The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery)
Praise for the Ivy Beasley Mysteries
The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry
“[A] leisurely but never lackluster tale of late love, village life and gentle humor. Readers who have come to love Ivy, who combines Jane Marple’s intelligence with Joan Rivers’s acerbity, will once again welcome her into their lives.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“[A] delightful English cozy . . . Ivy is Miss Marple and Jessica Fletcher rolled into one, with a little more spice than sugar.”
—Debbie’s Book Bag
The Wild Wood Enquiry
“This is a series spun-off from the Lois Meade Mysteries, and all three books to date have been excellent. [The] plot is original, the characters realistic and often humorous, and I love the golden-age romance between Ivy and Gus . . . [It’s] a richly satisfying cozy mystery, fronted by a firecracker of a senior citizen sleuth. Readers who enjoy British mysteries, particularly the cozy subgenre, will love this book, and I am confident that if you enjoy the Lois Meade mysteries you won’t be disappointed by the spin-off series.”
—MyShelf.com
“Fun . . . Readers who enjoy a British, leisurely paced mystery will want to read The Wild Wood Enquiry.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Interesting twists and turns along the way.”
—The Mystery Reader
“High on humor and pithy exchanges between the aged and aging characters . . . A warmhearted and well-drawn portrayal of crime in the slow lane, with a good dash of naughtiness . . . English village mystery fiction at its best.”
—Shots Magazine
The Measby Murder Enquiry
“This cozy will keep you guessing until the last page. A very fast story with a very unique main character in Ivy. Full of wit, animosity and friendships to keep.”
—Once Upon a Romance
“A pleasant read, evoking Saint Mary Mead and Miss Marple with its atmosphere of surface calm and hidden demons. It’s a solid book, cleverly plotted and tightly structured, with all the makings of a perennial favorite.”
—Curled Up with a Good Book
The Hangman’s Row Enquiry
“A delightful spin-off.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Full of wit, venom and bonding between new friends.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Purser’s Ivy Beasley is a truly unique character, a kind of cross between Jessica Fletcher, Miss Marple and Mrs. Slocum from Are You Being Served?—just a delightful, eccentric old darling that readers are sure to embrace. Pair this with Purser’s charming storytelling technique, and you have a fast-paced tale that will keep readers guessing to the very end.”
—Fresh Fiction
Praise for the Lois Meade Mysteries
“First-class work in the English-village genre: cleverly plotted, with thoroughly believable characters, rising tension, and a smashing climax.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Well paced, cleverly plotted and chock-full of cozy glimpses of life in a small English village.”
—Booklist
“Purser’s expertise at portraying village life and Lois’s role as a working-class Miss Marple combine to make this novel—and the entire series—a treat.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“Fans of British ‘cozies’ will enjoy this delightful mystery, with its quaint setting and fascinating players.”
—Library Journal
“A strong plot and believable characters, especially the honest, down-to-earth Lois, are certain to appeal to a wide range of readers.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The characters are fun. The setting is wonderful . . . Anyone who delights in an English village mystery will have a good time with this book.”
—Gumshoe Review
“[Lois Meade is] an engaging amateur sleuth.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
Titles by Ann Purser
Lois Meade Mysteries
MURDER ON MONDAY
TERROR ON TUESDAY
WEEPING ON WEDNESDAY
THEFT ON THURSDAY
FEAR ON FRIDAY
SECRETS ON SATURDAY
SORROW ON SUNDAY
WARNING AT ONE
TRAGEDY AT TWO
THREATS AT THREE
FOUL PLAY AT FOUR
FOUND GUILTY AT FIVE
SCANDAL AT SIX
Ivy Beasley Mysteries
THE HANGMAN’S ROW ENQUIRY
THE MEASBY MURDER ENQUIRY
THE WILD WOOD ENQUIRY
THE SLEEPING SALESMAN ENQUIRY
THE BLACKWOODS FARM ENQUIRY
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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THE BLACKWOODS FARM ENQUIRY
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2014 by Ann Purser.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-58985-4
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / April 2014
Cover illustration by Griesbach/Martucci.
Cover design by George Long.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely
Version_1
Acknowledgments
With grateful thanks to Fiona, who rescued her reading course material from the bin.
Contents
Praise for Ann Purser
Also by Ann Purser
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
&n
bsp; Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
Fifty-seven
One
“IF ANYONE ASKED me, I would say you are lucky to be alive!” Ivy Beasley, a fierce expression on her face, was facing her fiancé across a small table in the summerhouse at Springfields Residential Home in Barrington, a small village in the county of Suffolk.
“Of course, Ivy my love,” said Roy Goodman, “but I was reminded by the church bells that but for my accidental confrontation with a combine harvester in the middle of the road, you and I would now be man and wife, and enjoying marital delights as a result.”
The couple’s wedding date had been postponed yet again, this time because of Roy’s accident. He had been driving his trundle, a custom-built silver and black streamlined version of the humble shopping scooter. He had designed it himself and was extremely proud of it. In this instance, he was on the road instead of the pavement, and amidst squeals of brakes and yells from passers-by, he had managed to steer hard left, but the huge machine had caught his rear wheel and sent him spinning.
He had broken a bone in his wrist, and although he was otherwise only shocked, bruised and shaken, Ivy had insisted on once more postponing the wedding. She had said at the time that if anyone had asked her, she would say an autumn wedding was much to be preferred.
Now, in early-summer sunshine, she and Roy were sitting out in the garden, drinking tea and eating cream puffs, licking their fingers clean and brushing the pastry crumbs onto the ground, where tame sparrows came to pick them up.
To the casual visitor, these two would seem to be a contented couple, spending their investments on a place of comfort and security to end their days. The proposed wedding was unusual in Springfields, but had yet to happen, and Mrs. Spurling, the manager, privately hoped it would stay that way.
Of course, the casual visitor would be wrong. Ivy and Roy were the senior partners in an enquiry agency that had brought them face-to-face with swindlers, thieves and even murderers. They had two further partners: Deirdre Bloxham, Ivy’s much younger cousin, and Augustus Halfhide, a mysterious character, who was said to be ex-MI5, or something similar. He was a tenant of the village squire, and was unrelentingly and amorously pursued by his neighbour, Miriam Blake.
“They should be here soon,” said Ivy, scooping up vestiges of cream from the plate with one knobbly finger. “We should perhaps order more tea. The new assignment will take a fair while to explain.”
“They might even decide not to go along with it,” said Roy gloomily. He was hoping this would not be the case, as Ivy was bored, and only a new case to tackle would curb her unfortunate habit of attempting to reorganise Springfields and everything in it.
“Hi, you two!” called Deirdre, appearing in the garden. She was a good-looking woman, very trim and well cared for, and behind her came Gus Halfhide, tall and gangling and with unruly sandy hair.
“Sit down, Deirdre,” ordered Ivy. “And Gus, as you have a way with the girls in the kitchen, please go and order more tea and puffs.”
“Puffs?” said Deirdre.
“Cream puffs,” said Roy. “Ivy’s favourites, and freshly made.”
Gus walked off to give the order, and Deirdre settled herself comfortably out of the strong sunlight. She had fair skin, and burned an unattractive scarlet if too long unprotected. Her late husband, Bert Bloxham, had loved her smooth, delicate complexion, and had kept a close eye on her in the summer. But poor Bert had died some time ago, leaving Deirdre, after a suitable period of mourning, a rich and merry widow. Bert had made his fortune in the motor trade, owning a string of luxury car showrooms around the county, and Deirdre still kept an eye on the business.
“So what’s this new assignment?” she said.
“Better wait until Gus gets back,” Roy said, and Ivy nodded. “Too hot to explain it all twice,” she added.
Then Gus arrived back, saying Katya would be bringing fresh supplies, and a piece of news. “I couldn’t tempt her to tell me first, but she should be out in a few minutes.”
“I hope it’s not bad news,” Ivy said. “We’ve had enough of that lately. I’m not uncrossing my fingers until Roy and me are safely wed.”
Deirdre saw Katya approaching with a loaded tray, and jumped up ready to help. The care assistant, originally from Poland, had married a young law student a few months ago, and Deirdre reckoned she could spot significant signs of a pregnancy already on the way.
After all were served, Ivy took a sip of hot tea, and said, “So what’s this news, Katya dear?”
The girl blushed a furious red, and said that in due time there would be a new resident at Springfields. She was indeed expecting a baby, and Mrs. Spurling had kindly agreed that she could stay on in the home, restricting herself to light duties until the baby was old enough to go to a nursery.
So, the cast of characters was assembled. Ivy, Roy, Deirdre and Gus, all of Enquire Within; then Mrs. Spurling and her assistant, Miss Pinkney, and Katya, staff of Springfields; and last but not least, the late Bert Bloxham. He was now reduced to a photograph on Deirdre’s beautiful grand piano, but was still a voice in her head, saving her from any second marital moves she might consider.
• • •
THE SUN HAD now moved round, shading the interior of the summerhouse, and in the cool of early evening Ivy and Roy began to explain Enquire Within’s latest suggested assignment.
“We haven’t agreed to take it on yet,” said Roy, and Ivy added that they had told the woman they would have to consult their partners first.
“Woman?” said Gus, brightening, “what woman?”
“Relax, old boy,” said Roy with a smile. “This one appears old, raggedy and lives in a house that has not seen a lick of paint or even repairs to its tiled roof for about two hundred years.”
“And that goes for the woman, much the same,” said Ivy, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap.
“Does she have a name?” asked Deirdre. “And where does she live?”
“Mrs. Winchen Blatch, and she lives here in Barrington. Twenty-five years a widow. Husband killed in a farming accident,” replied Ivy. “The last house on Manor Road. It stands by itself in what was probably at one time a large garden. She is reputed to be wealthy, sleeping on a pile of notes under the mattress. You know, the usual unreliable gossip.”
“And that’s on the road before you come to the Manor House itself?” said Gus, who seldom ventured beyond the roadside spinney, where he walked his little grey whippet.
“That’s her,” said Ivy. “She turned up here a couple of days ago, and you could smell her a mile off. Mrs. Spurling was not pleased. But she insisted on seeing me and Roy, so we were banished to that nasty little conference room that’s never used and has its own smell of damp and disuse.”
“I’ll carry on, shall I, dearest?” Roy said, and received the nod of assent. “She’d got it all worked out, and told us the most dramatic series of events, ending up with a threat to force her to commit suicide. She began with a lodger she had sheltered about twenty years ago. A young man named Sturridge, well spoken and neatly dressed, had come to her door one winter afternoon, and asked if she had a spare room for rent.
She had thought quickly, and decided that it would be company for her and, anyway, she could use the extra cash. She said that contrary to rumour, she was not at all well off, managing on her old-age pension. The young man had apparently proved to be a charming lodger, careful not to impose on her privacy, but ready for conversation if she wished it.”
“So what went wrong?” said Deirdre, her interest caught.
“They became very friendly, and were seen out and about together. She was said to look years younger, smartened up and with new clothes. Then he left suddenly, without giving notice, with rent paid up to date, but jewellery missing. The culprit had done a runner, and people were asked to keep an eye open for him. She has heard no more from him since, and relapsed into premature old age.”
“Does this go on for much longer? There’s not much of a point so far,” said Gus.
“Patience, Augustus,” chided Ivy. “The details are important.”
“Mrs. Blatch felt sorry, having grown fond of the young man, and had not forgotten him. She had never seen him again, but only six weeks ago, she was awoken in the middle of the night by a voice calling her name. It came from outside in the garden, and she rushed to the window. But there was nobody there, and she decided she had been dreaming.”
“Which she undoubtedly was, plus wishful thinking,” said Gus. It was usually Ivy who spun out a story, but now it was Roy who seemed anxious to get everything right.
“Then the next night the same,” he continued. “At exactly the same time, midnight. She knew it was that, as she heard the church bell. This time she ran downstairs and opened the front door. Nobody there. But she felt a rush of cold air pass her before she closed the door, and a faint shadow disappeared down the passage to the kitchen.”
“Did she follow it?” Deirdre said, now sitting on the edge of her chair.
“Yes, and found nothing. But as she was about to leave, a voice said her name, and told her not to be afraid. She stopped and listened, and the voice, which she half expected to be that of her lodger, she recognised as her late husband’s. He said that she was the only person he missed, and he wanted her to come with him to a far better place.”
“Then she woke up?” said Gus.