Murder in Midwinter

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘The Oast House Theatre,’ read Bella. ‘Wow. Aren’t you lucky?’

  ‘I am. It was Peter Parker and his cousin Ben Wilde who had the idea a couple of years ago, apparently. The oast house was standing empty and belonged to Ben’s family, and as Ben’s an architect, they decided to turn it into a theatre. Then Peter, who’s a journalist, wrote a play about some events that happened in the family during the war, and they got Libby in to direct it, as she’d been a professional once.’

  ‘What a story,’ said Bella, as they approached the Oast House Theatre.

  Fran smiled wryly and glanced sideways. ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ she said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Libby’ll probably tell you eventually,’ said Fran, holding open the glass doors to the foyer. ‘Come on in.’

  Libby was on stage talking to the set designer with much waving of hands. Peter was sitting on the side of the stage looking broody. Fran introduced Bella.

  ‘Do you mind if she watches the rehearsal?’ she asked.

  ‘Up to Lib,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Is that the one who wrote the first play?’ Bella asked in a whisper as Fran settled her in a seat towards the back of the auditorium.

  ‘And this pantomime, yes. He’s Harry’s partner.’

  ‘Harry?’ Bella’s eyes widened. ‘Harry at the restaurant?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fran paused in the act of taking off her coat. ‘You’re not shocked, are you?’

  ‘No.’ Bella looked doubtful. ‘But he’s so handsome.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, you did mean what I thought you meant, didn’t you? He isn’t his business partner?’

  Fran laughed. ‘No, you were right first time,’ she said. ‘But in fact, I believe Peter did buy the restaurant for Harry, so he probably is his business partner as well. Now I must go and see what I’m supposed to be doing tonight.’

  Libby was now marshalling her troops into vaguely cohesive lumps at each side of the stage. ‘Where’s that bloody choreographer?’ she muttered under her breath.

  ‘Behind you!’ shouted the chorus.

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby.

  The choreographer, a sneering young man with all the experience of a West End musical flop behind him, lifted his chin as high as it would go and swept on to the stage. Libby shrugged and went back to her seat in the auditorium.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Everybody ready? Ben? Fran? Are you there?’

  ‘Here,’ came the muffled voices.

  ‘Off we go, then,’ said Libby, and the rehearsal started.

  Apart from the cow falling over itself and the Fairy Queen falling over her helpers, it went reasonably well. Bella was enthusiastic when Libby called for a tea break.

  ‘We’ve never done pantomime at my society in London. I always assumed it would be too hard to do.’

  ‘It is,’ said Libby, ‘and when I was in the professional theatre, the thought of amateur pantomime made me cringe. Some of it still does, but when they’re done well they can be better than pro panto. But hard work, and you can’t tell people off because they’re doing it for nothing.’

  ‘Oh, you should hear our resident director in London,’ said Bella. ‘He tells people off all the time.’

  ‘Don’t they walk out on him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bella and pulled a wry face. ‘All the time.’

  ‘But I suppose you’ve a big catchment area so you can get replacements?’

  ‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Bella, looking doubtful again. Libby eyed her thoughtfully. They were going to have to toughen Mrs Morleigh up.

  Later, in the pub, Bella sat with her mouth slightly open and a dazed expression on her face as she listened to the conversations being conducted across, around and over her. Libby squeezed in beside her.

  ‘Difficult being in with a load of people you’ve never met before, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Fran was like that only a couple of months ago.’

  ‘Was she?’ Bella looked surprised. ‘She looks as though she’s been here for years.’

  ‘It’s knowing the right people,’ said Libby, looking smug. ‘Like me. Oh, I don’t mean knowing me,’ she amended, seeing Bella’s raised eyebrows, ‘I mean, Peter and Harry found me my cottage, so I knew people straight away.’

  ‘And did you know Ben, too?’ asked Bella, who’d noticed the signs of togetherness between Libby and Ben.

  ‘Yes, I knew him, too, but I’ve got to know him much better since I moved here.’ She felt herself blushing and looked up to meet Ben’s amused gaze. ‘He always makes me do that,’ she muttered.

  Bella sighed. ‘You have been lucky,’ she said.

  Libby looked at her, frowning. Unhappy marriage, definitely, she thought.

  ‘Well, so have you, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘Being left a cottage, and a theatre! How exciting.’

  ‘And a body,’ said Bella, ‘but yes, it is exciting. Except that I shall probably have to sell the theatre as it’s virtually derelict, but it’s a good site, so the land will be worth quite a bit.’

  ‘Don’t you want to keep the theatre?’ asked Libby. ‘I would.’

  ‘Yes, I do – did, rather. The body was a bit off-putting, but Mr Grimshaw said it was too far gone to rescue anyway, and there would be no market for that sort of entertainment.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Libby took a sip of her drink. ‘Well, we can look into that after Fran’s found out about your family, can’t we?’

  ‘Can we?’ Bella was startled again, and obviously coming to the conclusion that these were very strange people.

  Fran had worked her way towards them.

  ‘OK, Bella?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Bella, standing up, ‘but I’m a bit tired, so I think I’ll go up to my room, now.’

  ‘OK,’ said Libby, also standing. ‘What time tomorrow? We’ll pick you up, won’t we Fran?’

  They agreed on ten o’clock, and Bella slipped through the press of people towards the staircase.

  ‘Timid little rabbit, isn’t she?’ said Peter, coming up behind them.

  ‘Just a bit put off by all us loudmouths,’ said Libby. ‘This is enough to daunt anyone.’

  ‘And she’s had a couple of shocks during the last week,’ said Fran. ‘She’s probably quite different once you get to know her.’

  ‘Well, we’ll soon find out,’ said Libby.

  The following morning, when Libby drew up outside the pub in Romeo the Renault, Fran and Bella were standing outside, Bella back in her middle-aged jeans and zip-up jacket. What must her husband be like, thought Libby, as she leant over and unlocked the passenger door. Fran ushered Bella into the front seat and climbed into the back herself.’

  ‘This is all we’ve got in the way of transport at the moment,’ she said, ‘but I’ll be getting a car any day now.’

  ‘Will you?’ said Libby. ‘That’s news to me.’

  ‘I can’t keep on borrowing Romeo, can I?’ said Fran. ‘And I can afford it, now.’

  ‘Fran’s just come into money,’ Libby told Bella.

  ‘Libby,’ Fran protested.

  ‘Well, you have. No sense in lying about it,’ said Libby. ‘Now, Bella, where exactly are we going? Heronsbourne, you said, didn’t you?’

  It didn’t take long to get to March Cottage, which looked to be the same age and vernacular as 17 Allhallow’s Lane. Libby parked outside and they all climbed out. Bella had two large plastic carrier bags.

  ‘Cleaning stuff,’ she explained, when she saw Libby looking. ‘I don’t know what’s there.’

  Inside, they found that the electricity had been switched on and the storage heaters in the bedrooms were throwing out a decent amount of heat. Libby, with her expertise in lighting open fires and Rayburns, offered to have a go at the range, while Fran and Bella tackled the kitchen.

  A loud bang on the window alerted Bella to the presence of Balzac, who walked in and allowed himself to be admired, before sitting hopefully beside the sink, gazing thoug
htfully into the middle distance.

  ‘Good job I bought a tin of cat food,’ said Bella. ‘I must see about a cat flap. And I must go and see the woman who’s been feeding him to ask her to carry on.’

  ‘You’re not going to live down here permanently, then,’ said Libby from the front room.

  ‘No, well, I can’t really, with the children still at school and everything,’ said Bella. ‘I thought, just weekends, maybe.’

  ‘What does your husband think about it?’ asked Fran.

  Bella didn’t answer straight away, and Libby and Fran exchanged looks.

  ‘He wants me to sell them both,’ said Bella eventually.

  ‘Doesn’t he like the idea of a weekend cottage?’ said Libby.

  ‘Not this one,’ said Bella, with a little laugh. ‘I think he was thinking more of an apartment in Spain.’

  ‘Has he seen it?’ asked Fran.

  ‘No,’ said Bella. ‘He’s been rather busy at work, so he couldn’t get the time off.’

  ‘But you could?’

  ‘Well, I only work the occasional shift in a local shop,’ said Bella, colouring faintly, ‘so it wasn’t difficult.’

  ‘Hard work, shops,’ said Libby, lifting a soot-covered hand and brushing rusty hair off her brow.

  ‘You look like a clown,’ said Fran. ‘Bella, does that electric kettle work? We could have some tea, couldn’t we?’

  After Libby had managed to get a fire going in the range and Fran and Bella had found cups for the tea Bella had remembered to bring with her, thanks to an early morning visit to the eight-til-late in Steeple Martin, they all sat down in Aunt Maria’s front room.

  ‘This was where she lived with your grandmother, was it?’ asked Libby. ‘But your father didn’t?’

  ‘As far as I can work out from the letter,’ said Bella, taking it out of her handbag and riffling through the pages, ‘he lived here while my grandmother was abroad, but I think he went to live with her in London when she returned. When he left home, Dorinda returned here, and they lived together for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘Dorinda was your grandmother, right?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Yes. What I don’t know is who else was here when Dorinda was abroad. Maria and my father were too young to be left alone. She says –’ Bella found the relevant passage ‘– in the care of someone in the troupe. But I don’t know whether they were in this cottage or somewhere else.’

  ‘That doesn’t really matter, does it?’ said Fran. ‘It’s Dorinda and Maria you want to know about.’

  ‘Well, yes. I mean, Maria’s told me most of it. I just want to know if they were happy, or if there’s anything – something – in the past I ought to know.’

  ‘Just like Goodall and Smythe, in fact,’ said Libby, patting her lap and accepting Balzac into it.

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran, ‘but I’m still not sure why Inspector Connell should have suggested you ask me about it.’

  ‘No,’ said Bella slowly, ‘I don’t really, either.’

  Libby snorted. ‘Honestly, you two. Fran, I thought you’d be able to see that. He thinks the body in the theatre might have something to do with Bella’s family.’

  ‘But how could it?’ Bella looked horrified. ‘There’s been no one left of my family – except me, and no one knew about me – for years.’

  ‘And Auntie Maria,’ said Libby.

  ‘She wouldn’t have murdered anyone,’ said Bella.

  ‘How do you know?’ said Fran. ‘You didn’t even know she existed until last week.’

  ‘Oh.’ Bella looked into the fire, and Balzac jumped from Libby’s lap on to hers. ‘So that’s it,’ she said, absentmindedly stroking his head.

  Fran and Libby looked at each other.

  ‘Well, we think we know why Inspector Connell wanted you to see me,’ said Fran, ‘but why did you want to see me?’

  ‘Well, as I said yesterday, Dorinda and Maria lived here, and she says in her letter there are some things from the theatre somewhere that she would like kept. They could be here.’

  ‘Is that all?’ asked Fran.

  Bella’s colour deepened. ‘I – I – I just wanted to know –’ She stopped.

  ‘Anything Fran could tell you.’ Libby nodded. ‘I understand, even if she doesn’t.’ She stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go and see if we can find any of this memorabilia.’

  ‘Programmes and costumes, she says,’ said Bella, following Libby up the stairs.

  ‘Wow,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder how the costumes have stood up.’

  ‘Crumbling probably,’ said Fran, bringing up the rear, with Balzac padding alongside, plumy black tail waving curiously.

  They searched both bedrooms without finding anything more exciting than some costume jewellery, and a few pieces of what Libby said was probably the real stuff. Two old fur coats hung in one of the wardrobes, but nothing that suggested the theatre.

  ‘There’s very little here at all,’ said Fran, looking round her with arms akimbo. ‘It’s as if she cleared everything out.’

  ‘Yes?’ Libby sat on the edge of a bed. ‘Is that what it feels like?’

  Fran nodded, looking round. ‘Empty. And yet she and her mother lived here for what – eighty years?’

  ‘All her life, except I still don’t think she can have lived here while her mother was abroad,’ said Bella. ‘She must have lived with one of the families in the troupe.’

  ‘Still, she was here for most of the time. Hasn’t she left any sort of – I don’t know – imprint?’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh, yes, there’s a feeling of something, but almost disinfected. There’s more downstairs than there is up here.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ said Bella eagerly.

  ‘Oh, just – normal, really,’ said Fran, assuming her uncomfortable expression, which Libby now knew to mean Fran couldn’t, or didn’t want to, put something into words.

  ‘How about the loft, then?’ said Libby.

  ‘I don’t know whether we can get into it,’ said Bella, ‘and it’s difficult to get at.’

  ‘Which means,’ said Libby, gazing up at the small hatch over the equally small landing, ‘that if we can’t get into it, the odds are that neither could Auntie Maria.’

  ‘Ladder,’ said Fran. ‘There must be a ladder somewhere.’

  ‘I’ll go and look outside,’ said Bella. ‘I haven’t looked in the garden yet.’

  Libby and Fran watched her clatter down the stairs.

  ‘She’s a lot more cheerful now than she was when she first arrived,’ said Libby.

  ‘She’s at home here,’ said Fran. ‘She’s not happy in London.’

  ‘But it sounds as though she’s always lived there,’ said Libby.

  ‘Doesn’t mean to say she’s always been happy, does it?’

  ‘Is it her husband?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Fran, ‘and my guess is she won’t leave him because of the children.’

  ‘Do you think –’ began Libby, then stopped as a crashing sound heralded Bella’s reappearance, looking flushed and triumphant.

  ‘Ladder,’ she panted. ‘There’s a brick-built shed thing in the garden that one of the keys unlocked. It’s quite a new ladder.’

  It was, quite a shiny aluminium ladder, which only just fitted on to the tiny landing. Bella went up, with Libby and Fran holding on tightly, and pushed hard at the loft hatch, which finally gave way, releasing a cloud of dust.

  ‘Can’t see anything,’ said Bella, coughing. ‘There’s no light except for a few cracks in the tiles. The loft floor’s insulated, but I can’t see any boarding.’

  ‘There won’t be anything up there, then,’ said Fran. ‘You can’t put things in an un-boarded loft.’

  Bella climbed back down the ladder, which they carried back downstairs and out to the shed.

  ‘What a great building,’ said Libby.

  It was part of the original building and had obviously housed the coal shed at one time, while the outside privy, to which the door
way opening could still be traced, had now been turned into the bathroom, with access from the inside. Libby guessed that the current kitchen, which was quite large, had once been the dining room, while the lobby had been the scullery.

  ‘Well, this is where the stuff will be,’ said Fran, pulling wide the door. ‘See?’

  ‘Of course,’ breathed Bella, stepping inside.

  ‘Light switch,’ said Libby, finding one.

  They all gasped.

  Along the opposite wall to the door were a series of what looked like cabin trunks, each labelled, on the end wall a workmanlike set of metal shelving containing box files and a filing cabinet, and along the wall beside the door, a white worktop with a computer and printer.

  ‘Good God!’ said Libby. ‘Didn’t you see this when you found the ladder?’

  ‘I didn’t switch on the light, and the ladder was just inside the door. I can’t believe it,’ said Bella. ‘Robert Grimshaw didn’t say anything about this.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he knew,’ said Fran. ‘Come on, let’s see what she used her computer for.’

  ‘It might be password protected,’ said Libby, airing her fairly newly-found knowledge.

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Fran. ‘No one else came in here.’

  ‘How do we know? She might have had loads of friends,’ said Libby.

  ‘No,’ said Fran. ‘Only her.’

  Bella looked at the computer as if it might bite. ‘You do it,’ she said to Fran. ‘I’m not very good with computers.’

  Fran sat in front of the monitor and found the switch. It hummed softly into life and within seconds presented them with a screen full of folders.

  ‘There,’ said Fran.

  Bella sat down on a trunk with a bump. ‘I can’t take all this in,’ she said. ‘What does it all mean?’

  ‘By the look of it, she was cataloguing what she’d got here,’ said Fran. ‘Yes, look, this folder’s labelled 1920s.’

  ‘Do you want to open it?’ Libby asked Bella. ‘It’s your Aunt, after all.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Bella. ‘I don’t want to.’

  The folder, when opened, contained details of programmes, costumes, names and letters.

  ‘They’ll all be in those box files, I expect,’ said Libby, going to the shelves. ‘They might tell you where Maria and your father spent that time when Dorinda was abroad, if that’s what you want to know.’