‘When the house belonged to someone called Titus Watt,’ said Libby. ‘Have you heard of him, Anne?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t know he had a house here.’ Anne worked for the big library in Canterbury. ‘I’ll look him up.’
‘Andrew – remember Andrew Wylie? – he and a chap called Gilbert, also an academic, have been researching the archives at Maidstone,’ said Ben. ‘Just for interest’s sake.’
‘But Ben and Hetty don’t want publicity,’ said Ian. ‘They don’t want the house besieged by the public.’
‘No, of course,’ said Anne, looking disappointed.
‘So your cousin’s also interested in the archive?’ said Patti. ‘He’s come to investigate too?’
‘More or less,’ said Ian. ‘His father was the family archivist, although he – Richard - knew nothing about it.’
‘Exciting,’ said Anne.
‘Or not,’ said Patti, looking at Ben. ‘I don’t think we should ask any more, Annie.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Ian. ‘A fresh perspective, perhaps? On the fake, at least.’
‘Fran’s had a thought about that,’ said Libby. ‘I was going to tell you.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Ian. ‘Always ready to hear Fran’s thoughts. Ben, do you want to tell Patti and Anne about the letter?’
‘No, you tell them,’ said Ben. ‘You’ll be clearer.’
Ian explained about the draft letter being found among the archive documents, managing to avoid planting suspicion on either Richard or his father.
‘So you think this Richard’s father made the fake?’ said Anne.
‘Well, probably not,’ said Libby, hurrying in with Fran’s alternate theory.
Ian smiled. ‘A theory – no, a likely scenario – we’d come to ourselves. Do you agree?’
Ben looked relieved.
‘It sounds far more plausible,’ said Patti. ‘Why didn’t everyone assume that in the first place?’
Ben, Libby and Ian looked at one another.
‘I think,’ said Libby slowly, ‘it was because Michael found it and jumped to the conclusion that it was proof of Richard’s father’s guilt. I suppose I accepted it and it went from there.’
‘But I would have questioned it anyway,’ said Ian. ‘However, if you think Richard’s mind would be set at rest by this, by all means tell him. Have you got his mobile number?’
‘I have,’ said Ben. ‘Excuse me.’ He moved away from the table, phone already at his ear.
‘Well, that feels better,’ said Libby. ‘Thanks, Patti.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ said Patti. ‘It was Ian who confirmed Fran’s theory.’
‘Well, we don’t know for absolutely sure,’ said Ian, ‘no one was there at the time, not even Richard.’
‘No,’ said Libby. ‘He said he didn’t have much to do with his father, and Hetty said much the same. Russell didn’t have time for children. Ben didn’t know him.’
‘On the surface,’ said Anne, ‘it just looks as if this Lucas person tried to get something out of the National Shakespeare tour. But what?’
‘That’s what puzzles me, Anne,’ said Libby. ‘He was only loaning them the letter, not selling it.’
‘But it would have increased the interest, and then if he wanted to sell it the price would have gone up,’ said Patti.
Ian nodded, smiling.
‘Is that what you think, Ian?’ said Libby.
‘What I think doesn’t matter,’ said Ian. ‘But as I told you, London are going through his affairs now.’
‘Hoping they’ll find criminal connections?’ said Patti.
Ben arrived back at the table.
‘Richard feels a lot happier,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Let’s hope the police can confirm it.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘You know what we’ve never gone into,’ said Ben on the phone to Libby on Thursday morning, ‘why Nathan Vine’s number and address was in Dad’s book.’
‘So we haven’t. Has Ian?’
‘He hasn’t said so.’
‘We did try the number, didn’t we?’
‘No, we looked up the address. We didn’t try the number, but I doubt if that’s still in use. Certainly not by Vine.’
‘In that case, we ought to investigate,’ said Libby. ‘How do we go about it?’
‘We ought to leave it to Ian.’
‘No, he’s probably got too much to do,’ said Libby. ‘Especially now with Gideon Law’s death as well.’
‘That’s your excuse for being nosy.’
‘You mentioned it first.’
‘All right.’ Libby could hear the smile in Ben’s voice. ‘You and Fran have a go.’
Libby sat for a while thinking before ringing Fran.
‘So how do we do it?’ she asked, after bringing Fran up to date on last night’s meeting with Ian and Ben’s new idea.
‘If Hetty doesn’t know, I can’t think.’ Fran was silent for a moment. ‘Unless there are any old friends of Greg’s in the village who might know?’
‘No one’s come forward saying they know anything about the house,’ said Libby.
‘No one’s asked, though, have they?’
‘No, and it hasn’t been made much of that it was the house that Shakespeare visited,’ said Libby. ‘What about the old biddies’ network?’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call them that,’ said Fran.
‘It’s what Flo and Hetty call them. And – oh! I just remembered! Hetty said ask Flo, memory like an elephant. And Ben was going to ask Pete. I don’t think he ever did.’
‘Right, that’s where you start,’ said Fran.
‘Aren’t you coming?’
‘I’m in charge of the shop today. Guy, believe it or not, is actually painting. Keep me posted.’
Libby sat thinking some more after Fran had rung off. The “old biddies” were, in fact, led by Flo Carpenter, Hetty’s best friend, and included Hetty herself, plus two village ladies, Dolly Webley from New Barton Lane and Una Brent from Steeple Lane. Edie, the mother of a friend from out of the village, Lewis Osbourne-Walker, often joined them. Edie, a comparative newcomer, wouldn’t be able to tell her anything, but the other three might. Even, thought Libby, Joe and Nella up at Cattlegreen Nurseries might know. He seemed to know about all the old houses in the area. She decided to start there.
As by now it was almost lunchtime, she decided to drive up to the Nurseries, where the ‘boy’, Owen, would be sure to offer her something. In winter it was always hot chocolate, which it might be today, but that was always comforting, and it wasn’t the warmest of summer days.
As she drove into the yard, it was Owen who came to meet her with a wide smile.
‘Hello, Libby!’ He held her door open for her. ‘You come to see Dad?’
‘Yes, actually, Owen,’ said Libby, a little disconcerted. ‘Is he in the shop?’
‘Yes. Come on. I’ll go and make your chocolate.’
Libby followed him, grinning.
‘So what is it this time, then, young Libby?’ Joe, a large and comfortable countryman, perched on the edge of his counter. ‘More anonymous letters? All those old houses?’
‘Actually, yes, Joe. Old houses, the Manor in particular.’
‘Ah. That’ll be that letter, then.’
‘What?’ Libby was startled. ‘What do you know about it?’
‘All that about some letter and Shakespeare bringing one of his plays here. In all the papers, weren’t it?’
‘Well, yes it was, but -’
‘Weren’t true. But we reckon it was.’
‘What?’ Libby was more than startled now.
‘Oh, not that letter. Someone pulling a fast one, that were, weren’t it? No, but we reckoned… See, we remembered when old Greg had that bloke round.’
‘What bloke? What are you talking about?’ Libby automatically took the hot mug Owen offered her and winced. ‘Ow! Sorry, Owen. Go on, Joe – what bloke?’
‘Don’t Hetty re
member?’
‘She says not. What was his name?’
‘Oh, I never knew his name. But he made a bit of a fuss, see.’
‘What sort of a fuss?’
‘Far as I remember, he wanted to find out about the house, see. Its history an’ that. He reckoned someone famous had lived there.’
‘And what happened?’
Joe shrugged. ‘Dunno. You want to ask old Flo. I was a bit young, see. She was Hetty’s mate, wasn’t she?’
‘Still is,’ said Libby. ‘Hetty said to ask her. Said she’d got a memory like an elephant.’
‘There you are, then. What do you want to know for?’
‘Well, we didn’t know anything about it, and if Shakespeare really did come here – well, Ben would like to know.’
‘I reckon you would, too, gal,’ said Joe with a grin. ‘Now, was you buying anything today?’
Libby drove back into Steeple Martin and parked in Maltby Close. Flo came to her door, ever-present cigarette in hand, and frowned at her.
‘You didn’t drive round here, did you, gal? Gettin’ lazy?’
‘No, I’ve come from the Nurseries, Flo. I wanted to have a word.’
‘Ah. That’ll be about that bloke, won’t it?’
Libby, astonished as always by the osmosis by which information passed round the village, nodded. She had no doubt that Flo knew exactly which bloke she wanted to know about.
‘How did you know?’ she asked as Flo led her into the crowded sitting room. Lenny, Hetty’s brother, sitting in his usual chair by the electric fire, on summer and winter, grinned at her.
‘Thought we’d be seeing you,’ he said.
‘Go on, then, Flo. What do you know, and how do you know it?’
‘Het rang me up the other day. Said did I remember some bloke who might have come to see Greg about the house. Course I did. Years ago, mind.’
‘Why didn’t she tell us?’
Flo shrugged. ‘Dunno. Is it important?’
‘It could be. Do you remember his name?’
‘I didn’t, but Het had it. Hang on, I wrote it down.’ She fumbled for a notebook on the table by her chair. ‘Keep this for me crosswords,’ she explained. ‘Ah, here we are. Vine. Nathan Vine. Funny name.’
‘What do you remember about him?’
‘He tipped up at the Manor, like, wantin’ to know about the house. Who owned it, see?’
‘And Greg couldn’t tell him?’
‘No. Het fetched him from the office, and this Vine sat there with me in the kitchen, all toffee-nosed. I left when Greg came in, weren’t my business. But Het said after he sent him away with a flea in his ear.’
‘Why did he keep his address then?’
‘I reckon he said he’d let him know if he found anything. Course, that weren’t enough for him, was it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Went round the village, didn’t he? Askin’.’
‘Why has no one come forward with this?’ asked Libby.
‘Didn’t know anyone wanted to know,’ said Flo.
‘But you must have heard about all the fuss? The fake letter?’
‘Thought that was to do with them Shakespeare folk,’ said Lenny. ‘Not the Manor.’
‘I see.’ Libby reflected that the name Nathan Vine hadn’t been publicised and the Manor connection played down, so that was probably true.
‘Do you remember who he asked?’ she spoke again to Flo.
‘Not off the top of me head,’ said Flo, ‘but I tell you what, I’ll call a meetin’.’
‘A meeting?’
‘The old girls. Una and Dolly an’ them. You can come. You’ll enjoy it.’
‘Will they remember?’
‘We all remember things back then better than yesterday,’ said Lenny. ‘None of us ain’t senile yet.’
‘I’ll try and get ’em fer tomorrow,’ said Flo. ‘That all right for you?’
Libby left Maltby Close, parked the car at home and wandered back to The Pink Geranium. Harry was sitting at the table in the window staring blankly at an open laptop.
‘No customers?’ said Libby, opening the door.
‘Calm before the storm,’ said Harry. ‘The hordes come in late afternoon. Special arrangement.’
‘The Shakespeare lot?’
‘Yes, them. Bloody luvvies.’
‘Oh, go on! You love them.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Harry stood up. ‘Want something to eat?’
‘If there’s anything going.’
‘The usual try-it-out-soup.’
‘Lovely,’ said Libby.
When Harry had brought two bowls and a bottle of wine to the table, she launched into her story.
‘So you see,’ she concluded, ‘we might actually be able to find out what the connection was with Greg and then with the archive material.’
‘It’s all a bit of a bloody muddle, if you ask me,’ said Harry. ‘How would the village know if this Vine got in touch with – what was his name?’
‘Russell. Greg’s cousin.’
‘Yes, him.’
‘I don’t know, but we might get a clue. Everyone’s flailing around in the dark.’
‘Well, the dishy Ian will be looking into the victims’ backgrounds, won’t he? He’ll turn up something there.’
‘But will it help? Will it find a motive?’
‘Will a motive help?’
‘Well, of course. We’ve no idea who killed either Duncan Lucas or Gideon Law. Lucas’s killer could be anybody, connected or unconnected, but Law was actually killed on Ben’s land. That really has to be someone connected.’
‘But connected to what?’
‘To this case. And even if the fake letter isn’t the reason that Lucas was killed, the fact that he was in touch with National Shakespeare and Law was a member of the board, or whatever, means there has to be a connection.’
Harry sat back in his chair and scratched his head. ‘Damned if I can see what, though. How’s this Richard shaping up?’
‘Shaping up? He seems really nice. Fran was a bit wary at first. A bit suspicious.’
‘Was she now.’ Harry raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. ‘And what did we think of that, petal?’
‘She’s changed her mind now. It was just that Ben found him through social media and she wondered if he was really who he said he was. But Ian’s made sure he is. And anyway, what would he have to gain? Technically, all the archive material belongs to Ben, even if he doesn’t want it. Have you heard any gossip over the nachos?’
‘Not much. The actors weren’t really that interested as long as nothing upset their run. And the murders seem hardly to have impinged on their collective consciousness.’
‘Poor Ben’s getting bothered. It’s a long time since his family were involved in anything – well, questionable.’
‘It’s not him, though, is it? Greg gave all the stuff to Richard’s dad. Anything nasty comes out of that woodshed.’
‘It looks as if the letter was forged knowing about the archive material, though.’
‘Yes, pet, but while it was in Richard’s dad’s possession, not Greg’s.’ Harry waved the half empty bottle of red wine at her. ‘Drop more?’
‘Oh, go on, then,’ said Libby with a sigh.
Libby wandered home after her impromptu lunch and called first Ben, then Fran to update them. Ben was dubious about the collective village memory, but Fran was enthusiastic.
‘Just what we want,’ she said. ‘Remember how good they’ve been in the past. I bet they come up with something. Let me know.’
‘If Flo organises a meeting tomorrow, will you be able to come? Or will Guy still be creating?’
‘Even if he is, Sophie’s on call tomorrow,’ said Fran. ‘Are you going to tell Ian?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘He might tell me to stop.’
‘Why would he? You’re just talking to the village. And Nathan Vine isn’t a victim, is he?’
‘I suppose n
ot. Sounds as if he was a bit of a pain, according to Flo.’
‘And she would know,’ said Fran with a laugh.
But Libby got the chance to tell Ian about her investigations when he turned up with Ben at the end of the afternoon.
‘Ben tells me you’ve been asking your village ladies,’ he said, settling into a chair.
‘Well, I started with Joe up at Cattlegreen,’ said Libby. ‘Remember him?’
‘One of your network, yes, of course.’
‘He remembered, although not the detail, and he suggested Flo. And she said Hetty had asked her about Nathan Vine. You remember she suggested asking Flo the other day? And,’ she said turning to Ben, ‘why didn’t she tell us Flo remembered?’
‘Probably didn’t think it was important after we’d got in touch with Richard.’
‘Anyway, she remembered and suggested this meeting with the village ladies. They’ve helped before.’
‘Never underestimate a village,’ said Ian. ‘I should have thought of it before. And now, I have some news, too.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘Duncan Lucas,’ said Ian, ‘was a well-known operator under a variety of aliases. I don’t know why he didn’t come up on someone’s radar before this, but it doesn’t look as if he was Nathan Vine’s relative.’
‘How did he get hold of the fake, then?’ asked Ben.
‘That we haven’t confirmed yet.’
‘Has no one seen a will? Didn’t the V&A check when he presented it? They have to have valid provenance, surely?’ said Libby.
‘That’s being looked into,’ said Ian. ‘The situation’s opened up a bigger can of worms than anyone would have thought – it looks as if Lucas was part of an international art fraud ring.’
Libby gasped.
‘Art fraud?’ said Ben.
‘They deal in forgeries, fake antiques – anything the customer wants. It looks as though that’s what this is all about.’
‘So he got hold of it for that specific reason?’ said Libby.
‘The Arts and Antiques Unit are looking into it. They’ll have to look at Nathan Vine very seriously, now, so any information your ladies can come up with will be most useful.’ Ian stood up.
‘What about my dad?’ said Ben.
‘I should think any trail there is will stop with Russell Wilde,’ said Ian. ‘I really cannot imagine Greg Wilde being involved with anything even moderately fraudulent, can you?’
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