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

around her. “Where is this place? Looks like a hospital ward to me.”
    Gus found it easy to lift her thin frame into a sitting position, and Deirdre went off to tell the nurse Mrs. Winchen Blatch was awake, and demanding food and drink.

T hirteen

    MONDAY MORNING’S ENQUIRE Within meeting was well under way, and Ivy was in good form. “Do you really think, Gus dear,” she said, “that it was your personal magnetism that woke Mrs. Blatch from her coma? Or has it occurred to you that she might have been conscious all along, and was just having a comfortable rest at the expense of ratepayers like you and me?”
    Gus bristled. “I’m sure there was no doubt that Mrs. Blatch was seriously hurt. It is surely something to be glad about that she has been so strong and survived. And, may I add, the ward sister, or whatever they call them now, was amazed. She said it was the quickest recovery she had seen in a long time.”
    “There you are then!” said Ivy triumphantly.
    “But Ivy,” persisted Deirdre, “I think it is best to accept that Mrs. Blatch was woken by Gus’s cheery voice. I was there, and I saw her reaction. Granted it could have been the next man who spoke to her, but it wasn’t. It was Gus, and she was very grateful when she realised what had happened to her.” Deirdre was on the defensive, and Gus put his hand on her arm.
    “Very well,” said Ivy. “But I’ve heard tales about that particular woman when she was younger, flaunting herself about in the company of a much younger man. You can’t trust that kind of woman.”
    Seeing things becoming something of an impasse, Deirdre said brightly, “Time for me to make tea. With milk and sugar, Ivy?”
    “No sugar, thank you. I’m sweet enough already,” Ivy answered.
    “Indeed you are, dearest,” said Roy, “but I think we should continue to concentrate on the return of Mrs. Blatch to her house. The least we can do is to make sure it has been cleaned and warmed throughout.”
    “Done,” said Ivy. “Deirdre organised everything yesterday, and the cleaners went in this morning. They said the door at the end of the passage leading to the little room where Gus said he found a cigar stub was locked. So they left that alone. Everywhere else is habitable, though badly in need of a fresh coat of paint and some curtain laundering.”
    “How about food?”
    Ivy nodded. “Dealt with,” she said. “Deirdre went to Waitrose and stocked up. At her own expense, I might add. I tried to get her to claim from social services, but she hasn’t, have you, Deirdre?”
    “Not yet,” Deirdre said. “We’ll see how things turn out.”
    “Well,” continued Ivy, “the Blatch woman can’t expect to be subsidised forever. Rumour is once more rife that she has a hoard of gold stashed under the floorboards.”
    “That will surely have been assessed and sorted out before she leaves hospital,” said Gus. “But I did volunteer to keep a friendly eye on her. The police will be investigating her accident, but the last thing she said was that she wanted us to continue searching for evidence of an intruder. She now thinks, apparently, that her late husband’s appearance was probably a bad dream. But she can’t shake off the threat that somebody wants to kill her, and might try again. The police have probably put it down to demented wanderings.”
    “Mm,” said Ivy, and then was silent. Her silence was eloquent, and Deirdre said that if Ivy did not want to be part of this investigation, she and Gus were willing to carry on alone.
    “Don’t be ridiculous, Deirdre! Of course I want to be part of it. But I think a little caution is in order when dealing with the likes of Mrs. Winchen Blatch. We are dealing with an old lady who is clearly confused. But if having us on the case helps with her recovery, then I suggest we go ahead.”
    “You may be right, Ivy dear,” said Roy. “But perhaps we could make a polite call, when we go up to the Manor House College? You