Murder in Midwinter (27 page)

‘Sir Jonathan read us those bits out of his mother’s letters,’ said Fran. ‘We were very lucky. I’m surprised he didn’t just brush us off or throw us out.’

‘Mel wouldn’t have taken us to see him if she’d thought that,’ said Libby. ‘He’s obviously very interested in the history of the house and family.’

‘Well, we might have a lot more to tell him, soon,’ said Fran. ‘I have a feeling this is all going to get more complicated, and he’ll have a right to know.’

Libby looked at her in silence. Fran drove into Allhallow’s Lane and pulled up on to the little green opposite Libby’s house.

‘Are you being psychic again?’ said Libby, turning to face her.

‘What? No.’ Fran tapped the steering wheel.

‘Yes, you are. You’re doing it more and more often. How do you know this is going to get more and more complicated?’

‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Fran continued to stare out of the windscreen.

‘Not to me it isn’t. All I can see is a lack of suspects for the murder, Laurence’s, anyway, I don’t know about Dorothy’s.’

‘Yes, well, I think there might be more to it.’ Fran cleared her throat. ‘Now, go on, get out. I want to go home and change, too.’

Libby watched her drive back down Allhallow’s Lane and went indoors to placate Sidney and change into something suitable for a feudal Christmas party.

The Manor looked even more like something on the front of a Christmas card to Libby as she walked up the drive. A little over to her right stood the converted Oast House which was the theatre, with its large billboard and banner advertising
Jack and the Beanstalk
flanked by two enormous trees from the estate garlanded in multi-coloured lights, which had joined the two silver ones by the glass doors. The two trees standing either side of the Manor’s impressive front door and the bough across the lintel had been supplemented by an equally impressive garland. Libby pushed tentatively and the door opened.

Inside, Ben was putting parcels under the tree in the hall and Hetty could be seen through the door to the right in full bustle mode. Ben came forward and kissed her.

‘Glad you’re early,’ he said, ‘you can go and help Ma. She’s getting into a state.’

‘I thought your mother never got into states?’

‘No, she doesn’t normally. I’m not sure what’s wrong, unless it’s Dad. He’s not too well again, although he laughs it off and calls himself a creaking gate.’

‘I’ll go and see what I can do. I’ll tell her what we found out at the Place this morning.’

‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

‘Yes, if you want to come with me. Otherwise I’ll tell you later.’

After that, Libby had no time to call her own. Hetty barked out orders, Libby obeyed them and eventually, Peter and Harry turned up to help. Ben was everywhere and at some point saw him usher Fran into the library. The tenants and their children ate voraciously and ran wild in the old ballroom and Libby served up glass after glass of punch. Finally, she grabbed Peter as he passed languidly by, and forced him to take over while she went outside for a reviving cigarette.

‘Old Het still don’t like us smokin’ indoors, then.’ An old man sitting on the wall by the kitchen garden waved a pipe at her.

‘No,’ said Libby, as she lit her cigarette, ‘although she used to smoke herself, I believe.’

‘Sure ’er did,’ said the old man. ‘I remember ’er in the war.’

‘Do you?’ Libby went to sit beside him. ‘So did you come and see the play about the family that we put on in the new theatre?’

‘O’ course I did. My daughter would’a made me go, anyway.’ He laughed wheezily. ‘Good it were. You did it, didn’t yer?’

‘Um, yes,’ said Libby. ‘So were you a picker or a home dweller?’

‘Home dwellers we was,’ said the old man. ‘Me mam worked up at the ’ospital.’

‘The hospital? In Canterbury?’

‘No, up the Place. Fer the soldiers.’

Libby held her breath. This couldn’t be true. ‘Your mum wasn’t Edith, was she?’

‘Edith? No, ’er was Lil. Lil ’Edges afore she were married. Arnold, after, like me.’

‘So did she know all the people up there?’ asked Libby.

‘Whatjer mean? People? All soldiers, they was.’

‘Yes, but I meant the people who owned the house. They were in The Dower House, I think.’

‘Oh, ah. Old Anderson’s widder. But my old mum didn’t ’ave nothin’ to do with her.’

‘Oh.’ Libby was disappointed.

‘Whatjer want to know for? Goin’ to do another play about ’em?’ Mr Arnold laughed again and coughed.

‘Maybe,’ said Libby. ‘I’d better go in or they’ll be after me.’

‘That ’Et’s a right one, ain’t she?’ marvelled Mr Arnold, as Libby left him sitting on his wall.

Much later, sitting with her feet up in the library surveying the wreckage of the Christmas tea, Libby was able to tell Fran about the conversation.

‘Well, we guessed that, didn’t we?’ said Fran. ‘Sir Frederick’s widow still living in The Dower House – she must have been very old, though. And why was the Shepherd woman there, too?’

‘I don’t know, but Hetty remembers her. She told me about Mrs Nemone when I asked her about the Place the other day. When she told me about Edith the scullery maid. I assumed she was the owner.’

Ben came in with whisky and glasses on a tray.

‘Ma says take it easy now, and she’ll clear up later,’ he said handing them each a glass.

‘Oh, yeah? Who does she think she’s kidding?’ said Libby, adding water to her glass. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer gin, Fran?’

‘Oh, damn, I forgot. Sorry, Fran,’ said Ben.

‘No, it’s fine, I often have the odd whisky.’ Fran smiled and raised her glass to them. ‘Here’s to a successful party.’

‘And a happy Christmas,’ said Ben.

‘Anyway, we’ll help her with the clearing up in a minute,’ said Libby. ‘I was just telling Fran about my conversation with old Mr Arnold this afternoon.’

‘You haven’t told me yet about your visit to the Place this morning,’ said Ben, sitting on the edge of the club fender. ‘Start with that.’

Libby and Fran brought him up to date between them.

‘So Mrs Nemone Shepherd used to employ Bella’s grandma, and lived at the Place with old Sir Fred and his missus, whom we presume is what’s-her-name, Ivy.’

‘That what it looks like,’ said Libby.

‘So what’s it all got to do with Laurence Cooper?’

‘Sod all, as far as I can see,’ said Libby.

Fran looked at the ceiling.

‘Come on,’ said Libby, poking her with a foot. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Nemone Shepherd was Sir Frederick’s daughter, wasn’t she?’

‘That’s what Old Jonathan said. Unless she was his daughter-in-law.’

‘Shepherd, Lib,’ said Ben, patting her on the hand. ‘Couldn’t be.’

‘Oh, no, she’d be Anderson then, wouldn’t she?’

‘But we never hear of Ivy as Mrs – or rather, Lady – Anderson. Just Ivy,’ said Fran.

‘We’ve only heard of her once anyway,’ said Libby. ‘In Dorinda’s letter. Perhaps she is just a maid.’

‘Could she be Laurence’s grandmother, or something? If she was a maid?’ asked Ben.

The two women looked at him with surprised admiration.

‘Bloody hell!’ said Libby. ‘Of course.’

‘So his Dad took him there when he was little to visit grannie? That makes sense.’ Ben looked pleased with himself.

‘Close,’ said Fran. ‘Very close.’

‘What do you mean, close? It’s inspired,’ said Libby indignantly. ‘That’s why Dorinda goes to visit her. They both worked for Mrs Shepherd.’

‘Why doesn’t she say that in the letter, then? Why does she say she visits
Sir Frederick
and Ivy, and not
Mrs Shepherd
and Ivy?’

Libby glared at her in silence.

‘Well, I shall leave you to fight it out,’ said Ben, standing up. ‘I’m going to start clearing up in the ballroom. Those little monsters have wrecked it.’

‘OK, I’ll start in here, then,’ said Libby. ‘This is a room you use after all. When did you last use the ballroom?’

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Fran. ‘Then you can carry on moaning at me.’

‘I wasn’t moaning.’ Libby stood up. ‘I just thought Ben had cracked it.’

‘There’s still no connection to Bella, though.’

‘Not directly, no.’ Libby began to stack plates. ‘Did you phone her?’

‘Not yet. I’ll try this evening. Do you still want to go over there again?’

‘Yes, of course. It’s bugging me, now. I wonder if Harry’s had any luck with those old newspapers?’

‘I don’t suppose he’s had time, what with the wedding and everything,’ said Fran, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater.

‘I don’t think he’s got much to do for that, now,’ said Libby. ‘It’s just all these Christmas specials he’s doing.’

‘He was here this afternoon.’

‘Still is, I expect. He’s not opening tonight, or tomorrow.’

‘Or Friday or Saturday.’ Fran grinned across the table. ‘I don’t know how he’s tearing himself away!’

‘For the love of a good man,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll go and get a tray.’

An hour later most of the rooms had been cleared and the second load of dishes loaded into the dishwasher. Hetty and Greg, their family and friends sat around the large kitchen table looking tired but happy.

‘Thanks, everybody,’ said Hetty. ‘Good party.’

‘Do the tenants really enjoy it?’ asked Harry.

‘They expect it, I don’t know about enjoy it,’ said Greg, who was looking frailer and more tired than Libby had ever seen him. ‘It’s part of Christmas, and they would fight tooth and nail to keep it.’

‘Ben’ll have to take it over soon,’ said Hetty. ‘I’m too old.’

They all looked at her.

‘OK, Mum,’ said Ben, and everyone looked away again.

Fran stood up. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me,’ she said. ‘I’ve enjoyed it, even if the tenants didn’t, but I must be off, now.’

‘Thanks for gettin’ stuck in, gel,’ said Hetty, also standing.

‘Don’t get up,’ said Fran, ‘I can see myself out.’

‘Yer all right, gel,’ said Flo, pushing herself to her feet. ‘Lenny an’ me are going now. We’ll walk down the drive with you. Too dark to go on your own.’

Flo, Lenny and Fran all said goodbye and went out into the crisp evening air.

‘Not cold enough fer Christmas,’ grumbled Lenny, turning up his coat collar.

‘Cold enough fer me, you old fool,’ said Flo, slipping her arm through his. ‘You warm enough in that Harry’s flat, gel?’

‘Oh, yes, thanks,’ said Fran. ‘I miss a fire, though.’

‘I got an electric one. Couldn’t be bothered with coal, but I like to look at it,’ said Flo. ‘You and young Libby got any further with yer investigations?’

‘Well,’ said Fran, assuming that Libby had told Flo at least the basics, ‘we know that our friend Bella’s grandmother worked for someone who lived at Anderson Place, although she wasn’t the owner.’

‘And what’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’

‘I don’t really know,’ said Fran, laughing.

‘Well, don’t you let that Inspector feller talk you into doin’ ’is dirty work for ’im,’ said Lenny. ‘You just remember what you and young Libby have got yerselves into before. Murder, indeed.’

Chapter
Twenty-three

‘
C
AN I HAVE A
word, Lib?’

Libby turned at Harry’s voice. Hetty had packed them all off to the library and Ben was sorting out drinks.

‘What’s up?’ she said.

‘I found something in one of those old papers.’

‘You mean you’ve actually had time to look through them? My God!’ Libby patted the arm of her chair. ‘What is it?’

‘It was a little report about a stolen necklace. I don’t know whether it’s got anything to do with your new mate, but it mentioned Sir Frederick Anderson, so I thought it might.’

‘Necklace? What did it say? Did it mention anyone else?’

‘Just that a Mr Shepherd had reported the theft of a necklace belonging to his wife who was the daughter of Sir Fred.’

‘Really?’ Libby frowned. ‘Did you notice the date?’

‘It’s on the paper. 1903, I think.’

‘Which month?’

‘Oh, gawd, Lib, I don’t know.’ Harry made a face.

‘Can I come and get it?’

‘Whenever. Pete and I are going home in a bit. I’m bloody knackered.’

‘I bet you are.’ Libby patted his arm. ‘It’s all a bit much, really, isn’t it? Have you got anything else to do before next weekend?’

‘I don’t think so. That Mel’s amazing. She does everything.’

‘At a price,’ said Libby.

‘Yeah, well, rather she does it than us, and we can afford it.’ Harry stood up. ‘You’ll pop in on your way home, will you?’

‘If that’s all right,’ said Libby. ‘Thanks, Harry.’

She relayed this news to Ben when he brought her a whisky.

‘We won’t stay long, will we?’ he said.

‘No, of course not, they need to relax, but you don’t have to come at all.’

‘Oh,’ said Ben, looking put out. ‘Don’t you want me to come home with you, then?’

‘Don’t be daft. I was just saying I could pop in and you could go on home. You might want a chat with your Mum and Dad before you go.’

‘OK.’ Ben brightened. ‘I’ll see they’re OK, then follow you down.’

Peter let her in, glass in hand, and waved her towards the sitting room, where Harry lay on the sofa, an arm across his eyes.

‘What’s up?’ said Libby, sitting in her favourite sagging chair.

‘Poor sod’s bollocksed,’ said Peter, lifting Harry’s feet and replacing them on his own lap as he sat down. ‘I’ve made him do too much. Thank God he’s cut down this week.’

Libby pursed her lips.

‘And don’t,’ said Peter, pointing a finger at her, ‘say I told you so.’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Libby, who was.

‘Newspaper,’ said Harry, lifting his arm. ‘Top one on the pile.’

Libby looked round and saw the pile of newspapers on the dining table. She went over and spread the top one out. Immediately, the little headline leapt out at her.

“Diamond Necklace Stolen from the daughter of Sir Frederick Anderson” it read.

‘If you want a drink while you’re reading that you can help yourself,’ said Peter. ‘I’m not disturbing my boy now I’ve got him to relax.’

‘OK, thanks,’ said Libby, and poured herself a whisky from the selection on the slightly battered chiffonier. Taking the paper back to her chair, she began to read.