Murder Dancing (7 page)

‘They're not to go into the theatre,' Ben told Libby, as he drank a hasty cup of tea before going to join a council of war. ‘Sebastian's been told to go over to the Manor and hold them all there.'

‘I'll go up and help,' said Libby. ‘Seb will be needed at your council of war, and Hetty won't cope on her own.'

‘All right.' Ben gave her a quick kiss and left. Libby sighed, put the mugs in the sink and went to get dressed.

As soon as she set foot inside the sitting-room at the Manor, she was surrounded by anxious dancers.

‘What is it?'

‘What's going on?'

‘Seb wouldn't tell us a thing!'

‘It's another incident, isn't it?' Alan Neville's voice came from the back of the room. The others fell silent.

‘I believe it is,' said Libby. ‘I'm sure you'll be told all about it in due course, but in the meantime, does anyone want any more coffee or tea?'

She escaped into the kitchen and explained to Hetty what was going on. Hetty shook her head.

‘Brought trouble, that's what,' she muttered, manoeuvring the huge kettle onto the Aga hotplate.

Libby eyed her nervously. Hetty's relationship with the theatre had been ambivalent in the past.

‘I'll go and collect cups,' she said.

As she crossed the hall, Ben appeared in the doorway.

‘They can come across now,' he said. ‘Sebastian got the thing down, but Max is furious. Will you bring them across? I've got to go and wash.' He disappeared to his estate office where there was a convenient shower room.

Libby went back to the kitchen.

‘Cancel the tea and coffee, Hetty. I've got to shepherd them all across to the theatre. I'll come back and help clear up in a bit.'

‘You carry on, gal,' said Hetty. ‘I'm all right on me own.'

Libby went back to the sitting-room, where disconsolate dancers were sitting or lounging with boneless grace.

‘OK, you can come over, now,' she said, and stood aside as they all made for the door.

In the auditorium, Max asked them all to sit down. He stood on the stage, while Stan fidgeted at the side, and Sebastian sat alone on the edge looking miserable.

‘As I'm sure you've all guessed we've had another incident,' Max began. ‘It has been dealt with and has caused no harm to anyone, but it was unpleasant.'

‘What was it?' called someone.

‘A rat,' said Stan. ‘A hanged rat.'

Various expressions of disgust quivered round the auditorium.

‘Someone must have got into the theatre during the night,' said Max. ‘Apart from Ben, Peter and Libby, the only people who have keys are Stan, and Sebastian and me. None of us was responsible, so I'm asking now if anyone here knows anything about it.'

‘None of them will admit it if they are,' Peter murmured in Libby's ear. ‘Can't make it out myself.'

As expected, no one in the auditorium had anything to say.

‘Very well,' said Max, ‘then we will carry on with rehearsals. Warm up on-stage in five minutes please.'

He strode off into the wings, followed by Stan. Sebastian stayed on the edge of the stage. Libby went and sat beside him.

‘You found it, didn't you?'

Sebastian nodded. ‘Horrible, it was. I felt so sorry for it.'

‘I wonder how they caught it?'

‘I expect they found it.' Sebastian shuddered. ‘Whoever “they” are. I just can't understand why.'

‘No, neither can I. Did you think it would stop when you came down here?'

‘I suppose I did. Stan said the show was doomed, but he's never exactly a ray of sunshine.'

Libby regarded him with interest. ‘Do you actually
like
Stan?'

Sebastian grinned. ‘No, actually I don't. And before you ask why the hell I'm shacked up with him, I'll tell you. I owe him. He got me out of a bit of trouble a year or so back, and he's kept me around like a pet bloody monkey ever since.'

Libby diplomatically didn't ask about the trouble. ‘Were you already in the theatre?'

‘Stage Management degree. But I buggered up. Stan – ah – rescued me. And here I am.'

‘Well, it's quite a good start,' said Libby cautiously.

‘Suppose so. But I want to do proper theatre.' He turned to her hastily. ‘Not that this isn't a proper theatre …'

Libby laughed. ‘I know what you mean. Drama?'

‘Yes.' A dreamy look came over Sebastian's face. ‘I'd love to work at The Globe.'

‘Wouldn't we all,' said Libby. ‘Come on. We'd better get off the stage or we'll get trampled.'

She wandered to the back of the auditorium, where Ben was now standing with his arms folded and a scowl on his face.

‘What's up?'

‘They've messed up the bloody lanterns.'

‘Oh. Did they hang the rat from one of the barrels?' The barrels were the bars on to which the stage lights, or lanterns, were attached.

Ben nodded. ‘And young Seb had to move everything to get the rope off.'

‘Why didn't he just cut it?'

‘He did, but we still had to get the rope off. It was wound round one of the lanterns. Now we've got to re-set and probably re-plot.'

‘Oh, dear.' Libby left him glowering at the stage and crept up the spiral stairs to the lighting box.

‘Is it as bad as Ben's made it sound?' she asked Peter.

‘Oh, we can re-set, that's no problem, but obviously we can't do it while they're rehearsing.'

‘So that means what? Tonight?'

‘Suppose so.' Peter looked across at Damian, who still sat with earphones on gazing at the stage.

‘Does he ever take them off?' whispered Libby.

‘Not when he's up here.' Peter shook his head sadly. ‘Musicians, eh?'

Libby went back to the Manor, collected more dirty cups from the sitting-room and took them into the kitchen.

‘I hope we don't get any more so-called incidents,' she said to Hetty, as she piled them next to the dishwasher.

‘What d'yer make of it, then?' asked Hetty.

‘What do
I
make of it? I've no idea!'

‘Bit odd, if you ask me.' Hetty turned and leant back on the sink, folding her arms. ‘Don't follow, some'ow.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Like that business when we opened the theatre.'

‘
The Hop Pickers
?' Libby was bewildered. ‘How?'

‘Different things, weren't they? The murder weren't nothing to do with it.'

Libby stared and Hetty turned to the Aga with a shrug.

The Hop Pickers
had been written by Peter based on events in Hetty's family background and was the opening play at the Oast Theatre. A murder had somewhat marred proceedings, and various other incidents had complicated matters. Hetty obviously had the idea that the situation regarding the Tobin Dance Theatre was similar.

Libby called Fran as she walked home down the Manor drive.

‘Why would she think that?' she asked. ‘I don't get it.'

‘Neither do I. There hasn't been a really awful incident, has there?'

‘The worst was the cockerel, I should think. Although the rat this morning wasn't pleasant. There hasn't been anything really dangerous, either. Not like
The Hop Pickers
.'

‘Perhaps it's simply all the small things adding up, and Hetty thinks it's all going to erupt in something nasty.'

‘I suppose so, but there's no indication of that, is there? And I must admit I thought they would have left it all behind in London.'

‘Have you talked to Max?'

‘No,' said Libby. ‘I expect he'll want to have a chat later, though. I don't think I can tell him anything. I'm wondering exactly what he thought we'd be able to do.'

‘He thought the company might talk to us, didn't he? Well, some of them have.'

‘Not to any purpose.' Libby sighed and kicked a pebble. ‘Oh, well. I'll wait and see what happens. Ben's in a mood because the rat-hanger disturbed all the lights and they've all got to be re-set.'

‘Oh, dear. So it's actually disturbing the production now, not just the dancers?'

‘Oh, yes! I didn't think of that. I suppose they'll be poking round the set every day now, looking for traps.'

Libby made herself a sandwich for lunch, wondering if Ben was going to come home. As he didn't, she took the sandwich into the conservatory and tried to summon up some enthusiasm for the painting which sat, barely started, on an easel. So far, it consisted of a shakily sketched horizon line and an even shakier cliff edge. As usual, it was to be a view of Nethergate to sell in Guy's shop/gallery. Again as usual, she seemed to have no appetite for it. Instead she found herself idly doodling what looked like a stage set, with floating figures skimming over the sea which had turned into a stage.

‘Witches!' she muttered to herself, just as the landline began to ring.

‘Libby? Sorry to disturb you. Max here.'

‘Hello, Max. Everything all right?'

‘Well – you were there this morning, weren't you? I thought I saw you.'

‘Yes, I came up to help at the Manor, but it all seemed to be dealt with very speedily.'

‘Yes, it was.' He paused. ‘Look, I wonder if it would be convenient to have a word? We've broken for lunch, and Ben's

taken the opportunity to re-set some of the lanterns, so I've got an hour or so.'

Here we go, thought Libby. ‘Yes, of course,' she said aloud. ‘Would you like to come here? Do you know where I am?'

She gave him directions and went to move the kettle on to the Rayburn. Hoping he wasn't too London-sophisticated to reject her instant coffee, she set out mugs and went to light the fire in the sitting-room. It was nearly the end of October, and feeling distinctly damp and chilly.

‘Tea or coffee?' she asked when Max arrived.

‘Oh – tea, please.' He smiled a little diffidently. ‘I'm not much of a coffee drinker actually. Disgrace to the glitterati, me.'

Libby beamed. ‘Excellent. We'll have proper tea made in a proper pot, then.'

‘What did you want to talk about?' she asked, as she carried the tray into the sitting-room.

‘I wanted to know if any of the boys had talked to you – or to Fran – since we arrived. If you'd managed to form any sort of opinion?' He took a mug from her.

‘We've talked to a few of them. None of them seem averse to talking about it, but the rat came as a surprise. I think they'd convinced themselves that all the trouble had been left behind in London. I rather thought that myself.'

Max nodded. ‘I was hoping that was the case. But now I'm not so sure.'

Libby leant forward. ‘My mother-in-law – Hetty, you know – has a theory that the incidents in London had nothing to do with the one this morning.'

Max looked startled. ‘What? How? Why does she think that?'

Libby sat back. ‘It's not really logical, simply based on experience.' She explained about
The Hop Pickers
. ‘And she could be right. If someone has a grudge, they could simply be copying what happened in London.'

Max shook his head. ‘That doesn't make sense. That would mean two people with a grudge against the company, the work, or the individual dancers.'

Libby sighed. ‘Yes, that does seem unlikely. Oh, and you didn't tell us that there had actually been threats to harm anybody.'

Max looked up. ‘Who told you that?' he asked sharply.

‘Apparently, there were threats of burning.' Libby regarded him with interest. ‘Why didn't you tell us? You wanted us to poke around.'

He tried a half-hearted laugh. ‘Oh, that was ridiculous.'

‘So ridiculous that two of your principals left?'

Max sighed. ‘All right, yes. So you've heard about all the little notes, I suppose?'

‘Most of them. I don't know exactly to whom they were sent, except to Paddy and – Gerry, was it? – who left, but the consensus now seems to be that it isn't an individual, but the production itself that's being threatened. Fran and I were trying to work out what it is that's “unnatural”, as one of the notes apparently said. Witchcraft? Men dancing women? Dance or theatre itself? What?'

Max looked up uneasily. ‘Homosexuality?'

Libby shook her head. ‘There were accusations of homosexuality, I gather, but rather blanket ones – and not true, for the most part. It's a common and often erroneous assumption about dancers, although why the hell it should matter, I can't think.'

Max smiled. ‘You sound as though you're on a podium.'

‘It happens to be one of my bugbears, sorry.' Libby smiled back. ‘Don't you agree with me?'

‘Of course I do. But if someone has some kind of objection to the production on the other grounds – which are archaic – they could just as easily be objecting to homosexuality.'

‘That's true.' Libby nodded thoughtfully. ‘Stan thinks the whole thing's doomed, apparently.'

‘Did Seb tell you that?'

‘Yes. I don't think he's that happy with Stan, to tell you the truth. He seems to be under some sort of obligation to him.'

Max sent her a quick look. ‘You
have
been finding out a lot.'

‘I thought that's what you wanted.'

Max sighed. ‘Yes, of course. But have you found out if any of them are really unhappy?'

‘Only Stan, and he hasn't said that to me. All the others seem OK, and they like the theatre. No one seems scared or anything. As I said, I think they all thought the trouble had been left behind in London.'

‘And no one said anything about the – the rat?'

‘I haven't seen anyone since you asked them all into the theatre and told them about it. I know Ben was cross about having to re-rig and possibly re-plot the lights, but that's about it.'