Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

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Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) Page 14

by Cookman, Lesley


  Libby and Fran met outside the block of flats.

  ‘How were Chrissie and Monty?’

  ‘You’d think I’d never had three children the way she goes on,’ said Fran, as they climbed the stairs. ‘Or that I had two other grandchildren. And she’s constantly moaning that she never goes out.’

  ‘She wants a regular babysitter,’ said Libby.

  Fran sighed. ‘I know. And lots of other grandparents care for their grandchildren all the time. I do feel guilty sometimes.’

  ‘Well, don’t,’ said Libby, ‘although I know that’s easy for me to say when I haven’t got any.’

  Andrew welcomed them in and showed them to the table in the window where he had various documents laid out.

  ‘The kettle’s on,’ he said, ‘so sit down and have a look at what I’ve found out. I think you might be surprised.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘First, the London Directories,’ said Andrew, putting a document in front of them. ‘I printed everything out I was allowed to.’

  ‘And this is for our Barty?’ said Libby.

  ‘It is. Bartholomew Tollybar lived here,’ he pointed, ‘and appears to be a trader of some kind. So I looked up everyone else mentioned in his will, but it is Thomas Tollybar who I think is of the most interest.’

  ‘Thomas?’ said Fran.

  ‘Remember your Barty’s housekeeper? And her son? Well, his name is Thomas and he took the name Tollybar, so obviously he is Barty’s son. He had a daughter, who had a son and a daughter, both of whom kept the “Tollybar” in their names. The son also had a daughter –’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Libby, ‘this is getting complicated. This is the,’ she counted on her fingers, ‘the great granddaughter of Barty?’

  ‘Great-great granddaughter,’ corrected Andrew. ‘She died in 1911, also leaving a daughter.’

  ‘And this is interesting why?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Wait till I fetch the tea,’ said Andrew, grinning.

  ‘I don’t understand this at all,’ said Fran. ‘Why are we interested in the Tollybar line?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘I’m quite glad I never decided to become a historian.’

  Andrew returned with a tray, and offered cake.

  ‘After we’ve got to the bottom of this, Andrew,’ said Fran firmly. ‘We’re getting totally confused.’

  ‘Right, I’ll make it simpler for you,’ said Andrew, putting down the teapot. ‘Let’s go back to the Beaumonts.’ He pulled another document towards him. ‘After Tollybar bought the reliquary and bequeathed it to his housekeeper, it turned up briefly back at Maidenhaye – I took the chance of calling Alastair Beaumont and he confirmed this – but said it disappears from the records almost immediately, so everyone always thought it was a mistake. Now, it so happens that at this point in history a third or fourth cousin of the direct line was packed off to India in disgrace, and it isn’t a great leap of imagination to assume that the reliquary went with him.’

  ‘That is a bit of a leap,’ said Fran, frowning.

  ‘Ah – not when you discover that just after the first World War an Australian soldier who had been recuperating in England turned up at Maidenhaye claiming to be a descendant of this particular member of the family saying he would love to see the famous relic his ancestor mentioned so often in family history.’

  ‘Well!’ Libby and Fran exchanged looks. ‘That is progress,’ said Libby.

  ‘Alastair tells me this person has been added to the family tree rather arbitrarily, and they assumed there would be other descendants, but none have ever come forward. In a letter, Alastair’s grandfather says this person, whose name is Albert Glover, seems to want to know more about the reliquary “than is seemly”. He and the rest of the family deduce that it did go to India, and perhaps thence to Australia with the black sheep who was banished, but has not passed to Albert’s particular branch, but they have no way of tracing it or the family.’

  ‘But why didn’t Alastair tell us all this when we went to see him?’ Libby burst out. ‘It’s essential knowledge.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he thought it was,’ said Andrew, once more offering cake. ‘It disappears as far as the family are concerned.’

  ‘But we wanted to find out about the person who left it to Bernard Evans. That’s the biggest clue to what’s happened since. It was obviously a descendant of the black sheep! What was his name, by the way?’

  ‘The black sheep?’ Andrew pulled another document forward. ‘The Hon John Jarvis, commonly known as Jack. Despoiled the playing fields of Eton, apparently, as well as a few young women.’

  ‘Not very hon, then,’ said Libby. ‘So can we trace him in Australia?’

  ‘Give me a chance, Libby! I think I’ve done pretty well to get this far!’

  Libby was contrite. ‘Sorry, Andrew, you certainly have. I was just a bit indignant that Alastair didn’t tell us all this.’

  ‘He didn’t know a lot of it. He’s grateful, too.’

  ‘So, the Tollybar connection,’ said Fran. ‘You said we would see why that was important.’

  ‘Right.’ Andrew leant back in his chair and twinkled at them. ‘You see, Bartholomew Tollybar’s great-great-great granddaughter –’

  ‘Is that the final one we got to before?’ asked Libby.

  ‘It is. May Tollybar Williams. She turns up at Maidenhaye just after World War One as well.’

  ‘What?’ said Libby and Fran together.

  ‘I told you it was interesting,’ said Andrew. ‘More cake?’

  ‘Surely the Beaumonts recognised the name? After all Alastair knew about Barty, his grandfather must have done, too.’

  ‘But they didn’t know her middle name,’ said Andrew. ‘Alastair’s grandfather again.’ He picked up another document. ‘He says “We have been lucky enough in these hard times to secure the services of a new lady’s maid for my wife, May Williams. She seems to have attracted the attention of our soi-disant cousin, Albert.” Which strikes me as interesting.’

  ‘So how do you know it was the great-great-great granddaughter of our Barty?’ said Libby.

  ‘Because they got married.’

  There was a stunned silence.

  ‘I told you it was interesting,’ said Andrew. ‘So now you’ve got the renegade Beaumonts and the Tollybars united in a search for the reliquary.’

  ‘You think that’s what May was doing at Maidenhaye?’ said Fran.

  ‘I haven’t got proof, but I think it’s a fair assumption that the Tollybars also believed that the reliquary was family property and wanted it back. Presumably, both Albert and May believed Alastair’s grandfather and realised that it was no longer in the family’s possession. Their marriage seems to suggest a pooling of resources.’

  ‘So,’ said Libby with a frown, ‘it wasn’t them that left it to Ronald Barnes.’

  ‘No,’ said Andrew, ‘but if Bad Jack Jarvis did go to Australia from India and Albert Glover is a genuine descendant, then there could well be others. If Jarvis had more than one child, they each had more than one – you see?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Fran. ‘So do we think Bernard was a descendant?’

  ‘He could have been. We’re all waiting for the details of his benefactor.’

  ‘And then trace him backwards?’ said Libby.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Andrew. ‘Meanwhile, do you want me to go on digging?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Libby. ‘But what about Bernard? Can’t we just trace his family tree backwards?’

  ‘I tried the direct line and it goes nowhere near the Jarvis line,’ said Andrew. ‘We’ll have to rely on other sources.’ He waved the teapot at them. ‘More tea?’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Libby. ‘And Andrew, I can’t tell you how grateful we are. May I pass this on to the police?’

  ‘To Ian, certainly,’ said Andrew, ‘though whether it will help him, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘It may help with Bernard’s murder, if not with Dominic’s,’ said Fran. ‘We
still have no idea about that, or why his wife Estelle has turned up.’

  They left Andrew’s flat just after half past four and stood looking out over Nethergate bay.

  ‘I still can’t believe Alastair Beaumont didn’t know any of this,’ said Libby. ‘You can’t help wondering if he was concealing it on purpose.’

  ‘I doubt it. Andrew turned most of it up, and applied to Alastair for confirmation. I don’t suppose Alastair had ever read his grandfather’s letters.’

  ‘But he’s sorting out all of the archives in the muniment room, I told you. Cataloguing everything.’

  ‘But didn’t you say they were doing it from the earliest records? Perhaps he just hadn’t got to Grandfather yet.’

  ‘But.’ Libby held up a finger. ‘We actually looked at the family tree. Peter held one end of it.’

  ‘So? It must have been huge.’

  ‘It was. It was a family tree they’d had drawn up a few years ago, he said.’

  ‘So, if Albert Glover, for instance, had just been pencilled in in Grandfather’s time, he might not have appeared in the current one.’

  ‘And Alastair did say they’d got so many off-shoots now they couldn’t keep track.’

  ‘Exactly what Andrew said – one child has two more, they each have two and there you are. The start of a whole new family tree.’

  ‘So whole sections could be left off?’ said Libby. ‘I see what you mean. Complicated, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is a bit.’ Fran smiled. ‘What I do know, though, is that this reliquary must be fabulously valuable or there wouldn’t be such competition for it.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Libby stared thoughtfully at the cupola on the Alexandria, just visible above the rooftops below. ‘Unless it was the religious aspect that they were fighting for.’

  ‘More likely to be the family luck and fortune,’ said Fran. ‘The religious aspect doesn’t really come into it these days, does it?’

  ‘It did with Martha,’ said Libby, as they turned and made their way towards their cars.

  ‘Because she was living a religious life,’ said Fran. ‘And even if she would have liked to see the reliquary staying in St Eldreda’s, the Order didn’t. They knew they had no claim on it, and they’re faintly disapproving anyway.’

  ‘It does seem a bit ironic,’ said Libby. ‘Martha is almost killed preventing the bloody thing being stolen when the nuns don’t want it anyway.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ said Fran.

  Rather than leave yet another message for Ian, Libby decided to send an email, which she did while a shepherd’s pie browned in the oven. When she’d sent it, she clicked on her inbox and was surprised to find an email from the trustees of the Alexandria.

  ‘You know we’re having a meeting tonight about the Oast’s next production,’ Libby said over her shoulder to Ben.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I’ve got something else to add to the agenda.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Ben again, more warily.

  ‘The End of The Pier Show looks like it’s on.’

  It was still light when they walked to the theatre. Peter felt that meetings would be less likely to degenerate into purposeless chat if held there rather than one of their homes or the pub. When they arrived, he had pulled two of the little white tables together in the bar area, and Harry was behind the bar.

  ‘Might as well have a drink, ducks,’ he said, as Libby raised her eyebrow at him. ‘And it’s my night off. Whatdjer want?’

  Libby and Ben both had red wine and took their seats.

  ‘So, next production,’ began Peter. ‘We’ve got several bookings from other companies and a few one-nighters. There isn’t room in the theatre to do anything else before we get to panto.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Libby, ‘but look what I received today.’ She laid the printed-out email on the table. Peter and Harry both craned to see it.

  ‘A variety show?’ Peter looked shocked.

  ‘At the Alexandria,’ said Libby. ‘I sent them an email about next summer, but they’re saying what about the end of August this year because they’ve had a booking cancelled.’

  ‘It’s practically the end of July now,’ said Peter. ‘We couldn’t possibly!’

  ‘You could, you know,’ said Harry, leaning back in his chair. ‘What about that Old Time Music Hall you did the other year. You did a whole seaside set in that. You’ve still got the costumes, haven’t you, Lib?’

  ‘Yes! Oh, Harry, what a good idea! And I wonder if we could find any of the stuff about Will’s Wanderers and Dorinda Alexander?’

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘The original Pierrot troupe and the founder of the Alexandria.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Lib!’ said Ben. ‘That wouldn’t be in the best of taste, would it?’

  ‘Just because the Alexandria’s had an unfortunate history since their time? It’s all beautifully refurbished now, and those people were there at the beginning. I bet we’d be allowed to use it.’

  ‘Wasn’t it Dorinda who built it?’ said Peter, looking less shocked and more interested.

  ‘Yes, that’s why it was called the Alexandria, after her. And,’ continued Libby, ‘now I come to think of it, Will’s Wanderers didn’t perform there, it was Dorinda’s own new troupe, the Silver Serenaders, who all wore silvery Pierrot costumes.’

  ‘Seeing the age of the members of our company who might be taking part, that’s very appropriate,’ said Ben.

  ‘We’ve still got the sketches and songs from the Music Hall,’ said Peter slowly. ‘If the cast are still around.’

  ‘And not on holiday,’ said Harry.

  ‘The dates cover August Bank Holiday,’ said Ben, pulling the email towards him.

  ‘I’ll ask everyone tomorrow,’ said Libby, ‘if you all agree?’

  Peter and Ben looked at one another.

  ‘She’s done it again,’ said Peter.

  Harry laughed and raised his glass.

  ‘Here’s to Libby,’ he said, ‘and here’s to the Silver Serenaders!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Concentrating on emailing, texting and calling performers who had taken part in the Old Time Music Hall the following morning, Libby had almost forgotten her email to Ian.

  ‘Libby?’

  ‘Ian!’

  ‘Yes – were you expecting someone else? You’ve been engaged on both phones all morning.’

  ‘Sorry – yes. I’m organising a show for the Alexandria all in a bit of a rush.’

  ‘The Alexandria?’ Ian sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes – it’s being run by trustees now, and fully refurbished. We’ve been asked to do an End Of The Pier Show for the last week in August.’

  ‘Will you have time?’

  ‘I think so. We’re rehashing a Music Hall we did a year or so back.’

  ‘Well, it’ll keep you out of mischief,’ said Ian, ‘but I just wanted to say thank you for the email. It’s extremely helpful, and I’ve already called Andrew. I’ve agreed to defray some of the expenses if he continues his researches, which he says you want him to do anyway.’

  ‘Does that mean he won’t be able to share the results with us if you’re paying him?’

  ‘We’ll only be paying expenses, and you commissioned him first,’ said Ian.

  ‘I wouldn’t call it a commission,’ said Libby. ‘He just offered to help.’

  ‘Well, it’s very useful. And he’s going to try and trace a common family member between Ronald Barnes, Bernard Evans and this – what was his name? Mad Jack?’

  ‘The Honourable John Jarvis,’ said Libby, ‘or Bad Jack Jarvis.’

  ‘Yes. It would explain why Bernard had it, but not who killed him.’ Ian sighed. ‘I must go. Good luck with the show.’

  After informing Fran about the phone call and her expected role in the new show, Libby went on organising. She dug out the programme for the Music Hall, her file of music and sketch scripts and set about putting the show together. She was lucky
to have contacts within the world of entertainment who were happy to supply both memories, song lyrics and precious scripts, and spent a happy day deeply involved in her task. Sidney tried to help by spreading the papers all over the table and the sitting room floor, which of course made them easier to find.

  Peter joined her in the afternoon, and together they worked out the final details and Libby set the printer to work on a fairly final script and lyrics. Most people who had been in the original Music Hall were happy to appear, the only ones she’d been unable to get in touch with being those on holiday. The panto stalwarts were delighted, Music Hall, concert party and pantomime being so closely related, and Hetty had volunteered to go into the costume store and dig out not only the Music Hall costumes, including those for the seaside set, but those panto costumes she thought might “come in”.

  ‘I know what it is, of course,’ said Libby, handing Peter a mug of tea. ‘It’s light relief after Dominic’s death.’

  ‘Possibly.’ Peter nodded and took a sheaf of printed paper from the printer. ‘Let’s hope this one doesn’t end in disaster.’

  ‘Oh, Pete, it wasn’t your fault!’ Libby hugged his shoulders. ‘Please don’t think it.’

  ‘You thought it was your fault,’ said Peter, ‘and considering the Alexandria’s recent history and how you were involved –’

  ‘Oh, stop it. You’re too superstitious and pessimistic by half.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  Libby regarded him suspiciously. ‘Hmm. Anyway, nearly everyone’s coming to a first meeting tonight, so we can get off to a flying start.’

  ‘Did you say you’d managed to get an MD?’

  ‘I didn’t say because I haven’t,’ said Libby. ‘Biggest stumbling block so far.’

  ‘Fairly essential, I’d have thought,’ said Peter. ‘Where are the usuals?’

  ‘Either away now or will be away, or have other commitments,’ sighed Libby.

  ‘I don’t suppose you thought of Terry’s sister?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Pete, no I didn’t!’ Libby leapt to her feet and grabbed her basket, which had once more replaced the more conservative handbags her nearest and dearest tried to foist on her. Finding a notebook, she began to leaf through it.

 

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