Ben arrived just as it was getting dark with the Christmas tree on a trailer behind the four by four.
‘Can we leave it outside for a bit?’ asked Libby. ‘It’s too early to put it up.’
‘OK. Go and open the back gate for me and I’ll take it round.’ Ben hauled the tree off the trailer and set off to the end of the terrace, from where he could gain access to the path that led to the back gardens. Libby, wrapping her arms round her against the cold, hurried through the house and into the garden. Sidney followed curiously.
Puffing somewhat, Ben stood the tree just outside the conservatory door while Libby bolted the gate.
‘Have you got time for a cuppa?’ she asked, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek as a thank-you.
‘As long as the car isn’t blocking anyone’s way in the lane, yes,’ said Ben, following her into the kitchen, ‘but I’ll be home soon anyway. Only got to take the car back.’
‘Up to you, then,’ said Libby.
‘What?’ said Ben, leaning his bottom on the kitchen table and folding his arms.
‘What what?’ Libby countered.
‘There’s something you want to talk about, isn’t there?’
Libby shrugged. ‘It can wait.’
‘You went to see Cy this morning, didn’t you? Is that what it’s about?’
‘Sort of.’ Libby warmed the teapot, then spooned in tea leaves.
‘Go on, then. As you’re already making the tea, you might as well tell me.’
Libby lifted the heavy kettle, which had been chuckling quietly to itself on the Rayburn, and poured water into the pot. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I did see Cy.’
While she got out mugs and milk, she told him about what Cy had said, and then what Sheila had said.
‘And so,’ she finished, ‘there’s no point in me doing anything more, is there? Unless Cy can think of anything else he’s forgotten.’
‘So that’s the end of it, then?’ Ben said. ‘All for nothing?’
‘Looks like it,’ said Libby, pouring tea.
‘Poor Lisa.’ He took his mug and stirred the tea thoughtfully.
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do for her,’ said Libby. ‘She didn’t ask us to look into her brother’s death.’
‘Do you think the police will question all the members of the Players?’
‘I should think they already have. Those that knew Paddy well, anyway.’
‘And do you think it’s someone connected with them?’
‘If the attacks are linked, then I suppose it must be. There’s no other connection between Cy and Paddy, or their families.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a shame, because it was just getting interesting. There’s a whole part of Josephine’s story hidden somewhere.’
Ben sipped his tea. ‘What about our home-grown mystery? Are you not pursuing that, either?’
‘No, I told you. Amy might have relatives in the area still, and I’m not going to write a play about it, so there’s no reason for me to carry on.’ She sighed again. ‘So that’s that. No mysteries, no investigations, so I shall be able to concentrate on the panto, and Christmas, of course.’
‘I wonder,’ said Ben.
Chapter Fifteen
THE SNOW CAME ON Thursday. Trains were cancelled, people all over the country were stranded, gritter lorry drivers looked as though they’d gritted their own eyes and shops were running out of food as people stocked up needlessly. Libby and Ben went to the pub for dinner before panto rehearsal and found a very gloomy Harry and Peter at the bar.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Libby.
‘Booked for a firm’s do tonight and they can’t get here,’ said Harry. ‘I’m drowning my sorrows.’
‘No chance of passing trade, either, I suppose?’ said Ben.
‘Pete wouldn’t like it, duckie,’ said Harry, with a leer and a wink.
‘Fool,’ said Libby. ‘We would have come if we’d known. We’re having a quick bite here.’
‘In public? That’s even worse than passing trade,’ said Harry.
‘What’s up with him tonight?’ Libby asked Peter.
‘An empty till. Always takes him this way,’ said Peter.
‘Anyway, as it happens, we’re eating here, too. You may share our table,’ said Harry, ‘and then I shall attend your rehearsal with my swain here.’
Libby made a resigned face at Peter and followed them into the dining section of the pub.
‘So what’s the story on Cy?’ asked Peter after they had given their order.
‘I’m not following it up,’ said Libby, and explained. ‘And I’m not going to do anything with the Burton and Taylor story, either. Amy, at least, might still have relatives round here and it would seem – well – disrespectful. I mean, when we did The Hop Pickers, you’d written it and you were one of the family, with the family’s permission. So that’s that.’ She turned to Harry. ‘I know you wanted me to help, but now the police are involved there’s nothing I can do. I’ve tried to look into other reasons for the attack and the letters, but I can’t find any, so it seems it is some homophobic nutter, possibly connected with the theatre group.’
Harry nodded. ‘I know, petal. And I know you weren’t keen to get involved in the first place, so thank you.’ He patted her hand. ‘So now you can concentrate on your accident-prone pantomime cow and arthritic chorus.’
‘They’re not arthritic this year,’ said Peter, digging him in the ribs. ‘They’re all young and nubile.’
‘No, really?’ Harry looked from one face to another. ‘Ooh, I bet you’re enjoying that, Ben.’
Ben grinned. ‘Oh, sure. I just wish they’d stop chattering. Like a flock of birds, they are, and they get louder and louder until Libby shouts at them to shut up. Then they stop for five minutes, then you hear this little buzz starting again. Nightmare.’
‘Much better dancers, though,’ said Libby, smiling up at the waitress who had brought their food. ‘This is one of them.’
The waitress giggled and retreated swiftly. ‘She not rehearsing tonight, then?’ said Harry.
‘Principals only tonight, if any of them can get here,’ said Libby. ‘If you’re coming, you may have to read in.’
‘Oooh, how jolly,’ said Harry. ‘I shall enjoy that.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ said Peter, and attacked his steak and ale pie.
As most people in the cast lived in or very close to Steeple Martin, there weren’t too many absentees, but one or two were London commuters who just hadn’t made it home, so Harry was given the task of reading in for the Queen of Hearts and one of the evil henchmen. Luckily, the Queen of Hearts always appeared with her opposite number, Old King Cole, and the henchman with his counterpart, so Harry could be pushed into position fairly easily and couldn’t get into as much trouble as Peter had feared, although he did give the Queen of Hearts a whole new meaning.
It was after Buttercup the cow had fallen over Moussaka the lamb for the third time that Libby decided to call it a day. The musical director, who was reluctantly doubling as rehearsal pianist due to that reliable body also being snowbound, threw up his hands in horror and glared at the poor cow, who took off its head and glared back.
The relieved cast made a dash for coats, scarves and the pub. Ben and Peter checked the building and Harry checked his phone. Libby stared blankly at the stage and wondered if the panto would ever get any better and if she was mad.
‘Lib.’ Harry came up behind her.
‘Mmm?’ She turned round. In the gloom of the auditorium his face looked pale.
‘Cy. He’s been attacked again.’
‘What happened then?’
The four of them were seated round the log fire in the pub. They had tacitly agreed to leave the story until they could all hear it properly.
Harry, still looking pale, took a large swig of his lager. ‘Bastard was in his back garden,’ he said.
‘Wha–?’ said Libby.
‘How?’ said Peter.
; ‘When?’ said Ben.
‘Earlier this evening. He thought he heard something out there, and thinking it might be animal, a cat trapped or hurt or something, he went out. He was hit over the head.’
‘Who called you?’ asked Libby.
‘Sheila. Apparently, Cy’s next door neighbour also heard the noise and went out to investigate. He saw Cy over the fence, climbed over to see if he could help, while the wife phoned the ambulance and then went across to tell Sheila because she knew they were friends. Sheila’s at the hospital with him. She took his mobile with her, sensible woman, so she could get hold of people. Hasn’t been able to contact Colin yet, though.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Ben.
‘How bad is he?’ asked Peter.
‘Don’t know yet. I don’t think it’s life-threatening. The police are there, too, Sheila said, but they haven’t been able to talk to him yet. They’ve sent someone to talk to the neighbour.’
‘Good job Sheila was there,’ said Libby, ‘otherwise, if the neighbour didn’t know any of Cy’s other friends no one would have known.’
‘I expect the police would have contacted Colin, somehow.’ Harry took another swallow and practically finished his pint. ‘Anyone ready for another, yet?’
‘No, but I’ll get you one,’ said Ben, standing up. ‘Anyone else?’
‘Do you think the neighbour disturbed the attacker?’ asked Libby. ‘Do you think he would have stayed to finish him off?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Look, I don’t know, do I? I only know what Sheila told me, and you have to admit she’s not the most forthcoming woman in the world.’
‘No,’ conceded Libby, ‘but she was all right with me the other day. Perhaps if I call her in the morning?’
‘Have you got her phone number?’
‘Oh.’ Libby’s face fell. ‘No.’
‘Let’s wait until we hear more from either her or Cy himself,’ soothed Peter. ‘Or even Colin, if he can get home. None of us are likely to be able to get over there to see him in this weather, so you’ll both have to possess your souls in patience, won’t you?’
‘I’ll call the hospital in the morning,’ said Harry, as Ben came back with his drink.
‘They won’t tell you anything if you’re not next of kin,’ said Libby.
‘I’ll say I’m his brother, then,’ said Harry, scowling at her.
‘Just saying,’ said Libby, and Peter patted her arm.
‘Leave him alone, dear heart,’ he said. ‘You know what he’s like.’
Ben looked from one to another of them. ‘So,’ he said, ‘does this make a difference to your decision not to investigate any further?’
Harry shrugged, still scowling.
‘I don’t see what I could do,’ said Libby. ‘The police will be knocking on doors all night, now, and will be convinced that Patrick and Harry’s attacks are linked. They’ll pull out all the stops. I’d be superfluous. Fact is,’ she said with a sigh, ‘I always was.’
Ben nodded and Peter patted her arm again. ‘Not to us, you old trout,’ he said.
‘Why will the police be convinced that Patrick’s attack is linked because of this?’ Harry asked suddenly.
‘I don’t know.’ Libby sighed. ‘I hadn’t thought it through. I suppose actually it makes it less likely, doesn’t it?’
Nothing much more was said until Ben and Libby rose to go home. Harry suddenly stood up and gave Libby a hug. ‘Sorry I was grumpy, petal,’ he muttered. ‘It’s so close to home, somehow.’
‘I know, Hal,’ she said, patting him on the back. ‘Let me know if you hear anything, won’t you?’
The high street was quiet. More cars than usual were either parked or stranded along its sides, and the snow was thick enough to come over the top of Libby’s short boots. Ben frowned at his feet as they scrunched their way towards Allhallow’s Lane.
‘You know,’ he said, as they arrived at the front door of number 17 and stamped snow off their feet, ‘there’s one similarity between Cy’s story and our Burton and Taylor saga.’
‘There is?’ Libby tripped down the step and Sidney shot out of the door into a snowdrift. Surprised, he swore, and darted back in through Ben’s legs.
‘Yes.’ Ben shut the door and took off his coat. Libby took off his spare waxed jacket and went to poke up the fire.
‘So what is it?’ she said.
‘Adoption,’ said Ben going towards the drinks tray. ‘Scotch?’
‘Yes, please. Adoption?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Or fostering. But I’d already said that. Josephine was fostered, and as far as I can make out she was a hopping baby, even if her mother was a local girl, and Amy’s was, too. So are you thinking the same organisation might have been involved with both of them?’
‘Well, maybe, if there was such an organisation,’ said Ben, handing her a glass.
‘Even if there was,’ said Libby, taking a sip, ‘I don’t see how the two cases could be linked, any more than we could link Patrick’s and Cy’s families. You said that, remember? And why would we want to ?’
Ben shrugged. ‘Just interest,’ he said, sitting down opposite her. ‘That’s what you say when you get involved with things, isn’t it?’
Libby laughed. ‘So now you’re interested, is that it?’
‘Well, I’ve seen a bit more of this one than I have any of the others apart from our first little local problem. And,’ he said, suddenly serious, ‘I saw what an effect it had on people.’
‘You mean Lisa.’
He nodded.
‘And now Harry’s all upset,’ said Libby. ‘In fact, if I was a superstitious person, I might think being friends with Harry could bring bad luck. After all, look what happened to his friend who worked at Anderson Place.’
‘That was nothing to do with Harry, though, that was you and Fran getting involved with that Bella.’
‘Well,’ said Libby, with a shudder, ‘it was a horrible time, and I’m glad it didn’t put me off Anderson Place.’
‘Good job it didn’t put Harry off, either,’ said Ben, ‘seeing that he and Pete got hitched there.’
‘True. But still, he seems to be much fonder of Cy, and know him better, than he did the other bloke.’
‘He’d only met him through someone else, hadn’t he?’ said Ben. ‘That makes a difference. I get the impression he’s known Cy a lot longer.’
‘I never asked him,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder why? One of the London friends, he said. From those clubs he used to go to?’
Ben nodded. ‘Guess so.’
‘I might ask him when he calls tomorrow.’
‘If he calls. He might have no news.’
‘Oh, of course he will. He’ll manage to find out somehow. You know Harry.’ Libby stood up. ‘I’m for bed. It’s been a tiring day.’
‘I’m just going to check my emails, if you don’t mind,’ said Ben, collecting the laptop from the table by the sofa. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Libby turned at the door. ‘Check your emails? You never check your emails,’ she said.
He looked up and grinned. ‘All right. I’m looking something up. Can’t fool you, can I?’
‘But what? Why lie about it?’
‘Well, it could be something to with Christmas, of course, couldn’t it?’
‘Ah!’ Libby smiled. ‘I shall leave you to it, then. Don’t be long.’
‘OK,’ said Ben, bending once more to the screen, where he was typing into a search engine “Illegitimate babies born during hop picking in Kent.”
Chapter Sixteen
‘SO WHAT WERE YOU doing all that time last night?’ Libby put a mug down on the bedside table. Ben opened his eyes with a struggle.
‘Wha–?’
‘On the computer. I didn’t even hear you come to bed.’ Libby sat down beside him. ‘You weren’t doing all your Christmas shopping without consulting me, were you?’
Ben pushed himself up to a sitting position and picked up the mug, taking a grateful sip before an
swering.
‘No, I wasn’t.’ He looked her in the eye and said carefully ‘I was seeing what I could find out about babies born during hop-picking.’
‘Oh?’ Libby looked interested. ‘And what did you find out?’
‘Very little, actually. All I could find were little bits about the Hoppers’ Hospitals and the Salvation Army, most of which I knew anyway. I thought there must be some kind of social workers, but there wasn’t anything except something called the Hop-Pickers’ Medical Treatment Board, but I couldn’t find anything else about it.’
‘Never heard of it.’ Libby narrowed her eyes at him. ‘And why were you looking? If the positions were reversed, you’d be getting cross with me. Oh, and by the way, the village is snowed in. No buses, no nothing.’
‘Really?’ Ben swung his legs out of bed and went to the window. ‘Good God. I’m going to say a cliché.’
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t?’ said Libby, joining him. ‘But we’d better make sure your mum and dad are all right – and Flo and Lenny, I suppose.’
‘Oh, they’ll be fine. There are all sorts of security arrangements in place for the residents in Maltby Close, and the doctor’s on the corner, don’t forget.’
‘That’s Flo and Lenny, yes, but what about your mum and dad?’
‘There’s a huge stock of logs for the Aga, so they’ll be warm if nothing else.’
‘They won’t be if the electricity goes off,’ warned Libby. ‘The heating pump’s electric, even if the Aga runs on wood. And who’s going to get the logs in? Greg can’t, and you can’t expect Hetty to do it.’
Ben heaved a sigh. ‘All right, all right,’ he said. ‘Did you imagine I wasn’t going to try and get up there this morning? I go every day, don’t I? I’ll have to check everything anyway. Thank God we haven’t got any animals any more.’
‘What about Tom Barton? All his sheep will be pregnant, won’t they? Will they be all right?’
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