The Measby Murder Enquiry (36 page)

 

 

AT THE TIME specified, the taxi was ready to collect them, and once they were all inside, Roy asked the driver not to go too fast. He was well aware that they had not managed to extract any Wilson family details from Alwen, and this would be their last chance today.

“It’s such a lovely drive,” Roy added. “And with the sun out on the heath, we want to get the benefit.”

“My mother used to say that,” said Alwen suddenly. “You know, if it was cold and we were wrapped up, and then went indoors, maybe to a café, she’d always make us take off our coats and said otherwise we’d not feel the benefit.”

“You weren’t an only child, then?” Ivy said casually.

“No, there was me and Doris. Just like my two girls, except there were more years between me and Doris. I was big sister, and had to look after her a lot. She was an awkward little cuss, right from the start.”

Ivy held her breath. She could see Roy was doing the same, and prayed for him not to say anything. She looked out of the window, and waited.

“Of course, she went her own way, once we were both married,” Alwen continued quietly, almost as if thinking aloud. “Doris married for money, me for love. I don’t know which was worse. We both lost our husbands, hers because he was very old, and mine in a stupid accident. Mind you, William had left us by then.”

Still Ivy said nothing, and Roy took his cue from her, smiling gently but keeping quiet.

“Money’s the root of all evil, they say.” Alwen had her eyes closed now, and her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Depends where the money comes from, I suppose. Wilson money in my case, loot from her husband’s casino in Doris’s. So she ended up Lady of the Manor, and I earned my keep teaching unwilling schoolchildren. Funny how things turn out. . . .” Her voice tailed away, and Ivy could see that she had drifted into sleep.

Roy raised his eyebrows, and Ivy shook her head. “Leave her,” she whispered. “That’s probably all we’ll get today. Poor old thing,” she added, and Roy nodded. “She’s had a nice day out,” he whispered, “thanks to you, my love.” He leaned over and kissed Ivy’s cheek, and the taxi was silent until they reached Springfields.

Back inside the hallway, Alwen thanked Ivy and Roy warmly for the day out, and when Miss Pinkney asked if she had enjoyed her trip to the seaside, she said that it was the best day out she had had for a long time.

“Then you’ll have to go again soon,” Miss Pinkney urged. She would have something really good to tell Mrs. Spurling tomorrow. Mrs. Wilson Jones seemed to her to be much more cheerful, though when she had tactfully questioned Ivy and Roy, they had agreed that Alwen looked a lot better for getting away from Barrington, but they thought there might still be a serious problem worrying their friend.

“I don’t see what more we can do,” Ivy said when she and Roy were relaxing in her room after supper. “It’s up to Deirdre and Theo to see what they can find out at the casino.”

“Thanks to your clever handling, my love, I think we probably confirmed the most important factor in the whole of this sorry business,” Roy said. “Our Alwen is Doris May’s sister. Do you remember what she said?”

“ ‘Doris was always an awkward little cuss,’ ” Ivy answered. “And added to that, her husband died because he was very old! What does that tell us? That Doris married some poor old bloke who owned a casino and was very rich. She probably slipped something in his coffee.”

“Ivy! You have no reason to suppose that. We must be careful what we say, my dear, otherwise we might get ourselves into hot water. I believe that there is an informer in our midst, keeping the Measby villains aware of our every word.”

Ivy looked nervously up at the light fixture in the ceiling. “You don’t mean we’re
bugged
, surely!” she said.

A VERY DISGRUNTLED Doris May Osborne trudged up the track leading to the cottage she had secured for Margaret and Max. She had exchanged her smart high heels for little-used green Wellington boots, and cursed as she stepped into a deep rut that splashed mud up to the bottom of her skirt. She had ordered her two lackeys, as she thought of them, to come up to the Manor, and they had refused point-blank. Max had suggested that if she wanted an urgent word, she could come to them. They were at home, trying to keep an approaching flood of rainwater from entering the back door.

Their reaction to her order was so shocking to Doris that she had for once been lost for words. She had slammed down the phone and set off straightaway. Two could play at that game, she decided, and meant to catch them unawares, unprepared for the ultimatum she intended to issue. The cottage was in sight now, and she kept to the side of the track, close to the hedge, out of sight of the windows where one of them might be lurking.

Inside the cottage, a council of war was in progress. Margaret sat one side of the smouldering fire, and Max the other. Max had a glass of whisky in hand, and had snarled at Margaret when she suggested it was Dutch courage, and useless. “She’ll nail us to the wall,” he had said. “You underestimate her, Marg.”

Margaret explained now what she planned they should do. “There’s no hope of our getting any more money from this job,” she said. “I feel it in my bones that the end is in sight, and unless we clear out very quickly, we shall be in the mire. And, by the way, I don’t underestimate the old bag. She’s very cunning, and we’re not the only ones she has had over a barrel. Poor old Bernie fell to his death—with a little help from you.”

“Doris had softened him up, made him nervous and shaky, with her constant demands and threats. You know very well it was her idea. Didn’t take much to finish him off.” Max’s face was full of self-pity.

“And now, if I’m not mistaken, our very reverend vicar is in her clutches. Don’t ask me how she does it. But again, I don’t underestimate her. Ozzy’s has a blameless reputation in the area. Clean as a whistle, according to my sources.”

“What sources?” said Max, filling up his glass.

“Oh, here and there,” she answered. She got up and fetched her handbag. “Here,” she continued, “these are our flight tickets, and we leave in six hours’ time. I’ve packed, and we can take the old banger to the airport and leave it there. It’s worth nothing, except to us.”

Max was still holding the tickets in his free hand when the door burst open and Doris May faced them with an icy expression that chilled the room.

“No you don’t!” she said. “Don’t even try to hide those tickets! Hand them over!”

“Bugger off!” said Margaret, advancing towards Doris’s outstretched hand. “This is a private house, and you’re trespassing! Go on, get out, and don’t come back! Or else I’ll, I’ll . . .” She stuttered to a halt, seeing what Doris had now pointed straight at her.

“You’ll what?” said Doris contemptuously. “Now, Max, or whatever you call yourself, give me those tickets. You two are going nowhere, except possibly to hell if you don’t do what you’re told.” She waved her hand, and Max saw the small, neat pistol. He knew absolutely that she would not be afraid to use it. Self-defence, whatever. She would have her defence all prepared.

He threw the tickets towards her, and they landed on the floor at her feet. “There you are,” he said. “You can pick them up, if you want them.”

Doris laughed, and Margaret shivered. “I don’t fall for that old one!” Doris said. “I bend down to pick them up, and you pounce, knocking this little protector out of my hand. Oh, yes, I’m sure you’d love to play the hero, but you’re not cut out for it, you idiot. Your only hope, both of you, is to stick with me. I shall make sure we all complete our mission successfully, and then I shall be glad to see the back of you. As far away as possible,” she added, kicking the tickets to one side. “Where were these going to take you? All the way to Lanzagrotty?”

She looked at them for a full minute, and then said, “Well?”

Margaret sank down into her chair. “You win,” she said. “Sit down, Max. She’s got us tied up whatever we do now.”

“Very sensible,” Doris said, and put the gun back in her handbag. “Now, listen carefully. This is what we are going to do next. Have you heard of one Theo Roussel, squire of the village of Barrington?”

 

 

UNAWARE THAT HE was being discussed, Theo strode along the corridor to the kitchen, where he found Noreen sitting by the Rayburn, her feet up on a stool, reading the morning newspaper. She looked up at him, gave him a beaming smile, and said that her feet were killing her this morning, and was it really coffee time already?

“Never mind about coffee!” he said crossly. “It will soon be lunchtime, and as I told you yesterday, Mrs. Bloxham will be having lunch with me and I particularly want it to be delicious.”

“Even nicer than I usually do?” Noreen asked, struggling to her feet. “And anyway, I haven’t forgotten, Mr. Theo. There’s a nice cottage pie in the oven, and I’ve opened a tin of baby carrots. Would you like one of sweet corn as well? That would make it a bit special, wouldn’t it? And, before you can ask, I got a nice treacle tart from the shop yesterday, and it’s warming up in the bottom oven. I think a nice slice of that, with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, will be just the ticket. All right?”

Theo groaned, and Noreen looked sympathetic. “Not suffering with the rheumatics, too, are we? I’ve got a tube of good stuff to rub into my legs. Smells like horse linament, but it does the trick. Like a squeeze, would you?”

Theo turned on his heels and left, hurrying into the drawing room and opening all the windows. I mustn’t throw up, he said to himself several times. Deirdre will be here any minute. When the nausea had subsided, he once more vowed to get rid of Noreen within the next two weeks. He had had enough. No man could have been more patient, he comforted himself, but the time had come. He would approach little Katya and however much money it took to lure her away from Springfields, he was prepared to stump up.

By the time Deirdre arrived, the table had been hastily laid, and Theo had taken it upon himself to shine up a couple of glasses for preliminary gins.

“Hi, Theo!” Deirdre said, giving him a warm kiss. “How’s everything? I looked in on Noreen on my way in, and made sure she was expecting me.” She sniffed. “There is a strange smell around the house this morning, Theo. Strongest in the kitchen . . .”

“Don’t mention it,” Theo said, and groaned again. “It’s the dreaded Noreen’s horse linament. She puts it on her rheumatics. Shall we go out to the terrace with our drinks? At least the air’s fresh out there.”

They walked out and Theo relaxed. “How are you, my darling?” he said. “You’re looking fabulous, as always. I do hope the little talk you wanted is not going to be serious?”

“Far from it,” said Deirdre. “I do have a request, but it should be fun. Something you’ll love, and an opportunity for you to teach me new tricks.”

Theo brightened. “New tricks, Deirdre Bloxham?” he said waggishly. “Shall we go upstairs now, or wait until after lunch?”

“Not
those
kinds of tricks,” she answered. “You’re incorrigible, Theo! No, I want you to escort me to the casino in Thornwell. I’ve always wanted to see what goes on, and I have a fancy for a flutter. I’m not the addictive kind, so I won’t get hooked. My Bert loved an afternoon at the races, but he used to say casinos were dens of iniquity, and that made me want to see for myself. How about it? Just for a bit of fun?”

Theo frowned and looked closely at her. “What are you up to, Deirdre?” he said.

“Up to?” she asked innocently. “Nothing, of course, except a desire for a bit of excitement. Not much of that at Tawny Wings these days. Except when the squire comes visiting,” she added hastily.

“All right,” Theo said, smiling indulgently at her. “I haven’t been at the tables for some time now, but I’m sure it will come back to me. As you know, I have very little spare cash, but I am sure I can empty my money box and find enough to teach you how to lose.”

“Oh my, how bitter!” Deirdre said. “And don’t you worry, gambling money will be provided by me, and I am always lucky. I don’t intend to lose, and nor will you. It will be such fun, Theo! When can we go?”

Noreen appeared at the terrace door, wiped her hands on her apron, and said luncheon was served. Theo whispered in Deirdre’s ear that to call it luncheon was an offence as set out in the Trades Description Act. “Just do your best, my dear,” he added. “I’ve opened a bottle of very good Bordeaux, so we can wash down the food without tasting it.”

After manfully tackling the cottage pie and treacle tart, Theo told Noreen that after she had cleared away and washed the dishes, she could go home. He would be dining out this evening, and he would see her tomorrow morning. “And I do hope your feet are feeling better soon,” he added kindly. The Bordeaux had been followed by a very precious Château d’Yquem, and these had done their work. He was full of bonhomie, as was Deirdre. After they had had coffee and a fine old brandy, they heard the back door slam shut and knew Noreen was on her way home.