Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) (17 page)

‘No.’ Marilyn was silent for a moment. ‘She was convinced about this story of treasure, and she kept looking for it. And then – you know that ridiculous Victorian grotto at the house?’

Libby nodded.

‘She was poking about there and the ground gave way. Collapsed on top of her.’

Chapter Twenty-seven

Libby gasped. ‘Underneath the grotto?’

Marilyn nodded.

After a moment, Libby said, ‘How did Mrs Middleton take it?’

‘Badly. She tried to blame Mr Middleton for not keeping it in good repair, but he’d always said the grotto was out of bounds. Anyway, she never got over it. Mr Middleton was knighted for services to business or something, and Rachel used to like me to come and sit with her to talk about Olive. And the treasure of course. I didn’t believe in it any more than Mr Middleton did, but it became an obsession with Rachel. And when he died, I became a sort of companion to her. We had help in the house at first, but she wasn’t happy with other people there, and gradually, they all went.’ She shook her head. ‘It was hard. I couldn’t keep up with all the work in a house that size, especially as a lot of it was practically falling down by then.’

‘Why did you come to work for the Watsons?’

‘Because I knew the house. And I was hardly required. Only when she came down and the house wanted airing through. I employed a firm of cleaners to go through the place every now and then.’

‘Did you? Who were they? That’s the first I’ve heard of them.’

‘Why should you?’ Marilyn looked up at Libby suspiciously. ‘I don’t know why you want to know all this, or why I should tell you, come to that.’

‘I was with Adelaide the day Ramani was found.’ Libby crossed her fingers. ‘And I’ve been trying to help ever since. I even helped her pack up to move out of the house the other day.’

‘You did?’ Marilyn frowned. ‘I wonder why she didn’t tell me?’

‘Well, the police are still in and out of the place, perhaps she thought you didn’t need to know. Only now, no one can find her.’

The corners of Marilyn’s mouth pulled down. ‘Are you sure?’

Libby considered for a moment. ‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with Carl Oxenford, would it?’

‘You’re sharp,’ Marilyn said.

‘Despite both of them denying it vigorously, it looked to me as if they knew one another far better than they said. I was actually there when Carl phoned Adelaide to tell her Ramani was missing.’

‘Which he wouldn’t have done if they hardly knew one another.’ Marilyn nodded. ‘What’s happened since?’

Libby gave her an edited version of events since Ramani’s death, including the theory that Roland had seduced Ramani with tales of treasure somewhere in Dark House. Marilyn sighed.

‘God, that bloody treasure. Caused two more deaths now. If it exists, which I doubt. If Rachel couldn’t find it, despite having me searching the house every five minutes, it isn’t there.’

Libby thought. ‘Did you know,’ she said at length, ‘about the secret room?’

‘Secret room?’ Marilyn sat up. ‘What secret room? Where? I never found one.’

‘On the first floor,’ said Libby, deciding to keep the secret staircase out of it for the moment. ‘Well, on a half-landing, to be precise. And it’s all right, there was nothing in it. No treasure. It was just a priest’s hole. Nicholas Owen, we think,’ she couldn’t resist adding.

‘Who?’

‘Oh, someone who built priest’s holes in the sixteen hundreds,’ said Libby vaguely. ‘Anyway, there was nothing there. Sir Godfrey didn’t hide anything in there.’

‘You know about Sir Godfrey?’

‘Edward Hall, the old friend of Ramani’s I told you about, he’s an authority on the English civil wars, and he’s including Sir Godfrey in a book.’

‘Oh.’ Marilyn looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Don’t know?’

Marilyn came out of a brown study and looked at Libby. ‘I’ve got something. I’m wondering if I should give it to this Edward Hall.’

Libby felt as if her heart had missed a beat. ‘Shall I ask him to call you? He’s staying in my village at the moment.’

‘Can I trust you?’

Libby was taken aback. ‘I hope so.’

‘Would you give it to him?’

‘Me? Well …’ Libby frowned. ‘I would, of course, but don’t you think he might want to talk to you about it? You could tell me, but I wouldn’t know what to ask.’

‘That’s very honest.’ Marilyn looked down at her clasped hands on her desk. ‘In that case, could I come and see him, do you think?’

‘Are you sure you want to?’

‘He’ll advise me, won’t he?’

‘Yes, I expect so,’ said Libby, more puzzled than ever. ‘Here, if you’ve got a phone directory, I’ll look up the number of the pub for you.’

‘Haven’t you got his number in your phone?’

‘Well, yes, of course, but it could be anybody. I thought you’d rather check.’

‘Write it down for me and I’ll call him.’ Marilyn gave a wry smile. ‘I’m more trusting than you think.’

Libby watched and listened.

‘Mr Hall? My name is Marilyn Fairbrass. I worked for Mrs Watson – yes, I know – and for the previous owner. I have Mrs – er?’ she frowned at Libby.

‘Sarjeant.’

‘Mrs Sarjeant with me and she gave me your number. I have something to show you on which I think you may be able to give advice. No, Mrs Sarjeant says you might want to ask me questions. No, I’ll come to you, if that’s all right. Would early evening be convenient?’

Marilyn finished the call. ‘I’m meeting him in the pub at seven. Will you be there?’

‘Only if you want me to be,’ said Libby, burning with curiosity.

‘I’m sure you want to be.’ Marilyn smiled again. ‘After all, you know so much about it already …’

‘I’d be delighted. But I’ll check with Edward first.’

‘I shall tell him I want you to be there. As insurance.’

‘Right.’ Libby stood up. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Fairbrass. And I’ll see you tonight.’

Feeling very confused, Libby drove out of the farmyard and headed back down Dark Lane towards Steeple Cross, barely even noticing the wet leaves and the lowering mist. Why hadn’t Marilyn Fairbrass been questioned more thoroughly before? Why was this – whatever it was – only just coming out?

That’s easy, said Libby’s sensible inner voice. Because no one thought about it before. All she’s been asked about is where she was on the night of November the something-or-other, and did she know the victim. But, wondered Libby, was she asked
before
Ramani had been identified, or after? And did it matter? Libby shook her head at herself and realised she was almost at Steeple Cross and Carl’s house.

She pulled in to the car park of The Dragon and sat thinking. Was she right to just burst in on Carl, following an uneducated hunch that he knew where Adelaide was? She thought back to the last time Carl had been mentioned in front of Adelaide, when there had been noticeable tension. Adelaide hadn’t looked happy. What was it Julian had said? “
She looked as though she was expecting something to happen and it hadn’t.
” Had she been expecting Carl to come and take her away? To make good on a promise, perhaps?

Sighing, she got out of the car. At least she could call in, saying she’d been passing, which was more or less true, and wondered if he was all right.

‘Come on then,’ she told herself. ‘Best foot forward.’

She went up the steps and knocked on the blue door. No one came. Suppressing a little surge of relief, she knocked again, before turning to go down the steps.

‘Oh, Mrs – er. Sorry, I was at the back of the house.’

Libby nearly fell down the steps. ‘Mr Oxenford! I mean, Doctor …’

The doctor gave a half smile. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t insist on it. What can I do for you?’

Libby felt the heat coming into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude,’ she said. ‘I was, quite literally, passing, and I thought I’d see how you are.’

‘How kind,’ said Carl Oxenford, with an ironic little bow. ‘Where were you passing from? Dark House?’

‘Er – no, actually. Cob Farm.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think I know it.’

‘The other end of Dark Lane,’ said Libby. ‘Past Dark House.’

‘Ah. Of course, no one’s there now, so I suppose you wouldn’t have come from there.’ There was a slight interrogative note in his voice.

‘No.’ Libby cleared her throat. ‘The last time I was there was on Wednesday, when I helped Adelaide – Mrs Watson – to pack up before she went back to London.’

‘Ah, yes. She hated being cooped up in the hotel.’

‘Did you see her then?’ Libby injected surprise into her voice. ‘I didn’t think you knew each other very well.’

‘No,’ he said, and sighed. ‘Well, thank you for calling, Mrs – er –. I’m doing better as time goes on, but until I’m able to have the funeral …’ he let his voice tail off and Libby felt guilty.

‘No, of course. And I’m sure you have plenty of friends and family to turn to, but if there’s anything I can do …’

The slight, dark man gave another little bow. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well – yes.’ Libby smiled nervously and retreated down the steps. Carl Oxenford closed the door.

Chapter Twenty-eight

‘Well, that didn’t get me anywhere,’ Libby said to Fran on the phone when she got home half an hour later.

‘No, but he was evasive, wouldn’t you say?’ said Fran. ‘And you more than made up for it with Marilyn Fairbrass.’

‘I know. Talk about a turn-up for the books. I can’t wait to find out what it is she wants to show Edward.’

‘Something to do with the Wyghthams,’ said Fran. ‘It has to be, otherwise, why would Rachel and Olive be so keen to try and find this “treasure”? And how did Roland Watson know about it?’

‘What was it the barman at The Dragon said? People thought he’d been talking to Lady Middleton before she died. I wonder why?’

‘Perhaps he approached her about selling the house?’

‘Sort of cold calling?’ said Libby. ‘I still wonder why.’

‘Would he have found anything out about the house beforehand?’ said Fran.

‘He could have heard someone talking about it, I suppose. Perhaps he’d heard about the grotto.’

‘Shame we can’t ask her,’ said Fran. ‘Or him.’

‘And do we think Adelaide really didn’t know anything about it?’

‘I certainly don’t think Roland would have told her if there was anything underhand going on.’

‘Or anything that might make him money,’ said Libby, ‘although I don’t quite know how that fits in …’

‘We’ve already thought about that, haven’t we? Either some kind of forgery or arts and antiquities smuggling.’

‘But could he have been planning it that long ago?’

‘He was still working locally at that time, wasn’t he? It wasn’t until after they’d bought the house that he lost his job and got his new one abroad. That must have held him up.’

‘I wonder …’ said Libby. ‘If he didn’t try and seduce Ramani with tales of the treasure, but recruited her for her knowledge. As we’ve already said.’

‘That’s a lot more likely, isn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, I’ve got customers.’

Libby sat for a while staring into the fireplace. Sidney appeared on the hearthrug and stared at it pointedly. Libby took the hint and lit the fire, then called Edward.

‘What do you think?’ she said when she’d recounted her meeting with Marilyn and the subsequent one with Carl Oxenford.

‘I’m hoping she’s got some artefact dating back to Sir Godfrey,’ said Edward. ‘I don’t dare speculate as to what it is.’

‘A document, I would have thought,’ said Libby. ‘But what about Carl and Adelaide?’

‘Look, I don’t know Carl any better than you do, nor Adelaide, come to that. And you’re better at reading people than I am.’

‘Well, I could hardly ask him, could I?’ Libby sighed gustily. ‘Oh, well, we’ll just have to hope the police track her down.’

‘And you’re coming this evening, aren’t you?’

‘Try and stop me. I’m booked in at the caff for nine o’clock, though, so I shall have to leave then.’

‘She’s coming at seven, that should give us plenty of time.’

Libby arrived at the pub in time to see Marilyn Fairbrass staring in astonishment when Edward introduced himself. She hurried forward.

‘Mrs Fairbrass – Marilyn. I hoped I’d be here in time to make the introductions.’

‘How did you know who I was?’ Marilyn looked nervously up at Edward.

‘It wasn’t hard.’ He grinned. ‘A woman of the right age who looked as if she was looking for someone – and looking nervous.’

‘Oh.’ Marilyn looked first at Libby, then back at Edward. ‘Well, I hope you won’t be too disappointed.’

‘I’ll be interested, I’m sure of it,’ said Edward. ‘Now, as there are no private rooms here, would you like to go up to my room here, or will you be all right in the bar?’

‘It’s quite quiet over there,’ said Libby, pointing to the area which once had been the lounge bar, and the corner beyond the large fireplace.

‘That’ll be fine,’ said Marilyn, and allowed herself to be led to the table in the corner. Edward went to order coffee for her, and drinks for himself and Libby. By the time he got back, she’d recovered her composure.

‘So what do you want to show us?’ he asked, settling himself in one of the large carver chairs.

Marilyn reached down into a capacious canvas bag and brought out a folder. ‘This is the evidence Rachel and Olive had for believing there was treasure at Dark House. It’s not very much, I’m afraid.’ She looked apologetic as she handed the folder to Edward. ‘And a bit fragile.’

Edward gave her a quick look, and pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket.

‘Always prepared,’ Libby muttered to Marilyn, who gave an anxious half smile.

Edward drew a plastic document wallet out of the folder and placed it gently on table. They all leaned forward to look.

To Libby, it appeared to be an ancient document written in a script she couldn’t read. It also looked as though it had been torn from something else. To Edward, it was obviously something else.

‘And this is all there is?’ He looked up at Marilyn. ‘Did either of them ever say where they got it?’

‘No. I gathered it had passed down through the family.’

‘And Libby said the Wyghthams weren’t living in the house when you first knew them? Do you know how they lost Wyghtham Hall?’

‘No, I know nothing. Rachel was an unmarried mother when I first met her, living with her old father in Cherry Ashton. It was a nice enough house, but I don’t think they’d been there for generations.’

‘And do you think she married Mr Middleton just to get Dark House?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ said Marilyn dryly. ‘I never heard her mourn him, only Olive and the bloody treasure.’

‘We were told Roland Watson talked to Lady Middleton before she died,’ said Libby.

‘Who told you that?’ Marilyn looked surprised.

‘The barman at The Dragon,’ admitted Libby.

Marilyn laughed. ‘Gossip! Actually, it’s true. And if you’re right, that this has something to do with his murder, that must have been what started it.’

Edward and Libby looked at each other, confused.

‘You see,’ Marilyn went on, ‘I didn’t live in, but I went in every day to see that she was all right. Towards the end, I’d managed to persuade her to have what they call a care package, so she had a professional in twice a day, but she would only let them do the minimum. Anyway, one morning, I arrived and let myself in and found a strange man there.’

‘Watson?’ said Edward.

Marilyn nodded. ‘Apparently, he’d knocked while the carer was there and she’d let him in.’

‘That wasn’t right, surely?’ said Libby. ‘He could have been anybody.’

‘He asked for her by name.’ Marilyn shrugged. ‘It was common knowledge that Lady Middleton lived there.’

‘What did he want?’

‘He had the cheek to ask if she was thinking of selling the house, because he was looking in the area and it appealed to him.’

Libby gasped. ‘
Colossal
cheek!’

‘She didn’t mind, though. When I got there, she was in the middle of telling him all about her family’s right to the place and sent me off to make coffee. She was going a bit – well – forgetful by this time, of course. After I brought the coffee, she started hinting about the treasure. I could see he was interested. Anyway, when he’d gone, she told me to let him have first refusal of the house after she died. So I did. And that,’ she pointed at the document, ‘was in with all the deeds and her will. I decided he shouldn’t have it. It had brought Rachel and Olive nothing but tragedy, and I didn’t want anyone else to suffer.’

‘So did you actually set up the sale?’ asked Edward.

‘I was her executor, so yes. And that was why I said I’d act as a sort of housekeeper-come-caretaker. Of course Johnny Templeton lives on the premises to keep a day-to-day eye on it.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why he didn’t hear anything when – when the – er – the –’

‘It’s all right, we know what you mean,’ said Libby. ‘But it is strange that he didn’t. Although he lives beyond the grotto, doesn’t he? That would probably act as a sound break.’

‘So would whatever he was smoking,’ said Marilyn grimly. ‘Have you met him?’

‘No. Adam has, of course.’ Libby turned to Edward. ‘Johnny was the one who found the body.’ She turned back to Marilyn. ‘I’m surprised he’s still there.’

‘I don’t suppose the police want him going anywhere.’

‘So what is it, Edward?’ Libby drew the document carefully towards her.

‘I’m not absolutely sure. It could have been part of a will, or it could just be a letter. It’s what it says that’s surprising.’ He looked at Marilyn. ‘Do you know what it says?’

‘No. I didn’t see it until after Rachel died, although I knew this was what she called her evidence. The folder was always under lock and key in her desk. It’s about Sir Godfrey, isn’t it?’

‘It appears to be
from
Sir Godfrey,’ said Edward.

‘Good God!’ said Libby.

‘And seems to be about his wife.’

‘Rebecca? When did he write it? Was it during the war?’

Edward shook his head slowly. ‘No, not Rebecca. His other wife.’