Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) (21 page)

‘Only this time he actually loved her.’ Fran nodded. Andrew and Libby looked at her. She smiled. ‘So she wouldn’t have to wear a white sheet in the church door.’

‘She what?’ Libby was startled.

‘Often a punishment by the villagers,’ said Andrew, ‘when a maid got herself pregnant by the lord of the manor. The woman was always punished, never the man.’

Libby made a sound between a snort and an explosion.

‘Anyway,’ said Fran. ‘Andrew’s right, I’m sure of it. It’s a working premise, at any rate.’

‘So,’ said Libby, looking between Fran and Andrew, ‘Godfrey marries Evelyn – pity we don’t know more about her. She could have been an ugly old crab, couldn’t she?’

‘She could,’ agreed Andrew with a grin.

‘So, Rebecca comes as a maid and he exerts his
droit du seigneur
, gets her pregnant with the eldest child – you told us the estate went to his eldest son, didn’t you? – and at some point asks her to make sure his wife’s provided for. Do we know the date of the letter?’

‘No. But it would make sense if it was during the civil wars, probably just before the Battle of Maidstone, if he went to that.’

‘He did,’ said Fran with assurance.

Andrew shook his head. ‘I wish we could just take all your statements and use them as fact.’

Fran sighed. ‘I wish you could, too. Anyway, it looks as though Evelyn was still alive then, if that’s the case.’

‘Poor woman,’ said Libby. ‘What a life. So do we take it that there wasn’t any treasure?’

‘Apart from that little note in the parish record there’s nothing to suggest it,’ said Andrew. ‘Whether or not it’s Rebecca he’s writing to, there’s nothing to suggest that whatever his provisions were they weren’t used, or reclaimed after the war. I think your Middleton ladies worked it up into a story.’

‘But why did that particular sheet of paper survive all the way down to them?’

‘We’ll never know,’ said Andrew. ‘I think it’s a mystery you’ll never solve. All you need to know is if Roland Watson and the Doctor’s wife believed it.’

‘Or if they believed in the story of the guineas,’ said Libby.

‘Ramani told Edward about the civil war connection,’ said Fran. ‘And went to the church, so it looks as if they believed it.’

‘And we think old Lady Middleton told Roland before she died,’ said Libby. ‘But he didn’t get the piece of paper, so he may have dismissed the whole idea.’

‘And then – what? This letter turns up from the fake Institute saying he might have a load of guineas tucked away?’ Fran shook her head. ‘None of it makes any sense or gets us any nearer to who murdered them both.’ She turned to Andrew. ‘But thank you, Andrew. It’s a little bit clearer now.’

‘Where now?’ asked Libby as they left Andrew’s flat. ‘Take this translation back to Marilyn Fairbrass?’

Fran leant on the railing on the other side of the road to the block of flats and stared out over a wintry Nethergate. Her dark hair blew gently across her face.

‘I keep coming back to Ramani. She was a historian. She wouldn’t get taken in, or believe a tale passed down to gullible women.’

Libby leant beside her. ‘What do you mean? Don’t forget she was also a bit of a good-time girl.’

‘That doesn’t mean she wasn’t a good historian. And she went to the church. Why do we think that was
all
the research she did? It stands to reason she did more than that. So where is it?’

Chapter Thirty-five

Libby stared. ‘Do you mean we’ve been looking at this the wrong way round from the start?’

‘Not necessarily. But we’ve assumed Roland used the treasure story to tempt Ramani into an affair. It could have been the other way round if Ramani knew anything about the family.’

‘But she couldn’t have,’ said Libby.

‘No, I agree that’s unlikely, but think about it. She told Carl about it a year ago. What else has come up? The guineas.’

‘But we all agreed that she’d never be taken in by that letter. Roland, maybe, but not Ramani.’

Fran turned to face her friend, pulling her scarf up round her ears. ‘So, think about it again. She wouldn’t be taken in, but who would?’

‘The owners of houses where there might be smuggled goods? Old houses?’

‘Exactly. And who better to write a convincing letter than a historian?’

Libby’s mouth fell open. ‘
Ramani
wrote that letter?’

‘Doesn’t it make sense?’

‘She wrote it to Roland?’

‘I would have said they were both in it together.’ Fran stood up straight. ‘I’d give anything to know if the police have found anything in her belongings. If she was trying, probably with Roland’s help, to con people somehow, that could be a motive, couldn’t it?’

‘I still don’t see what the game was, though,’ said Libby.

‘Neither do I.’ Fran turned towards her car. ‘How about a visit to Carl Oxenford? Do you think he might answer some questions about Ramani?’

‘He was a bit off when I called in on Saturday,’ said Libby. ‘And Adelaide might be there.’

‘Let’s see.’ Fran opened her car door. ‘Coming?’

‘I haven’t had any lunch yet,’ grumbled Libby, going towards her battered Renault.

‘You’ve had apple cake,’ said Fran. ‘Don’t complain.’

Libby sighed and started the car.

They parked in the car park of The Dragon and Libby climbed into Fran’s passenger seat to discuss tactics.

‘It’s hardly going to endear us to him if we say we think his wife was a crook,’ said Libby.

‘No, but we can ask about her work as a historian,’ said Fran.

‘But she didn’t work, did she? Not that we heard.’

‘All right, her history as a historian, then.’

‘Why will we say we’re interested?’

‘Everyone knows now about the treasure theory, and that’s why Edward came to see Carl. It’s reasonable that we might ask if Ramani knew anything about it and would she have done any research into it.’

‘I’m sure the police have already asked that,’ said Libby. ‘And I still don’t think that’s reason enough to be questioning Carl. I think it just makes us look like nosy old bats.’

‘We could ask to talk to Adelaide,’ said Fran.

‘But Ian said when he finally spoke to her she knew nothing about nothing, as Harry said.’

‘Let’s try anyway,’ said Fran, opening her door. ‘I’ve got a feeling about this.’

‘A proper feeling?’ asked Libby, hurrying after her as she walked briskly towards the Oxenford house.

Fran stopped. ‘I don’t know. I’m almost sure there’s something in this. It answers a lot of questions.’

Libby scowled. ‘I don’t see it. I still think it’s a complete muddle that will never be sorted out.’

Carl Oxenford opened the door to them, looking surprised.

‘Have you come to see Adelaide?’ he asked.

‘Yes!’ said Libby hurriedly, before Fran could ask anything awkward. ‘Is she here?’

‘She is. The police tracked her down after all.’ He sounded resigned. ‘I’m afraid our relationship rather muddied their waters.’ He led them through to the room at the back where they had first met Edward.

‘Libby!’ Adelaide stood up, looking harassed.

‘It’s all right, Adelaide. We just wanted to make sure you were all right,’ said Libby. ‘I was worried about you when I couldn’t get hold of you. Have you seen Julian?’

‘Yes, he came down yesterday.’ Adelaide sat down again and waved a vague hand at the other chairs. ‘Carl said you came on Saturday?’

‘Yes. Just after I’d been to see Marilyn Fairbrass.’ Libby caught Fran’s eye and gave her a warning frown. Fran stayed silent.

‘Marilyn? Whatever for?’

‘To ask her about the history of the house. After all, she was with Lady Middleton before you, wasn’t she?’

Adelaide opened her mouth but nothing came out.

‘And Roland talked to Lady Middleton before she died, didn’t he?’ said Fran, seeing where Libby had been heading.

Adelaide looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes. But honestly, I didn’t know anything about any treasure. I told you.’

‘Doctor Oxenford, Ramani would have been interested, wouldn’t she?’ said Libby.

Carl frowned. ‘Yes, she would, but I don’t see –? You know all this, surely. And what business is it of yours, anyway?’

‘Well, we got into it because Adelaide asked us,’ said Libby, ‘and now we’ve seen the original letter that we think gave rise to the myth of the treasure –’

‘What letter?’ said Adelaide.

‘Myth?’ said Carl.

‘We think so,’ said Fran. ‘But that just made us wonder what research Ramani would have done. Did she leave any notes or anything?’

Carl shook his head slowly. ‘Not that I found – or the police, come to that. But I wouldn’t, would I? It was all to do with her affair with Roland.’ He darted a look at Adelaide.

‘Why was it necessary to lie about your affair, though?’ asked Libby, looking genuinely interested. ‘Adelaide’s already admitted part of the reason I was there that night was to provide back-up to the story that you hardly knew each other.’

‘That’s not quite right –’ said Adelaide.

‘How could she have known –’ said Carl. They looked at each other. ‘You go ahead,’ said Carl.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Adelaide. ‘I didn’t know Carl would ring.’

‘But you
had
recognised Ramani, hadn’t you? Despite the very good act you put on,’ said Libby.

‘I don’t see what this has to do with her murder, or indeed, what it has to do with you?’ said Carl, sounding increasingly exasperated.

‘Maybe it hasn’t anything to do with me or the murder,’ said Libby, ʻbut I was involved from the start – for God’s sake, Adelaide asked me – us – to look into it! – So I think it has got something to do with me. And all Fran and I have tried to do is help find out who the murderer is. And finding a motive is essential, as the police will tell you. All the way through this investigation, again, as the police will tell you, the treasure has been a possible motive, even if it doesn’t exist.’

‘Doesn’t exist?’ Carl frowned. ‘But why, in that case?’

‘If someone did believe it,’ said Fran, ‘then a lot of money is a powerful motive. Imagine how annoyed the murderer would be if he found out after killing someone that his efforts were in vain.’

‘So you think,’ said Carl slowly, ‘that my wife was looking into the story of this treasure? What – to validate it?’

‘Isn’t that a possibility?’ said Fran.

He nodded. ‘In that case …’ He stopped. ‘The police never looked in the shed. We could see if she left anything in there.’

‘In a shed?’ Libby frowned. ‘Would she?’

‘She actually quite liked gardening,’ said Carl, looking sheepish. ‘She spent a lot of time in there.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Adelaide. Carl gave her a look that said quite plainly “You don’t know everything”.

‘Come on, then,’ said Libby, standing up. ‘You never know.’ She caught sight of Fran looking dubious. ‘Fran? Will you come?’

The four of them trooped down the small walled garden to where an ancient shed stood in one corner. Carl opened the door.

‘It’s not even locked!’ said Libby.

‘Nothing to steal,’ said Carl, and showed them inside.

Indeed, at first glance there were only sacks of peat-free compost, a lot of pots of various sizes and some gardening tools. But there were cardboard boxes, and some piles of what looked like newspaper. Libby sighed.

‘Let’s make a start, then,’ she said.

It didn’t take long to search the boxes and piles of paper. There were no notes anywhere. Carl looked disappointed, Adelaide puzzled and Fran resigned.

‘I can’t think of anywhere else,’ Carl said as he led the way back to the house. ‘The second time the police searched the house they went everywhere, even the attics and the cellar.’

‘Cellar?’ said Libby. ‘You’ve got a cellar?’

‘Yes, every house along this ginnel has. It’s said they were once joined up as a tunnel used by the smugglers. It went as far as the church.’

Libby looked excited, Fran unsurprised.

‘But Ramani would have known that!’ said Libby.

‘I’m not sure that she did.’ Carl was cautious. ‘I never heard her talk about it.’

Libby’s phone rang in her pocket. The screen showed an unfamiliar number.

‘That Adam’s mum? ʼE gave me yer number. Johnny Templeton here. Got something to show yer. Don’t say nothin’ to anyone.’

‘Er – right. Fran and I will be along soon.’ Libby darted a glance at Fran, who stood aside looking composed. She turned off the phone and turned to Carl and Adelaide. ‘Well, thank you for showing us the shed, and I’m sorry if we’ve seemed intrusive.’

Adelaide shrugged. ‘Pity there isn’t any treasure,’ she said.

‘We don’t know there isn’t,’ said Fran, suddenly coming to life. ‘If Ramani was researching it, which I’m sure she was, it’s probably still wherever it was hidden.’

Libby stared at her in amazement, while Adelaide looked excited.

Carl shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Even if she researched it, you said it was probably a myth. And no one’s found any notes.’

‘No. Come on, Fran, we must be going. I’m sure we’ll see you both again soon.’ Libby took Fran’s arm, bestowing a smile on Carl and Adelaide as they stood aside to let them through the house.

‘And just what was that all about?’ said Libby breathlessly, as she rushed them across the road to the car park. ‘Why say there
is
treasure?’

‘There still could be,’ said Fran. ‘And where are we going?’

‘Back to Johnny. That was him on the phone. Can we go in your car? I’ll leave mine here.’

‘What did Johnny want?’ asked Fran, as she swung the little car into Dark Lane.

‘He wants to show us something and said not to tell anyone.’

‘Ah.’ Fran’s smile was smug.

‘What?ʼ shrieked an exasperated Libby. ‘You’ve been acting funny for the last half an hour. And I’m still hungry.’

‘Ramani was researching the treasure. At a guess, both sorts. Also at a guess, she found out as much, if not more, than we have about the guineas. We’ve just heard about the tunnel under her house to the church. What’s the betting she went to St Mary’s more than once to see if she could find evidence of a tunnel there.’

‘And there was a tunnel at Dark House,’ said Libby.

‘And Roland had been tantalised by the hint of treasure from old Lady Middleton.’ Fran negotiated a bend. ‘And what if Ramani realised if she could get into people’s houses to look for a spurious nineteenth-century treasure that actually sounded genuine, and had good sound research and reasoning behind it,’ she took a deep breath, ‘she could help herself to anything she found.’

‘So plain old burglary, then?’ said Libby.

‘Not plain. Very fancy, I’d have said.’ Fran turned into the drive of Dark House.

‘So what about Roland, then?’ said Libby, climbing out of the car and following Fran towards the back of the house. Adam and Mog looked up in surprise. Libby waved as Fran disappeared through the arch in the hedge.

‘Purely supposition,’ said Fran as Libby caught her up, ‘but if you think about it logically – if Roland told Ramani about the possibility of a civil war treasure when he was first seducing her, she may well have decided to look into it. And while doing so, came across all the information about the guinea boats and the prisoners. Especially as she knew about her own cellar.’

‘But Carl said she didn’t.’

‘Of course she did.’ Fran was scornful.

‘So she wrote the fake letter to Roland?’

‘I rather think, as I said earlier, it was a joint venture. After all, did Ramani know Johnny well enough to get the credit card and get him to store the stationery? No. So who did?’

‘Roland!’ Libby gasped. ‘I say, Fran, you’re too bloody good at this.’

‘It’s only specualtion, but it fits the facts,’ said Fran, ‘and I have a feeling we’re just about to have it confirmed.’

‘You’ve been having these “feelings” all day,’ said Libby. ‘Good job that part of your brain’s working again!’

Fran grinned. ‘It’s just got into practice, that’s all. I ought to give it more to do.’

Johnny was looking out for them, his eyes even more furtive.

‘What is it, then, Johnny?’ said Fran.

He led them into the malodorous kitchen once again. On the table there was a large box, which by the labelling, had once held a pair of boots. Johnny pointed to it.

‘He brought it in ʼere,’ he said.

‘Who did? When?’ said Libby.

‘Mr Watson. Day after she died.’