LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

Parkhurst Forest provided a glimpse of a red squirrel and far too much evidence of small winged biting things. After half an hour, Libby decided it was time to go back to Overcliffe.

‘We’ll die of blood poisoning, otherwise,’ she said, as they made their way back to the car. ‘And besides, we need to talk about the Clipping.’

‘I don’t see what we can do,’ said Fran. ‘Except, I suppose, look up census records if they’re available. Nineteen fifty-one would be nearest. There wasn’t one during the war, was there?’

‘Who would we look up? Her parents? She wouldn’t have been born then.’

‘No.’

‘Those men. They could just have been friends of hers, but it’s very odd to take friends to a funeral. Pity the three Graces didn’t ask to be introduced.’

‘Perhaps they could now,’ said Fran, unlocking the car. ‘Write notes to all the attendees, thanking them for coming.’

‘But they said they didn’t know a lot of them.’ Libby climbed in and buckled the seat belt. ‘So they couldn’t.’

‘They know the Clippings’ address. It’s the old family house,’ said Fran.

‘Let’s go and ask Alicia, then.’

‘If she’ll write?’

‘No, I was just going to ask her where the house is.’ Libby grinned. ‘Then we can go and snoop at it.’

Conveniently, when they got back to Overcliffe and parked the car, Alicia was coming out of The Shelf’s front door.

‘Just collecting post,’ she said waving what looked like a batch of junk mail. ‘All rubbish, of course, but they will keep sending it.’

‘What are you going to do with The Shelf?’ asked Libby. ‘Sell it? Or let it like Ship House?’

‘We haven’t decided yet,’ said Alicia, looking uncomfortable.

‘We saw Amanda Clipping while we were out,’ said Fran. ‘With her two friends. Did you say you didn’t know them?’

‘I can’t say, I did, dear.’ Alicia frowned. ‘But they must have known Matthew, I suppose. Perhaps Matthew was a mutual friend? After all, Amanda does work in London, and Matthew did for years, so …’

‘The older man in the wheelchair we thought must have been Amanda’s father,’ lied Libby, ‘but you said he wasn’t?’

‘Oh, no, dear. Not a bit like. Although I haven’t seen John for years, of course. Or Christine. We keep in touch at Christmas, of course.’

‘Where did they live on the Island?’ asked Fran. ‘You said Amanda lives there now?’

‘Only when she comes over for a visit, which isn’t very often. She sometimes brings friends for a long weekend, as far as we know. She doesn’t visit us, of course.’

‘But she does see some people?’ said Libby.

‘Oh, we only know because she goes into the little shop near the house. We use it, too.’

‘Oh?’ Libby tried to contain her impatience. ‘Is it close, then?’

‘Yes, dear. Just along the road towards Blackgang, then you turn right and go through a few houses. Just there. Not far at all if you run out of milk. The Clippings’ house is just past it. Lovely place.’ Alicia smiled wistfully. ‘Big, greystone manor. Did you know we’ve got more manor houses here than anywhere else in the country?’

‘And more attractions, Amanda told us today,’ said Fran.

‘It’s because the Island’s so small, everything has to be crammed in.’ Alicia smiled gently and turned to go into her own house.

‘Shall we go?’ said Libby, as they watched Alicia shut her front door.

‘I suppose we could.’ Fran turned to go back to the car. ‘But Amanda will probably be back there by now. She might spot us.’

‘We could be going to the shop,’ suggested Libby. ‘We could actually buy something. Chocolate, perhaps.’

‘Oh, yes, that’s essential.’

‘Don’t be sarky. Or wine? We probably need more wine.’

Fran laughed. ‘Undoubtedly. Come on then.’

Once again, they set out towards Blackgang Chine, keeping an eye out for a turning on their right.

‘There,’ said Libby. ‘The signpost says “Beech”.’

Fran turned right down a lane little wider than the one they’d followed earlier that day. On either side open farmland stretched into the distance, and ahead the spire of a church sailed above a small copse. Rounding a bend, they came to a row of terraced cottages and a black and white sign announcing itself as “Beech”. The last cottage boasted a shop front adorned with all manner of items hanging beside its door and in front of the window.

‘Beech Stores and Post Office,’ Libby read. ‘They’re lucky they haven’t been closed down.’

Fran pulled into the side of the road between two large SUVs. ‘This can’t be their only catchment area. But you’d think the people here could just as easily go into Niton or Chale, wouldn’t you?’

‘Well, I don’t care, I’m just glad it’s here,’ said Libby, climbing out of the car. ‘We can just go in and be nosy tourists. Come on.’

The shop was crammed with everything from tinned beans to buckets and spades. Wellingtons in a variety of colours stood on the floor below a shelf full of wine, a crate of earthy potatoes rubbed shoulders with bags of cat litter.

Libby selected a bottle of red wine, more by price than because she knew the label, and took it to the man who was watching them with interest from behind the post office counter.

‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I’ll come out.’

He emerged behind a counter piled high with newspapers. ‘Can’t take anything but post office money behind there,’ he said with a friendly smile.

‘We were surprised to find not only a village shop but a post office tucked away here,’ said Libby. ‘Weren’t we, Fran?’

‘Bit off the beaten track, aren’t we?’ The man wrapped the bottle in blue tissue paper.

‘Is this all there is to the village? Just this row of houses?’ said Fran.

‘No, bless you! Just up the road behind the trees is our church, and the rest of the houses, and then there’s our two manor houses.’

‘Two?’ said Libby. ‘We knew there was one – the Clippings’ house?’

‘Oh, yes, that’s Beech Manor. Mandy’s staying there at the moment with a couple of friends, I think.’

‘Yes, she came over like we did, for a friend’s funeral,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, ah? That’ll be old Matthew, then?’

‘Yes. We’re staying at Ship House.’

‘You’ll know the sisters, then?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Libby, with an answering grin. ‘In fact it was Alicia who directed us here.’

‘She’s the best of them now Celia’s gone,’ said the shopkeeper with a sigh. ‘She were a smasher.’

‘Really?’ said Fran. ‘We didn’t know her. Terrible how she died.’

‘Always seemed a bit funny to us.’ The shopkeeper took Libby’s money and turned to put it in the till.

‘What? How she died?’ Libby looked at Fran and raised an eyebrow.

‘Yes.’ Libby’s change was handed over. ‘Didn’t seem quite right, somehow. Celia was – oh, I dunno – like a woman twenty years younger. Really on the ball, you know?’

‘But Alicia told us she got caught in the flood,’ said Fran.

‘Well, yeah – but why? She’d have seen what was happening. She’d have had time to get up them steps out of Candle Cove even if she couldn’t get back into Overcliffe.’

‘Steps? We didn’t think there were any,’ said Fran.

‘Oh, you have to know where they are.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘And old Celia, she knew everything about this Island, she did. She knew where the bodies were buried.’

‘Bo – oh!’ Libby laughed. ‘She knew more than the others?’

‘Her and Matthew. Thick as thieves, there were. Knew all about all the old Island families.’

‘I wish he’d told us more about the Island,’ said Libby. ‘We knew him on the mainland, you see.’

‘Oh, I knew you was overners.’ He grinned. ‘Now, did you want to know where Mandy’s house is?’

‘Yes, please. Although I’d never dare to call her anything but Amanda.’

‘Oh, I’ve known her all me life. Same age, see? Not the same schools, obvious, but same Sunday School. Now, you go out of here, turn left up the road past the church and you’ll come to the gates on your left. Big old gates, they are, with lions on.’

‘Well, thank you for all your information,’ said Libby, holding out her hand. ‘Sorry, don’t know your name?’

‘Bernie Small, pleased to meet you.’ Bernie shook hands with both of them. ‘And give my best to Alicia.’

‘We will,’ said Fran. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well,’ said Libby when they were outside. ‘That was interesting.’

‘Wasn’t it.’ Fran unlocked the car and put the wine inside. ‘And now we’re going to have a look at Beech Manor.’

The church, shielded by the little copse of – naturally, beech trees – was only a hundred yards further on from the shop, standing amid a sprinkling of modern bungalows and older cottages. Further on still, they came to the gateposts with the lions Bernie had told them about.

‘I wonder why everyone had lions on their gateposts?’ said Libby. ‘Was it after Landseer did his Trafalgar Square lions, do you suppose?’

‘These look a bit older than that.’ Fran peered up the drive. ‘It is a nice house, isn’t it?’

Built in grey stone, as Alicia had said, Beech Manor was a symmetrical building with a welcoming look. It wasn’t large, but had the look of a building happy in itself and its surroundings.

‘It doesn’t match Amanda, somehow,’ said Libby.

‘She doesn’t match it,’ said Fran. ‘That’s what it is.’

‘Well, she’s not here now,’ said Libby. ‘No cars.’

‘There’ll probably be a converted stable round the back,’ said Fran, ‘and no, we aren’t going to look.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Libby grinned. ‘I suppose now we’ve seen it, we might as well go back home.’

‘Today?’ said Fran, startled.

‘Oh, sorry, I mean back to Overcliffe, not
home
home. We could have a look at the church, I suppose?’

‘It’ll be locked, I expect.’ Fran turned back to the lane. ‘Look, do you think that’s the other manor house?’

Across the road, another pair of gates stood open to a drive which curved away to the left behind dense shrubbery.

‘Let’s go and look.’ Libby darted across the road and stepped cautiously round the right-hand gate post.

‘You’ll get done for trespassing if you’re not careful,’ said Fran, catching up with her.

‘I don’t see any security cameras, and the gates don’t look as if they’ve been closed for years,’ said Libby. ‘And there’s no one about.’ She edged forward. ‘Look! There’s the house.’

This house was far more imposing than little Beech Manor across the road. It sprawled from its obviously Tudor central block to two irregular wings built, said Libby, rather after the style of Osborne House.

‘Somebody had pretentions of grandeur,’ she concluded.

‘I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘Just trying to curry favour with the Queen, perhaps.’

‘Or keep up with fashion. Does it look well kept to you?’

‘Not that well. The grounds look good though.’

‘Beech Manor was better kept. I wonder who does that if Amanda isn’t here most of the time?’

‘I don’t think we can ask Bernie Small about that. He thinks we’re mates of Amanda’s and would know,’ said Fran.

‘Do we suppose this is owned by one of those old Island families he mentioned?’ said Libby, as they turned to retrace their steps towards the car.

‘Now, that we
could
ask him,’ said Fran. ‘That would be natural curiosity.’

As they approached the shop, Bernie Small was outside collecting vegetables to take back inside.

‘Find it?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thanks, Bernie, but no one was there,’ said Fran.

‘We think we saw the other manor house across the road,’ said Libby. ‘Would that be right?’

‘Oh, yeah. Etherington Manor,’ said Bernie. ‘Old Lady Bligh’s place.’

Chapter Thirteen

‘Is that significant?’ Libby asked, when they were in the car heading back to Overcliffe.

‘What, that Lady Bligh lives opposite the Clippings?’ Fran swung into Niton and followed the one-way system towards the Undercliff.

‘I suppose it isn’t really.’ Libby sighed. ‘They all live this side of the Island. Obviously they all know each other. And the DeLaxleys lived at Overcliffe Castle, didn’t they? All of them in posh houses.’

‘I wonder which was the senior branch of the DeLaxley family?’ Fran frowned. ‘Matthew’s or the sisters’?’

‘What difference does that make?’ asked Libby.

‘Who inherited the main bulk of the DeLaxley estate? If Matthew was the son of the eldest son it would be him, which would mean that everything belonged to him. On the other hand, if the sisters were daughters of the eldest son …’

‘But you said there’s no rule of primo-whatsit any more,’ said Libby.

‘But there was. Unless their grandfather divided everything equally between his children.’

‘We’re assuming it was sons not daughters,’ said Libby.

Fran gave her a quick surprised look. ‘But they’re all DeLaxleys.’

‘What –’ Libby began, then thought for a moment. ‘Oh, of course. If it was their mothers who had been DeLaxleys, they wouldn’t be DeLaxleys, would they?’

Fran sighed. ‘No, Libby.’

‘Shame their castle isn’t there any longer. I wonder what happened to it?’

‘I’m more interested in what our new friend said about Celia,’ said Fran.

‘Her knowing where the bodies are buried? I took him literally at first.’

Fran laughed. ‘I know. Sometimes, Libby, you’re priceless!’

‘I know,’ said Libby smugly.

Fran parked in the car park at the top of Overcliffe and Libby wandered over to where a green metal notice informed the public that this had been the site of Overcliffe Castle.

‘Demolished in the sixties,’ she told Fran. ‘I wonder why?’

‘We’ll ask the ladies,’ said Fran. ‘I can think of several questions we need to ask them in view of what we’ve learnt today.’

‘How did Celia know so much more than they all did about the Island families?’

‘And how well the Clippings and Lady Bligh knew – know – each other.’

‘Really? Why?’

Fran was frowning again. ‘I don’t know. It seems important, somehow.’

‘Her son,’ said Libby suddenly. ‘Amelia said Lady Bligh was there with her awful son. Or something like that.’

‘Ye-es,’ said Fran slowly. ‘I wonder if that means anything?’

‘It means Amelia doesn’t approve of him.’

‘She doesn’t approve of most things,’ said Fran. ‘And the other thing I wanted to ask was about the steps.’

‘The steps? Oh, from Candle Cove. No – no one’s mentioned them. In fact, hasn’t somebody said you can’t get up to the top?’

‘Harry did, didn’t he?’ Fran wandered down to the sisters’ house and peered along the path that led along the cliff. ‘You can see down into it from here, can’t you?’ She started along it.

‘Fran! You can’t! The sisters will see you!’

Fran looked over her shoulder. ‘I doubt it. Look.’ She gestured. The path descended below the level of the sisters’ house, and the bank above was thick with vegetation. ‘They’d look straight over the top of this.’

‘OK,’ said Libby nervously, following her friend into the tunnel-like pathway.

‘And that’s it.’ Fran stopped. ‘You can’t get any further.’

Sure enough, the bracken and brambles closed over the path which had fallen away into rubble.

‘So where are the steps?’ asked Libby, trying to peer down to the bay below.

‘They must be the other side,’ said Fran, standing on tip-toe to try and see over the brambles. ‘That makes sense, because if they were this side, they’d come up straight into the sisters’ back garden.’

‘Come on, let’s go back,’ said Libby. ‘I’m dying for a cup of tea, and the men will be wondering where on earth we’ve got to.’

As they emerged at the top of the pathway, they found Amelia waiting for them with a puzzled look on her face.

‘What were you doing down there? It doesn’t go anywhere.’

‘No,’ said Fran ruefully. ‘We discovered that. We were hoping there might be a way down into Candle Cove.’

‘Of course not
there’
Amelia was scornful. ‘If there had been, Celia would have come –’ she broke off, looking stricken.

‘Would have come up when she heard the storm coming?’ Libby finished for her.

Amelia nodded, her eyes wide.

‘Come on,’ said Fran, taking her arm. ‘Let’s go inside. I think we need to talk to all of you again.’

Alicia and Honoria were in the kitchen and looked surprised at the sudden entry of their sister in the firm charge of Fran and Libby.

‘A few more questions,’ said Fran, sitting down at the kitchen table. ‘We’ve just established that you all thought Celia would have tried to get out of Candle Cove when she heard the storm coming.’

Alicia and Honoria looked at one another.

‘You have?’ said Alicia cautiously.

‘Amelia confirmed it,’ said Libby. ‘What we don’t know is why this alarmed Amelia so much. Also, why has no one told us about the steps from Candle Cove?’

Alicia and Honoria both sat down on the other side of the table. Alicia put her head in her hands.

‘The steps have crumbled,’ said Honoria gruffly. ‘Not safe.’

‘And they’re the other side,’ said Amelia.

‘We guessed that. Now, why is Amelia alarmed?’ Fran looked at each of them in turn.

Alicia raised her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, come on!’ said Libby. ‘This is getting silly. You asked us over here to look in to Celia’s death, which you say is murder. We’ve investigated as much as we can while you’ve consistently sidestepped the truth all along the way. What is it you haven’t told us this time?’

‘Was it,’ said Fran shrewdly, ‘that you really
did
know that Celia was going down to the Beach House that day after all?’

There was a shocked silence, while all three sisters avoided looking at one another.

‘We knew she’d gone out,’ said Amelia. ‘We told you that.’

‘I think you’ve hit the nail on the head, Fran,’ said Libby. ‘Useless conspirators they’d make, wouldn’t they?’

Alicia took a deep breath. But no words came out.

‘You told us,’ said Fran gently, ‘that it was only after Alicia went to the hospital you realised Celia hadn’t come back. That doesn’t sound quite right.’

Honoria and Amelia exchanged glances.

‘Look, if you know that Celia went to the Beach House after all, and if you know what it was about, why are you asking us to find out?’ Libby wasn’t gentle. ‘Honestly! You are three very twisted old women. We had all this the other night when poor Harry got put on the spot. I’m really getting very angry with you, and apart from now having to find out who or what is after Harry, I’m not going to help you any more. Come on, Fran. We’ve got other people to talk to.’

Suddenly there was a wall of sisters between Libby and the door.

‘No.’ Honoria looked more than ever like a bulldog. ‘Didn’t know what Celia was going for. Didn’t know anything. You need to tell us everything.’

‘I’m sorry?’ said Libby coldly. ‘I think that should be my line. Now, get out of my way. I have no scruples about man-handling old ladies.’

Honoria looked ready to take anyone on in unarmed combat, but Amelia and Alicia subsided and moved away from the door.

‘Thank you,’ said Libby, and swept past Honoria, who glowered after her.

‘Why did you do that?’ Fran asked quietly as she followed her friend down the cliff.

‘What do you mean?’ Libby looked back, surprised. ‘I did it for exactly the reason I told them. I’m fed up with them.’

‘There’s more to it than that,’ said Fran. ‘There’s a reason they’re hiding something.’

‘Well, of course there is! They want to know who killed Celia in case it’s someone who knows this big secret they’re keeping.’

Fran stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked at her friend in astonishment. ‘How did you know?’

‘It’s obvious,’ said Libby, climbing up to the deck of Ship House. ‘Don’t tell me you hadn’t worked it out?’

‘No, actually I hadn’t, although now you’ve said it, it
is
obvious. How much does Harry know?’

‘Only what he’s told us, I imagine. Come on, let’s tell the boys and see what they say.’

The men were all in the sitting room watching football.

‘You were a long time,’ said Ben.

‘Sorry, but we’ve been finding things out,’ said Fran. ‘Libby has, anyway.’

Harry stood up and stretched. ‘Come and tell me about it in the kitchen, then, petal. I’m fed up with football.’

‘I’m not interested anyway,’ said Guy. ‘I’ll come with you.’

Ben grinned. ‘We’ll all stay here and have a cup of tea. I don’t want to watch the football, either, and I think Pete was nearly asleep.’

Tea was made and room made for Libby and Fran on the couch, after which they recounted the day’s adventures between them.

‘You have had a busy day,’ said Ben.

‘So you think whatever it is they’re hiding has nothing to do with Harry?’ said Peter.

‘If you think back to their behaviour right from the start, Harry’s always been a sort of by-product,’ said Libby.

‘Thank you, sweetie,’ said Harry.

‘You know what I mean. They gave you the letter because they didn’t want to be bothered with it. All they wanted to know was who’d written it, because that person might know their big secret.’

‘I don’t get it.’ Guy was frowning. ‘That letter said Matthew wouldn’t tell the writer about the young friend. They must have thought – well, they did, didn’t they? – that meant the writer was the killer.’

‘Yes, which was how their devious old minds worked. Get Harry to find out who it was, then they would find out if he or she knew their secret,’ said Libby.

‘I think I see,’ said Ben, ‘but it’s very convoluted.’

‘So it’s nothing to do with me after all?’ Harry looked round at the circle of faces.

‘Yes, it is. We still know you were your grandmother’s grandson, whoever she was,’ said Fran, ‘and somebody is watching you. We know that.’

‘How are the two tied together?’ said Guy.

Libby shrugged. ‘We don’t know that they are.’

Fran turned to her husband. ‘How did you get on with the book?’

‘Not brilliantly.’ Guy stood up and fetched the book from the table behind the couch. ‘Here. Most of the pages will open, but the ink’s become virtually invisible. And some of it’s turned to papier-mâché.’

‘It
is
an address book,’ said Libby, as Fran turned the brittle pages. ‘I wonder how far back it goes?’

‘It’s not a new book,’ said Fran. ‘I mean, not a recent one. It could go back a long way.’

‘I wonder if it is what the murderer was looking for?’ said Ben.

‘If there was a murder,’ said Peter.

‘Would the killer murder Celia because he couldn’t find what he wanted, or because she knew something about him – or her?’ said Libby.

‘Or simply she knew who he was and he couldn’t risk her telling anybody,’ said Fran.

‘That’s the most likely,’ said Harry. ‘And we still don’t know if what he or she wanted is anything to do with me.’

‘We’ve been assuming it is because of what Matthew told you, putting it together with the letter the sisters received and the note you found here,’ said Peter. ‘But that could be something completely different.’

‘And I think the sisters believe that it is. None of them are being helpful about finding out who Harry’s gran was.’ Libby sighed.

‘And they’ve almost been avoiding the subject of the Island in the fifties,’ said Fran.

‘So what we need to do,’ said Harry, ‘is find out what
was
happening on the Island in the fifties. Stands to reason.’