Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

Libby stood still, staring at the envelope. There was no printed address beneath the words, just a jagged tear. She heard Adelaide returning and tucked it up her sleeve.

‘Finished?’ said Adelaide, sounding tired.

‘I think so,’ said Libby. ‘I haven’t checked the top of the wardrobe.’

Adelaide paused, looking at her quizzically, before picking up a hanger and sweeping it across the top of the wardrobe, releasing a cloud of dust.

‘That’s it, then. Thank you so much for your help.’

Libby handed her a black bag and took the other herself, before preceding her down the stairs.

‘Shall I help you get these into the car?’

‘Would you?’ Adelaide’s manner had definitely changed. ‘Then I’ll get straight off.’

Eyeing the other woman’s rather dusty appearance, Libby said ‘Back to the hotel?’

‘No, thank God. Back to the flat. That inspector knows where to find me. And Julian.’

‘Right.’ Libby clicked open the boot, which was already fairly full of bags and cases. ‘Shall I put these on the back seat, then?’

‘Oh, yes, please.’ Adelaide opened the door and pushed her own bag inside. When all the bags were loaded, she held out the keys to Libby. ‘Would you give these to the police, please? I don’t want to come back here.’

Libby took them gingerly. ‘I don’t really think I ought to.’

‘There’ll be police at the grotto, won’t there? You can give them to them. I don’t want to get involved.’

‘All right.’ Libby stood back as Adelaide climbed into the car. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? Does Carl know you’re going?’

Adelaide’s face tightened. ‘He does. And I’ll be fine. You’ve got my mobile number if you need me. Thanks again.’

The window glided up and Adelaide drove neatly out on to the lane. Libby watched her go with mixed feelings.

‘Oh, you’re here.’ Fran came up behind her.

‘Yes, I’ve just seen Adelaide off the premises.’ Libby turned to her friend. ‘I’ve just found something peculiar.’

‘Tell me about it as we go,’ said Fran. ‘Edward and Andrew are waiting at the grotto.’

‘Andrew? Who asked him?’

‘Edward, apparently.’

‘Has he told you what he told me about Ramani in London?’

‘No. What?’

Libby told Fran of all she had learnt from Edward and Adelaide in the last twenty-four hours.

‘So what do we get from all that?’ asked Fran, as they approached the grotto. ‘Carl and Adelaide were having an affair, either as a result of Roland and Ramani having an affair, or because they were both lonely. And they both lied about it. And Ramani probably did know Julian Watson, and carried on seeing other men in London even after she was married to Carl?’

‘That’s what it sounds like. I expect Ian knows all that by now, but I found something else.’ Libby stopped and pulled the piece of paper from hr sleeve. ‘Look.’

‘Is this the something peculiar?’ Fran took the piece of paper. ‘Good God.’

‘Yes.’

‘Where was it?’

‘Caught in the back of a drawer.’

‘So we don’t know if it belonged to Adelaide or Roland?’

‘I somehow doubt it was Roland’s. He wouldn’t have left anything around for Adelaide to find while he was away, and he was never here when she wasn’t.’

‘Do we know that?’ asked Fran.

‘Well, no. I assumed, because he always wanted Adelaide to pick him up.’

‘At least it proves that one or other of them knew something about the smugglers and the guinea boats.’

‘Is that a leap of the imagination, though?’ asked Libby with a frown.

‘Perhaps we should give it to the police?’

‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Libby looked over her shoulder to where the police tape stretched across the entrance to the grotto. ‘Are there any police there?’

‘Just one poor constable to keep an eye on us.’

‘Only Adelaide gave me the keys to the house. She said to give them to the police.’

They stood looking at one another for a moment.

‘Dare we?’ said Libby.

‘Adelaide gave you the keys. I think you’d be perfectly within your rights to pop in and check on things.’

‘Shall we tell Edward and Andrew?’

‘About the piece of paper? They probably have more knowledge about it than we have.’

‘Come on, then.’ Edward and Andrew were standing looking down into the hole under the stone bridge in the grotto.

‘We waited for you,’ said Edward, his white smile splitting his face. ‘It’s a bit of a climb down.’

‘What have they actually found?’ asked Libby, as Edward started down the ladder.

‘Tunnels going back towards the house and forward to Keeper’s Cob,’ said Andrew, ‘not news, exactly, but confirmation.’

Standing at the bottom of the hole, they could see the brick built tunnels leading away in both directions.

‘There’s a fall of rock in the Keeper’s Cob tunnel,’ said Edward, ‘but the one leading back to the house has been properly bricked up.’

‘So there’s no way the bodies could have been brought here that way?’ said Fran.

‘None.’ Edward shook his head. ‘Do you want to have a look?’

The tunnel towards Keeper’s Cob was low and dank. Andrew and Edward both had powerful torches, but it didn’t stop it feeling claustrophobic.

‘Creepy,’ said Libby, and shivered, as they came upon the fall of rock that blocked the tunnel.

Edward clambered over the lowest rocks and shone his torch into crevices.

‘Nothing,’ he said coming back down, ‘but there wouldn’t be. The police have been all over this place.’

‘Let’s go back and look at the other tunnel,’ said Fran.

The tunnel towards the house was wider and taller and appeared to be better built. It ended abruptly in a brick wall.

‘There’s nothing to see,’ said Libby. ‘Why did Ian say we could come and see it?’

‘He wanted an opinion on the date of construction. Lewis couldn’t come, so Edward asked me,’ said Andrew. ‘It’s quite exciting.’

‘And what’s your opinion?’ asked Fran.

Andrew looked at Edward. ‘Difficult, isn’t it?’

Edward was peering at the walls and tapping the ceiling, which was also brick. ‘Nineteenth-century?’

‘That’s what we thought when we were here before,’ said Libby.

‘It is,’ said Fran.

Libby looked at her. ‘That’s what Ian wanted from you, isn’t it?’

Fran was frowning. ‘There have been deaths here.’ She looked up at Libby. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Shall we go into the house and see if we can find the passages and the tunnels from there?’ asked Libby.

‘The house?’ Edward turned to look at her. ‘Is that woman still there?’

‘No. She gave me the keys.’

‘What?’ Edward looked over his shoulder towards the opening to the grotto. ‘Does he know?’

‘No, so keep it quiet.’

Edward turned without another word and led them back to the entrance. Once at the top of the ladder, he turned to the police officer. ‘That’s it, we’re done,’ he said. ‘Have you got to stay here?’

‘No, sir. I’m off back to the station.’ He moved a large wooden pallet over the hole. ‘You can see yourselves out?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll just go and check on my son’s tools before we go?’

‘Tools?’ The officer raised an eyebrow.

‘My son and his colleague were landscaping the new swimming pool when the first body was found, and everything’s been left here,’ Libby explained.

‘Swimming pool, blimey. Fine, you go and have a look.’ He sketched a vague salute and went off to his car on the forecourt. Libby led the way through the arch in the hedge to where Mog’s tarpaulin covered all the tools, and where the carefully-dug earth round the perimeter of the empty pool had been spread all over the garden.

‘I hope she pays them overtime after this,’ muttered Libby.

‘I hope she pays them, period,’ said Fran. ‘I bet she tries to get out of it. Come on, let’s go in through the kitchen.’

‘Now,’ said Edward, as they grouped round the kitchen table, ‘how do we go about this?’

‘The door we found before,’ said Libby. ‘Have the police checked it out?’

‘We told them about it, so I should think so,’ said Fran. ‘Let’s go and look.’

‘Before we do,’ said Libby, ‘I want to show Edward and Andrew this.’ She pulled out the piece of paper and put it on the table.

‘Well!’ said Andrew.

‘I’ve never heard of this Institute,’ said Edward.

‘It’s a proper printed envelope, though,’ said Libby. ‘Not a mocked-up one, as far as I can tell.’

‘One way to find out,’ said Edward, bringing out his phone.

‘Wish I’d brought my tablet, now,’ said Andrew, gazing enviously at Edward’s phone.

‘Well, it doesn’t show up in searches, although there is a French Foundation, the
Fondation Napoléon
and an Institute on Napoleon and The French Revolution at Florida University, of all things. But no British Institute.’ Edward scrolled through a few more searches.

‘Or at least, not one with an online presence,’ said Fran.

‘Even if it didn’t have its own website, it would be mentioned on others,’ said Edward. ‘So what do we think about that?’

They all looked at each other.

Libby shrugged. ‘It can’t be coincidence,’ she said. ‘If either Roland or Adelaide – or even Ramani – was following the same trail we have, they would have found out about the links with the French prisoners of war and the guinea boats. And tried to find out something about it.’

‘Paper analysis,’ said Andrew suddenly. ‘Your detective chief inspector should be able to find out which paper that scrap is.’

‘It’ll be standard manila,’ said Libby. ‘You can buy it in packs from every supermarket, apart from stationers.’

‘You said it isn’t a home mock-up,’ said Fran, pulling the paper towards her. ‘So it could be a proper printer.’

Libby shook her head. ‘No, I know what it is. One of those online companies where you can order anything with anything printed on it. We got the leaflets for The Manor done by one of them.’

‘Of course. All Ian would have to do was find out which one.’ Fran sighed and leant back. ‘Do we think it is a mock-up? And if so, how did it happen?’

‘Goodness knows. Perhaps Ian can ask Adelaide.’

‘But would she tell him?’ asked Edward. ‘No, I think we need to find out ourselves.’

Libby regarded him with some amusement. ‘Oh, we do, do we? And what happened to poor old Sir Godfrey?’

He grinned across the table at her. ‘Oh, I’m hooked, now. Fully paid-up member of Libby’s Loonies.’

‘Libby’s what?’ said Andrew and Fran together.

‘Harry being silly,’ said Libby.

‘That’s the boy with the restaurant?’ said Andrew.

‘He’ll thank you for the “boy”,’ said Libby. ‘Yes, that’s him. He’s decided that everyone who makes friends with me is slightly odd.’

‘I’m not sure he’s not right,’ said Fran with a sigh.

‘Come on, then,’ said Edward, standing up. ‘Let’s go and look at the cellar.’

The police had obviously investigated, because the cellar door now opened fully and smoothly.

‘I thought Lewis said the cellar had been bricked up,’ said Libby, peering nervously into the darkness, where a flight of steep steps led downwards.

‘He did.’ Edward was standing on the top step. ‘But it isn’t.’

He shone his torch round, showing them brick walls.

‘These are much earlier than the bricks blocking the grotto tunnel. And the police have been down here – no cobwebs.’

‘I am
not
going down there,’ said Libby firmly.

‘I am,’ said Fran suddenly. ‘Libby, you remember where I was on the stairs? Can you go back there?’

‘Yes. Now?’

‘Please.’ Fran stepped on to the top step beside Edward, who, along with Andrew, was looking bewildered. ‘Come on, Edward, let’s go down.’

Libby watched them descend. ‘You’d better stay at the top, Andrew, so they don’t accidentally get shut in. I’m going up the stairs.’

Libby found the right staircase below Adelaide’s room and sat on the third step down. After a few minutes, she heard a muffled shout and Andrew’s answering call. And then, with stomach-dropping suddenness, Fran’s voice spoke almost in her ear.

Chapter Twenty-two

‘Libby? Are you there?’

Libby shot to her feet and slipped. Grabbing hold of the banister rail, she hauled herself upright.

‘Wh-where …?’ she managed.

‘Oh, good,’ came Fran’s slightly muffled voice. ‘I thought I was right. Go back to the half landing.’

On slightly shaky legs Libby climbed back to the half landing, where the tall stained glass window looked out over the side of the house.

‘Can you see this?’ asked Fran, sounding nearer.

‘See what?’ said Libby, and then saw. Part of the panelled wall was shaking. She went across to it and gingerly gave it a push. It gave way and she almost fell through, straight into Fran’s arms.

‘Bloody hell!’

Fran steadied her and stood back. ‘Look,’ she said.

Libby saw that she was standing in a small, stone-walled room. Fran was shining a torch into the corners.

‘Did you borrow Andrew’s torch?’ asked Libby.

‘No, this is Edward’s. He went back and got Andrew’s.’

‘So how did you find it? And how did the police miss it?’

‘At the bottom of the cellar steps you can see where the tunnel goes towards the grotto, and eventually, where it’s bricked-up. And the police had obviously been there. But something took me back to the cellar steps. And there’s a door underneath them.’

‘But surely,’ said Libby, ‘the police would have found that when they were investigating?’

‘Oh, they did,’ said Fran. The hinges had been oiled and the door opened really easily.’

‘So how did they miss – er, what
did
they miss?’

‘It was a classic understairs cupboard. I don’t know what it was used for when the cellars were in use, if they ever were used for anything legitmate. That’s when I borrowed the torch.’

‘And?’

‘At the back was a panelled wall. I thought that was a bit odd in a cellar cupboard.’

‘So would I.’

‘So I went and pushed. But it didn’t work, so I called Edward and he came and we levered it open. This one opened outwards. It had to, because of the stairs behind.’

Libby gasped. ‘A hidden staircase after all! And it led here?’

‘It’s actually built underneath the main staircase, so there’s not much head room, but it leads here, look.’ Fran pointed the torch to the nearest corner of the room, where the steps could just be seen. ‘No one very big could have gone up and down, but people were smaller a couple of centuries ago, weren’t they?’

‘What date are we talking, though?’ asked Libby. ‘Could this have been constructed after the house was built?’

Edward’s head appeared at the top of the steps. ‘It’s a bit of a squeeze,’ he said, with a grin, ‘but I’ve made it. I sent Andrew up the main stairs.’

‘And here I am,’ said Andrew stepping into the little room behind Libby and going straight to the walls.

‘Prop that door with something, Libby, so we don’t get shut in and we’ve got some light.’ Edward squeezed himself through the gap and stood up, brushing himself down. Libby ran up to Adelaide’s room and fetched a small chair which she used as a doorstop.

‘What do we think?’ she asked. ‘Priest’s hole? What we were looking for last week?’

‘It certainly looks like it,’ said Andrew. ‘And it goes right down into the cellar and then away to Keeper’s Cob. The grotto wouldn’t have been there, then.’

‘Do you suppose the Victorians who built the grotto found it and they were the ones who bricked up the tunnel?’ asked Fran.

‘Do we know when the grotto was built?’ asked Andrew.

‘Yes, there’s an inscription on the underside of that fake bridge,’ said Edward. ‘1883. But I would have thought the bricking up was done earlier.’

‘Can I have that torch, Fran?’ asked Andrew. He took it and peered at the wall. ‘Look, here.’

The other three came to peer over his shoulder. Very faintly, they could see, scratched into the stone, “1647”.

‘The date it was made?’ asked Libby.

‘No.’ Edward stood back. ‘The last date it was used, maybe.’ He swung his torch round the room, revealing cobwebs. ‘This was made earlier. By Nicholas Owen, do you think, Andrew?’

‘A bit crude for Owen, perhaps?’ Andrew turned a full circle looking at the little room.

‘Excuse me,’ said Libby. ‘Who is Nicholas Owen?’

‘Saint Nicholas Owen,’ said Andrew, ‘according to the Catholics, anyway. He was a Jesuit lay brother who was an expert at constructing priest’s holes. He died in 1606.’

‘So if he built it, it was before Godfrey Wyghtham made the alterations in 1643,’ said Fran.

‘And that’s when he would have found it!’ said Libby. ‘And where he would have hidden his treasure for Rebecca.’

‘It isn’t here now,’ said Edward, giving the room another sweep with his torch, ‘but I really want to examine this place thoroughly. Andrew?’

‘It’s all very well keeping the keys to have a quick look round,’ said Libby, ‘but suppose Adelaide checks with the police that we’ve handed them in?’

Edward looked at his watch. ‘Could we stay here for a couple of hours now?’

‘We-ell,’ Libby looked at Fran.

‘We were given permission to be here, today,’ she said.

‘But only at the grotto under police guard,’ said Libby.

‘And you had Adelaide’s permission to be here in the house,’ said Fran.

Libby fidgeted.

‘It’s not like you to be squeamish about doing something without the benefit of police blessing.’ Fran eyed her friend quizzically.

‘I know, but …’

‘I’ll call the chief inspector,’ said Edward suddenly, stepping out on to the half landing and taking out his phone.

‘No need. I’m here.’

Four people swung round to face Chief Detective Inspector Connell, looking up at them from the foot of the stairs.

‘And for once,’ he said, starting to climb towards them, ‘I was very pleased to hear Mrs Sarjeant upholding the law.’

Libby went pink.

‘I suppose you were going to tell me eventually what you were doing?’ Ian joined them and peered into the priest’s hole. ‘What have we here?’

‘That’s what you wanted us to find, isn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘Why you asked me, specifically? You let us have a look at the grotto, hoping for dating evidence of the tunnel and that I might have a revealing flash of inspiration. Well, this was it.’

Andrew, Edward and Libby looked relieved.

Ian smiled. ‘Well done. I knew I could rely on you.’ He went inside the priest’s hole and looked round. ‘No sign of anything relevant?’

‘Not yet,’ said Edward, ‘but Andrew found a date scratched on the wall.’

Andrew took his torch and showed Ian the marking.

‘And the steps?’ asked Ian, going down on his haunches in front of them.

‘If we go downstairs, we’ll show you,’ said Fran.

Leaving the door to the little room open, they trooped down the stairs to the inner hall, where Edward and Fran led Ian into the cellar. Andrew and Libby retired to the kitchen, where Libby rooted round and found tea, coffee and sugar, and even a container of dried milk.

Whe Ian, Fran and Edward appeared, divesting themselves of even more cobwebs, Libby offered tea or coffee.

‘I’m sure Adelaide wouldn’t mind,’ she said. ‘After all, she did ask me to come and help her pack this morning.’

‘And you did, obviously,’ said Ian, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table.

‘That’s why I’ve got the keys,’ said Libby, omitting the fact that she was supposed to be handing them over. ‘And there’s something else.’

Edward frowned at her, but she nevertheless produced the scrap of paper.

‘We think it must be all connected. If any of them was looking for so-called treasure, they would have come across the guinea boat story as we did. But there is no Institute.’

Ian took the paper and squinted at it. ‘So this is –? What?’

‘A fake. But who by?’

‘Edward? Andrew?’ Ian turned to the two men. ‘No idea?’

‘Neither of us have ever heard of the Institute,’ said Andrew. ‘What interests me is why someone should have bothered to set it up, and how they knew to get in touch with someone in this house.’

‘That’s not necessarily so,’ said Fran. ‘It could have been someone here who set it up.’

They all looked at her.

‘We’ve said all along Roland could have been trying to impress Ramani,’ Fran went on. ‘What better than to set something like this up?’

Edward shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t have been fooled. She was a historian, remember.’

‘The other way round, then?’ suggested Libby. ‘Ramani invented it to – to – well, to do something.’

Ian turned to Fran. ‘Do you think those steps and the priest hole are connected to either of the murders?’

‘I don’t know. But when we went into the tunnel under the grotto, I knew there’d been deaths there.’

‘But not whose?’

‘No, sorry.’

Ian sighed. ‘We’ll get forensics to go over the priest’s hole and the steps to the cellar. It’s a perfect escape route.’

‘Roland couldn’t have got down there,’ said Libby. ‘Edward only just managed it, and Roland was twice his size.’

‘We’ll still look at it,’ said Ian, and took a small evidence bag from his pocket. ‘I think this is closing the stable door, considering you’ve all probably handled it, but better safe than sorry.’ He dropped the piece of envelope into the bag. ‘Where did you find it, Libby?’

Libby told him. ‘I didn’t tell Adelaide.’

‘Was it one of her drawers?’

‘I assume so. We discussed it, and we don’t think Roland would have left it behind, and it was a drawer we’d emptied. It didn’t occur to me, but she would only have emptied her own drawers. His stuff will still be there.’

Ian sighed. ‘And we’ve let her go back to London.’

‘Can’t you go up there?’ asked Andrew. ‘Surely it’s enough of a – a – what do I mean?’

‘Clue?’ suggested Libby.

‘I’ll send someone to ask her,’ said Ian.

‘But unannounced. Don’t give her a chance to think up an answer,’ said Libby.

Ian laughed. ‘Yes, Libby. I think we know enough to do that.’

‘Sorry.’ Libby made a face.

‘Well, if that’s all, I think we might lock up and go home.’ Ian held out his hand. ‘I’ll take the keys, thank you, Libby.’

Libby handed them over. ‘We did find something out for you.’

‘You did.’ He turned to Fran. ‘Thank you, Fran.’

Fran cleared her throat and gazed at her feet.

Libby collected mugs and rinsed them in the sink, then, in silence, they all trooped out of the house.

‘Is the back door locked?’ asked Ian.

‘We didn’t lock it,’ said Fran.

Ian sighed and went inside.

‘That’s it, then,’ said Libby. ‘We can’t do any more searching.’

‘We’ve still got a lot to look for,’ said Edward. ‘I’m determined to find out about that Napoleonic Institute, and as much as I can about Godfrey Wyghtham.’

‘You’re getting worse than me,’ said Libby.

Ian came out of the front door and locked it behind him. ‘I’ve set the burglar alarm,’ he said, ‘so don’t try getting back in.’

‘As if we would,’ said Libby indignantly.

‘I wouldn’t put anything past you, Libby.’ Ian smiled and patted her shoulder. ‘Will you be in the usual place this evening after rehearsal?’

Edward’s eyebrows went up.

‘Yes, I expect so. Will you be popping by? Edward’s staying in the pub for the time being, by the way.’

‘I know,’ said Ian. ‘Don’t forget I was the one who told him he could come over here today.’

He turned to Edward and Andrew.

‘Will you give me a brief report on your thoughts, both of you? In writing?’

‘I’ll email it later,’ said Edward.

‘So will I,’ said Andrew. ‘When you’ve given me your email address.’

Ian nodded. ‘See you later then. And Libby, please don’t go poking round the garden or the grotto.’

‘Who am I? The naughtiest girl in the school?’ grumbled Libby, as they watched Ian drive away.

‘Meet you behind the bike sheds,’ said Fran.