Murder in Midwinter - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘And a happy Christmas,’ said Ben.

  ‘Anyway, we’ll help her with the clearing up in a minute,’ said Libby. ‘I was just telling Fran about my conversation with old Mr Arnold this afternoon.’

  ‘You haven’t told me yet about your visit to the Place this morning,’ said Ben, sitting on the edge of the club fender. ‘Start with that.’

  Libby and Fran brought him up to date between them.

  ‘So Mrs Nemone Shepherd used to employ Bella’s grandma, and lived at the Place with old Sir Fred and his missus, whom we presume is what’s-her-name, Ivy.’

  ‘That what it looks like,’ said Libby.

  ‘So what’s it all got to do with Laurence Cooper?’

  ‘Sod all, as far as I can see,’ said Libby.

  Fran looked at the ceiling.

  ‘Come on,’ said Libby, poking her with a foot. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘Nemone Shepherd was Sir Frederick’s daughter, wasn’t she?’

  ‘That’s what Old Jonathan said. Unless she was his daughter-in-law.’

  ‘Shepherd, Lib,’ said Ben, patting her on the hand. ‘Couldn’t be.’

  ‘Oh, no, she’d be Anderson then, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘But we never hear of Ivy as Mrs – or rather, Lady – Anderson. Just Ivy,’ said Fran.

  ‘We’ve only heard of her once anyway,’ said Libby. ‘In Dorinda’s letter. Perhaps she is just a maid.’

  ‘Could she be Laurence’s grandmother, or something? If she was a maid?’ asked Ben.

  The two women looked at him with surprised admiration.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Libby. ‘Of course.’

  ‘So his Dad took him there when he was little to visit grannie? That makes sense.’ Ben looked pleased with himself.

  ‘Close,’ said Fran. ‘Very close.’

  ‘What do you mean, close? It’s inspired,’ said Libby indignantly. ‘That’s why Dorinda goes to visit her. They both worked for Mrs Shepherd.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she say that in the letter, then? Why does she say she visits Sir Frederick and Ivy, and not Mrs Shepherd and Ivy?’

  Libby glared at her in silence.

  ‘Well, I shall leave you to fight it out,’ said Ben, standing up. ‘I’m going to start clearing up in the ballroom. Those little monsters have wrecked it.’

  ‘OK, I’ll start in here, then,’ said Libby. ‘This is a room you use after all. When did you last use the ballroom?’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Fran. ‘Then you can carry on moaning at me.’

  ‘I wasn’t moaning.’ Libby stood up. ‘I just thought Ben had cracked it.’

  ‘There’s still no connection to Bella, though.’

  ‘Not directly, no.’ Libby began to stack plates. ‘Did you phone her?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ll try this evening. Do you still want to go over there again?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s bugging me, now. I wonder if Harry’s had any luck with those old newspapers?’

  ‘I don’t suppose he’s had time, what with the wedding and everything,’ said Fran, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater.

  ‘I don’t think he’s got much to do for that, now,’ said Libby. ‘It’s just all these Christmas specials he’s doing.’

  ‘He was here this afternoon.’

  ‘Still is, I expect. He’s not opening tonight, or tomorrow.’

  ‘Or Friday or Saturday.’ Fran grinned across the table. ‘I don’t know how he’s tearing himself away!’

  ‘For the love of a good man,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll go and get a tray.’

  An hour later most of the rooms had been cleared and the second load of dishes loaded into the dishwasher. Hetty and Greg, their family and friends sat around the large kitchen table looking tired but happy.

  ‘Thanks, everybody,’ said Hetty. ‘Good party.’

  ‘Do the tenants really enjoy it?’ asked Harry.

  ‘They expect it, I don’t know about enjoy it,’ said Greg, who was looking frailer and more tired than Libby had ever seen him. ‘It’s part of Christmas, and they would fight tooth and nail to keep it.’

  ‘Ben’ll have to take it over soon,’ said Hetty. ‘I’m too old.’

  They all looked at her.

  ‘OK, Mum,’ said Ben, and everyone looked away again.

  Fran stood up. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me,’ she said. ‘I’ve enjoyed it, even if the tenants didn’t, but I must be off, now.’

  ‘Thanks for gettin’ stuck in, gel,’ said Hetty, also standing.

  ‘Don’t get up,’ said Fran, ‘I can see myself out.’

  ‘Yer all right, gel,’ said Flo, pushing herself to her feet. ‘Lenny an’ me are going now. We’ll walk down the drive with you. Too dark to go on your own.’

  Flo, Lenny and Fran all said goodbye and went out into the crisp evening air.

  ‘Not cold enough fer Christmas,’ grumbled Lenny, turning up his coat collar.

  ‘Cold enough fer me, you old fool,’ said Flo, slipping her arm through his. ‘You warm enough in that Harry’s flat, gel?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thanks,’ said Fran. ‘I miss a fire, though.’

  ‘I got an electric one. Couldn’t be bothered with coal, but I like to look at it,’ said Flo. ‘You and young Libby got any further with yer investigations?’

  ‘Well,’ said Fran, assuming that Libby had told Flo at least the basics, ‘we know that our friend Bella’s grandmother worked for someone who lived at Anderson Place, although she wasn’t the owner.’

  ‘And what’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ said Fran, laughing.

  ‘Well, don’t you let that Inspector feller talk you into doin’ ’is dirty work for ’im,’ said Lenny. ‘You just remember what you and young Libby have got yerselves into before. Murder, indeed.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘CAN I HAVE A word, Lib?’

  Libby turned at Harry’s voice. Hetty had packed them all off to the library and Ben was sorting out drinks.

  ‘What’s up?’ she said.

  ‘I found something in one of those old papers.’

  ‘You mean you’ve actually had time to look through them? My God!’ Libby patted the arm of her chair. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It was a little report about a stolen necklace. I don’t know whether it’s got anything to do with your new mate, but it mentioned Sir Frederick Anderson, so I thought it might.’

  ‘Necklace? What did it say? Did it mention anyone else?’

  ‘Just that a Mr Shepherd had reported the theft of a necklace belonging to his wife who was the daughter of Sir Fred.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby frowned. ‘Did you notice the date?’

  ‘It’s on the paper. 1903, I think.’

  ‘Which month?’

  ‘Oh, gawd, Lib, I don’t know.’ Harry made a face.

  ‘Can I come and get it?’

  ‘Whenever. Pete and I are going home in a bit. I’m bloody knackered.’

  ‘I bet you are.’ Libby patted his arm. ‘It’s all a bit much, really, isn’t it? Have you got anything else to do before next weekend?’

  ‘I don’t think so. That Mel’s amazing. She does everything.’

  ‘At a price,’ said Libby.

  ‘Yeah, well, rather she does it than us, and we can afford it.’ Harry stood up. ‘You’ll pop in on your way home, will you?’

  ‘If that’s all right,’ said Libby. ‘Thanks, Harry.’

  She relayed this news to Ben when he brought her a whisky.

  ‘We won’t stay long, will we?’ he said.

  ‘No, of course not, they need to relax, but you don’t have to come at all.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ben, looking put out. ‘Don’t you want me to come home with you, then?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I was just saying I could pop in and you could go on home. You might want a chat with your Mum and Dad before you go.’

  ‘OK.’ Ben brightened. ‘I’ll s
ee they’re OK, then follow you down.’

  Peter let her in, glass in hand, and waved her towards the sitting room, where Harry lay on the sofa, an arm across his eyes.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Libby, sitting in her favourite sagging chair.

  ‘Poor sod’s bollocksed,’ said Peter, lifting Harry’s feet and replacing them on his own lap as he sat down. ‘I’ve made him do too much. Thank God he’s cut down this week.’

  Libby pursed her lips.

  ‘And don’t,’ said Peter, pointing a finger at her, ‘say I told you so.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Libby, who was.

  ‘Newspaper,’ said Harry, lifting his arm. ‘Top one on the pile.’

  Libby looked round and saw the pile of newspapers on the dining table. She went over and spread the top one out. Immediately, the little headline leapt out at her.

  “Diamond Necklace Stolen from the daughter of Sir Frederick Anderson” it read.

  ‘If you want a drink while you’re reading that you can help yourself,’ said Peter. ‘I’m not disturbing my boy now I’ve got him to relax.’

  ‘OK, thanks,’ said Libby, and poured herself a whisky from the selection on the slightly battered chiffonier. Taking the paper back to her chair, she began to read.

  “A diamond necklace belonging to Mrs Earnest Shepherd has been reported stolen from the house which the family, including Sir Frederick Anderson, Mrs Shepherd’s father, have taken for the season. We do not believe any of the good people of Nethergate are suspected of this heinous crime.”

  ‘Which means,’ said Libby, after reading this aloud, ‘they thought it was one of the servants.’

  ‘And your mate’s grandma worked for them, didn’t she?’ said Harry.

  ‘Do you think it was her?’ Libby was shocked. ‘But she was a governess.’

  ‘Didn’t she run off with a pierrot or something?’

  ‘Yes, but we know that she went to see Sir Frederick years later, and she wouldn’t have done that if she’d stolen the necklace, would she?’

  ‘What you need is another piece in a later edition of the paper telling you what the outcome was,’ said Peter.

  ‘Or something else in Aunt Maria’s documents,’ said Libby. ‘Fran’s going to ask if we can go through them again.’

  Ben arrived to collect her and walk her home, and she left Peter with the admonition not to get up and to look after Harry.

  ‘Peter’s finally realised Harry’s been doing too much,’ she said, tucking her arm through Ben’s. ‘I hope he doesn’t forget as soon as things are back to normal.’

  ‘He won’t,’ said Ben. ‘Why are we stopping here?’

  ‘I want to speak to Fran,’ said Libby, ringing the doorbell. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  Fran opened the door cautiously and looked surprised to see her visitors.

  ‘Come up,’ she said opening the door wider.

  ‘We won’t stop,’ said Libby, ‘but I’ve just seen a piece in one of those newspapers Harry was looking at. It says a diamond necklace was stolen from Mrs Shepherd and they think it was the servants.’

  ‘It didn’t exactly say that,’ said Ben.

  ‘Near enough. Anyway, Harry hasn’t found a follow up and he won’t have time now, so we’ve brought the papers away.’ She indicated the large plastic bag Ben carried. ‘But I think we need to go through Aunt Maria’s stuff and see if there’s any reference to it.’

  ‘I was going to phone Bella tonight anyway, so I’ll tell her we need to go over again this week. Tomorrow?’

  ‘Fine. Ring me when you’ve spoken to her.’ Libby gave Fran a kiss on the cheek. ‘Bye.’

  ‘Bye,’ said Fran, looking surprised.

  ‘What was that for?’ asked Ben, as they walked away.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The kiss. You two don’t usually. Everyone else does, but you don’t.’

  Libby thought. ‘Right from the start she’s seemed a bit remote – aloof, even. Shy, really, and as I’ve got to know her better, I’ve realised that’s all it is. But she’s never seemed the kissy sort, not like us luvvies.’

  ‘You speak for yourself,’ said Ben. ‘I’m no luvvy. And she was a professional, like you.’

  ‘Not a louche old tart like me, though,’ said Libby, grinning.

  ‘That’s true.’ Ben gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Lucky for me, though.’

  Fran was also surprised as she went back up the stairs to the flat. Over the months in which she had known Libby, she’d loosened up considerably, she admitted that to herself, but Libby had seemed to know and respect the barriers between Fran and the outside world. Not, she thought, that she minded that Libby had kissed her. She was rather pleased.

  She sat down by the table in the window and stared out at the dark High Street. The shop windows, alight with Christmas sparkle, were reflected in damp pavements as wavering columns of gold, and she could just see the twinkling fairy lights in the baskets of holly hanging outside the pub. She sighed with pleasure, remembering the shabby top floor flat in London she had abandoned to come here.

  She picked up her phone and found Bella’s number in the address book.

  ‘Oh, Fran.’ Fran heard a door closing. ‘What can I do for you? Have you found anything out?’

  ‘Well, yes, we have. Quite surprising things, actually.’ Fran related the findings of the previous week, finishing with the theft of the necklace. ‘Aunt Maria didn’t mention anything about that, did she?’

  ‘Well, no, but she wasn’t born until 1914, she wouldn’t have known about it.’

  ‘But she’s catalogued everything from when Dorinda first met Peter Prince, hasn’t she? So there must be some mention of it somewhere, if it’s relevant.’

  ‘I don’t see how it can be. She was turned off in 1903 because of her relationship with Peter. Look, do what you want. If you want to go through the stuff again, please do. I’m not going to be able to come down for a while yet.’

  ‘Why not?’ Fran was sure she knew, but she wanted Bella to admit it.

  ‘Andrew doesn’t like me going down. He says I’m neglecting the family.’

  ‘Does he still want you to sell?’

  Fran heard the sigh. ‘Oh, yes. He can’t see why I should want to live in such a god-forsaken place, or why I want to turn the theatre into a going concern. He says it would cost too much money. The site would be a worth a fortune, apparently.’

  Fran was quiet for a moment. ‘Would it cost more than you could afford?’

  ‘I don’t know quite what the full value of the estate is, yet,’ said Bella. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a lot there.’

  ‘Well, Libby and I will carry on for a bit, just in case anything we find throws any light on Laurence’s murder. As we now know there’s a link between the two families, we might be lucky.’

  ‘That will only make Andrew even angrier,’ said Bella. ‘He’s furious about a murder having happened on our doorstep, as he puts it. He’s desperate for me to sell the Alexandria.’

  ‘You can’t until probate’s granted, can you?’ said Fran. ‘Or while there’s a police investigation going on.’

  ‘No, and you should have heard him shouting at the policeman who came up here to interview us.’ Fran heard the suppressed shudder. Bella was having a hard time.

  ‘Why did he want to interview you both?’

  ‘He wanted to know if Andrew had any contact with Laurence before I went to see the solicitor. How on earth he could have I don’t know, but I suppose they had to check.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Fran. ‘If you’d never heard of Dorinda and Maria until you met Robert Grimshaw, how could Andrew have done?’

  ‘Well, anyway, all he’ll say now is he wishes we’d never heard of the theatre or the cottage, so I expect I will have to sell up. If you go over this week, would you check that Balzac is all right? I feel so guilty about that cat.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Fran. ‘If you like, when I move into my cottage in Nethergate,
I’ll take him over for you. Unless you want to take him up to London?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Bella quickly. ‘Andrew wouldn’t like it.’

  Andrew wouldn’t like the Crown Jewels done up in gold paper, thought Fran as she rang off. What Bella was doing staying with him she couldn’t fathom. Although the children were presumably enough to keep her there, and she wouldn’t want to upset the apple-cart so near to Christmas.

  Fran had a dream that night. She was standing in the doorway of Laurence Cooper’s flat watching a fight. Two men struggled at the top of the stairs, one obviously drunk, the other sober but frightened. As Fran watched, the drunk fell against the door opposite, which sprung open, and he fell inside. The other man, with a quick look over his shoulder, ran down the stairs. Neither of the men was Laurence Cooper, but who they were, she had no idea.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Nethergate, Summer 1903

  ‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, DON’T forget the name – Will’s Wanderers, next performance three o’clock on the sands, if wet, under the pier.’

  Will Beddowes swept off his pointed hat and bowed to the circle of his audience. Peter Prince took the box from Algy who was ‘bottling’ through the crowd and made his way over to where a pretty girl in grey stood with three older women who were obviously in service. The young woman dropped a coin into the box and smiled.

  ‘Thank you, pretty lady,’ said Peter, with a bow. ‘Are there any more at home like you?’

  ‘Oh, any number sir,’ said Dorinda. ‘Every home should have one.’

  The other three women nudged each other and giggled.

  ‘Be still my beating heart,’ said Peter. ‘She speaks.’

  ‘I have to, sir, to earn my living,’ said Dorinda.

  ‘And so beautifully,’ said Peter, trying to lead her away from her companions, who, however, stuck close behind them. ‘Do you mean to tell me what you do?’

  ‘I am a governess, sir.’

  ‘Peter.’ Will’s voice came from the promenade above them. ‘Bring that bottle.’

  Peter glanced up, then back at Dorinda. ‘Will you come and watch our next performance –’ he noticed the other three women. ‘– ladies?’

  ‘I ’ave me work to do, young feller,’ said the oldest. ‘Can’t stand around ’ere wastin’ time.’