‘You remember I was particularly interested in that period? While we were investigating the smuggling tunnels, I just looked up some of the other references out of interest. I expect a local historian in yourneck of the woods will know all about it. I’m surprised Andrew didn’t.’
‘He found out about it when we asked him to look up Notbourne Court at the county archives.’
‘Well, well. I’ll give him a ring now, then. Shame I can’t get down to give them a hand.’
‘Are you still in Birmingham?’
‘Only until the end of this term. Then I’m moving.’
‘Oh, where?’
Edward gave a mysterious giggle. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’
‘Yes, I would,’ said Libby. ‘Don’t be childish.’
‘Sorry, miss. But it’s a bit top secret at the moment. I’ll let you all know when I can.’
‘And that’s that,’ Libby said to Ben when she had recounted the phone call. ‘I suppose we sit and wait for somebody to pass us a titbit of information.’
‘Meanwhile, you’d better update Fran with the information, hadn’t you?’
‘So I had!’ Libby picked up the phone again.
‘I was just going to call you,’ said Fran, answering on the first ring.
‘Oh, why?’
‘Something odd’s happened.’
‘It has? What?’
‘When I got home last night, it turned out that Guy was with Sophie in The Swan, so I went and joined them and told them about Nick Heap. So Sophie said she’d ask him when she saw him this morning.’
‘That doesn’t sound very odd.’
‘No, but she’s just rung and said that Nick denied all knowledge.’
‘Really? This early?’
‘Well, they do their training run, then they join the public for the Park Run, which they act as stewards for, so they start early.’
‘OK, that mostly sounds like Greek, but I get the gist. And what happened?’
‘Well, she asked Nick what he knew about Notbourne Court and he said nothing. So she pursued it a bit, said she’d been told he was a local historian, talked about the event at Imogen’s school, that sort of thing, and he said yes, that was him, but sorry, he knew nothing about Notbourne Court.’
Libby frowned.
‘It’s even odder,’ she said, ‘because listen to this. Remember young Olivia who played the prince in Cinderella?’
‘She’s in the show, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is, but when she was the prince, apparently she got talking to Edward Hall when he was at the pub.’
‘You did say he was attractive. A dish, was the expression used, I believe.’
‘Yes, well. And in the pub last night I just tossed out a remark about the Court and asked if anyone knew anything about it. And up pops Olivia saying Edward does, and told her about the tunnels.’
‘Good grief!’ said Fran.
‘So Andrew left him a text and he phoned me just now. He got interested in the tunnels after those ones we found, and started looking them up. He was surprised Andrew didn’t know about them already, and said a local historian would be sure to know.’
‘Only ours didn’t,’ said Fran. ‘You’re right – odder and odder.’
‘There’ll be a local history society, won’t there? I wonder if Ian or one of his minions has smoked them out yet?’
‘Andrew should have thought of that,’ said Fran, ‘and of course, there’s the Kent Archaeological Trust. They’d know, too, wouldn’t they?’
‘Yes, they would, because Andrew had heard of a dig there.’
‘All right. I’m going to look up history societies.’
‘So am I.’
Libby brought the laptop to the kitchen table and started a search. It didn’t take her long to find that Shott, Itching and Bishop’s Bottom all came within the remit of the Felling Local History Society.
‘Should I ring the number?’ Libby asked Ben, who was busy making a fresh pot of tea.
‘Shouldn’t you check with the police first? Or Andrew, at least.’
‘Yes, I suppose I should.’ The phone rang again.
‘It’s Fran. I just found the Felling Local History Society –’
‘So did I.’
‘Did youring them?’
‘No, why?’
‘I did, and they aren’t too happy. They’ve had several phone calls over the last day or so about the same thing, including one yesterday from the police.’
‘Oh.’ Libby sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. ‘So what does that mean?’
‘That someone else is looking into it apart from us and the police.’
‘And he or she didn’t say who the calls were from?’
‘She, and no. She said the police had told her not to say anything about it to anyone. And she finished up, with quite a snap, I must say, by saying that it wouldn’t be any good because she didn’t know anything, anyway.’
‘Cor blimey! It is indeed odder and odder, isn’t it?’
‘It’s annoying because I wanted to ask her if she knew Nick Heap, but I didn’t get the chance, and anyway, the fact that she – or the society – don’t know anything about the tunnels, backs up what Heap said.’
‘It really is very odd,’ said Libby. ‘Even Andrew didn’t know until he went to the archives, yet Edward found them ages ago, obviously not hidden in any way.’
‘I wish we could talk to Edward,’ said Fran. ‘Find out where he found them.’
‘There’s nothing to stop you phoning him.’
‘It’s not the same. And I suppose we can’t interrupt Andrew and Ian if they’re on site.’
‘I don’t think we’d be too popular,’ said Libby with a sigh.
The sunshine tempted Libby into the garden to refresh her pots. Sending Ben off to buy more compost from Nella at the nursery shop, she began re-planting some of the plants that had survived winter.
Ben reappeared lugging a large sack of compost and the landline phone, which he held out.
‘Andrew,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.
Libby took it with a muddy hand.
‘Andrew? What is it?’
‘Oh, all sorts of things! Look, can I come over when we have a lunch break here? Ian has given me permission to talk to you.’
‘That sounds exciting. Yes, of course you can come. Shall I ask Fran, too?’
‘If she’s prepared to make the journey from Nethergate, yes.’
‘I’ll see,’ said Libby. ‘The trouble is, it’s Saturday and the shop gets busy.’
‘Ask her anyway, or she’ll feel left out.’
Libby laughed. ‘I will. What time will you be here?’
‘About twelve thirty, I imagine. See you later.’
Assuming that Andrew would require lunch, Libby made soup and dug some rolls out of the freezer to crisp up in the oven.
‘Lovely,’ said Andrew, when he came into the kitchen later. ‘Now – I really must tell you what’s been going on. It’s all very mysterious.’
‘First of all – did you tell Ian about Nick Heap and Edward?’
‘I did. And he told me that his team had been enquiring among the local history societies.’
‘Ah. Fran rang one of those this morning. They said they’d had the police on, but they didn’t know anything.’
‘That’s what they all said. Some of them knew a bit about it – what appears on websites, basically – you know, the auction and so on, but very little detail about the family.’
‘What about the Hellfire Club angle?’
‘Nothing, although they may have been clamming up about that, but Ian says his officers went about the matter very delicately I didn’t know policemen could be delicate.’
‘Well, our local historian we told you about last night doesn’t know anything, either. Sophie asked him this morning.’
‘Oh, dear. Ian was having someone track him down and ask him today. That doesn’t sound promising.’
‘So what about Edward?’
‘Our one ray of hope,’ said Andrew with a smile. ‘He’s going to try and look up his sources, which he thinks will relate to the previous case, and he’s coming down!’
‘He said it was a pity he couldn’t come down,’ said Libby. ‘What changed his mind?’
‘Ian did.’
‘How?’
‘By tempting him with treasure. Now, can I have some of that soup?’
Chapter Thirty-one
‘Treasure?’ gasped Libby.
‘You’ll remember we looked for treasure before?’ Andrew accepted more soup.
‘The Civil War connection,’ said Libby. ‘But your documents said the tunnels at Notbourne were dug in the – what was it – 1790s? The others were much earlier.’
‘Yes, but what else did we find – or you find?’
‘Smugglers and French prisoners of war,’ said Ben.
‘And these are –?’ Libby shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘I should have thought of it myself,’ said Andrew, ‘and I’m surprised that none of us made the connection.’
‘You only found out about the tunnels yesterday for goodness sake,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps we might have done, in time. Are they smugglers’ tunnels, then?’
‘They’ve found nineteenth-century items in there, but they haven’t got very far yet. They’re doing a geo-physics survey and a GPR, but the work is going rather slowly.’
‘GPR – is that ground penetrating radar?’ asked Libby.
Andrew nodded, busy with his soup.
‘Hmm.’ Libby leant her chin on her hand, thinking. ‘If they haven’t got very far yet, it means the tunnel is blocked, doesn’t it?’
‘Not entirely,’ said Andrew.
‘But even if it’s only partially blocked, that means it hasn’t been in use recently, surely?’
‘That’s what I was thinking,’ said Ben.
‘You said Ian tempted Edward down here with treasure,’ said Libby. ‘But his period is the Civil Wars and the Restoration. He wouldn’t be interested inthe later stuff.’
‘But he discovered the tunnels when he was looking into houses from his period, so they must have been there then,’ said Andrew. ‘It’s beginning to look as if they were possibly dug out during the Civil War – or earlier, perhaps during Elizabeth’s reign – and then utilised by the so-called Abbey of Notbourne, and possibly by smugglers and prisoners of war too.’
‘It’s all very interesting,’ said Ben, ‘but what does it have to do with the murders? And young Roly?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Andrew. ‘Ian isn’t on site any more, and I think I was only really there as a courtesy, so I don’t have to go back. And I don’t think anyone would tell me anything if I did.’
‘Are you not going back, then?’ asked Libby.
‘I might pop in on my way home – it’s only a short diversion. If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know.’
‘Do you know when Edward’s coming down?’
‘No, but Ian seemed to think as soon as possible.’
‘Do you think he’ll stay at the pub again?’
‘He might stay over at Shott,’ said Ben. ‘What’s the name of the pub there?’
‘The Poacher. Can’t remember if it’s got any rooms, though,’ said Libby. ‘I would have thought he’d come here.’
‘If you’re worried about seeing him,’ said Ben, ‘I’m sure he’ll be in touch.’
‘I’m not worried,’ said Libby, lifting her chin, and both Ben and Andrew laughed.
Shortly afterwards, Andrew left.
‘I thought there was going to be some kind of huge revelation,’ said Libby, putting plates in the dishwasher, ‘and it was really only about Edward coming down.’
‘There was more to it than that,’ said Ben. ‘The fact that the tunnels have been there for a lot longer than you thought, and were used for far more, too. In fact, has it occurred to you that they might not even have been used as a Hellfire Club?’
‘But Andrew found evidence –’ began Libby.
‘Did he really? Or did he make inferences? Draw conclusions?’
‘No.’ Libby shook her head firmly. ‘I remember him saying that it actually stated in the documents somewhere that the Lord Cheveley who was supposed to have dug the tunnels wanted to uphold Sir Francis Dashwood’s traditions, and there were sketches of decorations that were supposed to be found in the so-called dining room. I didn’t look at those.’
‘Even so, it might have been a bit pie in the sky. Lord Cheveley might have wanted to have grand and uninhibited gatherings in his underground lair and made plans for it, but it might never have come off.’
‘What are you saying?’ Libby watched him with a puzzled look on her face. ‘That it’s all made up?’
‘It could be, couldn’t it?’
‘I suppose so,’ she said slowly. ‘But in that case, what about the stuff Edward found out?’
‘I don’t expect it’s got anything to do with your story,’ said Ben. ‘And I still can’t see that it’s got anything to do with the murders. Or Roly.’
‘Oh, I can, but I don’t know what.’ Libby wandered out into the garden and stared at the pots she’d been working with that morning.
‘Do you know,’ she said after a moment, turning back to Ben, ‘I think I need some more bedding plants for these pots.’
‘You do?’ Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘Why – all of a sudden?’
‘I thought we could drive up to the nursery,’ she said slyly.
‘I wish you’d thought of that before I dragged the compost halfway down the high street.’
‘Ah, but I hadn’t thought of it then.’
Ben frowned. ‘Thought of what?’
‘Joe.’
‘Joe?’ Joe ran the Cattlegreen Nursery just outside the village, while his wife Nella ran the farm shop in the high street.
‘Yes. Remember when we found out he knew all about the smuggling routes and all the great houses because he said local people always know?’
‘But you said the local history groups didn’t know?’
‘Local history groups aren’t always made up of local people, are they? Not the real, down-to-earth, lived-here-for-generations locals.’
‘Hmm.’ Ben narrowed his eyes at her. ‘So I suppose I drive?’
‘I can go on my own,’ said Libby.
He laughed. ‘But you don’t want to. Come on, then. We’d better take my car if you’re going to buy masses of plants.’
Cattlegreen Nursery was busy. Libby could see young Owen, the “boy”, busy with something in among the rows of plants, and Joe inside by the till serving customers.
‘Bit early for the Christmas tree,’ he said with a grin as he came out to speak to them.
‘Bedding plants, Joe,’ said Libby. ‘Begonias and geraniums.’
Joe’s eyebrows rose. ‘I thought you got all that sort of thing from Mike Farthing.’
‘He doesn’t supply mere mortals, Joe, you know that.’
‘But I thought – with your cousin –’
‘Not even then,’ said Ben. ‘Besides, you know Libby. She has an agenda.’
‘Might have known,’ said Joe, with a chuckle. ‘I wondered if you actually knew what to do with bedding plants! What it is this time?’
‘I genuinely need plants,’ said Libby with a rueful grin. ‘That cousin you just mentioned gave me two beautifully planted pots last year …’
‘And you’ve let them go,’ said Joe. ‘Come on, then, I’ll help you choose. And what was it you wanted to ask me?’
‘Do you remember telling us a couple of years ago that all the big houses round here had tunnels?’
‘Most of ’em.’
‘Well, what do you know about Notbourne Court? Nobody seems to know anything about that.’
Joe stopped by the pelargonium section.
‘Notbourne? There’s only an old ruin there, now.’
<
br /> ‘Yes, but do you know anything about the estate?’
‘Bad reputation.’
Libby looked expectant.
‘Old boy was a bad payer. Couldn’t sell up’s what I heard, so pulled the place down.’
‘Yes, we knew about that,’ said Libby. ‘What about tunnels?’
‘Not that I heard,’ said Joe. ‘Leastways, not in living memory.’
‘The smugglers weren’t in living memory and you knew about those,’ said Libby.
Joe grinned. ‘You know what I mean. Course, there may have been all sorts up there nobody knew about. Strange family. Old man used to go about in monk’s robes.’
‘Monk’s robes?’ Libby’s voice rose, and Owen looked across. His face cleared when he saw Libby.
‘Yes.’ Joe looked surprised. ‘Now, everyone knew about that. Not that I was around o’course. Rowed with his family, they said.’
‘With one of them, certainly,’ said Libby.
‘And old Stephanie died – oh, back in the eighties. Left it to someone else.’
‘Yes.’ Libby stared down at the plants which had somehow accumulated in her trolley. ‘We knew all that. And we’ve met the last of the Hays line.’
‘Last? I thought Stephanie was the last?’
‘The family she left it to did some research and discovered there was another descendent. She’s staying in Steeple Martin now,’ said Ben.
‘Well, well,’ said Joe, shaking his head. ‘Lost sight of it all over the years, I s’pose. Thought there was only a bit of a ruin left. Cottages were all shut up, weren’t they?’
‘There were only two of them,’ said Libby, deciding not to say too much about Chestnut Cottage.
‘Right, well, sorry I couldn’t be more help,’ said Joe, adding a large and showy plant to the trolley. ‘Tunnels, eh? More treasure, I s’pose?’
‘I don’t think so, Joe,’ said Libby, looking down at the increased number of plants and wondering how she was going to fit them all in. ‘I don’t think I’d better buy any more.’
‘Oh, you can’t refuse Owen,’ said Ben, as Owen, beaming as usual, arrived bearing a large scarlet pelargonium which appeared to be climbing up a support.
‘I didn’t think they did that,’ said Libby, taken aback.
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