The Wild Wood Enquiry (15 page)

“Penny for ’em, Gus!” It was his darts chum, James from the shop, delivering groceries on an old-fashioned errand-boy bike. He had announced to the village that this was part of his contribution to the battle against global warming. Everyone would have noticed, he had added, how much healthier he had been from the exercise and fresh air. “Oh no, no thoughts worth a penny, really,” said Gus. “Just considering the never-ending puzzle of womankind.”

“Blimey, that sounds serious! Has our Deirdre given you the boot?” It was well known in the village that Deirdre Bloxham entertained two close friends, and one of them was Gus.

“Don’t even suggest it,” said Gus, with a smile. “I am persona non grata with my colleagues at the moment. So much so that I am planning a week or so’s holiday to escape.”

Naturally James thought he was joking, but there was truth in Gus’s words. He had been developing a theory about what had happened to Kath, but it was too unsupported at present and might easily come to nothing. He intended to keep it from the others. It was this theory that involved going away, and he had already made plans to follow it up.

The one big snag was Whippy. He could not take her with him, and he was unwilling to allow Miriam to have her for two weeks. The last thing he wanted was to be beholden to Miriam Blake and submit himself to her questioning. It might have to be boarding kennels, but first, he could not afford the exorbitant charges, and second, he hated to think of Whippy in a small concrete cell, released for a run twice a day in a bare enclosure with assorted fellow boarders.

He could not believe his luck when he heard James’s next question. “What are you going to do with Whippy? Is Miriam having her? If not, you know I am only too pleased to look after her. She can help the cat hunt for mice in the storeroom and come with me on my twice-a-day runs. How about it, Gus?”

This was such a wonderful offer, coupled with no need to answer any of James’s questions except the last, and Gus grabbed at the opportunity. He agreed that he would bring
Whippy round to the shop in due course, together with her bed and baggage.

They parted amicably, and Gus strode home with his head held high. He would book a taxi to get him to Thornwell for the earliest train to London on Monday morning. He had a small qualm about deserting Ivy and Roy, and Deirdre, but then he remembered their unfriendly questioning and cheered up. Let them stew, and see how they could get on without him!

IVY HAD TRIED but failed to put the drama of the meeting behind her and told Roy she was going for a stroll on her own to do some serious thinking. He was concerned and suggested he could accompany her in total silence, if necessary. Then, if some mishap occurred, he would be beside her. “What do you mean by mishap? I am perfectly capable of dealing with anything likely to threaten me on a stroll around the village. And when you are with me, I just cannot think of anything else but how much I love you.”

Roy gasped, and sat up very straight in his chair in Springfields lounge. “Oh, Ivy!” he said. “Do you really mean that?”

“No, not really, my dear one, but it is the only way I can think of getting you to agree to my going out alone.”

Roy recognised stalemate and was relieved to see Miss Pinkney coming towards them, bearing Tiddles, Ivy’s small black cat.

“Ah, Miss Beasley, would you take Tiddles to your room? We have a new prospective resident coming in to have a look at us, and she is bringing a cat-eating dog. Her words! I am sure we shall be able to arrange something, should she decide to come here, but meantime I cannot be
responsible for the safety of Tiddles.” She deposited a squirming cat on Ivy’s lap and departed quickly.

“Well!” expostulated Ivy. “Tiddles was here first, and I shall have to consider my position very carefully if a cat-eating dog is allowed!”

“So you won’t be going out, then?” Roy looked hopefully at her.

“Yes, of course I shall. You can sit in my room and guard Tiddles. Much better than guarding me from imagined disasters!”

So Roy sat in Ivy’s room and watched her determined figure walk purposefully down the High Street and vanish into the village shop.

“GOOD AFTERNOON, MISS Beasley. How are you today?” James was not always pleased to see Ivy, as more often than not she had a complaint, but it was near the end of the afternoon and the shop was empty.

“As well as can be expected from someone threatened by a cat-eating dog,” she said sharply.

“Not Tiddles!” said James, duly shocked.

“Not yet,” said Ivy, pursing her lips. “A possible resident with dog coming to Springfields,” she said.

“Not fond of dogs, Miss Beasley?”

“In their place, dogs are bearable. But I could not tolerate having to be constantly vigilant with my Tiddles.”

“I suppose you are used to a kind, gentle sort of dog like Whippy? Gus is never seen without her.”

“Huh! Even Whippy can be smelly at times.” Ivy sniffed. “The man is quite besotted with her.”

“Well, he’s leaving her with me for a week. As you will
know, he is holidaying where he can’t take her, so he’s entrusting her to me.”

Ivy thought rapidly. “Of course, yes,” she said. “Now, let me think, where is it he is going? France, is it?”

James shook his head, well aware that Ivy was fishing for information. “I don’t think he told me where, exactly. I expect it is abroad, hence leaving Whippy with me. Now, Miss Beasley, what can I get you? Your usual chocs?”

IVY LEFT THE shop and headed on towards the church. She had checked with the parish magazine and knew that it was Rose Budd’s turn to do the flowers. It would be the ideal quiet time to ask her a few questions.

Sure enough, Rose was surrounded by greenery and cut flowers, happily arranging them in the font, on the stand by the altar, on windowsills and anywhere else she could fit in a posy. She loved flowers and was never happier than when arranging them. The Women’s Institute always chose her as its representative in countywide competitions, and Rose had a shelf full of cups and trophies as reward.

“Good afternoon,” Ivy called from the church door. “Am I intruding, Mrs. Budd?”

Yes, you are, Rose wanted to say, but she was a nice girl and instead welcomed Miss Beasley with warmth. “Lovely afternoon for a walk,” she said. “How is Mr. Goodman?”

Ivy sat down in the front pew and placed her shopping beside her. “He’s cross with me at the moment,” she said cheerfully. “He is a dear and always wants to be with me, but sometimes a person needs to be alone, don’t you think?”

Rose said a heartfelt yes and turned away to anchor an unruly chrysanthemum.

“How are your family? Quite recovered from all that t’do about a severed hand in the woods? Your neighbour, Miss Blake, has a fertile imagination, as I am sure you’ve discovered.”

Rose turned back to look at the black-clad figure in the pew. She’s like an old crow, she thought. “Oh no,” she said. “The hand was there, all right. I saw it myself. Horrible, it was, at the time. We didn’t stop for a second look and beat it out of the woods as soon as possible! O’course, as you no doubt know, when Miriam went back, it had gone. Fox took it, probably. My David says they are like magpies and take things. Mind you, I never heard that before, and I reckon he made it up to set my mind at rest. So, yes, we have forgotten all about it. When you have two young sons to look after, there isn’t much time for dwelling on such things!”

My, thought Ivy, that was a long speech. Did young Mrs. Budd have something to hide?

“And now,” continued Rose, “if you’ll excuse me, I must get on with these flowers. It’s a benefice service on Sunday with all those people from other parishes coming over and criticising my arrangements and dropping hints about their own superiority! Some folk!” she added finally, and walked away.

Dismissed, thought Ivy, and rose to her feet. She walked slowly to the door, opened it quietly, and left Rose to her flowers.

THE GOOD WEATHER lasted for the next two days, and Sebastian Ulph sat drinking red wine from an unwashed glass on his improvised rooftop terrace. The sun was hot, and church bells were ringing, reminding the people of Thornwell that it was the Sabbath. He felt happily secure from interruption. It was unlikely that his brief appearance in Barrington woods would still be remembered. Old people’s short-term memories were often unreliable. By old people he meant Miss Beasley, whom he had later recalled as an old lady living in Springfields, where the band had played to entertain the residents. He guessed she might have recounted her experience to friends, but he was sure they would have considered him a poacher and dismissed him from their thoughts.

But what friends? There had been talk among fellow musicians of an enquiry agency in Barrington. During their refreshment break at the hunt ball, they had, as usual,
discussed the likely female talent, including the blonde debs who all looked alike to Sebastian. The exception had been the squire’s lady, one Deirdre Bloxham, and all had agreed that she was very tasty. She was, they had heard, part of the enquiry agency team based in an old folks’ home in the village. Old folks? Just coincidence, surely.

Well, he could do without enquiry agents of any age on his track, although under other circumstances he would certainly have pursued the attractive rich widow he had admired emerging from her pool. He had put in some spadework there, mentioning an introduction to the town band. Now he had to lie low, let time pass, and wait for his opportunity to collect from Katherine. His current priority was to work out and rehearse until he was word perfect what he would say to her. She had always been able to out- argue him, but this time he meant to win.

GUS, BUSY WITH organising his trip, was growing more hopeful about finding his ex-wife, certain that until she was found, he would be suspect number one in whatever had happened to her. He had bought his ticket to Aberdeen and packed Whippy’s bed, blanket and supply of dog food, ready to take her to the shop. He had also put in a moth-eaten soft toy to which she was devoted. With that beside her in her bed, she would not miss him too much, he hoped.

To occupy the hours he had left before tomorrow morning, he planned to engineer an invitation from Miriam to supper—not a difficult assignment! He knew she would open her heart to him, and all he had to do was saunter into his garden and sniff the air. He opened his back door and stepped out into the tiny backyard.

“Morning, Gus! Nice to see you out in the sunshine,”
chirruped Miriam. “You men are much too inclined to slump in front of the telly!”

“Good morning, Miriam,” said Gus, his voice much more friendly than of late. “Are you off to church as usual? I do admire your devotion, you know. Only wish I could share it,” he added humbly.

“But you could, Gus! All you have to do is go and get your jacket and walk alongside me. You know I’d be really pleased.”

He shook his head. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” he said. “Confirmed heathen, that’s me.”

“Never too late, as they say. Still, if I can’t persuade you to come to church, how about supper this evening? We haven’t had a nice long chat for ages, and I’ve a juicy piece of sirloin that is far too big for me. Shall I expect you about half past six?”

Not wishing to appear too eager and rouse her suspicions, he hesitated. “Oh, well, if you’re sure,” he began, “I would be very grateful. I’m off up north tomorrow and have no time to cook myself more than a boiled egg this evening!” Oops, he thought. Now she’ll ask me about Whippy.

“Taking Whippy, are you?”

He shook his head. “No, it was fortunate that James asked me if he could borrow her for a few days. Overrun with mice in his storerooms apparently. Too many for one cat, he said. I expect you know that, anyway, from working there!” he added jovially.

Miriam’s face fell. “Um, well, I do see his point. But I love having her, so any other time, don’t forget me.” The church bells had stopped, all but one, which was ringing a final reminder. “Must dash,” she said, “but I’ll see you this evening. Bye for now.”

Gus returned to the cottage and sat down with pen and
paper, intending to make a list of questions he would ask Miriam. Kath had, after all, stayed with her overnight, and they must have talked for at least an hour or two. Miriam was an expert at worming trivial facts out of people, and Kath, being new to the village, might well have let slip some clue to the reason for her visit. He had thought long and hard about this and was convinced it was not an accident that her arrival had coincided with the annual hunt ball up at Roussel’s place.

Deirdre had mentioned in passing that Theo Roussel was now on his way to Scotland, staying with friends in a draughty old castle and pursuing little birds over the moors in order to shoot them. It was entirely possible that Kath had departed in the same direction. She had friends on a grand estate near Aberdeen, and a reason to go there.

Questions for Miriam, then. What had the two of them talked about? Had Kath mentioned their marriage? And if so, what had she told Miriam about their friends and acquaintances? Had any of them figured in any explanation of why she was in Barrington, or did she stick to an unlikely wish to see her ex-husband? Had she talked about what she was planning to do next? Did they talk about dogs?