all round, they settled back comfortably, and began to talk. As Ivy had hoped, Roy did most of the talking. With very little encouragement, he told them the story of his life. His family had been farmers in Barrington for generations, and when he, the last of the line, failed to get married and produce an heir for the old farmhouse and acres, he had decided to sell and use the proceeds to pay for luxury care in his old age. Naturally, he had chosen Springfields. He soon knew that he had made a mistake. Although he was physically infirm now, he still had all his faculties intact. He had been bored to tears, in spite of his best efforts to make friends and get something lively and interesting going amongst the other residents.

  A reading group had ground to a halt when members pleaded they could no longer read well enough to keep it going. Failing eyesight and lack of concentration were blamed. Then, remembering his love of amateur drama in his youth, he had rounded up enough residents to attempt a Christmas revue to entertain the others. All the old songs, he had assured them, and a few jokes from old time music hall. He would be master of ceremonies, and Miss Pinkney had unexpectedly agreed to play the piano for them. They had made a start, but one by one the volunteers had backed out, mostly with feeble excuses, but nothing he could do would persuade them to return. The revue had been cancelled.