The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery) by Purser Ann

Author:Purser, Ann [Purser, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-six

AFTER A QUIET Sunday spent reading and watching television, this Monday morning there was a general air of something about to happen in Springfields. Ivy and Roy had been up earlier than usual, and Ivy had eaten a hearty breakfast before going up to her room.

“To titivate, so she told me,” said Roy, still sitting over his toast and marmalade, and answering Katya’s question as to her whereabouts.

She smiled, and picked up his empty coffee cup. “Ah, she is having a wash and brush-up, as my mother-in-law says. Before going off to college?”

“More or less,” said Roy.

“And you are down in the dumps? Would you like more coffee?”

“I’ve been deserted, Katya. That’s what. So close to having a wife to keep in order, I am now merely the fiancé of a college student studying creative writing. Fate has dealt me an unexpected blow.” He looked at her shocked face, and laughed. “I’m joking, my dear,” he said.

“But surely you will support her? And be very interested in her memoirs? I believe she told me that is what she intends to work on? All kinds of things you could learn about your intended bride!”

“That’s the trouble. I may learn all kinds of things I’d rather not know!”

“Rubbish,” said a brisk voice from behind him. Ivy had put on her coat and hat, and looked exactly as usual, except for a brighter look in her eye and a bundle of books in a capacious bag held in her hand.

“Are you going to walk me up to the Manor House, Roy?” she said. “I’d like to go early and take a look at that stable where Whippy was found. Leapt over a half door as high as a five-barred gate, Katya! Gus is ecstatic, of course.”

“And now I shall help you with the trundle, Mr. Goodman. Mrs. Spurling asked particularly to let her know when you leave. I think she is worried you might go off and never return!”

“Oh, Roy will be back quite soon, but I shall be home around half past three this afternoon. Ready for tea, I expect!”

One or two of the younger residents had gathered to see them off, half jealous of Ivy’s break for freedom, half critical of a reckless plan that was bound to fail.

“If anybody asked me,” she said, as she followed Roy in his trundle out of the gate, “I would say it’s all a lot of fuss about nothing. I shall start with the best of intentions, but if I fail, or don’t enjoy it, I shall stop. Simple as that. Careful, Roy, there’s a dead hedgehog on the path. Poor thing. Still, they’re covered in fleas, you know. Best not to touch it,” she added, kicking it accurately into the ditch, where it unrolled and glared at her.

• • •

THE FIRST SESSION of the creative writing course began with a dozen or so chairs positioned casually around a pleasant room smelling of new paint. A real fire blazed in the hearth, with a large basket of logs ready for replenishing.

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