Murder Dancing

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘He thought the company might talk to us, didn’t he? Well, some of them have.’

  ‘Not to any purpose.’ Libby sighed and kicked a pebble. ‘Oh, well. I’ll wait and see what happens. Ben’s in a mood because the rat-hanger disturbed all the lights and they’ve all got to be re-set.’

  ‘Oh, dear. So it’s actually disturbing the production now, not just the dancers?’

  ‘Oh, yes! I didn’t think of that. I suppose they’ll be poking round the set every day now, looking for traps.’

  Libby made herself a sandwich for lunch, wondering if Ben was going to come home. As he didn’t, she took the sandwich into the conservatory and tried to summon up some enthusiasm for the painting which sat, barely started, on an easel. So far, it consisted of a shakily sketched horizon line and an even shakier cliff edge. As usual, it was to be a view of Nethergate to sell in Guy’s shop/gallery. Again as usual, she seemed to have no appetite for it. Instead she found herself idly doodling what looked like a stage set, with floating figures skimming over the sea which had turned into a stage.

  ‘Witches!’ she muttered to herself, just as the landline began to ring.

  ‘Libby? Sorry to disturb you. Max here.’

  ‘Hello, Max. Everything all right?’

  ‘Well – you were there this morning, weren’t you? I thought I saw you.’

  ‘Yes, I came up to help at the Manor, but it all seemed to be dealt with very speedily.’

  ‘Yes, it was.’ He paused. ‘Look, I wonder if it would be convenient to have a word? We’ve broken for lunch, and Ben’s

  taken the opportunity to re-set some of the lanterns, so I’ve got an hour or so.’

  Here we go, thought Libby. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said aloud. ‘Would you like to come here? Do you know where I am?’

  She gave him directions and went to move the kettle on to the Rayburn. Hoping he wasn’t too London-sophisticated to reject her instant coffee, she set out mugs and went to light the fire in the sitting-room. It was nearly the end of October, and feeling distinctly damp and chilly.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ she asked when Max arrived.

  ‘Oh – tea, please.’ He smiled a little diffidently. ‘I’m not much of a coffee drinker actually. Disgrace to the glitterati, me.’

  Libby beamed. ‘Excellent. We’ll have proper tea made in a proper pot, then.’

  ‘What did you want to talk about?’ she asked, as she carried the tray into the sitting-room.

  ‘I wanted to know if any of the boys had talked to you – or to Fran – since we arrived. If you’d managed to form any sort of opinion?’ He took a mug from her.

  ‘We’ve talked to a few of them. None of them seem averse to talking about it, but the rat came as a surprise. I think they’d convinced themselves that all the trouble had been left behind in London. I rather thought that myself.’

  Max nodded. ‘I was hoping that was the case. But now I’m not so sure.’

  Libby leant forward. ‘My mother-in-law – Hetty, you know – has a theory that the incidents in London had nothing to do with the one this morning.’

  Max looked startled. ‘What? How? Why does she think that?’

  Libby sat back. ‘It’s not really logical, simply based on experience.’ She explained about The Hop Pickers. ‘And she could be right. If someone has a grudge, they could simply be copying what happened in London.’

  Max shook his head. ‘That doesn’t make sense. That would mean two people with a grudge against the company, the work, or the individual dancers.’

  Libby sighed. ‘Yes, that does seem unlikely. Oh, and you didn’t tell us that there had actually been threats to harm anybody.’

  Max looked up. ‘Who told you that?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘Apparently, there were threats of burning.’ Libby regarded him with interest. ‘Why didn’t you tell us? You wanted us to poke around.’

  He tried a half-hearted laugh. ‘Oh, that was ridiculous.’

  ‘So ridiculous that two of your principals left?’

  Max sighed. ‘All right, yes. So you’ve heard about all the little notes, I suppose?’

  ‘Most of them. I don’t know exactly to whom they were sent, except to Paddy and – Gerry, was it? – who left, but the consensus now seems to be that it isn’t an individual, but the production itself that’s being threatened. Fran and I were trying to work out what it is that’s “unnatural”, as one of the notes apparently said. Witchcraft? Men dancing women? Dance or theatre itself? What?’

  Max looked up uneasily. ‘Homosexuality?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘There were accusations of homosexuality, I gather, but rather blanket ones – and not true, for the most part. It’s a common and often erroneous assumption about dancers, although why the hell it should matter, I can’t think.’

  Max smiled. ‘You sound as though you’re on a podium.’

  ‘It happens to be one of my bugbears, sorry.’ Libby smiled back. ‘Don’t you agree with me?’

  ‘Of course I do. But if someone has some kind of objection to the production on the other grounds – which are archaic – they could just as easily be objecting to homosexuality.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Libby nodded thoughtfully. ‘Stan thinks the whole thing’s doomed, apparently.’

  ‘Did Seb tell you that?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t think he’s that happy with Stan, to tell you the truth. He seems to be under some sort of obligation to him.’

  Max sent her a quick look. ‘You have been finding out a lot.’

  ‘I thought that’s what you wanted.’

  Max sighed. ‘Yes, of course. But have you found out if any of them are really unhappy?’

  ‘Only Stan, and he hasn’t said that to me. All the others seem OK, and they like the theatre. No one seems scared or anything. As I said, I think they all thought the trouble had been left behind in London.’

  ‘And no one said anything about the – the rat?’

  ‘I haven’t seen anyone since you asked them all into the theatre and told them about it. I know Ben was cross about having to re-rig and possibly re-plot the lights, but that’s about it.’

  Max drained his mug. ‘That was a lovely cup of tea.’ He stood up. ‘Well, if you haven’t heard anything, I suppose there’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘If I had heard something, what would you have done?’

  He scowled. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you going to carry on with your rehearsal now?’ Libby also stood up. ‘May I come up and watch?’

  ‘Of course. We’re going to see how the transformation scene works.’

  ‘Oh – the Kabuki curtain? That’s so impressive.’

  ‘You ought to congratulate Ben about that. It was mostly his idea.’

  ‘Was it?’ Libby was surprised. ‘He never told me!’

  ‘He and Peter came up with it after Stan told them what effect we wanted for the transformation to Pendle Hill.’

  ‘Is that what it is? From where?’

  ‘From inside Malkin Tower, where Demdike and Alizon live. Alizon goes straight out and meets John Law.’

  ‘That’s the pedlar she curses, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right. Been reading up on it?’

  Libby laughed and carried the tray into the kitchen. ‘Certainly have.’

  Together they walked up the Manor drive under the grey October sky.

  ‘You feel the seasons more in the country, don’t you?’ said Max with a shiver, pulling his long, woollen scarf tighter round his neck.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘It’s so long since I lived in town that I’ve forgotten.’

  In the auditorium the dancers were draped across the seats like discarded washing. Max clapped his hands and they metamorphosed into lithe young men. Ben was standing with Peter at the back.

  ‘All done?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Ben pushed a weary hand through his grey curls. ‘We had Seb up the ladder in the end, while we re-set from
up top.’ He indicated the lighting box. ‘I’m going to watch for a while, just to make sure it’s all OK.’

  ‘Yes, I asked if I could watch, too.’ Libby took a seat on the back row, just as Peter went upstairs and lowered the house lights. Ben sat down beside her as the first notes of the music rang out eerily across the auditorium and dim lighting illuminated the inside of Demdike’s house.

  Then Jonathan as Demdike was pointing Phillip, as Alizon, outside and suddenly there was a blue flash as the Kabuki disappeared, revealing the menacing view of Pendle Hill. And the screaming started.

  Chapter Eight

  The dancers froze. Ben jack-knifed out of his seat and he and Max raced each other to the stage. Over it all, the music continued.

  Libby stood slowly, her heart pumping madly. She and the dancers seemed to be incapable of movement, until suddenly Phillip sat down on the stage with a thump and put his head in his hands.

  Ben appeared from the wings, his phone to his ear. Libby’s legs decided to work and she moved down the auditorium. As she reached the stage, Ben ended his call and smiled down at her.

  ‘Nothing too dreadful,’ he said. ‘Sounded a lot worse than it was.’

  ‘But what was it?’

  ‘There was something inside the Kabuki.’

  ‘What do you mean – inside? How could it have been?’

  ‘You know Stan has to pull it into the wings? There’s a specific way to do it, and exactly where Stan has to grab it there was an open Stanley knife.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Libby’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘It missed his wrist, which it could have caught, but it’s right across his palm. He’s laid out in the wings looking very pale at the moment. That young doctor over the road is on his way. We didn’t think it was worth calling an ambulance.’

  As he was speaking, the doctor himself pushed through the auditorium doors and joined them by the stage. Ben took him into the wings.

  ‘I heard.’ Peter was standing behind her. ‘Two incidents in one day. Whatever it is, it hasn’t been left behind in London.’

  Max emerged from the wings frowning.

  ‘This is ridiculous.’ He pushed a hand through his hair and addressed his company, all of whom were sitting tense and worried. ‘All of you go back to the Manor for the time being. I’ll come across and tell you what’s happening when I’ve worked out what to do.’

  ‘I’ll go and organise coffee,’ said Libby. ‘Hetty was going to make some earlier, so I expect it will all be prepared.’

  ‘You haven’t got decaf, have you?’ asked Max with a wry smile. ‘I don’t want them more het up than they are already.’

  ‘Believe it or not, Hetty got some in specially,’ said Libby. ‘It was her sop to sophistication!’

  The dancers had trailed disconsolately out of the theatre and Libby followed them and went to the Manor kitchen. Hetty was standing, hands on hips, at the kitchen table behind two urns.

  ‘What’s happened now?’

  Libby told her.

  ‘Saw that young Dr Peasegood rushing up. So I got the coffee back on.’ Hetty shook her head. ‘Something goin’ on over there.’ She cocked an eyebrow at Libby.

  ‘Yes, Het, looks like it.’ Libby heaved the first urn on to the trolley. ‘I’ll take this through. They’re all in there looking like a wet week of Mondays.’

  ‘Decaf,’ she announced, pushing the trolley into the big sitting-room, where the dancers were draped in attitudes of extreme depression all over the furniture. They certainly knew how to express their feelings with their bodies, thought Libby, beginning to fill coffee cups. When she brought in the second urn, the atmosphere had lifted markedly.

  ‘News?’ She raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Yes.’ Sebastian appeared from the midst of a group of dancers. ‘Max says we’re to carry on from where we left off when we’re ready.’

  ‘What about Stan?’

  ‘The doctor’s taken him off to the surgery, and said he’s to rest today. I can do whatever’s necessary for rehearsal and your Ben’s said he’ll help me. We’ve got to check over the Kabuki at some point, too.’

  ‘Is Stan happy about that?’

  Seb’s face darkened. ‘He’s not happy about anything.’

  ‘Same person that fixed up the rat?’ asked a quiet voice in Libby’s ear. She turned to see Jonathan frowning at Seb.

  ‘I don’t know. What do you think?’

  ‘Got to be. Can’t have been two people fooling about with the barrels in the watches of the night, can there?’

  Libby nodded. It seemed an age since the morning’s discovery of the rat.

  ‘It’s odd, though. The rat wasn’t meant to harm anyone, was it? But the Kabuki definitely was.’

  ‘And it was definitely Stan,’ said Jonathan. ‘He’s the only one who operates it.’

  ‘Could the production go on without him?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh, yes. He would say no, but as Seb just said, he can do everything needed with perhaps a bit of help.’

  ‘So injuring Stan wouldn’t put paid to the whole thing?’

  ‘No – but neither would the rat.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Libby was thoughtful. ‘But whether or not the Kabuki was aimed at Stan, both events were aimed at undermining the production. Just as the events in London were.’

  ‘You think that’s it? Someone really doesn’t want us to go on?’

  Libby shrugged. ‘The events are so random. Although people have been targeted, the minute they go or shrug it off, it starts somewhere else. And I’m sorry, but it has to be someone in the company.’

  Jonathan stepped back, looking at her with horror in his face. ‘It can’t be!’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Libby reasonably. ‘It’s followed you down here. And the only people here are company people. And none of us support staff, as it were, were there in London. So where does that leave you?’

  Jonathan nodded gloomily. ‘I suppose so. Oh, God. Now I’ll be looking over my shoulder all the time.’

  Libby made up her mind, mentally crossing her fingers.

  ‘Look. You seem a sensible sort of person. Who else would you say is?’

  Jonathan shook his head, looking bewildered. ‘God, I don’t know! Tom, I suppose. He can be a bit gung-ho, but he’s very down to earth.’

  ‘Right. Then at some point I want to have a chat with the two of you about the rest of the company.’

  ‘Why?’ Jonathan was suspicious.

  ‘Because –’ Libby hesitated, ‘because Max wanted my friend Fran and I to look into all this weirdness.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve done it before, and Max’s friend Andrew McColl recommended us.’

  Jonathan was staring at her as if she was mad. Libby sighed. ‘I know it sounds weird, but ask Max if you don’t believe me. And now you’d better go and start being Demdike again.’

  The room was emptying slowly and, with a last incredulous look at his hostess, Jonathan followed his fellow company members. Libby put the urns back on the trolley and wheeled them back to the kitchen.

  ‘This is more difficult than I thought, Het,’ she said. ‘And look at the time! Max wanted them to carry on where they left off, but it’s already half past four. They won’t get much done now.’

  ‘Leave ’em to it, I would,’ grunted Hetty from the sink. ‘You go and get me those dirty cups, gal.’

  Libby trailed back to the sitting-room with a tray and began to load cups. All she had to do now was persuade Jonathan and Tom Matthews to talk to her about the other dancers, and it sounded as if that might be a hard job. They wouldn’t want to rat on each other, she thought, and then berated herself for the inadvertent pun.

  After she’d finished loading the cups into Hetty’s dishwasher, she sat down at the kitchen table, took out her phone and rang Fran.

  When she had finished relating the events of the day, there was a short silence.

  ‘I think you’ve d
one the right thing,’ said Fran eventually, ‘if you can persuade them to talk. When you’ve done that, tell me when and I’ll come, too.’

  ‘What I was thinking, actually,’ said Libby, ‘was if I can persuade them, I could bring them down to Nethergate in the evening. Get them away from the others.’

  ‘Might work,’ agreed Fran. ‘Have a go and see what happens.’

  Libby didn’t have to wait long. Just over half an hour later Jonathan put his head round the kitchen door.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he said to Hetty. ‘Could I have a word, Libby?’

  Libby winked at Hetty and followed him out into the passage, where Tom stood leaning against the wall. He grinned at Libby.

  ‘Jonathan explained,’ he said, ‘and actually Max had already mentioned something. At your service, Mrs Investigator.’

  Libby looked at Jonathan. ‘You weren’t keen.’

  Jonathan looked sheepishly at Tom. ‘I didn’t want to talk about anyone.’

  ‘I told him it was our duty.’ Tom assumed a self-sacrificing attitude, with hand on breast. ‘I mean, someone got hurt today. It’s not a joke any more.’

  ‘It never was,’ said Libby seriously. ‘But look. Did Max say anything about my friend Fran?’

  ‘He said you and your friend who’s a bit of a specialist.’ Tom’s face showed intense curiosity. ‘That’s your friend who was here the other day, isn’t it? What’s she a specialist in?’

  ‘She helps the police sometimes,’ said Libby vaguely, ‘but the point is she said how would you two like to come with me down to where she lives in Nethergate? Then you’ll be right away from here.’

  ‘Sure. When?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Will Max mind?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘No, but I’ll ask him. How about this evening?’

  Jonathan looked at Tom. ‘Will we have time?’

  ‘Do you like Indian food?’ asked Libby. ‘Only there’s a terrifically good restaurant in Nethergate. We could go there for supper.’

  ‘Sounds good. When would we go?’ asked Tom.

  ‘I’ll call Fran now and go and tell Ben and Max,’ said Libby.

  ‘Max won’t be with us?’ said Jonathan in horror.

  ‘No, but I said I’d tell him, didn’t I? You two go into the sitting-room and I’ll come and tell you what I’ve organised.’