The Measby Murder Enquiry (27 page)

Left alone, mother and daughter looked at each other and found they had nothing to say. Bethan sighed. “You don’t look so happy, Mother,” she said finally. “Is anything wrong? You know you can tell me, and Bronwen and I will do our best to put it right.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me except old age and decrepitude,” Alwen said crossly. “And I don’t want you suggesting anything of the sort to Bronwen! You know what she is. She’ll be in here reorganising the place, offending everyone in sight and causing more trouble than there was before.”

“Is there trouble, then?” Bethan interrupted.

“No! And if that’s all you came to ask, you’d better collect the boys and Clive, and go home.”

“Mother! There’s no need to be nasty,” Bethan said, and Alwen could see her nice, gentle daughter was near to tears.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love. The truth is I
have
been feeling a bit off-colour. It’s just the usual arthritis and rheumatism and the general frustrations of old age. After years of being a bossy head teacher, I am finding it hard to cope with being told I must be cared for now. Oh, how I hate those words, Bethan. ‘Cared for’ must be the most unwelcome words in the language for people like me.”

Bethan gave her mother an impulsive hug and said that she quite understood. Would Alwen like to come over to lunch next Sunday? Maybe she needed to get out of Springfields a bit more. “I could ask Bronwen and Trev to come, too,” she added, and was surprised when her mother shook her head violently. “Not yet, dear,” she said. “I’d better stay here and get used to it before I venture out again. Besides, I do go for little walks with Roy and Ivy, my friends here. No, don’t worry about me, Bethan. I have a great deal to be thankful for.” And a great deal to worry about, she said to herself.

She was still sitting in the lounge, her family having departed with assurances that any time she wanted to visit them they would be delighted, when Ivy and Roy returned.

“You look the picture of misery,” Ivy said bluntly, sitting down next to Alwen. “Come on, Roy, let’s do some cheering up.”

“Right,” said Roy. Pink-cheeked from the nippy wind, he looked full of life and his clear blue eyes twinkled at Alwen. “What you need, Mrs. Wilson Jones, is an exciting evening gambling away a fortune in matches. Ivy, give Deirdre a ring, and Gus, and fix it up. I’m sure they’ll be only too pleased. It will be just like old times.”

ALWEN HAD PROTESTED at first, but under the full force of Ivy’s and Roy’s persuasive powers, she agreed, and even seemed to brighten at the thought of a distracting interlude.

“It’s a bit short notice,” Deirdre had said. She had been planning a quiet evening watching telly, but Ivy had said it was a cheering-up emergency. In the end, Deirdre said she would ring Gus and not allow him to refuse to come. “He is fairly malleable at the moment,” she had added. “We’ve been over to Measby, and some interesting things have come up. We’ll tell you all about it.”

“Wait a minute, Deirdre,” Ivy had said, frowning. “If you ask me, I think we’d be wise to keep Enquire Within business to ourselves at the moment.”

“In other words, not in front of Alwen?”

“Yes, that’s it. We do need to ask her some questions, but me and Roy can do that anytime. I think we should just concentrate on cheering her up this evening. Maybe we can come up to Tawny Wings tomorrow, and hear how you got on at Measby?”

“Fine,” said Deirdre, glad of an excuse to see Gus again. He obviously fancied her, but she was not at all sure of his willingness to commit. When he had been grumbling about his damp cottage, and she answered that she was thinking of taking a permanent lodger, although she had winked and made it sound like a joke, he had stiffened and visibly backed away from her. So, gently does it, she had decided.

“We’ll just have some fun this evening, then, Ivy,” she continued. “God knows we can do with it, after all we’ve been through.”

Now they were gathered in the interview room, and Miss Pinkney had smuggled in a vase of tiny chrysanthemums for the card table. Mrs. Spurling was off duty, and while the coast was clear, Miss Pinkney—now generally called Pinkers by Enquire Within—had offered sandwiches and hot chocolate halfway through the evening. “Perhaps one evening I could join you!” she said, not entirely joking. They seemed to enjoy themselves so much that she had felt occasional pangs of envy. And she loved being Pinkers, sensing a certain affection in the name.

“Of course!” said Gus, quite sure that her sense of duty would not allow it.

Alwen won a hand or two and began to cheer up. Colour came into her cheeks as she accused Gus of cheating, and he cheerfully admitted it. “I learnt some terrible tricks at the casinos,” he confessed. “Watch this, everybody,” he added, and palmed a couple of cards from the top of the pack to the bottom. “What did I do?” he asked Ivy.

“Nothing, as far as I could see,” she said doubtfully.

“Right, now, let’s try again. Look at the top card,” he instructed, and showed her a six of hearts. Then he put it back to where he had taken it from. He changed the pack from one hand to the other, whilst the rest watched closely. “So what was the top card, Ivy?” he said.

“Six of hearts,” Ivy said confidently.

He turned the top card over, and it was the six of diamonds. Ivy gasped. “How did you do that? I could swear . . .”

“That’s an old one,” said Roy. “Let me have a go, Gus.”

“Certainly not!” said Ivy. “I forbid it, Gus. You may cheat as much as you like, but my Roy is not to be corrupted!”

Gus laughed. “Never mind, Roy, you can have a read of the book Deirdre found—”

Before he could continue, Deirdre butted in quickly, remembering Ivy’s strictures about not discussing EW matters in front of Alwen. “I can see this going on all night,” she said. “Can we please get on with the game?”

When Miss Pinkney came in with refreshments, the players relaxed and began to talk idly.

“How’s Miriam next door, Gus? Was she sorry to hand over Whippy?” Ivy said.

“She said she was, but I know from what Whippy said that she is not the greatest dog lover.”

“For God’s sake, Gus! That’s a bit twee. Animals can’t talk.” Deirdre grinned at Alwen, who, she knew, shared her indifference to the talents of dogs in general and Whippy in particular.

Tiddles, curled up asleep on Ivy’s lap, suddenly started awake and hissed. “Hush!” Ivy said and stroked her back to sleep. “She’s only little, but quite capable of being offended, Deirdre.”

“To change the subject,” said Roy manfully, “has anyone noticed we’ve not heard anything this evening from the madwoman upstairs in room five?”

“Mrs. Worth?” Ivy said. She looked at her watch. “Early yet,” she said. But just then, on cue, a piercing shriek filtered through into the interview room.

“Uh-oh, spoke too soon,” said Roy. To his amazement, Ivy got to her feet.

“I’ll just nip up and make sure she’s all right,” she said. “Give Pinkers a break. As a thank you, sort of, for these flowers. Back very soon,” she added, and left the room.

The others looked at each other. “Ulterior motive?” said Gus.

“You bet,” said Deirdre. “My dear cousin is not one for acts of charity, unless there is some benefit to herself. And before you protest, Roy, I’ve known her longer than you have!”

“Not much,” Roy said, frowning. “And how many of us here can claim to be totally unselfish? No hands raised? Then I suggest we have a quick game of snap. I happen to know Alwen has a pack in her handbag, all ready for grandchild invasions.”

Alwen really laughed then. “You’re a national treasure, Roy,” she said, and duly delved into the capacious bag, bringing out a pack of animal snap.

 

 

UPSTAIRS IN ROOM five, Ivy sat down beside Mrs. Worth’s bed and put out her hand. She gently stroked the withered one in her grasp, and said quietly that there was nothing to be alarmed about. She was Ivy Beasley, she said, and nothing bad was going to happen.

“Was it the same nightmare?” Ivy continued. “The one where your Joe is about to fall into the beer?”

Mrs. Worth opened her eyes wide. “How did
you
know?” she said.

“You told me the other day.”

“Never seen you before in me life!” the shrill voice shouted.

“Hush, you’ll wake the children,” Ivy said, a cunning note creeping into her voice.

“What children? I ain’t got no children.”

Ivy put out a soothing hand. She had done some serious thinking about Daisy Worth and Mr. William. Daisy’s Joe was obviously a steady but perhaps boring old husband. Juicy Jellies every Friday! Mr. William was the spoilt younger son, and rumours of him being seen drinking with his secretary had filtered through from the gossips in the lounge. So he liked the women. Wife too bossy? Joe busy sowing carrot seed in the boss’s garden, and his pretty young wife left alone, but waiting for a visitor. Then, sure as eggs is eggs, a bun in the oven and a handout of brewery money to keep it all quiet. It hadn’t taken Ivy long to put it all together and come to a conclusion that would have made her Ringford chums proud.

“That’s what Mr. William wanted, didn’t he? Wanted you to get rid of it?” Ivy said carefully. “But what did Joe say?”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Mrs. Worth said in a perfectly rational voice, “He didn’t know, did he. My Joe and me were married and Joe thought the babe was his, right from the beginning. Nothing was said, not then nor later, when the little ’un was the spitting image of the Joneses. Joe might have noticed, but he never said nothing. Mind you, Miss Beasley, it cost Mr. William a packet, I can tell you! I made sure of that.”

“He was a generous man, was he, your Mr. William?” Ivy continued to stroke Mrs. Worth’s hand, and her tone was soft and slippery.

“Not so’s you’d notice!” Mrs. Worth said. “But he didn’t have no option, did he! That Jones family would have run him out of town. Still, by the time he went, me and Joe had a nice little nest egg. How else d’you think I got in here? Mind you,” she confided, “I always thought it was Mr. George’s money. He’d stump up for anything to save the family name. Them Joneses were always above the rest of us. If it got known that precious William had got the gardener’s wife in the club, the local papers would have been onto it like dogs on a rat.”

“So you have visits from your son—or daughter? That’s nice, isn’t it?”

There was a pause, and then Mrs. Worth heaved herself up into a sitting position. She stared at Ivy. “Who are you?” she said.

“Ivy Beasley.”

“Never heard of you. You come in ’ere, pretending to be my friend, and you don’t even know my Sammy died when he was eleven! Knocked down by a brewery lorry, what’s more.”

She collapsed back onto her pillows, and her eyelids flickered. Ivy sat quietly for a couple of minutes, then stood up. “Night, night,” she said, and waited.

“Did I ever tell you?” Mrs. Worth whispered. “Don’t tell a soul.”

Ivy held her breath.

“My Joe,” Mrs. Worth continued, so softly that Ivy could hardly hear. “My Joe, he used to bring me Juicy Jellies every Friday.” And she cackled loudly as Ivy made her way back downstairs.

 

 

“AH, THERE YOU are, little love,” said Roy. “We were beginning to worry you had been spirited away by the legendary Joe Worth.”

“Being spirited away is not my favourite subject for conversation at the moment,” said Gus. “Now, unless Ivy wishes to play snap instead of losing her shirt on a real game, can we get on?”

“Shirt? Shirt?” said Ivy. “If you ask me, Augustus Halfhide, your mysterious absence has addled your brain.” She smiled all round, and said she was glad they had not wasted time, but could they now get back to business.

“You look very pleased with yourself, Ivy,” Deirdre said sharply. “Visiting Mrs. Worth’s room is not usually a ball of laughs, is it?”

“Ah ha,” said Ivy. “You never know what’s round the corner, my old mother used to say. Now, no cheating, Gus. Let’s make a start. Oh, and by the way, how are you feeling now, Alwen?”

“Much better, thanks. Never a dull moment, as my old mother used to say.”