Murder and the Glovemaker's Son

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Classic clever clogs with head in the clouds.’ Ben nodded. ‘Saw a lot of them at university.’

  ‘Anyway, he wants to see Andrew and Gilbert. He’s thinking along the same lines you were.’

  ‘I was?’ Ben frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You said yesterday you wondered if the original owner knew Hetty and Greg.’

  Ben and Libby looked at Hetty in silence. She merely looked puzzled.

  ‘If you did,’ Libby attempted to explain, ‘he might have known enough to look into the archives -’

  ‘We haven’t got any,’ Hetty interrupted.

  ‘At the archives centre, Libby means,’ said Ben.

  ‘Yes. And found out that Shakespeare actually did come here.’

  ‘Eh?’ Hetty was startled. ‘Well, how would he know that if we didn’t?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it makes a sort of sense, doesn’t it?’ said Ben.

  Hetty just shook her head.

  ‘That’ll be either Ian or Andrew,’ said Libby, standing at a sharp knock on the door. ‘I’ll go.’

  In fact, Ian was at the door and Andrew and Gilbert were just getting out of Andrew’s car.

  ‘Timing,’ said Libby. ‘Come in. We’re in the kitchen.’

  Gilbert’s eyes were everywhere as she led them down the passage. In the kitchen, he gazed spellbound at the rafters, mouth open. Libby called him to attention and introduced him to Hetty and Ian.

  ‘This is quite informal and not standard procedure,’ began Ian, ‘but as you’ll see, Professor Harrison, these people are friends and somehow seem to impinge on every other case that comes my way, so it’s become second, reprehensible, nature to have a chat in the kitchen.’

  ‘I think it’s delightful!’ Gilbert beamed round at them all. ‘I feel quite privileged.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ian with a wry smile. ‘Now, Professor Wylie – what information did you pick up at the archives centre?’

  ‘Well, quite a bit.’ Andrew looked smug as he pulled a fat folder of documents out of a briefcase. ‘These are all photocopies, obviously.’ He spread them out on the big pine table.

  ‘Mostly household accounts?’ said Libby, craning her neck to read upside down.

  ‘Mostly. And a couple of other things. But this is what you’re interested in.’

  He pushed a copy of a crabbed document towards them in a plastic wallet. It was, indeed an account regarding “Mr Shakespeare’s Company”, although it wasn’t quite clear to Libby if they had been put up at Quinton St Martin or merely allowed to perform there.

  ‘You said you checked some other sources, too?’ said Libby.

  ‘Yes. There are no civic documents for the village, as it barely existed then, but there is a note in the church record of a “reward” being given to the company. That’s how they were paid, by reward. There are fuller accounts of Dover, of course, and Faversham, although they’re slightly dodgy. The route could have brought them through here. Anyway, it’s definitely substantiated.’ He looked round the table with a satisfied smile.

  ‘And you knew nothing of this, Hetty?’ Ian asked. She smiled at him.

  ‘Not a thing, love.’

  ‘What about Dad?’ asked Ben.

  ‘He wasn’t interested, son. He left all that to his cousin, Russell.’

  ‘Cousin?’

  The company was suddenly on the alert. Hetty looked surprised. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘Cousin? A cousin of Dad’s? Did I know him?’ Ben was sitting forward on his chair now.

  ‘I expect you met him. Came here quite a lot when you were a kid. Never much of a one for kids, Russell. Never took much notice of his own son. Didn’t bring him here.’

  ‘Was his father Grandfather’s brother?’

  ‘Yes. Richard Wilde. Your granddad’s younger brother. That’s why your dad got the house.’

  ‘And did Russell resent it?’ asked Libby shrewdly.

  ‘Always more interested than your dad was. Took away all the old books and papers.’

  ‘What?’ The outraged cry came from Gilbert, Andrew and Ben.

  Hetty shrugged. ‘That’s why I said, we haven’t got any old archives.’

  Ben groaned and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Is Russell still alive, Hetty?’ Ian asked, obviously amused at the distress of the others.

  ‘No. Got a letter about it. From his son.’

  Libby looked at Ian. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘That the son might be Lucas?’

  ‘And Russell the enigmatic Nathan Vine?’

  Hetty looked at Ben. ‘What are they talking about?’

  ‘A theory, Mum. Don’t worry.’ Ben turned to Ian. ‘Now, will you tell us what’s been going on?’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘A call came in early this morning from a small guesthouse in Canterbury. They’d found a guest dead in his bedroom.’

  ‘Duncan Lucas?’ asked Libby.

  Ian nodded. ‘The officers attending found some publicity material about the Glover’s Men tour, and when his phone was checked, found missed calls from Tristan Scott. Then, of course, he called and an officer answered.’

  ‘Was he – murdered?’ asked Gilbert.

  ‘It certainly looks like it. Of course, we have to hedge our bets until after the post-mortem. Now Libby and Tristan have explained the whole story we have something to work on. Hetty – would you have any old contacts for Russell Wilde?’

  Hetty looked at Ben. ‘Dad’s old address book?’

  ‘I’ll fetch it.’ Ben left the room.

  ‘Does all this hang on the fake letter?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘It’s an angle we have to consider,’ said Ian. ‘What do you and Gilbert know about it?’

  ‘I was only really involved when Nathan Vine brought it to us at the V&A, and we wouldn’t verify its accuracy,’ said Gilbert. ‘I only heard about the newest attempt when I saw some publicity about the Glover’s Men tour, which was when I got hold of Tristan Scott to tell him what we’d found out. Then I got hold of the young chap who had been dealing with it at the V&A this time round. He agreed with me. Then when I arrived here yesterday, Libby told me about the nephew – Lucas - and his disappearance, Andrew and I decided to look into what provenance we could find for a visit by Shakespeare to Steeple Martin.’

  ‘And you said Scott told you, Libby, that Lucas had withdrawn the letter.’

  ‘And then that he had disappeared, yes,’ said Libby. ‘That was when National Shakespeare got their knickers in a twist because they’d promoted it – the letter, I mean. And what we hoped was if we could find proof that Shakespeare’s company had really come here, they could use that, instead. And the fact that this house, or Quinton St Martin, had been owned by Titus Watt... well, we thought that would help.’

  Ian looked at her in silence for a moment. ‘I don’t know how you manage it,’ he said eventually.

  ‘What?’ Libby coloured a little and lifted her chin.

  ‘Getting involved,’ said Ben, coming back into the room. ‘To be fair, Ian, it wasn’t Libby’s fault at all. National Shakespeare got hold of the Oast Theatre Trust about bringing this tour here, so the fault, if there is one, is mine and Peter’s as much as Libby’s, for saying yes.’ He handed a battered-looking leather-bound address book to Hetty. ‘Have a look.’

  Hetty handed it to Ian. ‘You look,’ she said.

  Ian took it with a smile. He and Hetty got on well, and when he came to stay at the Manor she treated him like a son. ‘Only more so,’ Ben had been known to say, ‘because he hasn’t got a woman to look after him. Old-fashioned, my mum.’

  He flicked through the address book. ‘There’s one here for Russell Wilde, but I can’t see one for his son. Do you remember his name, Hetty?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Might as well look for Nathan and Duncan, then -’ said Ian. And stopped dead. ‘What?’ said everybody.

  ‘Vine. Nathan Vine. He's in her
e.'

  Gasps and mutterings of astonishment erupted round the table.

  ‘Now, why?’ Ian was frowning.

  Hetty was looking as puzzled as everyone else. ‘Never heard of ’im.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ said Ben. ‘Or rather not before today.’

  ‘How could we get hold of Russell’s son, Hetty? Are there any other relations?’ Ian asked.

  ‘I’ll go through the address book,’ said Ben. ‘And could I ask Pete as well? I know he’s from Mum’s side of the family, but he might remember someone.’

  ‘Ask Flo,’ said Hetty. ‘Memory like an elephant.’

  Gilbert, by this time, was looking thoroughly confused.

  ‘Friend of the family,’ Libby explained. ‘We’re an almost incestuous lot. Peter is Ben’s cousin, married to Harry who is owner and chef at The Pink Geranium in the village.’

  ‘M-married?’ stammered Gilbert.

  ‘Yes.’ Libby raised her eyebrows at him. ‘I hope I’m not going to be disappointed in you, Gilbert.’

  Colour flooded into his amiable face.

  ‘I do have a suggestion, Professor Harrison,’ said Ian, retrieving the situation. ‘You say you got in touch with the expert who had been evaluating the letter recently?’

  ‘Michael Allen.’ Gilbert nodded.

  ‘Could you ask him if he’d be willing to answer a few questions?’

  ‘I’ll give you his personal number if you like.’

  ‘No, I’d rather you asked him first.’

  ‘Now?’ Gilbert looked worried.

  ‘As soon as you feel able,’ said Ian politely, although Libby felt sure it was through gritted teeth.

  ‘Do you want us any more, Inspector?’ asked Andrew, standing up.

  ‘If you’d be kind enough to send me copies of these documents,’ said Ian.

  ‘I’ll do them now,’ said Ben. ‘Or I could scan them in and then send you the link?’

  Ian and Ben went off together to the office taking the documents with them. Gilbert sighed.

  ‘It sounds exciting, getting involved with investigations, but it’s quite disturbing really, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what people don’t understand,’ said Libby. ‘Are you going to get in touch with this Michael person?’

  ‘Michael Allen.’ Gilbert sighed again and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. ‘I suppose I’d better. I hope I can find his number.’

  ‘Go into the sitting room,’ said Libby. ‘That’ll be more private.’

  ‘I’ll take you,’ said Andrew, and Hetty and Libby were left alone in the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t like this, gal,’ said Hetty, pouring more tea into her mug.

  ‘I don’t suppose the Manor will have to be involved,’ said Libby. ‘I think it’s just...’ She searched for a word.

  ‘Bloody annoying,’ supplied Hetty, and Libby laughed.

  ‘How are you getting on with the actors?’

  ‘Hardly see ’em. Don’t even have breakfast, they don’t. Make ’emselves a drink in their rooms and off they go. Not like those panto types. Or even those dancers.’ Hetty smiled reminiscently. ‘Nice boys, they were.’

  ‘Most of them,’ said Libby darkly.

  Andrew and Gilbert came back into the kitchen.

  ‘Michael wants to come down.’ Gilbert stared worriedly at Libby. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Do? Nothing! He’s welcome to come down.’ She turned to Hetty. ‘Have we got any rooms left here?’

  ‘Couple. I was saving one for Ian in case he wants to stay...’

  Libby grinned. ‘I’ll tell him. Well, that leaves one for this Michael. Are there any at the pub, do you know?’

  ‘There’s my room,’ said Gilbert, ‘now I’ve left.’

  ‘Well, then. I’m sure Ian would be glad to see him.’

  ‘I’ll ring him back,’ said Gilbert. ‘He was talking about tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? My Bel’s coming tomorrow. Is he coming by train?’

  Ian and Ben came back into the room and Libby told them about Michael Allen’s plan.

  ‘By all means,’ said Ian. ‘Why don’t you ask him if he’d like to travel with Bel? She could show him the way.’

  ‘Er, yes.’ Gilbert went out of the room again, frowning at his phone.

  ‘And Ian, Hetty’s saved a room for you if you wanted to stay here over the investigation.’

  Ian smiled at Hetty. ‘Thank you, Hetty, I might take you up on that.’

  Hetty grunted something that might have been an acknowledgement.

  Gilbert came back, holding his phone out to Libby.

  ‘Michael wants a word.’

  Raising her eyebrows Libby took the phone.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Sarjeant. Michael Allen.’ Voice sounds all right, thought Libby. ‘Professor Harrison says your daughter may be travelling down tomorrow. I shall be driving, and would be glad to offer her a lift, if she would be comfortable with that?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Libby, wondering how, in fact, Bel would take this. ‘I don’t know...’

  ‘Perhaps you could give her my number and she could phone me first? I quite understand if she would rather not.’

  Libby took down the number and handed the phone back to Gilbert.

  ‘Well, he’s coming tomorrow. Not sure why.’

  ‘He’s probably fascinated by the link with Shakespeare and Titus Watt,’ said Andrew. ‘I am myself, and it isn’t my speciality.’

  ‘I’d better get back,’ said Ian. ‘I’ve got the rest of the tour committee to interview. Where did you say Tristan Scott was staying? Is he here?’

  ‘No, at Steeple Farm. In fact,’ said Libby, as a thought struck her, ‘originally he was bringing the owner with him, which was why he booked it.’

  ‘Come on, let’s leave Hetty to herself,’ said Ben. ‘And I’m sure Andrew and Gilbert want to get off.’

  Gilbert looked relieved, but Andrew seemed as though he would have preferred to stay. Eventually, Ben and Libby were able to leave Hetty on her own in her little private sitting room, and shut the big oak front door behind them.

  ‘You’d better ring Bel,’ said Ben, as they walked down the drive. ‘And I’ll ring Tristan.’

  Bel was not averse to saving a train fare, and inclined to think an expert from the V&A was respectable enough as a chauffeur. Libby gave her Michael’s number and put her phone back in her pocket.

  ‘Will he want to stay with Tristan?’ said Ben. ‘Or shall we give him the option of Hetty’s rather than foisting him on Wonder Boy?’

  Libby grinned. ‘Good idea. Bel will ring us when she’s made arrangements. I only hope she isn’t indiscreet...’

  Chapter Eight

  What did this man think of it, wondered Belinda Sarjeant as they drove slowly up the short drive towards the Manor. The mullioned windows, the heavy oak door, the tall chimneys. She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. He was intent on the building in front of them, and as he pulled up in front of it, he just sat and looked.

  ‘Well?’ said Bel.

  He turned to her, blue eyes crinkling. ‘Fabulous. Doesn’t look as though anything’s been done to it.’

  ‘Oh, it has!’ Bel laughed. ‘Ben and Mum fitted bathroom pods in most of the bedrooms for a start. Very tastefully done, of course. Come in and meet everyone.’

  Michael Allen slid out of his car, unfolded his tall, lean body and stretched. Bel looked hastily away. She’d had a lot of trouble keeping her eyes to herself during the drive down. They would keep straying to the muscled thighs in the pale chinos, the brown V of neck above the deep blue open shirt, and the short, thick hair...

  ‘Come along then,’ she said, climbing out of the car and reaching into the back to collect her bag. ‘Bring your bag.’

  She led the way into the house and turned left into the kitchen, where she found Hetty standing at the Aga, and Ben and her mother sitting at the long table with, surprisingly, Professor Andrew Wylie and
another man.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘This is Michael.’

  Everyone stood up, and Libby shot a knowing look at her daughter.

  Michael shook hands all round, appearing to be a very laid back, amiable young man.

  ‘I’ve heard of you, of course,’ said Andrew.

  ‘And we’ve corresponded,’ said Gilbert.

  ‘Shall I show you to your room?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Or would you like tea or coffee first?’ added Libby.

  Michael grinned. ‘As I guess you’re all dying to talk to me, I’d love coffee.’

  Hetty put the cafetière on the table and Libby fetched mugs while everyone seated themselves.

  ‘Lovely kitchen,’ said Michael.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ enthused Gilbert. ‘You don’t get many as untouched as this.’

  ‘So,’ said Michael. ‘Can you all explain the situation?’

  Everyone looked at everyone else, and eventually, Gilbert took it on himself to be spokesperson. He spoke about the initial approach by Nathan Vine to the V&A, then the follow-up approach by Duncan Lucas, who then approached National Shakespeare. At this point, Libby and Ben between them took up the story, finishing up with the discovery of Lucas’s body.

  ‘And now the police want to ask me a few questions?’ said Michael, when they’d finished. ‘Do you know what questions?’

  ‘How much contact you had with Lucas, I expect, and what information he gave you,’ said Libby. ‘That’s what I want to know, too.’

  ‘Right. When am I likely to meet this policeman?’

  ‘Any time now, I expect,’ said Ben. ‘I believe you might be sharing accommodation.’

  ‘What?’ Michael looked startled.

  ‘If he’s on a case here, or in this area, he often stays here,’ said Libby. ‘DCI Connell is a friend of the family.’

  ‘Yes, Mum, where does Ian live?’ asked Bel.

  ‘The other side of Kent,’ said Libby glibly, unwilling to admit in front of a stranger, that Ian had refused to disclose this information for as long as they’d known him.

  ‘So how well did you know Lucas?’ asked Gilbert, obviously impatient with these domestic details.

  ‘Not well at all. He approached us by letter at first, quoting his uncle’s failed attempt to get the document verified.’ Michael took a thoughtful sip of coffee. ‘One of my predecessors had recently retired, in fact the one who had been dealing with it, and we got in touch with him first. He said he hadn’t been able to testify to its veracity, but that we might have more tools in our arsenal these days, so why didn’t we give it a go.’