The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery) (13 page)

IT WAS A
very gloomy Gus who accompanied Ivy and Roy up to Tawny Wings. He had seen them from outside the shop, and had run across the green to catch up with them.

“Morning, old chap,” said Roy. “Any news?”

Gus shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve been asking around since early morning, and left a notice up on James’s Lost and Found board in the shop.”

“And a reward?” said Ivy. “That often brings kidnappers to their senses.”

“Possibly,” answered Gus. “But my bank balance won’t permit much more than twenty pounds.”

“If it’s kids,” said Ivy, “that could well be enough. Worth a try.”

They had arrived at Deirdre’s front door, and she opened immediately. “Gus?” she said. He shook his head, and helped Roy to alight from his trundle. “No, Deirdre. I’ve just been leaving notices around the village, and asking everyone I meet if they’ve seen a small grey whippet.”

Deirdre said coffee was ready to pour and they should have that first, instead of their usual half-time break.

“So now we have two cases,” said Ivy, when they had settled. “The unresolved death of one of our clients, and the cruel kidnap of one of our colleagues.”

“Well, not exactly colleague,” said Deirdre, “but one of us, nevertheless.”

“Thanks, love,” said Gus. “I don’t expect you to spend much time on Whippy. She is, after all, my responsibility.”

“But the two cases may be linked,” said Ivy. She sat behind the desk, her grey hair neatly confined inside an invisible hairnet, and the barest dab of powder on her nose. She sat straight as a ramrod, her skirt pulled well down over her knees, and was every inch the chairperson. Gus was comforted by Ivy’s confident, straightforward approach, and said that if it was okay by the others, he would sit by the window in case Whippy had escaped and come looking for him.

“There is one other thing we can do.” Last evening, Ivy had a new idea, and one worth pursuing.

“Carry on, my dear.” Roy nodded at her, urging her on.

“Well, it was when we were supposing a murderer to be miles away by now. Which, of course, he could be. If he exists. But then I thought perhaps he was working a double bluff, and in fact hiding somewhere on or around the farm, possibly with Whippy. It’s a terrible derelict place, with outbuildings stuffed with old bits of machinery, sacks of rotting animal feeds, bales of hay and straw in the hay barn, half eaten by rats. There would be dozens of places for a man to hide, at least for a while.”

Gus suddenly jumped to his feet. “That’s her!” he said, rushing to the window and then the door. But the car had gone by, out of reach. “She was there! Sitting on the backseat! I’m sure it was her, Deirdre. Can we phone Frobisher and get the police to keep a look out for an old Peugeot? Faded blue. A woman driving! Go on, Deirdre, go and phone him. Promise him anything.”

Deirdre frowned. “What do you mean by that, Gus?” she said, but he didn’t answer.

“What do you think?” she said, turning to the others.

“Worth a try,” said Ivy. “I seem to be saying that a lot this morning. But it is worth a try, Deirdre.”

Deirdre left the room, and they heard her talking on the phone in the kitchen. When she returned she was very red in the face. “Job done,” she said shortly. “He’ll deal with it.”

“Right, now let’s get on,” Ivy said. “First of all, back to the farm. Roy and I are going to have a sniff around when I come back from my first day at the college. The police will probably have finished there by then. The house will be locked up, of course, but it is the rest of it that interests me.”

“So, Gus is going into town to give more Whippy details to the police. Would you like me to come with you?”

Gus nodded. “Love you to, Dee-Dee,” he said. “Sorry if I offended you. All in a good cause. So that’s this afternoon fixed, everybody. Meanwhile, we must all keep our eyes well and truly open. Even spotting the blue Peugeot would be a help. It was old, and, as I said, faded here and there.”

“There is a possibility,” said Roy gently, “that it was not Whippy. It could have been a grey whippet, but not ours. Best to bear that in mind, Gus, old chap. It might save a bit of disappointment.”

Gus shook his head. “It was Whippy, I’m sure of that. I would know her anywhere. But thanks, Roy. And thanks, everybody. So shall we report back at Springfields early evening? Perhaps after your supper, Ivy?”

“Fine. We’ll expect you this evening, then. Good hunting!”

• • •

AS DARKNESS FELL
in the field behind Blackwoods Farm, far in the corner, under a group of beech trees, the old henhouse on wheels and with its few steps leading to a tightly shut door was well hidden from view. It had been there for fifty or sixty years, but not in use for a good twenty. Eleanor Blatch had housed her few hens in the farmyard, and the field, known as Home Close, had been given over to a pig or two and a lame ewe that had become a pet.

The police were giving it a brief last look, noting that it was as big as a small caravan on wheels, with a stepladder leading to the door, which was stuck fast. By peering through the window on one side of the door, they could see it was clear and clean. A single chair and desk on one side, and a camp bed on the other. Small curtains hung at the only window, and they looked clean and fresh.

“Could have been used by a crook, I suppose, but more like a play house for kids. Anyway, you can see there’s nobody in there.”

“Very unlikely he’s still around, I reckon,” said a young constable to his colleague as they walked back down the field. “Miles away, more than likely. What we need to find is a reason why he—or, I suppose, she—wanted to kill an old woman with no money and little in the way of valuables.”

“Love,” said the policewoman walking by his side. “A crime of passion, I reckon.”

“What? With her in her fifties, and not even very attractive with it?”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” said the policewoman, and climbed into the police car beside him. “You’ll see. I could put money on it. A
crime passionel
, as the French say.”

MRS. SPURLING STOOD
in Springfields reception facing Gus and Deirdre, her face red and arms akimbo.

“My duty, Mrs. Bloxham, is to my elderly residents. Their health and strength are my primary concern. And in the case of Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman, who are engaged to be married, don’t you think it would be nice to make sure they both arrive at the church in good heart? And,” she continued, as Deirdre was about to speak, “by good heart, I mean in the best of health in mind and body. Which includes resting after a busy day and retiring to sleep with tranquil thoughts.”

Deirdre and Gus were stunned. They knew the old dragon disapproved of Enquire Within and all its activities, but her deputy, Miss Pinkney, who stood close behind her, knew equally well that Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman were so incredibly well and active
because
the whole business of detection and contact with the outside world was largely responsible for their excellent condition. That, and the wonderfully good food cooked by Katya and Anya in the kitchen.

“Perhaps you would kindly check that Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman are expecting us? I think they might be disappointed if you send us packing, dear Mrs. Spurling,” said Gus.

“I’ll go and check,” butted in Miss Pinkney quickly. “Shan’t be a minute,” she added, and disappeared. Mrs. Spurling, meanwhile, somewhat mollified by Gus’s charm, returned her arms to her sides and said they could wait in the lounge until Miss Pinkney returned.

“I know Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman have gone upstairs, so I would not want to disturb their little snooze,” she said.

Good gracious, thought Gus. What can the woman mean? Surely not rumpy-pumpy under the duvet? The idea was so ludicrous that he laughed out loud.

“Here comes Pinkers,” he said. “What’s the score?”

“All clear,” said the plump deputy, puffing a little. “You are to go up immediately, if that’s all right with Mrs. Spurling?”

Upstairs, Ivy and Roy had rearranged the room so that two extra chairs could be accommodated when Deirdre and Gus joined them.

“Katya is bringing hot chocolate,” whispered Miss Pinkney, as she left them, and soon they were comfortably settled, ready to catch up with what had been discovered during the afternoon.

“You first, Ivy,” said Deirdre. “You take the chair.”

“My report will be brief,” she answered. “Roy and I went for a walk and happened to find ourselves outside Blackwoods Farm.”

“Only
happened
?” said Deirdre, and they all laughed.

“Anyway,” continued Ivy, “we noticed a police car outside and we could see a young constable and a policewoman opening and shutting stable doors and storerooms at the back of the house.”

“Still looking, then?” Gus did not ask if they had found Whippy. He knew Ivy would have told him by now if they had.

“Yes, it seems so. The last we saw of them was walking away up the Home Close. There’s a spinney up there, and I suppose they were taking a look. Up there somewhere is Spinney Close. You know, the place where Eleanor’s sister lives. We should maybe introduce ourselves at some point?”

“Agreed,” said Roy. “But this time the light was going, so we carried on back here. We did also look back at the fire escape, but it looked exactly the same, and there were no lights showing anywhere in the whole house. It looked very empty and sad. Or so my Ivy thought.”

“And then I told myself to skip such sentimental rubbish, and get on with matters in hand. We hadn’t forgotten Whippy, Gus, but believe it or no, we didn’t see a single dog. Not one. Or, wait a minute, I tell a lie. Wasn’t there a snappy little terrier in the vicar’s window? But it was nothing like Whippy, I’m afraid.”

“Never mind, and thanks for looking,” said Gus. “I plan to stay up most of tonight, roaming round the village and empty houses and barns where she might be.”

“You’ll get arrested,” said Deirdre. “Loitering with intent, or some such.”

“I think if it was me, I’d do the same, if that would make you feel happier,” said Roy. “I should carry on, and risk arrest.”

• • •

GUS SET OUT
from his house as dusk fell. Most people would be indoors, he reckoned, and be unlikely to wonder what Mr. Halfhide was doing, peering into gardens and driveways.

As he went, he whistled. Whippy was very accustomed to his whistling her to return to him when they walked in the woods, and even if she couldn’t escape, she was very likely to bark. Her bark was sharp and high, and would carry quite a way.

He circled the Green, loitering outside houses with outbuildings or garages and whistling loudly. Once or twice curtains were drawn back and a head would appear, but only for seconds, and he moved on. He arrived outside Springfields and wondered whether to go in, but thought it most unlikely that Whippy would be hidden anywhere there. There was constant coming and going, and somebody would be sure to notice if a strange—or even familiar—whippet appeared.

Then he came to the farm. Everywhere was dark and unwelcoming. He told himself that spooks do not exist, and walked into the yard, still whistling. Silence. No acknowledging bark, nor even a whimper. He knew that the police had done a thorough search, looking for the murderer. Frobisher had said nothing had been found there, except a half century’s worth of old junk dumped at random.

He stood looking over the field gate, whistling as loud as he could, and through the darkness saw a dim light. That would be the new houses up towards Tawny Wings. A small development of affordable housing had been built in a field the other side of the Blatches’ spinney, including some old persons’ bungalows. The spinney was mature, with a leafy canopy over tall, bare trunks, so that lights could easily be seen. Then the dim light went out, and he moved across the road to the Manor House College.

No streetlights up there, and Gus put on his torch. The footpath had stopped by the farm, so he walked close to the verge. He decided there was no point in whistling as he walked by a field, and so started again once the Manor House was in sight. There were plenty of outbuildings there, some of them half constructed in Rubens’s plan to turn them into flatlets for his students. Keeping as quiet as he could, he walked up the drive to the house, and then crept round and along the line of outbuildings, several of them clearly originally stables. He hesitated. Best not whistle so close to the house, but he couldn’t resist a short, soft burst. Then, at the same time exactly, lights came on and blazed at him, and over one of the stable doors leapt a small grey whippet.

“Whippy! Whippy, Whippy, Whippy. . . .”

Gus gathered her up in his arms and put his cheek to the top of her velvety head. Then a door opened, and Peter Rubens strode over to where they stood.

“Exactly what do you think you’re doing? Oh, it’s you, Halfhide,” he said. “You’re trespassing. I watched you on my yard camera. Very useful piece of technology. You’d better come in and explain.”

Once inside, with a glass of brandy, Gus gave Rubens an edited version of what had happened.

“She must have somehow run off, maybe followed my spaniel dog,” said the high master with a fruity chuckle. “He’s a terror for escaping when he sniffs a bitch in the vicinity. He probably brought her home to meet the family! One of my students, meaning well, must have shut her in the stable. But fancy her leaping over the half door! It’s very high for such a small dog. She could only have done it when she heard her master’s voice. Still, no harm done.”

Gus sighed. “Well, thanks, Mr. Rubens,” he said, draining his glass. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have her back again. There’s no danger of puppies, since she’s been fixed. So sorry to have disturbed you, but at least you know your yard camera worked a treat! I must be going home. By the way,” he added, as Peter Rubens showed him out, “a friend of mine is about to be one of your students. Creative Writing, I believe. Miss Ivy Beasley, from Springfields. She’s looking forward to it.”

“And we’re looking forward to having her here,” said Rubens. “I like a challenge. No disrespect to your friend, but I anticipate a small upheaval! Miss Beasley is clearly not one of your run-of-the-mill students, and she has not been able to be part of our bonding sessions in the last couple of weeks. But from what I have seen of her, I’m sure she will very soon find her feet with us. I have every faith in Rickwood Smith, who has said he is really looking forward to the course.”

“Very good! Best of luck, sir,” said Gus, as he walked on his way.