Murder on the Run

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘How terrible.’ Bethany looked at her feet. ‘I shall write them down and we’ll include them both.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s not much, but I feel I need to make some sort of gesture.’

  Bethany looked up. ‘Did you know them, Libby?’

  ‘No. Just – as usual – a set of unfortunate coincidences.’

  The vicar smiled. ‘But that’s usually what leads you to the truth, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s usually the police, if truth be told.’ Libby smiled back ruefully. ‘And someone’s looking for you.’

  Beth turned back to the church to appease the irritated looking churchwarden who had come to find her.

  The small congregation paid little attention to Libby sitting in the back pew, despite efforts to move her forward. She noticed a stir among the bent heads when the names of Lisa and Rowena were read out, but nothing more. At the end of the service, as soon as Bethany had passed down the aisle and out to the porch to greet her parishioners, Libby was out of her pew.

  ‘Thanks, Beth.’

  The vicar drew her forward to kiss her cheek. ‘You look a bit frazzled. Do you feel any better?’ she asked.

  ‘I do, actually. Very settling. I ought to try it more.’ Libby stepped back. ‘I’d better let you talk to your flock.’

  Just as she turned away, a voice said ‘It’s Mrs Sarjeant, isn’t it?’

  She turned round to see a small woman in an unsuitably thick tweed coat and a pale blue fluffy beret smiling at her nervously.

  ‘Yes, that’s me. Libby Sarjeant.’ Libby put on her friendliest smile.

  ‘You investigate things, don’t you?’ The woman’s voice shook slightly.

  ‘Well – not really …’ Libby let it hang.

  ‘I just wondered if you were anything to do with Mrs Samuels.’

  ‘Mrs – oh! Rowena Samuels. Well, I have been involved a little. Mrs –?’

  ‘Janet Dory. I live in Lendle Lane.’

  ‘Mrs Dory. Can I help you somehow?’

  ‘I just wondered …’ Janet Dory hesitated, her wrinkled face crumpling. ‘I knew her, you see. When she was Rowena Harris.’

  ‘Really? I – I’m sorry.’ Libby didn’t know what to say.

  Janet Dory gave another small smile.

  ‘Oh, we hadn’t kept in touch. I just wondered …’ She stopped.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wondered if she’d come back to live.’ Mrs Dory looked up into Libby’s face. ‘Do you know?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘I think she was planning something different, Mrs Dory. But can you tell me something else? When her parents inherited Notbourne Court, where did they live? After all, the Court itself had been demolished by then.’

  ‘They actually lived in Canterbury before Miss Hays left them the estate. But then they moved to Maple Cottage. That’s one of the cottages left on the estate.’

  ‘I know,’ said Libby, slightly appalled at the coincidence of Rowena’s final resting place. ‘Look – would you like a cup of tea? They serve tea in the narthex, don’t they?’

  ‘Well …’ Janet Dory hesitated, clutching her handbag tighter to her chest. ‘All right. That would be nice.’

  Libby led the way back into the church and noticed Bethany’s raised eyebrow.

  ‘How do you like the Reverend Cole?’ she asked as they collected two white mugs of tea.

  ‘She took a bit of getting used to,’ said Janet, ‘but most of us came round to her. A few didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Oh, of course!’ Janet laid a hand on Libby’s sleeve. ‘I’m so sorry! Of course you know all about that. You were attacked, weren’t you?’

  ‘I was,’ said Libby grimly, remembering a previous adventure, not so long ago.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Janet sat down on one of the chairs Libby had found for them.

  ‘It’s fine.’ Libby pasted on a bright smile. ‘Now tell me how you knew Rowena.’

  ‘We both taught at the village school in Steeple Mount. Closed now, of course. She was younger than I was, but we became friends.’

  ‘When was this – before Notbourne or after?’

  ‘Both.’ Janet smiled. ‘She started at the school in – when was it – must have been 1982 or 1983. She still lived at home with her parents then.’

  ‘So she wasn’t married?’

  ‘Not then. But after they all moved to Maple Cottage she began seeing Derek Samuels …’ The corners of Janet’s mouth turned down.

  ‘You didn’t like him?’

  ‘No.’ Janet sat up straight, looking defiant. ‘He seemed to enjoy telling her what to do – how to behave. You know?’

  ‘Controlling and manipulative?’ suggested Libby.

  Janet nodded. ‘Exactly. Of course, things weren’t quite as – as – as modern,’ she came up with triumphantly, ‘as they are today, and women were still a little bit dependent on men. It seems very odd now, in today’s society.’

  ‘It does. It still amazes me – the progress in society and technology that has been made in the last twenty, or even ten years. So they married, Derek and Rowena?’

  ‘Yes. And went to live in Chestnut Cottage.’

  ‘Ah. But they moved away?’

  ‘Later, yes. Rowena continued to teach for a few years after the marriage, but she left – quite suddenly – and none of us heard from her again. I tried calling at both Chestnut and Maple Cottage, but I got no reply at Chestnut, and at Maple Mrs Harris said she’d give her a message.’ Janet shook her head. ‘But she seemed worried.’

  ‘Mrs Harris did? And you never saw Derek Samuels?’

  ‘No. I went round a couple of times, in the early evenings, when I thought he would be home from work, but I never got an answer.’ She shook her head. ‘To be honest, I wouldn’t have been surprised to have heard she was dead back then.’

  ‘You were that worried?’

  ‘I was. But then – oh, it must have been ten years later – she wrote to me. Luckily, I was still at the same address.’

  ‘Golly. What did she say?’

  ‘She said Derek had died and she was living in London and wasn’t sure what to do about the Court. She said Derek had been much more fond of it than she was, but now he was dead, she thought it ought to go back to the family it originally belonged to, and what did I remember about them.’

  ‘Yes, that’s just what she wanted to do,’ agreed Libby.

  Janet nodded. ‘Well, I wrote back, you know, saying how lovely it was to hear from her and so on, and told her as much as I knew about Miss Hays and the family. I remembered stories of old Lord Cheveley who demolished the house going round in a monk’s habit.’

  ‘Yes, we heard about that,’ said Libby.

  ‘Well, I found out that there was nobody living in either of the cottages and the remaining land was very overgrown, and she asked me to find a local firm to clear the ground and let her have the details.’

  ‘So did she tidy up the cottages?’

  ‘I’m not sure. She said she was putting everything in the hands of a firm of solicitors and they would look after everything until she’d decided what to do. And then the letters stopped.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem very fair. She was using you,’ said Libby indignantly.

  Janet smiled. ‘Oh, I didn’t mind. I’d retired by then, and my husband was always off doing his golf or up at the allotment, so I had time to fill, and Rowena and I would never have had much in common.’

  Libby regarded the little woman with her head on one side. The she made up her mind.

  ‘She found the family, you know.’

  ‘The Hays?’ Janet gaped.

  ‘The last living member of the family, descended from the son who went off to Ireland.’

  ‘No! And then the poor soul died. Did she hand over the estate?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. But the lady she found is here in Steeple Martin now. She came to try and find out why Rowena had stopped writing to her.’

  ‘Goo
dness.’ Janet frowned. ‘Do you think Rowena was killed – she was killed, wasn’t she? – because she was going to give away the estate?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Libby, ‘but it’s not worth much, is it? The building itself is gone.’

  ‘The two cottages must both be worth something.’ She smiled. ‘And then, of course, there was the treasure.’

  Libby jumped. ‘The treasure?’

  ‘Oh, it was only an old story. There’s a story like it in all the old families up and down the country. I love them, history was my specialism, as they say today, although I taught primary school, so there was a bit of everything. But no, this is a story that you find everywhere. Especially in great old houses where the family has been for centuries.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. There have been dozens of detective stories about exactly that, haven’t there? My friends and I knew a house like that, although it wasn’t an especially large house or estate, but it belonged to someone who fought in the Civil Wars and was supposed to have left treasure behind to take care of his family.’

  Janet turned surprised eyes on her. ‘Yes, dear, exactly. That’s exactly what Lord Cheveley was supposed to have done in 1648. Hid his gold in his private chapel.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Libby sat back in her chair and simply stared until Janet Dory became uncomfortable.

  ‘What is it, dear? What have I said?’

  Libby pulled herself together. ‘I’m sorry, Janet. It’s just that the police have been trying to find out about the history of the Court, and no one seemed to know anything. Even the local history expert didn’t.’

  ‘What were you asking about?’ Janet’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘The tunnels. We heard there were tunnels. Everyone said there weren’t.’

  Janet smiled. ‘The chapel was dug underground.’

  ‘Dug – oh. You mean it was a Catholic chapel?’

  ‘Of course, dear.’

  Libby remembered someone saying it could date back to Elizabethan times. Edward, she supposed. She frowned.

  ‘You say it was an old story. Do you mean that a lot of people knew it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But it was always “The gold in the chapel” that people talked about. They didn’t mention tunnels.’

  ‘So that’s why no one knew anything. But when they were asked, why didn’t they mention the chapel?’

  Janet shrugged. ‘Because it was only an old story.I shouldn’t think anyone knows for sure if there was a chapel, except that the Cheveleys – or Hays – were a Catholic family, and that was a dangerous thing to be at one time. And then, they were King’s Men. That Lord Cheveley and his son fought at the Battle of Maidstone.’

  ‘Yes, I know about that,’ said Libby, and Janet nodded approval.

  ‘Do the police think it’s true, then? The story of the gold in the chapel?’

  ‘I don’t know, but the tunnels were mentioned and they thought it was worth looking into.

  ‘Well, if it was there, I would bet it isn’t now. That Derek Samuels would have found it and taken it.’ Janet’s mouth thinned in disapproval.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘A greedy businessman, that’s what he was. And his sister, too. No feeling for anybody else. Kick you out on the street as soon as look at you, the pair of them.’

  Surprised at the venom in gentle Janet’s voice, Libby leant back to stare at her.

  ‘Landlords, were they?’

  ‘Among other things.’ Janet paused. ‘In fact, I often wondered what Derek saw in Rowena. Not that she wasn’t a pretty young woman, but she didn’t seem to have anything that a man like Derek would want. If the Court had been still a valuable property, I could have understood it.’

  Libby felt a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Sorry, Libby, but the ladies want to clear up now.’ Bethany glanced curiously at Janet. ‘All right, Mrs Dory?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, Vicar.’ Janet gave a bright smile and stood up. ‘Talking to – ah – Libby has been most interesting.’

  ‘It usually is,’ said Bethany.

  Libby grinned and stood up. ‘Thank you for talking to me about Rowena, Mrs Dory. If I hear anything else, I’ll let Beth know and she can pass it on.’

  Janet Dory stuck out her hand. ‘No, thank you, Libby. And please, call me Janet.’ She smiled at Libby and Bethany and turning, scuttled out.

  ‘Well, that was a turn-up for the books,’ said Libby, as Bethany walked her to the door.

  ‘About the murder was it?’ asked Bethany.

  ‘Murders, plural. Yes. She knew one of the victims.’

  ‘Really? This place never ceases to surprise me.’

  ‘Most small communities are like that. And all the villages know each other, too. You’ve only got to think of Patti’s extended parishes. What are yours? Just the Steeples?’

  ‘And that’s more than enough,’ said Bethany. ‘Although Steeple Cross hasn’t got its own church, we meet in the village hall once a month. Steeple Mount’s is quite pretty, though. Nice congregation.’

  ‘Isn’t this one?’ Libby grinned slyly.

  ‘That’s a leading question, as you know!’ Bethany laughed. ‘Look I’ve got to go. Nice to see you here today.’

  ‘It was nice to be here,’ said Libby, ‘but don’t count on me becoming a regular.’

  She walked slowly home, thinking about what Janet had told her.

  ‘Does it make any difference?’ asked Ben when she relayed the conversation.

  ‘Well, it looks as if the police were asking the wrong question, doesn’t it? Should have been asking about the gold in the chapel, apparently.’

  ‘Are you going to tell Ian?’ Ben asked innocently.

  Libby snorted. ‘You obviously think I shouldn’t.’

  ‘You keep saying you don’t want to be involved.’

  ‘I’ll tell Fran. She can decide.’ Libby pulled out her phone. ‘Then we’d better get off to the Manor or we’ll be late for lunch.’

  ‘I’m in the car, Lib,’ said Fran when she answered. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’re not driving?’ said Libby.

  ‘Of course not! Guy’s taking Sophie and me out for lunch. We’re going over to The Dragon.’

  ‘Oh, lovely. Well, listen. I need your opinion.’

  Fran was silent for a moment when Janet Dory’s story had been concluded.

  ‘I think Sophie’s meeting some of the Harriers tonight at their pub –’

  There was a muffled ‘Yes,’ in the background.

  ‘So I’ll ask her to ask Nick Heap about the gold in the chapel instead. And depending on what he says, we’ll tell Ian tomorrow. There’s quite a bit of new information there.’

  ‘Unless the police have already found out all about it.’

  ‘They might have. I’m surprised these stories didn’t come up in their own investigations. Or in Andrew’s.’

  ‘We didn’t know what we were looking for, I suppose,’ said Libby. ‘And it still leaves the reason both the women were killed unsolved.’

  ‘From what this woman told you, I’d be inclined to suspect this Samuels person, if he wasn’t already dead.’

  ‘Me, too. She did say he had a sister. I wonder if she’s still around?’

  ‘If she is, she hasn’t got a connection to any of this,’ said Fran. ‘Look, we’re just driving into the car park. I’ll let you know if Sophie hears anything from Nick Heap.’

  Following their usual routine, after lunch at the Manor, Libby and Ben accompanied Peter back to the cottage he shared with Harry, who arrived, still in his chef’s whites, at almost the same time.

  ‘Sunday is a very boozy time, isn’t it?’ said Harry as he collapsed on the saggy sofa and accepted a glass from Peter. ‘Mind you, your life is a very boozy time, isn’t it, petal?’

  ‘I don’t drink any more than the rest of you,’ said Libby indignantly.

  ‘There just seem to be so many more opportunities for the odd glass of wine,’ teased Harry, eyin
g her over the rim of his glass.

  ‘You can talk! You work in a restaurant. And who is it who hands out free drinks, eh?’

  ‘Children, children!’ said Peter peaceably. ‘Now, Libby. You were dying to say something at lunchtime, but sensibly restrained yourself. What is it? Have you solved Ian’s murder for him?’

  ‘No, I went to church.’

  Harry choked on his wine.

  ‘I did. I wanted to clear my head, and I was fed up with the whole thing.’ Libby sent a warning look to them all. ‘And I met a little old lady called Janet Dory.’

  ‘Did she know Flo?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Oh! I never thought to ask! Do you think she’s part of their knitting circle or whatever it is? Flo and Dolly Webley and Una in Steeple Lane?’

  The elderly ladies were a mine of information on the village and its inhabitants past and present. And future, too, if Libby knew anything about it.

  ‘Flo knows what’s been going on and she’s never mentioned knowing anything about the Court or the Hays family,’ she said.

  ‘But Flo’s a “newcomer” like my mum,’ said Ben. ‘They haven’t lived here all their lives like the others. She might not know.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Libby. ‘But I could ask her to ask them.’

  ‘Just tell us what this old lady told you,’ said Peter.

  So she did.

  ‘I don’t see where it gets you,’ said Harry. ‘Why was the first girl killed? What was being protected? Because that’s what it looks like, isn’t it? She was installed in that cottage to look after something – to stop people seeing it. And for some reason, she was killed, which only had the effect of concentrating attention on the place. That doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’ Libby frowned. ‘But just suppose the gold in the chapel story is true – no, it still doesn’t make any sense. If the gold was being protected, why remove its protection?’

  ‘I think the gold theory is a little far-fetched,’ said Peter. ‘As your nice old lady said, it’s a story that does the rounds of every old house. I bet you’ve got some up at the Manor, Ben.’

  ‘I remember Hetty’s reaction when we told her she might have secret tunnels up there,’ said Libby. ‘She told us no one was going to dig up her floors.’