Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) (8 page)

‘Treasure?’ Julian’s face lightened.

‘It could be, but it may have been willed to someone, in which case it would pass to their descendants.’ Libby watched as his face fell.

‘I don’t believe it anyway. He would have said anything to impress a woman he was trying to sh– get into bed with.’

‘We did rather wonder about that,’ said Libby. ‘We’ve found nothing, so far, but Professor Hall and a buildings expert are going to do a thorough search of the house within the next couple of days.’

Julian looked interested. ‘Could I help?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘It’s been ordered by the police, and they may not want the family there.’

‘Oh. No, of course not.’ Julian shifted in his seat and played with his coffee mug.

‘Julian, did you ever meet Mrs Oxenford?’

‘Didn’t recognise the picture the police showed me. I knew him, though. He knew Mum and Dad, well, Mum, mostly.’

‘Yes, he was their doctor, wasn’t he?’ said Libby innocently.

‘I think so. But he was around when Dad went away. He’d only just moved, then. But Henry and I had both left home by then, so we didn’t see much of him.’

‘I don’t think there’s much more we can tell you, Julian,’ said Fran. ‘If either you or your brother have anything else to ask us, your mother has our numbers. Are you staying down here?’

‘Yes, in that God-awful hotel. I’m going back to my flat as soon as I can. Mum says she’s not going back to Dark House, anyway, so as soon as they let her off the hook she’s going back to London, too.’

They parted outside the coffee shop.

‘City trader, do you think?’ Libby asked, as they watched Julian walk round the corner and disappear.

‘Could be. But not a suspect,’ said Fran.

‘No?’

‘Definitely not. Although he’s as greedy as the next man. Would love there to be treasure for him to get his hands on. And you sounded quite convincing telling him it may be willed to someone.’

Libby grinned. ‘And you sounded quite convincing when you called Edward “Professor”. Racist little twit.’

‘We don’t know that he isn’t a professor,’ said Fran. ‘Nor if Julian is a racist little twit.’

‘He’s his father’s son,’ said Libby. ‘Public school – minor, I guess – and just a little right-wing. Come on, let’s go back and have an un-Julian-tainted coffee and find out when we’re doing this search. Quite exciting, isn’t it?’

Chapter Thirteen

Dark House looked charming in the bright sunlight of a crisp early December morning. Even the drive there had been pleasant, with views between the previously impenetrable trees.

‘That was the fog,’ said Fran, meeting Libby on the forecourt of the house. ‘It turned everything into a sort of Birnam Wood.’

Edward and Lewis both arrived with Ian and DC Robertson.

‘’E wasn’t takin’ any chances of us not turning up,’ said Lewis with a grin, coming to kiss Libby’s cheek. ‘’Ow are yer, gal?’

‘Simply didn’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Ian, opening the huge front door with an equally huge key, before moving quickly to deactivate the burglar alarm. ‘Now, where do we start?’

Lewis moved to the round table in the centre of the hall and spread out a plan.

‘This is the architect’s plan of the house when they moved in,’ he placed another on top of the first, ‘and this is when we did the alterations.’

‘What about English Heritage? The listing?’ asked Edward.

‘Everything approved. Took ʼem years.’

‘I didn’t think they’d been here that long,’ said Libby.

‘They come here when old Roland got his job down the road. Big step-up. The boys was at boarding school –’

‘Told you,’ whispered Libby.

‘– and he and ever-lovin’ Adelaide applied for permission almost immediately. It didn’t come through until the eldest was at university. Then she commissions me and I gets the architect.’

‘You, because of the TV programme?’ asked Libby.

‘Well, o’course!’ Lewis sent her another grin. ‘What else?’

‘So you and the architect did a detailed search and survey of the house?’ asked Edward.

‘Sure we did. Proper architectural and archaeological survey, an’ all.’

‘And nothing out of the ordinary turned up?’

‘The cellar.’ Lewis pulled the top plan towards him and they all leant forward. ‘See? It’s blocked off. But in this plan –’ he pulled the previous plan out ‘– you’ll see a dotted line all the way under the back of the house into the garden. Although it was blocked up when we first saw it, it can’t have been blocked up for that long.’

‘Didn’t the archaeological survey show anything up?’ asked Edward.

‘Said the bricks looked as though they was nineteenth-century, not seventeenth. Reckoned the passage went to the village behind.’

‘That’s what I found on the map,’ said Edward. ‘I believe the original passage, or tunnel, came up inside a building there. Probably a pub.’

‘Or a church,’ said Ian. ‘Brandy for the Parson …’

‘That’s what I said,’ nodded Libby. ‘But would it have been smuggling in the seventeenth century?’

‘It doesn’t really matter,’ said Fran. ‘What we’re looking for is something Sir Godfrey could have hidden for his wife. Do we know how he died, yet?’

‘Well, we know it wasn’t in battle,’ said Edward. ‘He survived until after the Restoration.’

‘And Rebecca outlived him.’ Libby sighed. ‘I still wonder if Roland wasn’t just giving Ramani the run-around.’

‘Even if he was,’ said Ian, a trifle austerely, ‘it could still be a powerful motive for murder.’

‘Because someone believed him?’ said Fran.

Ian nodded and Edward sighed.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘we might as well look. There might even be a hidden room.’

‘A priest’s hole?’ asked Fran.

‘It’s possible. Before the house was added to in 1643, the original building is said to date from around fifteen hundred.’

‘I didn’t come across anything like that when we was doin’ up the house.’ Lewis looked round at the panelled walls.

‘Do you remember,’ said Libby slowly, ‘when we first met you we found something like that at Creekmarsh? And the outside didn’t match up with the inside?’

‘That’s exactly the sort of thing to look for,’ said Edward excitedly. ‘And where was that? Creekmarsh? Where’s that?’

Lewis grinned. ‘Where I live. Come over one day. I’ll show you round. Or me mum will.’

‘Really?’ Edwards eyes were shining. ‘Where is it?’

‘We’ll come with you and show you the way,’ said Libby, amused. ‘I’d like to see Edie, anyway. Haven’t seen her for ages.’

Ian cleared his throat. ‘Can I remind you that we’re doing the search
here
?’

‘Sorry,’ said Edward.

‘So where shall we start?’ asked Fran.

‘I suggest the top and work down,’ said Edward. ‘If there’s a secret room or hiding place, they’d want to be as far away from the hall as possible to avoid being heard or seen when getting into it.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘If you heard the Roundheads coming you wouldn’t want to be in the first place they’d look.’

‘Worse, if it was earlier and they were looking for Catholic priests …’ Edward let the sentence hang.

‘So, the attics,’ said Lewis, and started up the stairs. ‘We ʼad a great job with the attics. The dust! Cor, it was enough to put you off buildin’ for ever.’

‘Have they been restored?’ asked Edward.

‘Only tidied up. Couldn’t touch ʼem much, and they ʼad to be conserved, not restored.’

‘Good.’ Edward nodded his approval.

The house, Libby and Fran discovered, was a jumble of different staircases and passages. Meeting Edward, Lewis and Ian in the middle of a gallery which they had approached from a completely different direction – and staircase – Libby confessed herself thoroughly confused.

‘It’s fascinating,’ said Edward. ‘I’ve actually discovered a bricked-over medieval window, and when I check outside, I think I can trace a missing wing.’

‘So whatever we’re looking for may not even exist any more?’ said Fran.

‘That’s quite possible,’ said Edward, ‘but let’s not give up now.’

Ian, who was looking as disenchanted as Libby was feeling, sighed and nodded.

‘Attics, then,’ said Lewis. ‘This way.’

He led them to a door set in the panelling at the end of the gallery, behind which he revealed a substantial ladder leading up through a large opening.

‘No proper staircase?’ Fran looked up in astonishment.

Lewis grinned. ‘Not yet. There’s more research to be done on where the original was, and what we might have to knock down to replace it. It’s quite safe.’

Libby looked doubtfully at the ladder. ‘You go first, then.’

Libby and Fran climbed carefully up the ladder with Lewis and Edward in front and Ian bringing up the rear. At the top, they found themselves facing an enormous Tudor brick chimney and a distinctly wavy wooden floor.

‘They’re all like that,’ said Lewis. ‘Haven’t you noticed?’

‘I suppose they are,’ said Ian. ‘Edward, where could you hide something up here?’

Edward went straight to the chimney and peered up inside it. Lewis began to go round the sloping walls and Ian started tapping the beams. Libby and Fran stood still in the middle of the room. Light came from small windows low down on the gable end walls, but Lewis switched on a working light on a stand in the corner which illuminated the dust which hovered in the air, disturbed by their presence.

‘Here,’ Edward called, his voice muffled.

Ian, Lewis, Libby and Fran crowded round the inglenook. Edward ducked and came out, dusty, but grinning, his eyes and teeth white,

‘See?’ He pointed at a gap in the brickwork. ‘It’s a purpose-built hole. The brick is on a sort of swivel hinge.’

‘What was in it?’ asked Libby, as they all leant forward to see what Edward was holding.

‘Sadly, nothing very exciting.’ He displayed a roll of black cloth tied with what may have once been ribbon, both almost disintegrating.

‘You don’t know that,’ said Ian. ‘Anything could be inside it.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it,’ said Edward. ‘No one’s got a newspaper or anything, I suppose?’

Ian, not surprisingly, in Libby’s opinion, produced a snow-white handkerchief and spread it on the floor at Edward’s direction. Edward then laid the roll of cloth on it and took out a pair of surgical gloves.

‘Damn,’ said Ian. ‘I should have thought of that.’

‘You haven’t brought any?’ Edward looked at him in surprise.

‘Of course I have. I just didn’t think to put them on.’

‘Evidence bags, too, I hope?’

Ian’s tone was as brittle as the roll of cloth. ‘Of course.’

To Libby, the contents of the roll of cloth, which almost fell to dust as Edward unrolled it, were disappointing. What appeared to be a pewter, or possibly silver, chain with a rough Celtic cross hung from it, and a rather dull-looking ring.

‘What are they?’ asked Lewis, his head cocked to one side. ‘Rubbish? Seen better down the Lane.’

Edward looked up. ‘The Lane?’

‘Petticoat Lane,’ explained Libby. ‘You must have heard of one of London’s most famous rip-offs!’

‘Certainly have.’ Edward returned his attention to the jewellery. ‘But this isn’t rubbish. This,’ he held up the cross, ‘is enamel and diamonds set in gold.’

There was a collective gasp.

‘Gold?’ echoed Ian. ‘How can it be?’

Edward looked up at him sideways and smiled. ‘You just wait until this is cleaned up.’

‘What about that?’ Libby pointed to the ring. ‘It almost looks like a claddagh ring.’

‘Well done, Libby.’ Edward picked up the tiny object in surprisingly delicate fingers. ‘It’s the fore-runner of the claddagh, the gimmel ring. It turns into more than one ring, and the clasped hands are there to hold them together. I believe this one is black enamelled, and see this here?’ he pointed to what could have been a stone set in the hands. ‘That is, I think, a Vauxhall paste.’

‘A what?’ they repeated together.

‘They were glass gems set on a mirrored back. A bit of a con, really, but now very rare.’

‘I honestly don’t know how you can see that.’ Ian peered even closer. ‘How would you know?’

‘This era is my speciality,’ said Edward, ‘and I know as much about it, and all facets of it, as I possibly can. Jewellery is just part of it.’ He straightened up. ‘I can give you a learned discourse on the weaponry of the period if you like.’

They all smiled.

‘So do we think this is what we were looking for?’ asked Fran. ‘I can’t think it is, somehow.’

Ian shot a quick look at her.

‘I don’t know.’ Edward shook his head. ‘Nice though these are, they aren’t worth a huge amount. They wouldn’t make your fortune.’

‘Not even for Rebecca?’ asked Libby. ‘Back then?’

‘They might have helped. Bought her passage if she had to run away, for instance,’ said Edward.

‘This wouldn’t have been enough to kill for,’ said Ian, down on his haunches in front of the little items.

‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ said Edward. ‘Nice enough if you picked them up in a burglary, but the average thief wouldn’t know what they were. But, as you said, the impression may have been given that there was more. And perhaps there isn’t.’

Ian stood up and walked away to the window, his hands in his pockets. ‘Would Roland have known about this, that’s the point. And how?’ He swung round to look at Lewis. ‘You didn’t find it?’

‘Course not. If we ʼad, we’d have notified somebody – you know how you have to?’

Ian nodded. ‘Is it archaeology, though, hidden in a building? Who does it belong to?’

‘Ah!’ said Edward. ‘Moot point. Pity so many records were lost at that period. If only we had Godfrey’s will.’

‘He may not have made one,’ said Fran. ‘A lot of people didn’t.’

‘Let’s assume there was some kind of document,’ said Ian, ‘that was given to Roland with the deeds of the house. Where are they, do we know?’

‘Solicitor?’ suggested Libby. ‘I understood that nothing was given to Roland though.’

‘Don’t you think it’s possible that if there was a document, Roland wouldn’t have shared it with his wife?’ said Ian. ‘And just as likely that he
did
share it with his lover.’

‘Quite likely,’ said Libby. ‘He was a bastard.’

‘So she has it and someone kills her for it?’ said Lewis. ‘But why kill Roland?’

‘I think she was killed because she knew where it was but
didn’t
have it. Once she’d passed on the knowledge, she had to be killed, and the killer then went to get it from Roland.’ Libby looked round the group.

‘It’s the most likely scenario,’ acknowledged Ian, ‘but if so, has the killer now found the gold, or whatever it is, and gone for ever?’

‘Oh, how depressing,’ said Libby. ‘Surely not?’

‘Well,’ Ian squatted down in front of the jewellery again, ‘whatever the case, I’ve still got to find the killer, and it doesn’t seem as though this search is going to help.’

‘That’s defeatist talk,’ said Edward. ‘Here,’ he carefully rolled the jewellery back into the black cloth and handed it to Ian. ‘Why don’t you go back and report this to the coroner’s office, or the Finds Liaison Officer, and we’ll carry on here.’

‘You said yourself the rumour of treasure might have been enough to kill for,’ said Libby. ‘We can at least look for signs that there might be something else, or even that secret passage out of the cellars.’

Ian looked doubtful. ‘I shouldn’t really leave you here at a crime scene unattended.’

‘Is there someone on duty at the grotto?’ asked Libby.

‘Of course. And the tent and forensics are there still.’

‘Well, we’re not unattended, are we?’ said Fran. ‘And I suggest you go and tell them we want to look at the grotto, too.’

Ian sighed. ‘Anyone ever tell you you were bossy?’

Fran and Libby looked at one another and grinned. ‘Yes, you,’ said Fran.