The Hangman's Row Enquiry Read Online Free PDF
Author: Ann Purser
future husband.
Bert Bloxham had planned out his future as a successful garage owner. Included in his plans was an attractive, capable wife, who could rise with him up the social ladder.
In Deirdre, he saw the perfect partner. She was lively, ambitious, and capable, and, what is more, he fancied her. Luckily, she fancied him, too, and after a decent interval of courtship, they were married, had two small girls, and settled in a small terraced house in the suburbs of Thornwell, a large town near to Barrington.
By retirement age Bert and Deirdre had amassed a considerable fortune, selling the now large chain of garages for a handsome sum and moving into a large house in Barrington. Unfortunately, Bert was not suited to retirement, and within two years had died of inactivity and boredom.
Deirdre, apart from loneliness after Bert had died, did not pine. Once grief had been dealt with, she set about making a different, but satisfactory, life. She was good at spending money and bossing people around. Ivy had not been her only project. Her proudest moment had been the presentation to her of an MBE for dedicated services to the local community.
Now she sat in her elegant drawing room, as she had learnt to call it, enjoying a large gin and tonic, and wondering if it would be a good idea to invite Ivy to tea to meet some of her club’s members. She weighed up the pros and cons and decided that on balance it was a bad idea. The old thing could be very tricky, and deliberately tactless, and it would probably be best to have Ivy for a cup of tea along with Deirdre’s next-door neighbour, who was ninety-three and deaf as a post.
GUS, MEANWHILE, HAD returned home a happy man. With Ivy on his side, he reckoned he could have a great deal of fun playing detective and sorting out Miriam Blake, who was rapidly becoming an object of considerable interest. No better than she should be, did Ivy say? Ah ha! Just the kind of thing he loved to investigate.
Then he remembered one thing Ivy had stipulated. Her cousin Deirdre must be involved. Deirdre had money, said Ivy, and they might need some. Gus could second that heartily. He always needed money, and if this was a way of making some, all to the good. So, an approach to Deirdre Bloxham was the next thing on his agenda, and Ivy had made it plain that it was up to him to persuade her to cooperate.
He looked out of his dusty window and saw a fine sunlit evening. Right, no time like the present. He washed his hands, combed his hair over the patch where a small niece had told him his head was showing through, and set off in his car to find Mrs. Deirdre Bloxham, MBE.
TAWNY WINGS WAS a strange house, built by a patriotic builder for his own family in Barrington. He had made his millions putting up cheap little dwellings miles away on the outskirts of Thornwell, but for Tawny Wings he had chosen a picture village and had designed and built the house in the shape of a V sign. Deirdre often wondered whether he had been inspired by Churchill’s famous gesture. Odd as the exterior appeared, it was a comfortable house. Even the bath in the master bathroom was extra large. The builder had meant to have nothing but the best, and Deirdre felt thoroughly at home.
As she gazed out of her drawing room window her eye was caught by a battered-looking car approaching slowly up her driveway. Who on earth could that be? She looked at her watch. Seven o’clock, and her supper browning nicely in the oven. Ah well, she would soon send him packing, whoever he was.
She answered the doorbell, and saw to her surprise that her visitor was Augustus Halfhide, friend of Ivy and something of an enigma.
“Good evening, Mrs. Bloxham!” Gus at his best could be very persuasive. “I apologise for calling at such an hour without making an appointment first, but I wondered whether you would have ten spare minutes to talk to me?”
“What are you selling?” said Deirdre bluntly. She had not spent years in her
Bert Bloxham had planned out his future as a successful garage owner. Included in his plans was an attractive, capable wife, who could rise with him up the social ladder.
In Deirdre, he saw the perfect partner. She was lively, ambitious, and capable, and, what is more, he fancied her. Luckily, she fancied him, too, and after a decent interval of courtship, they were married, had two small girls, and settled in a small terraced house in the suburbs of Thornwell, a large town near to Barrington.
By retirement age Bert and Deirdre had amassed a considerable fortune, selling the now large chain of garages for a handsome sum and moving into a large house in Barrington. Unfortunately, Bert was not suited to retirement, and within two years had died of inactivity and boredom.
Deirdre, apart from loneliness after Bert had died, did not pine. Once grief had been dealt with, she set about making a different, but satisfactory, life. She was good at spending money and bossing people around. Ivy had not been her only project. Her proudest moment had been the presentation to her of an MBE for dedicated services to the local community.
Now she sat in her elegant drawing room, as she had learnt to call it, enjoying a large gin and tonic, and wondering if it would be a good idea to invite Ivy to tea to meet some of her club’s members. She weighed up the pros and cons and decided that on balance it was a bad idea. The old thing could be very tricky, and deliberately tactless, and it would probably be best to have Ivy for a cup of tea along with Deirdre’s next-door neighbour, who was ninety-three and deaf as a post.
GUS, MEANWHILE, HAD returned home a happy man. With Ivy on his side, he reckoned he could have a great deal of fun playing detective and sorting out Miriam Blake, who was rapidly becoming an object of considerable interest. No better than she should be, did Ivy say? Ah ha! Just the kind of thing he loved to investigate.
Then he remembered one thing Ivy had stipulated. Her cousin Deirdre must be involved. Deirdre had money, said Ivy, and they might need some. Gus could second that heartily. He always needed money, and if this was a way of making some, all to the good. So, an approach to Deirdre Bloxham was the next thing on his agenda, and Ivy had made it plain that it was up to him to persuade her to cooperate.
He looked out of his dusty window and saw a fine sunlit evening. Right, no time like the present. He washed his hands, combed his hair over the patch where a small niece had told him his head was showing through, and set off in his car to find Mrs. Deirdre Bloxham, MBE.
TAWNY WINGS WAS a strange house, built by a patriotic builder for his own family in Barrington. He had made his millions putting up cheap little dwellings miles away on the outskirts of Thornwell, but for Tawny Wings he had chosen a picture village and had designed and built the house in the shape of a V sign. Deirdre often wondered whether he had been inspired by Churchill’s famous gesture. Odd as the exterior appeared, it was a comfortable house. Even the bath in the master bathroom was extra large. The builder had meant to have nothing but the best, and Deirdre felt thoroughly at home.
As she gazed out of her drawing room window her eye was caught by a battered-looking car approaching slowly up her driveway. Who on earth could that be? She looked at her watch. Seven o’clock, and her supper browning nicely in the oven. Ah well, she would soon send him packing, whoever he was.
She answered the doorbell, and saw to her surprise that her visitor was Augustus Halfhide, friend of Ivy and something of an enigma.
“Good evening, Mrs. Bloxham!” Gus at his best could be very persuasive. “I apologise for calling at such an hour without making an appointment first, but I wondered whether you would have ten spare minutes to talk to me?”
“What are you selling?” said Deirdre bluntly. She had not spent years in her