The Hangman's Row Enquiry (18 page)

“Not likely!” Miriam accepted her tea, and smiled at the nurse. “Got any more patients who need reviving?” she said confidently. “Look at Mr. Halfhide here! A new man, don’t you think?”

The nurse—the original warning one—blenched. God, who was this woman? Still, Gus did look more alert. She would have a word with him later.

“You were saying that Theo wouldn’t reverse old Beattie’s decision?”

“No, she rules the roost. I’ve watched it happen, Gus. When she first came, she was all meek and mild like an old cow. Well, she is an old cow!” She laughed at her own wit, and continued. “Then gradually she began to tighten her hold on him. Made him rely on her for everything. She took over more and more of the estate jobs, until finally he turned the management over to her and claimed to be spending all his time writing.”

“Writing what?”

“His memoirs,
she
says.”

“Should make interesting reading, Miriam,” he said, with a suggestive look.

She narrowed her eyes. “None of my business,” she said shortly. “Now, I’d better be going, else that nurse dragon will be after me.”

“One more question,” Gus said, and she looked hopeful. Was it going to be THE question? No, it wasn’t. Gus just asked her if she would check that Will at the shop was still happy to look after Whippy. Deirdre had taken her home, but gratefully handed her over to Will when he had offered, saying that Whippy would be useful keeping the mice out of his storeroom.

Disappointed, Miriam said that she was sure the dog was fine. “Would you like me to come again?” she asked, feeling that she had not really had her money’s worth.

“Oh, I hope to be out very shortly, but thanks for coming today,” he said firmly.

“Good-bye, then,” she answered, and walked slowly out of the ward. That was a bit ungrateful, wasn’t it? Those roses had cost a fortune. Just as well she had finally found the nest egg. Mother had thought she was so clever, tucking the brown envelope down the back of the wardrobe. But I am cleverer, she congratulated herself. Clever enough not to tell anybody about it. Especially Beattie Beatty, who thought she could outwit a Blake as easy as pie.

But Miriam already had a plan, and as she went down the stone steps of the hospital to catch the bus back to the supermarket, she began to hum again. Gus had been really nice to her! He was part of her plan, and now she felt much happier about him.

 

HALFWAY BACK TO Barrington, with Simon asleep in his seat, Rose remembered what Miriam had said. She had owned a car, and it had been a present from an admirer. Blimey! Some admirer!

“You know you said about your little car that you sold,” Rose said. Miriam was once more humming and looking out of the window.

“Yes, I really miss it now,” she said, turning back to Rose. “Should have kept it, I suppose, but I thought the money would come in useful.”

“That admirer of yours must have been very keen,” Rose said. “What happened?”

“Mother happened,” Miriam said. “It was a real drama, an’ I never really got to the bottom of it. She was all for this man of mine, and then suddenly she turned against him. Put a stop to him visiting, and said I was to have no more to do with him.”

“But surely in this day and age . . .”

“Oh, I know. I should’ve stood up to her. But you never knew how she could be. On and on she’d go, in that whiny voice of hers, until I’d have agreed to anything. I suppose you’d call it emotional blackmail. Dad was dead by then, and she claimed he was turning in his grave. I know! It was all rubbish. But I took the easy way out.”

“Was he a local man? Did you have to go on seeing him around?”

Miriam nodded. “It was painful,” she said. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind, Rose. Look, we’re nearly home and there’s your David waiting for us. Shall I tickle young Simon and wake him up?”

BEATTIE SET THE dining table for one, and banged the gong in the hall on her way back to the kitchen. Mr. Theo liked the old customs to be kept going, though she often thought he would be much happier having supper in the warm kitchen with her. She could put a nice armchair in there, next to the Aga, and he could spend the evening reading the
Times
and doing the crossword. Ah well, a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

She took in the first course, steak and kidney pie with tinned mushy peas—his favourite—and paused.

“Yes, Beattie? Was there something?”

“I have been wondering about your new tenant, Mr. Halfhide. Did I tell you he had had an accident in the cottage, and hurt himself badly enough to be in the hospital?”

“Good heavens, no! You did not tell me, Beattie. When was this?”

She told him and said she was wondering whether he would like her to visit Mr. Halfhide in the hospital. Representing him, of course, she stressed.

“I am perfectly capable of visiting him myself,” said the new Theo. “Ask Budd to check the car. I shall go in tomorrow. Rather a nice chap, Augustus Halfhide. Sorry about the accident. Have to get somebody to look at the stairs. Don’t want to lose him, you know. A good tenant, and pays a realistic rent.”

Beattie could not resist the opening. “Unlike Miss Blake,” she said. “I have had a word with her, as discussed, and she was not helpful, I’m afraid. Says she means to find a job, but it’ll be difficult. She threatened lawyers and so on, but I doubt if she has a leg to stand on.”

“This delicious pie will be getting cold,” Theo said, dismissing her. “By the way,” he added, “are these peas tinned?”

“Yes, as always, Mr. Theo.”

“I should think you have plenty enough time to prepare mushy peas yourself. See what you can do next time,” he said, and began to eat.

Beattie fumed. He always had them tinned! Ages ago, he had said nobody could do mushy peas like the tinned ones, which he much preferred. She turned on her heel and stamped her way back to the kitchen. As she sat at the big wooden table, gobbling the pie and peas in angry haste, she decided he’d been strange for the last few days. Stubborn, where he used to be so malleable. What could have happened? She thought back, and reckoned she had first noticed the difference when she came back from market last Saturday. Had Rose Budd, or Rosebud, as he called her, pushed her luck too far with him?

“A word with Mrs. Rose Budd, I think,” she said aloud, and the old green parrot in his cage in the corner echoed her. “Rosebud, Rosebud, who’s a pretty Rosebud?” he cackled.

 

UPSTAIRS, THEO FELT rebellion stirring. Beattie really was getting too uppity! It was his own fault, of course. He had let her take over everything, including himself, but now he felt like a man recovering from a long and serious illness. Time to sack the nurse? God, how marvellous it would be if he could get rid of her altogether! He would have to get used to running the estate himself, of course, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. He was absolutely sure her files and records would be in good order.

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!

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.”