‘Course they do.’ Owen nodded vigorously. ‘Climb up your fence, it will.’
‘Right.’ Libby took the heavy pot while Ben made room for it in the trolley. ‘Thank you, Owen. I shall take great care of it.’
Owen and Ben loaded the trays of plants into the Range Rover while Libby paid for them.
‘Let me know about them tunnels,’ said Joe. ‘Got me interested, now!’
‘Mad Monks again,’ Libby said to Ben as they drove back towards the village. ‘And I’ve just had a thought. Andrew had heard of Notbourne because there’d been a dig there – Roman and Romano-British finds, I think he said. And Fran and I did think about the Kent Archaeological Trust – they’d know about it. I’m just wondering if that’s where Edward heard about the tunnels.’
‘They aren’t that old,’ said Ben, rounding the bend into Steeple Martin and waiting to turn right into Allhallow’s Lane.
‘No, but it may mention them. In an archaeological report or something.’
‘I should imagine both Andrew and Ian’s team have gone through every possible source by now,’ said Ben, pulling the Range Rover in behind the silver bullet opposite number 17. ‘And why are you bothered? Have you gone back to not trusting Edward again?’
‘Of course not. I just wondered how he knew about those tunnels back when we were looking into Dark House.’
‘Because,’ said Ben, exasperated, ‘we were looking into tunnels! For goodness’ sake, woman! Get that door open!’
Libby wisely shut up.
Plants unloaded and tea made, they both went to sit under the cherry tree.
‘There are too many for the pots,’ said Libby.
Ben’s face darkened. ‘I am not going back to buy pots!’
‘No, no!’ Libby hastened to reassure him. ‘I was going to say, I can fill up the beds with the overflow. And that climbing one can go against the trellis on the fence.’
‘Are you turning into a gardener?’
‘No, of course not. I don’t know anything about it,’ said Libby. ‘I just think it will look pretty.’
‘Well, let’s do it in the morning, not now,’ said Ben. ‘I think we ought to be thinking about dinner.’
‘Dinner? It’s too early for dinner!’
‘No, I thought we might go over to The Dragon. You and the boys have been over there recently, but I haven’t. I’ve a fancy for one of the tagines.’
‘Oh!’ said Libby in surprise. ‘That would be lovely. Hadn’t we better book?’
Ben grinned. ‘I’ve already done it. While you were making the tea.’
‘Sneaky wotsit,’ said Libby. ‘Shall I drive?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Ben. ‘Not that I don’t trust you …’
Libby thumped him on the arm.
Chapter Thirty-two
The Dragon was packed, but still the chef managed to come out and have a word with them and sent his regards to Harry.
‘It is gorgeous food,’ said Libby at length, laying down her fork. ‘I can’t even manage a dessert.’
‘Neither can I,’ said Ben. ‘Do you want coffee, or shall we head back so that I can have a drink?’
‘Good idea.’ Libby reached down into her bag. ‘Pub or home?’
‘Pub,’ said Ben. ‘I need a pint.’
‘We might see Faith,’ warned Libby.
‘For the sake of a pint I really don’t mind.’ Ben gestured to the waiter and asked for the bill.
Ben parked outside the cottage once more and they strolled back to the pub.
‘You go in,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll just put my head round the door of the caff, see if they can join us.’
Libby pushed open the pub door and went into the bar, where she stopped dead. Sitting at a table by the empty fireplace sat Faith Conway, deep in conversation with Edward Hall.
‘Edward!’
He looked up, his face breaking into his huge, white smile.
‘Libby!’ He came forward to give her a hug.
‘I see you’ve met Faith,’ she said, when she emerged.
‘Yes – but no coincidence. Andrew told me to ask for her when he heard I’d booked in here.’
‘I thought he might have come over himself,’ said Faith, sounding, Libby thought, slightly plaintive.
‘No, we’ll see each other tomorrow,’ said Edward, blithely unconscious of any undercurrent. ‘I called you, Libby, in case you wanted to meet for dinner. Where’s Ben?’
‘On his way,’ said Libby. ‘We went over toThe Dragon for dinner. Remember it?’
‘Gorgeous tagines,’ said Edward, then turned back to Faith, sitting looking melancholy. ‘Sorry, Faith, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’ Libby could have sworn she saw the ghost of a wink as he said this.
Faith, however, stayed exactly where she was.
Ben appeared, with Peter behind him, and Edward darted over to greet them.
‘Do you know everybody?’ asked Faith, in a flat voice.
‘It just so happens,’ said Libby, ‘that all these people are concerned about what happened at your old family home, which you were also looking into.’
‘What’s Edward got to do with it? He said he’s a Professor of History.’
Bandying titles about, was he? Hmm, thought Libby. Not said anything about the tunnels, then.
‘Andrew asked his opinion on something to do with the estate,’ she said out loud.‘Did Andrew not tell you?’
‘I haven’t spoken to him today. I tried to call him yesterday, but he didn’t answer.’ Faith twisted her hands together. ‘Actually, I was thinking of going home. There isn’t anything I can do here, and now they’ve found Rowena …’ She looked down at her twisting hands.
‘I suppose there isn’t,’ said Libby. ‘Except that you might find out more about your old home and your family.’
‘It was never my home,’ said Faith.
‘About your family, then,’ persisted Libby.
‘I don’t think there’s anything much to find out. They don’t seem very respectable, do they?’
You don’t know the half of it, thought Libby.
‘I suppose, now you know what happened to Rowena,’ she said out loud, ‘you’ve achieved what you wanted to do here.’
‘But I haven’t – I don’t know what happened. All I know is she’s dead.’
Libby’s brow wrinkled. ‘That’s true.’
Edward, Ben and Peterjoined them at the table.
‘Quite like old times, isn’t it?’ said Edward, sending his beaming white smile round the company.
‘Let’s hope not quite like that,’ said Ben. ‘Hello, Faith.’
Faith essayed a small smile and Edward looked embarrassed.
‘Actually,’ said Peter, ‘I came with Ben to ask if Edward would like to come and have a drink in the caff.’ He flicked an invisible speck of dust from his shirt without looking at any of them, and Libby marvelled, not only at his immediate grasp of the situation,but his considerable aplomb in dealing with it.
‘What a good idea,’ she said, and turned to Faith. ‘Sorry to leave you alone, Faith, but as Edward said, we’ve all got a lot of catching up to do.’
Faith shrugged. ‘I’m going up to read, anyway.’
‘Let us know what you intend to do.’ Libby stood up, followed by the three men. ‘Goodnight.’
With murmured “goodnights” all round, they left the pub.
‘That was quick thinking, Pete.’ Libby tucked her arm into her friend’s.
‘It was fairly obvious that she was going to stick like a burr, and you couldn’t talk to Edward while she was there,’ said Peter.
‘Yes, Edward had already given her a hint, but she stayed put. She seems a bit fed up.’
‘She was expecting Andrew,’ said Edward. ‘I gather she’s after him?’
‘We think so,’ said Libby, ‘but they’ve only just met.’
‘It’s more than that, though,’ continued Edward. ‘From what she said to me, I think she was hoping
to claim this Notbourne Estate. But then she said it wasn’t worth it. I think somebody had better explain this more thoroughly to me.’
Inside the Pink Geranium, after Harry greeted Edward effusively, and had his own invitation explained to him, they sat in the left-hand window round the coffee table, while the last of the diners finished their meals.
Ben and Libby between them told Edward the whole story, including Faith’s involvement.
‘Ah, that’s what she meant.’ Edward held up his brandy glass to the light and twirled it appreciatively. ‘I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. I suppose she assumed the estate was worth more than it is?’
‘Must have done,’ said Harry, who had joined them, sitting astride a chair with his arms resting along the back. ‘Same as she was sure she had the Prof on a hook when they had dinner in here.’
‘Was she awful?’ asked Libby. ‘We were doing our best to ignore them.’
‘Fluttery and flirty,’ said Harry. ‘At her age. Honestly.’
‘Watch it, sunshine,’ said Libby.
Harry grinned. ‘You aren’t fluttery and flirty, flower. You’re more like a busy bee, nosing into everything.’
Peter and Ben laughed, and Edward snorted.
‘I’m glad you all think that’s funny,’ said Libby, ‘but on the whole, I’d prefer to be a bee. I like bees.’
‘Now you know the whole story,’ said Ben, ‘Libby and Fran were desperate to know where you found out about the tunnels when you were here before, because they can’t find out anything about them.’
‘As far as I can remember it was in a private collection. They were mentioned in conjunction with the smuggling tunnels, but went back to the Elizabethan period.’
‘So Lord Cheveley didn’t dig them out in the 1790s, as it said in the archives,’ said Libby.
‘You have to be very careful with historical documentation,’ said Edward. ‘I’m sure Andrew will have told you, but you often get different versions, and especially if the document was written after the event – sometimes years after.’
‘The Venerable Bede.’Libby nodded wisely.
‘An extreme example,’ said Edward.
‘I was going to give another example,’ said Harry, ‘but if I did, Patti wouldn’t love me any more.’
Libby smiled. ‘Do you remember our friend Patti, Edward? The vicar?’
‘Ah, yes.’ Edward grinned at Harry. ‘I get the reference now. Anyway, these tunnels, or at least parts of them, were there back in the sixteenth century. It’s thought they were in use during the Civil Wars, and I have no doubt that if this Lord Cheveley was hell bent, if you’ll pardon the pun, on following in Francis Dashwood’s footsteps, he could have started using them again.’
‘I expect he enlarged them, don’t you?’ said Libby. ‘To make them into his temple, or whatever it was.’
‘It’s all very intriguing,’ said Peter, leaning back and stretching out his long legs, ‘but I’m still struggling to find out what any of this has to do with the disappearance and death of Lisa Harwood.’
‘Or Rowena Thing?’ said Harry.
‘She owned the estate, such as it was,’ said Libby, ‘and it looks as if she didn’t know she also owned tunnels.’
‘I’d quite like to own tunnels,’ said Harry, a faraway look in his eye. Peter gave him a jab in the ribs.
‘Andrew said you were tempted down here by treasure,’ said Libby, turning back to Edward. ‘Is that true?’
‘In a way.’ Edward leant forward, elbows on knees. ‘Andrew found out that the Lord Cheveley of 1648 was another who fought at the Battle of Maidstone. Your DCI Connell put two and two together, came up with seventeen, and called me.’
‘Andrew didn’t tell us that,’ said Libby.
‘I don’t think he thought it was relevant,’ said Edward. ‘Anyway, Inspector Connell wondered if there might be any artefacts in the tunnels from that time and asked if I’d like to come and have a look. How could I resist?’
‘As you said, just like old times,’ said Ben wryly.
‘Why did Ian want to know, though?’ asked Libby, with a puzzled frown. ‘It doesn’t matter when the tunnels were dug. I mean, I know we were interested, but it doesn’t have any bearing on the case, does it?’
‘I don’t know, but I think he’s being thorough. If this woman – the first one – was living on the estate in a highly secretive manner, there must be a reason for it, and perhaps it’s in the tunnels.’
‘More treasure left behind for the family, you mean?’
Edward shrugged. ‘It’s possible. Unlikely, but possible.’
‘Well, I still can’t see what it has to do with the murders,’ said Ben.
‘As I said, I think Inspector Connell is just being thorough. If I knew about the tunnels, someone else must have done, and was that the reason for keeping quiet? If someone was using them for criminal purposes, perhaps.’
‘Like the sex parties?’ said Harry. ‘Except that I didn’t think sex was illegal – yet.’
‘There must be more to it than sex, then,’ said Ben. ‘Is it still illegal to keep a brothel? Would they be organising prostitution?’
‘Oh, heavens, I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘It looks as though Faith’s thinking about going home, so that complication might be gone, and if the police can find Roly …’
‘Are you going through one of your “giving up” phases?’ asked Peter.
‘Yes.’ Libby pulled down the corners of her mouth. ‘I think the tunnels are a distraction. And I can’t see any connection to the deaths of two women – and it’s none of my business anyway.’
Everyone laughed.
‘Libby’s Loonies can’t function without their leader,’ said Edward.
Libby gave a tired smile. ‘But the police can. And Ian knows what he’s doing. If he’s got a reason for looking at the tunnels, that’s good enough, but I’m not going to worry my head about it.’
‘But you were so excited about the tunnels yesterday,’ said Ben, looking puzzled. ‘And you dragged us up to see Joe this afternoon.’
‘Who’s Joe?’ asked Edward.
‘Owns a plant nursery and his family have lived in the area for ever,’ said Harry. ‘Good bloke.’
‘And he knows all about the old tunnels,’ said Libby, ‘and when you were here before he told us that loads of the country houses had tunnels. So I wanted to ask if he knew about Notbourne. All he told us was that the last Lord Cheveley went around in a monk’s habit.’
Edward raised his eyebrows. ‘Isn’t that significant?’
‘Is it?’
‘Andrew said that the Cheveleys – or the Hays – referred to the tunnels as the Abbey of Notbourne.’
‘Yes.’
‘So …’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘It looked like it to me at first, but would an Edwardian Lord Cheveley still be carrying on Francis Dashwood’s legacy?’
‘Are you going on about Mad Monks again?’ said Harry.
‘It’s a possibility,’ said Edward, ‘although as Libby said, unlikely. And nothing to do with the current problems.’
‘Unless Ian unearths the tunnels and discovers it’s all still going on,’ said Harry.
Chapter Thirty-three
‘But it’s so far-fetched!’ said Libby to Ben as they walked home, leaving Edward still demolishing brandy in The Pink Geranium.
‘The whole thing is a bit far-fetched,’ said Ben, ‘starting with that girl disappearing from the Nethergate 5K. Which isn’t very long, actually, is it? Why did they make such a thing of it? They do that every week on their Park Run, don’t they?’
‘I think it’s a fun run, like our 10K one. There were lots of people in fancy dress, weren’t there? Running for charity.’
‘So why do serious runners do it?’ asked Ben. ‘She was a serious runner, wasn’t she?’
‘Why not?’ said Libby. ‘Every opportunity, I suppose.’
‘I don’t underst
and it,’ said Ben. ‘Do you know Adam told me he’d got a PB this morning.’
‘A what?’
‘PB. It means Personal Best, apparently.’
‘Ah. That’s why they do fun runs and everything. It all has to be authenticated and timed and stuff,’ said Libby. ‘I suppose running round the lanes like Lisa did with young Roly doesn’t count.’
‘Except that they put all the times and distances up on the social media pages with their various devices,’ said Ben.
‘Yes, but I expect that wouldn’t be taken as gospel.’
‘Why not? It’s technology. More accurate than human timekeeping, I would have thought. Did you ever find out about Lisa’s data on that Saturday?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Libby frowned. ‘I can’t remember. Anyway that’s pointless now – she’s dead.’
Ben gave her a sharp look. ‘She is.’
The next morning Libby surprised Ben by announcing that she was going to church.
‘Church?’ he echoed. ‘Why?’
‘I fancied it,’ said Libby. ‘It’s very calming.’
‘Oh.’ He eyed her suspiciously. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to sit at the back and sing if I know any of the hymns.’
Ben wasn’t the only one to be surprised. Flo, wrapped in a floral quilted housecoat, appeared at her door in Maltby Close as she passed, mouth open to ask a question, but Libby simply waved and passed on. Bethany Cole, regal in her white surplice and stole, smiled delightedly as Libby approached.
‘Good Lord! To what do we owe this pleasure?’ she asked, shaking Libby’s hand.
‘The need for a bit of peace,’ said Libby, shamefaced. ‘You don’t mind me using you, do you?’
‘Lord love you, that’s what we’re here for!’ said Beth. ‘Anybody we can include in our prayers this morning?’
‘Well, yes, actually.’ Libby moved slightly away from the door of the church. ‘You remember the girl who was found murdered during the Fun Run?’
‘Yes,’ said the vicar, making a face. ‘How could I forget.’
‘Her name was Lisa Harwood,’ said Libby. ‘And another victim was found this week. Rowena Samuels, the owner of the Notbourne Estate and the cottage where the murdered girl had been living.’
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