Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  On the table were fragile documents in what could have been Sanskrit as far as Libby was concerned.

  ‘These are the letters brought back with St Eldreda’s finger after she died. Very rare. Then these,’ Alastair lifted a leather bound book which looked as though it might fall apart at a sudden breath, ‘are the reports of Brother Thomas bringing the reliquary here. We’d always wondered why he came here, but of course St Eldreda had a connection with this place, although we don’t actually know what that was.’

  ‘And it was quite safe here from thereon?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Well, actually, no, it wasn’t.’ Alastair smiled wryly. ‘It has a chequered history, and we can’t sort it all out. Before it was sold by the family after the South Sea Bubble adventure, it had gone missing twice, both times having been recovered.’

  ‘And how had that happened?’ asked Peter. ‘Someone stole it?’

  ‘Yes, both times it was a member of the family who needed money, and both times it was sent back by whoever had bought it. The members of the family by the time it was finally sold decided it brought bad luck. The people who’d sold it both came to bad ends, and it was assumed that whoever had bought it had also had bad luck and returned it, only for the family to lose almost everything in the eighteenth century.’

  ‘But we don’t know where it went after that?’ asked Ben. ‘No more bad luck?’

  ‘Not until this poor chap Bernard Evans you told me about. Someone seems to have stolen it then, yet it’s now being sold with Beaumont documentation.’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t know exactly what these papers are?’

  ‘No.’ Libby looked round the room. ‘What could they have been, do you think?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Peter, ‘the original documents of sale from the eighteenth century.’

  ‘But,’ said Libby, frowning, ‘that’s not possible. If the family sold it all bona fide, in 1720 whatever, whoever bought it had the documents. He either left it to someone or gave it to someone with the documents. Eventually it was left to our Bernard, and then it was stolen. But we don’t know that the documents were stolen with it.’

  ‘They must have been,’ said Ben. ‘He was taking it to the Abbey, wasn’t he? He would have brought the provenance with him.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Libby was still frowning.

  ‘It’s the only thing that makes sense,’ said Alastair. ‘And the person who stole it then sold it to the collector who has just died.’

  ‘It’s such an obscure item, though,’ said Peter. ‘It’s almost as though someone has been tracking it through the years. How would anyone know about it? This is the first time it’s gone on sale – or even view – to the public.’

  The four of them looked at each other.

  ‘That’s true,’ said Alastair slowly. ‘And of course, the only people who could possibly have known anything about it would be the members of my own family.’

  Chapter Seven

  Ben, Libby and Peter shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ said Alastair, sounding amused. ‘Our family has more than its fair share of villains and ne’er-do-wells. If a member of the family found out that Bernard Evans had it in the seventies, he, or she, could well have stolen it from him. A bit much to murder him, I’d have thought, but perhaps it was an accident.’

  ‘But we come back to “how did they know”,’ said Libby. ‘Bernard was left it, apparently. We still don’t know by whom.’

  ‘Well,’ said Alastair, pulling a chair out from the table and indicating that the others should do the same, ‘we could start by looking at who it could have been from my family.’

  ‘That’s a bit extreme,’ muttered Peter. ‘Families can be –’

  ‘Tricky.’ Ben nodded. ‘We know all about that, Alastair.’

  Alastair quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  ‘Your family must have been quite widely – er –disseminated by then, Alastair,’ said Libby hurriedly.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He pulled a scroll towards him and began to unroll it. ‘Peter, could you weigh down the other end?’

  ‘This is a family tree we had drawn up a few years ago. I got this out as well to see if I could see any connections, and now we’ve got Bernard Evans’s name we could look for him.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘I can’t see him being a member of your family.’

  ‘He could be the issue of someone who married into it. If only we knew where it went after it was sold in the seventeen hundreds,’ said Ben.

  ‘We know who it was sold to,’ said Alastair.

  The other three stared at him.

  ‘But you said …’ said Libby.

  ‘I didn’t say anything.’ Alastair smiled. ‘We do know who it was sold to, but the family lost sight of it after that.’

  ‘So who was it?’ asked Peter.

  ‘A man rejoicing in the name of Bartholomew Tollybar, who I’ve always thought must have been a bit of a crook.’

  ‘And who was he?’ asked Libby.

  ‘We don’t know. We simply have the deed of sale –’ he reached across to pull another document forward ‘– here.’

  ‘Bartholomew Tollybar – is that esquire?’ Libby pointed to a squiggle.

  ‘Yes, and that’s all we know about him.’ Alastair sat back in his chair and smiled at the other three. ‘I can’t see that it helps at all.’

  ‘I can,’ said Libby. ‘We can look into Bartholomew’s family tree. Find out about him. You know, censuses and things.’

  ‘They didn’t start until the next century,’ said Ben. ‘You found that out before, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Well, let’s see.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘Street directories?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Alastair, ‘but I’m not sure why you want to trace him.’

  ‘It’s a link,’ said Libby. ‘We need to trace the progress of the reliquary until it reaches where it is now. It might help find out who killed Bernard Evans,’ said Libby.

  ‘We haven’t looked at the family tree yet,’ Peter pointed out, ‘and I’m still holding the other end.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Libby bent towards it. ‘This is you, is it, Alastair?’

  Alastair pointed the way through the generations of Beaumonts, past the impecunious member who had sold the reliquary, and back into far more sparse accounts. Brother Thomas appeared, but as a secondary branch of the family, and then, in the early fifteenth century, the line seemed to peter out.

  ‘And do we know who the black sheep were who pinched it before it was sold?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Not definitively. That tends to be passed down orally, but as far as we can tell it’s never been anyone of the direct line.’

  ‘Son of a younger son?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘Something like that. You can see we’ve got many offshoots now, not all of them followed up.’

  ‘So all we’ve really got to follow up is old Bartholomew Tollybar,’ said Libby, as Peter and Alastair carefully rolled up the family tree.

  ‘If it helps.’ Alastair put the documents back inside a cupboard. ‘I was wondering, if the reliquary was up for sale, if the family might buy it.’

  There was a surprised silence.

  ‘You said the nuns don’t want it?’

  ‘Well, not really.’ Libby looked at Peter. ‘They don’t, do they?’

  ‘They regard it as idolatrous,’ said Peter. ‘They’re an Anglican order. They were just interested.’ He looked at Alastair. ‘Do you regard it as rightfully belonging to your family, then?’

  ‘No, because we sold it, but it did once belong to this family,’ said Alastair reasonably.

  ‘Not really,’ said Libby. ‘It belonged to the monastery where St Eldreda came from.’

  ‘But that’s here in our grounds,’ said Alastair, ‘and she came from here.’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby nodded. ‘So, do you want it back?’

  ‘Legitimately, if we could. Don’t you think it would be fitting?’

  The
other three looked at each other.

  ‘It would,’ said Peter,’ but I’ve got a feeling our Chief Inspector Connell won’t let it go anywhere just yet.’

  The Maidenhaye Arms was comfortable, old-fashioned and quiet. After a wash and brush-up, Libby met the two men in the bar.

  ‘So what do we think of all that, then?’ asked Peter, while Ben went to fetch drinks. ‘Nice bloke?’

  ‘Yes, very nice,’ said Libby. ‘I was a bit bothered by him wanting to buy the relic, though.’

  ‘I think it’s quite natural,’ said Peter.

  ‘But whatever that old document said, we can’t be sure that St Eldreda came from his family, can we?’

  ‘No, because it looks to me as if the Beaumonts are descended from a Norman line who wouldn’t even have been here then.’

  ‘And what about the original abbey or whatever it was?’

  ‘There are more than one sets of archaeological remains there, aren’t there,’ said Ben, putting three gin and tonics on the table. ‘I think it’s safe to say that was where she was taken. Or rather, the reliquary was. And transferred to the newer one before the dissolution.’

  ‘So did we actually find anything out?’ said Peter. ‘Only who the reliquary was sold to three hundred years ago.’

  ‘We really needed to know how those documents were stolen, and where from,’ said Libby. ‘Then we could find out who took them.’

  ‘And when,’ said Ben. ‘If they were forged back then, perhaps when one of the Beaumonts pinched the reliquary, it wouldn’t help.’

  ‘But Alastair said it had been stolen before it was sold. And we don’t know exactly when those documents were dated.’ Libby took a sip of her drink. ‘Oh, dear, this is most confusing.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t think there’s much more we can learn here,’ said Peter. ‘I suppose we could talk to the archaeologists, but they won’t be able to tell us about anything.’

  ‘Wasted journey, then?’ said Ben.

  ‘No, because we know about jolly Bartholomew Tollybar,’ said Libby. ‘That’s a good starting point for finding out where it went after that.’

  ‘It’s a long shot,’ said Ben.

  ‘I wish we’d been able to take a copy of that family tree,’ said Libby thoughtfully. ‘If we could trace perhaps a rogue line …’

  ‘How would that help?’ said Peter. ‘All we’d get is a lot of names we don’t know.’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby sighed heavily. ‘Oh, well, at least we can report back to Ian that we haven’t done anything he wouldn’t like.’ She looked round the bar. ‘Are we eating here?’

  The food was good, basic British cooking, made from ingredients from the estate shop.

  ‘Is this place owned by the Beaumont estate?’ asked Libby, when their plump, smiling host brought coffee to their table.

  ‘We lease it from them,’ he said. ‘No restrictions except that we use estate produce. Which we’re happy to do anyway.’

  ‘And what’s it like living here? It’s almost feudal, isn’t it, with the estate owning whole villages?’

  He laughed. ‘It sounds like it, doesn’t it? But actually, there are privately owned properties, apart from the leased ones. And ex-estate workers who have their properties for life.’

  ‘So he’s a benevolent despot, Alastair Beaumont?’ said Ben.

  ‘Indeed he is.’

  ‘You’re a benevolent despot, too, aren’t you, darling?’ said Libby, patting Ben’s arm as the manager left them.

  ‘I only have a couple of tenant farmers,’ said Ben. ‘And I leave them alone as much as I can.’

  ‘You seem to have a lot of work to do in the estate office,’ said Peter.

  ‘We’ve still got the woodyard and the staff who look after our own bit of ground that isn’t leased out,’ said Ben.’

  ‘Do any of them have tied cottages?’

  ‘Why the sudden interest?’ asked Ben, amused. ‘You’ve never asked before.’

  ‘I’ve never thought about it before,’ said Peter. ‘Have they?’

  ‘No, we don’t own any property except the two farms, and they only revert to us if none of the family want to continue in the business.’

  ‘So the farms are more or less theirs for ever?’

  ‘That’s it. If either of the families decided to leave, which they may well do, seeing that farming’s going through such a bad time, especially dairy, we’d have to sell up.’

  ‘Where would they go?’ asked Libby. ‘If they left?’

  ‘Both families have bought property away from the farm,’ said Ben. ‘They’re sensible.’

  After dinner they took a stroll round the village, which impressed them with its neatness and prettiness.

  ‘It’s like a village in a story book,’ said Libby. ‘Very chocolate-boxy.’

  ‘Not untidy and slapdash like our village?’ said Ben with a smile.

  ‘I like us as we are,’ said Libby. ‘This all looks a bit repressed.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t think they allow rowdy parties here.’

  ‘You don’t do rowdy parties,’ said Libby, tucking one arm through his and the other through Ben’s. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the pub and have a drink.’

  The following morning they returned to Maidenhaye itself to say goodbye to Alastair and Jennifer.

  ‘You will let us know about any developments?’ said Alastair. ‘And remember, if it really is for sale, we’d certainly be interested to buy it.’

  Ben and Peter browsed the estate shop and bought various treats, while Libby tasted a couple of the estate wines.

  ‘We could do something at the Manor,’ she said as they finally pulled out of the car park to start the journey home. ‘I know we supply some of the meat for the butcher’s shop and there’s Nella and Joe at Cattlegreen, but maybe cheeses and marmalades and things.’

  ‘Are you offering?’ asked Ben, grinning at her in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Libby, ‘but what about a farmer’s market sort of set up? Then Bob the Butcher and Nella and Joe could sell stuff.’

  ‘Where, though? They both have shops in the village already, as you said yesterday. And personally, I wouldn’t like to have to go into retail at this time of life. If we were to start making anything at the Manor or on the farms, I’d rather they sold it themselves or through the eight-til-late.’

  ‘You’ve changed your mind,’ said Libby, settling back in her corner. ‘It just looked nice there.’

  ‘It did look nice, but don’t forget there aren’t any other shops in that village. We’ve got several. We’re lucky.’

  It was when they were on the home stretch of the journey, having circumnavigated Canterbury, that Libby’s phone began to ring.

  ‘Libby, it’s Patti.’

  ‘Patti? It’s Sunday. Why aren’t you ministering?’

  ‘I’m going to one of the other churches for evensong in a minute, but listen. You’ll never guess what!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’ve offered to let St Eldreda’s display the reliquary while the play’s on!’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘How did that happen?’ asked Peter, when Libby relayed Patti’s conversation.

  ‘I’m not sure. Sister Catherine wasn’t either, apparently. She said the solicitor for the estate rang to say he’d received a request from someone. It wasn’t you, was it?’

  ‘Libby! Of course it wasn’t. I wouldn’t know who the solicitor was.’

  ‘Well, the nuns don’t know, but whoever sent the request did them and us a favour. The nuns are delighted, even though they wouldn’t like to keep it. We are to keep it to ourselves, though, until nearer the first night.’

  ‘Security risk,’ said Ben. ‘It must be worth a small fortune.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Libby slowly, staring out of the window at the familiar road ahead.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wonder if Ian’s done it.’

  ‘Ian
?’ Peter’s head whipped round. ‘Why on earth would he do it?’

  ‘To see if someone else takes a shot at it.’

  ‘So someone else can get murdered?’

  ‘Well, it might bring someone out of the woodwork, mightn’t it?’

  ‘Whoever killed Bernard Evans in the seventies isn’t likely to still be around,’ said Ben.

  ‘Why not? We were all around then and we still are.’

  ‘Yes, but he’d be likely to be older than we are, so a fairly geriatric murderer.’

  ‘Oh, that’s true,’ said Libby. ‘Still, it’s a thought.’

  It being Sunday, Hetty had cooked her usual roast, but re-scheduled it for seven o’clock. As Harry was shut on a Sunday evening, he joined them, and they all relaxed round the large kitchen table with glasses of one of Hetty’s fine wines.

  ‘So that’s where we are now,’ Libby concluded, having brought Harry and Hetty up to date with the events of the past few days.

  ‘Estate shop sounds good,’ commented Hetty.

  ‘That’s what I said! But Ben says no,’ said Libby.

  Hetty fixed her son with a gimlet eye. ‘Not going to put the village shops out of business. Home-made produce. Get the farmers to provide it. One of ’em keeps bees, don’t he?’

  ‘I did say that might be the answer,’ said Ben grudgingly.

  ‘But you said they’d have to sell it themselves or through the eight-til-late,’ said Libby. ‘I bet Het could work out something better than that.’

  Looking pleased, Hetty simply grunted and got up to fetch the rib of beef that had been resting on top of the Aga.

  ‘I think I’d put my money on Lib and Hetty together,’ said Harry. ‘We could even sell some stuff in the caff.’

  ‘We’ve got a local vineyard, haven’t we?’ said Peter. ‘Could we sell their wines, too?’

  ‘Hey, wait a bit,’ said Ben, holding up a hand. ‘I haven’t said yes, yet. And I’d have to look into all the legal side first.’

  ‘Oh, the boring bit,’ said Harry. ‘OK, change the subject. Who do you reckon asked those solicitors to lend old St Edie’s finger?’

  ‘No idea.’ Peter shook his head. ‘There aren’t many people who know about it, after all.’