MIRIAM BLAKE HEARD the telephone ring, and sprang nimbly out of bed. She was fully dressed, and just remembered in time to affect an invalid voice as she picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” she quavered.
“Miss Blake?”
“Yes, who’s that?”
“Miss Beasley. What’s all this about a message from Mr. Budd? I am sure it must be a mistake. Well?”
“No… not a mistake, Miss Beasley. I do have something of a confidential nature to tell you. I can’t confide in any of the old gossips, and I know you are something of a stranger here. I need some advice, Miss Beasley, and I wondered if…”
Her voice trailed off. Ivy frowned. What was the woman up to? With all that they now knew of her and her mother, she was deeply suspicious.
“And what’s all this about being ill? Sounds like it’s a doctor you need, Miss Blake. On no account do I intend to make my way down to your cottage. I suggest you-” She broke off, clearing her throat where a piece of cookie had lodged, and in that small pause she realised that information of any kind, and especially coming from the daughter of the murder victim, could well be important for Enquire Within.
“I suggest you first of all get better,” she continued, “and then come up to Springfields. My room is completely private and we shall not be disturbed. When do you think that might be?” Her suspicion that the illness was faked was instantly confirmed when Miriam said she could be with Ivy by about three o’clock in the afternoon.
Ivy looked at her watch. It was nearly lunchtime, and Gus and Deirdre would be back home by now. She dialled Gus’s number. Just when she was about to give up, thinking he must have called in to the pub, the receiver was lifted and she heard a voice.
“Augustus?” she said.
“Um, no,” answered the voice. It was clearly a man, and Ivy felt a momentary stab of alarm.
“Who are you, then?” she asked bluntly.
“Um, just a friend. He will be back shortly.”
Before Ivy could continue, there was a click and the dialling tone. She put down the receiver, and felt a shiver down her back. Why? It could have been anybody-some old friend of Gus’s come to stay. Or a… a what? How had he got into the cottage? Gus hadn’t mentioned having a guest, or even a caller. In fact, as he and Deirdre left, Ivy had heard him say he had to go up by Tawny Wings and would walk Deirdre home.
Two strange calls in one morning. Ivy shook herself. Just a coincidence, she was sure. She left her room and walked downstairs to the dining room. Remembering her new instructions, she smiled kindly at the shy old man who always sat in the corner. “Lovely day,” she said, and took a seat next to him. He looked up, and she attempted a gentle tone of voice. “Do you play cards, Mr. Goodman?” His reply startled her.
“Rather!” he said. “Cribbage, Miss Beasley? I have a board in my room. Would you care for a game this afternoon?”
Ivy bristled. This was a bit sudden, wasn’t it? Still, in for a penny. “Yes indeed,” she said. “My father taught me long ago, but Mother disapproved of any form of gambling so we had to play when she was out.”
To her horror, the supposedly shy old man reached out and patted her hand. “In this place, we have all the time in the world, my dear,” he said. “Shall we say four o’clock?”
Ivy blinked. “Well,” she said, “I have someone coming to see me at three. But she’ll be gone by then,” she added, quickly adjusting herself to this new situation. Goodness, how was she to have known that Mr. Goodman had a roving eye!?
Katya hovered, announcing lunch, and, smiling at the two elderly residents, offered to take them into the dining room.
Mr. Goodman stood up without help, offered his arm to Ivy, and refused Katya’s offer of help, but in the nicest possible way.
Swept off my feet! thought Ivy in surprise, and positively glided in to lunch.
WHEN GUS RETURNED home, he opened the door and knew immediately that someone else was in the house. His long experience of undercover work had given him a sixth sense. He could feel the presence of an intruder in his private space in seconds. This had served him well in tricky situations, and now he moved forward as silently as a ghost. There was not much daylight in the cottage at the best of times, owing to tall, overhanging yew trees on the opposite side of the lane. But now it seemed extra dark. He saw then that the curtains had been drawn across the small front window. His heart began to pound.
Nobody in the sitting room. He breathed more easily. Perhaps the intruder had beat a hasty retreat. Gus silently tiptoed up the stairs and as he put a hand out to open his bedroom door he heard the tiniest footfall behind him. He swung round, but too late. A crack on the head felled Gus to the ground. Satisfying himself that his target was unconscious, the intruder stepped over him and fled.
IN MIRIAM’S COTTAGE next door, she had left her sickbed and was watching television, at the same time eating a hearty brunch from a tray on her lap. She had hatched her plan, and now looked forward to putting it into operation. Miss Beasley was a cousin of that woman at Tawny Wings, she knew, and Miriam had decided she’d have more luck with the lonely old woman at Springfields than the rich, well-established widow.
The noise of Gus’s garden gate clicking shut reached her, and she turned down the television sound. By the time she had put down her tray and got to the window, there was nobody to be seen. But wait a minute, by craning her head round the lace curtain she spotted a figure moving very fast along the footpath that edged the wood a hundred yards up the lane. Man or woman? Too far away to tell, she decided, and went back to the television. It was not Gus, she was sure of that. Ah, well, her neighbour was still a bit of a puzzle, but he reckoned without Miriam’s cunning! All those years living with her mother had sharpened her wits, and she grinned to herself. Miss Beasley was the one. Sitting up at Springfields like an old spider, she would be the one.