knowing.”
“Speak to me first, before you see him,” Ivy said. “Come round for coffee tomorrow morning. Katya has promised to bake me a special cookie-whatever that is. Not such a bad child, that one. I may make something of her yet. Night, Deirdre.”
BEATTIE BEATTY HAD stayed on in the village hall to help with the washing up. She did not usually do this, and the others were curious. Why now? They soon found out. Beattie buttonholed the ones who had sat at Ivy’s table and asked what all the hilarity had been about. “Share the joke,” she said, punishing a soapy saucer with a drying-up cloth.
After they had given her an edited version, leaving out all mention of Theo Roussel, she had more questions, this time about Miss Ivy Beasley. Who was she? Some relation of Deirdre Bloxham, she understood. Spoke her mind, didn’t she. She approved of that. What else could they tell her about Ivy?
But the others did not cooperate, and said they knew no more than she did. Miss Beasley had seemed nice enough, once you got to know her.
Finally, the hall was cleared, and Beattie walked slowly up the long drive to the Hall. She was convinced that Ivy’s table had been talking about Theo. She had even heard his name, she was absolutely certain. She quickened her steps. He had been about to say something to her this morning, and she knew perfectly well what it was. He was going to sack her for the imprisonment. But she knew him of old, knew things about him he would rather not have spread around. Then she was so nice to him at breakfast time that when she asked him if there was anything else before she started baking, he had hesitated and said no, nothing else, and had thanked her for a delicious breakfast.
She checked that every lock in the house was secure and went upstairs to her room. There she undressed and climbed into her high bed, took her book and began to read. Tomorrow was another day, and she would tackle the problem of Miss Ivy Beasley and her cousin Deirdre in the morning.
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
“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.
