‘Yes.’
‘It was about him I wanted to talk to you. It wouldn’t be very convenient tonight, so I wondered if I could pop over some time?’
‘How intriguing!’ Sandra sounded delighted. ‘Yes, of course. You could come this afternoon, if you like. Alan won’t be here, but you don’t need him, do you?’
‘No, that’s fine, thank you,’ said Libby weakly. ‘I don’t want to hold you up, though, if you’ve got to get ready to go out.’
‘No problem, Libby. Sid Best’s cooking for us at The Poacher.’
‘Ah. Well, would two thirty be all right?’
‘Yes, of course. Will Fran come with you?’
‘Oh, you remember Fran?’
‘Of course. Will she come?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Libby, slightly miffed that Sandra appeared keener to see Fran than herself. ‘It’s a summer Saturday, and she works in her husband’s gallery on Nethergate seafront.’
‘What a lovely thing to do,’ said Sandra. ‘Well, I’ll see you later, then. Looking forward to it.’
Libby remained looking at the phone in some puzzlement. Why was Sandra so keen to see her? So pleased to hear from her?
She reported to Fran, who, as she had predicted, couldn’t come to Itching with her, and to Ben, who sighed a bit.
‘Well, you could come, too, if you wanted.’
‘If her husband was going to be there, maybe, but not just with you two women.’
‘That’s a very old-fashioned view,’ said Libby.
‘I am old-fashioned, or hadn’t you realised?’
So at two o’clock Libby got into the silver bullet and set off towards Itching and Perseverance Row. Itching was just down the hill from Shott and a little over a mile from Bishop’s Bottom. All the villages, which Libby thought sounded like something out of Cold Comfort Farm, shared churches ministered to by the Rev. Patti, and therefore shared gossip, but Libby found it very useful on occasion, as Patti frequently knew the right people to talk to in certain circumstances.
Sandra led her through to a neat garden as manicured as she was herself, her silver hair swept back in a French pleat, her make up immaculate. Libby, some years her junior, would never aspire to the same style.
‘Now,’ she said, seating her guest on a comfortable garden lounger, ‘Nathan Vine. What did you want to know? I haven’t seen him for years.’
‘You didn’t know he was dead?’ Libby asked hesitantly. She needn’t have worried. Sandra merely looked surprised.
‘I had no idea! But we never kept in touch after he left the village, although Elliot and he became quite close for a time. I didn’t even have an address to let him know when Elliot died.’
‘Ah.’ Libby paused to collect her thoughts. ‘Well, we were wondering, you see, how he became acquainted with Ben’s father. We found his address in Greg’s address book.’
‘That was our fault.’ Sandra smiled.
‘Oh?’
‘He moved in to Farm Cottage to do some research into historical houses in the area.’
‘Yes, we thought so...’
‘And he went to see dear Una to ask if she knew who owned the Manor. Well, she knew of course, but couldn’t introduce him, and it wasn’t open to the public – still isn’t, I gather?’
‘No.’
‘And so she sent him on to us. And I said I’d ask. We knew the Wildes, and Elliot was quite friendly with Greg. So we did. But I don’t think he got very far.’
‘No, I don’t think he did, either.’ Libby gave a small smile. ‘So what was he looking for?’
‘Looking for?’ Sandra’s eyebrows rose. ‘The history of local houses, he said. Nothing in particular.’
‘Oh.’ Libby was puzzled. ‘Not Shakespeare?’
‘No. I can’t see what he would have had to do with that business, you know.’
‘Well.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘It was him, you see, who had the forged letter in the first place.’
Sandra frowned. ‘Nathan? But when was this? When he lived in Steeple Martin?’
‘Actually, I’m not sure. But quite a time ago.’
‘So what does it have to do with the business over this Shakespeare letter now? And the murder?’
Libby sighed. ‘It’s actually quite complicated.’
‘In that case,’ said Sandra, standing up, ‘let’s have a cup of tea.’
Libby followed her into the house.
‘Nathan showed the letter to the V&A, you see, years ago,’ she said, as Sandra filled a kettle in her immaculate kitchen. ‘And after a while they got in touch to say it was a fake. So he took it back, and that was that. But last year – I think it was last year – it turned up again at the V&A, sent by Nathan’s nephew.’
‘Nephew?’ Sandra turned round. ‘But how could he have had a nephew? He didn’t have any brothers or sisters.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Libby let out a satisfied “Yes!” and hit the work surface.
‘I said that,’ she said. ‘We didn’t know if he was really Nathan’s nephew.’
‘Who?’ Sandra looked bewildered.
‘Duncan Lucas. I don’t suppose you know if he visited Nathan?’
‘No idea.’ Sandra turned to pour boiling water on to tea bags in mugs. She always used to make proper tea in a teapot, Libby reflected. And served in proper teacups. How people change. ‘We didn’t see many of his visitors. Oh, we went round for drinks, sometimes, and he came to us, and we all went to the theatre together a few times, but we didn’t meet many other people.’
‘Well, this chap sent the letter back to the V&A, and, more or less at the same time, he got in touch with National Shakespeare, who were making plans to do this booth stage tour to the same places as the Lord Chamberlain’s Men. Then, to cut a long story short, the V&A confirmed that it was a fake, and Lucas took it away and disappeared from view. By which time, National Shakespeare had built a whole publicity strategy around it, particularly as the letter had referred to Steeple Martin and we now had a theatre there.’
‘So was it this Lucas who was murdered?’ Sandra handed over a mug.
‘Yes, it was, but not then. He was found after they’d arrived here – in Steeple Martin, I mean – and no one knew he was here, or why.’
‘And he said he was Nathan’s nephew?’
‘Yes. But we did think Nathan was also a friend of Greg Wilde’s cousin Russell Wilde. You don’t happen to know if he was?’
Sandra was frowning again. ‘Let’s go back outside,’ she said. ‘Now, when Nathan was hoping to find out something about the Manor, Elliot happened to mention that he knew there were some old household documents there, but that Greg wasn’t that interested in them.’
‘That’s right. But this cousin, Russell, was.’
Sandra resumed her garden seat.
‘I’ve got a vague idea that someone went to see him.’ She sipped her tea. ‘He got quite excited about it. That’s it!’ she put down her mug. ‘He told Elliot he’d been fobbed off!’
‘Fobbed off?’
Sandra laughed. ‘Yes. He wasn’t upset about it, quite the reverse. He said Greg Wilde hadn’t wanted to be bothered and he’d sent someone else. Could that have been this cousin?’
‘It sounds like it,’ said Libby. ‘But you don’t know anything else?’
‘No, dear.’ Sandra shook her head. ‘He wasn’t around for long after that. Oh, he went to see old Colonel Feathers at Old Hall, but I don’t suppose he had much joy there. He wouldn’t have known much of the history of the place.’
‘No,’ said Libby. ‘He’d been out in India, hadn’t he? His wife didn’t know how to wash a floor, it was said.’
‘That’s him. Expected the locals to kowtow.’
‘So I heard. And no doubt thought India had been better off under the British.’
Sandra looked at her doubtfully. ‘Maybe…’
Libby smiled. ‘Sorry, one of my hobby horses. Well, that’s been very helpful, Sandra,
thank you. And you’ve got a lovely garden.’
‘Thank you.’ Sandra looked round complacently. ‘Although the house is smaller than the one in Steeple Lane.’ She sighed. ‘I was sorry to leave there.’
‘But Itching’s a very pretty village.’
‘Not so much going on, though.’ She sighed. ‘I’d go back like a shot. And I miss Una.’
‘I think she misses you, too,’ said Libby. ‘Have you kept the old house?’
‘Yes. Alan says it would need doing up before we sell it, but...’
‘I know,’ said Libby. ‘Ben wanted to move into Steeple Farm now it’s been done up, but I didn’t want to leave my cottage, and I’d have to keep it as a bolthole, I think.’
Sandra pulled an expressive face. ‘I’m afraid I’m a bit like that.’
They went back through the house and Libby stepped out into Perseverance Row.
‘Is the ukulele group still going?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Sandra said with a laugh. ‘We all felt a bit dispirited after the murder, and as you know, a lot of people had already left, so we gave up. I believe the Canterbury group are still going, though. Why, did you want to join?’
‘Good heavens, no! The strings still hurt my fingers. And what about the darts? Are you still Ladies’ Team Captain at The Poacher?’
Sandra laughed again. ‘Still playing, but not Captain any more. I’m too old, and my eyesight isn’t what it was. We haven’t been to Steeple Martin for a long time, though.’
‘We’ve got a new landlord, Tim. Very forward-looking. He helped organise our Beer Festival last year.’
‘I heard,’ said Sandra. ‘You won’t be having another one, will you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Did you know Ron Stewart came to help us?’
‘Yes, I did hear. I expect that was quite a draw, wasn’t it?’
‘Much as it was for the concert that time,’ said Libby. ‘Well, I’d better get on. I expect I’ll see you tonight, won’t I?’
‘I expect so. Last night, isn’t it?’
‘No, actually, they’ve asked for another day, so they’re doing two performances tomorrow.’
‘Oh! Well, good for you, I suppose,’ said Sandra doubtfully.
‘Except for having to find staff for tomorrow,’ said Libby. ‘I think I shall be working the bar for both performances.’ She pasted on a bright smile. ‘See you later.’
She drove back through Shott, past The Poacher with its creaky sign hanging over the door, and back up the hill towards the Canterbury Road. So what had that conversation told her?
Well, only one thing, really. That Duncan Lucas couldn’t have been Nathan Vine’s nephew. But, how could Sandra actually know that? How did she know Nathan didn’t have brothers and sisters? Presumably he’d told her or her husband, but why? Libby scowled at the road ahead. That posed more questions than it answered.
It did look as though Russell had been in touch with him, though. It also looked as if contact had first been made by Russell, not the other way round. She sighed and gave up. Her brain was full.
When she got back to Steeple Martin, she found Ben asleep in the back garden of 17 Allhallow’s Lane and a message from Sandra on the landline answerphone.
‘Sorry, I meant to tell you that Nathan had another friend in the village – well, several really. Elliot introduced him to the Chess Club, and he got to know a couple of them really well.’
‘And who were they?’ Libby asked the unresponsive phone.
‘Who were what?’ said a sleepy voice.
‘Sandra left a message. She forgot to tell me something.’
‘Couldn’t it wait until tonight? You’ll see her at the theatre.’
‘Yes, but as I said to her earlier, it wouldn’t be very convenient to talk there. Not privately, anyway.’ She sighed. ‘Still, I might as well wait, now. Do you want to hear what she said?’
Ben did, and made tea while she told him.
‘You’re right,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘How did she know that for a fact?’
‘It’s not the sort of thing that comes up in conversation, is it?’ said Libby. ‘You don’t suddenly come out with: “I’ve got no brothers and sisters, you know,” do you?’
‘It might,’ said Ben. ‘I can think of lots of conversations where it might come up. Talking about families in general, you know.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Libby grudgingly. ‘She did seem very definite about it. Anyway, I suppose I should have asked.’
‘And the Chess Club.’ Ben was frowning. ‘Who was a member of the Chess Club?’
‘Not your Dad, then?’
‘No, I never knew him to play chess. I didn’t, either.’
‘Who would know?’ Libby scowled at her mug. ‘I bet Flo doesn’t.’
‘I wonder if it’s still going?’ said Ben.
‘Yes, but no one will remember Nathan Vine.’
‘Why not? Sandra Farrow does.’
‘That’s true – and so did Una and the ladies.’
‘And you’ve asked Tim about old landlords – although I don’t suppose you’ll have much luck there – and Edward’s going to ask the Arts and Antiques squad. So unless you go knocking on every door in the village, I can’t see that there’s much else you can do.’
‘No, you’re right. What a pity the photo shop isn’t still there. Russell used it, the ladies said.’
‘Was it a photo shop, then?’ asked Ben.
‘According to the ladies he used it, so it must have been. But I remember Ian telling us it had been closed for years, though obviously after that time.’ She frowned. ‘So was Russell here twice?’
‘He used to visit, Mum said, didn’t she?’ said Ben. ‘So he must have been here more than twice. I mean, he was coming when I was a boy, and the whole business with Nathan was far more recent than that.’
‘Was it?’
‘Must have been. Sandra Farrow wouldn’t have known him otherwise.’
‘Oh, yes! I must say, the whole timing aspect of this has me confused. Shall we ask Hetty? I mean, did he stay at the Manor? Or somewhere else?’
‘Well, don’t ask her now, she’ll be resting. I’ll pop in when we go up to the theatre later. I take it we are going?’
‘I said I’d see Sandra. And if the cast want the bar open after the show I suppose we ought to offer to man it.’
‘We’ll be doing it tomorrow, anyway,’ said Ben, with a sigh. ‘Oh, the joys of running a theatre...’
They arrived at the theatre half an hour before the interval and told the bar staff the good news that they could go home early. Libby helped finish off the pre-ordered interval drinks while Ben went over to the Manor to quiz Hetty. He arrived back just in time to start collecting glasses as the interval bell sounded.
‘Yes, she remembered,’ he said, unloading glasses from a tray. ‘You remember she said that the other day? It’s jogged her memory.’
‘Go on, then. What?’ asked Libby, loading glasses into the dishwasher.
‘Wait a minute. I’ll finish this first.’
Libby managed to contain her soul in patience until Ben had collected all the glasses.
‘What she said was that Russell used to come down when I was a boy and sometimes stay at the Manor, although he and Dad never got on. She didn’t really know what they talked about, but Dad always seemed to want to get rid of him. Then – and this is the interesting part – she actually remembered Dad inviting Russell down many years later “to get that other one off my back”.’
‘Nathan!’ said Libby.
‘Looks like it. She didn’t remember meeting him until Flo reminded her, which was why she didn’t recognise the name when we found it the other day. But it looks as though Nathan went to see Dad, and then Dad asked Russell to deal with him. “Fobbed him off”, as Sandra told you.’
‘So did he give Russell all the documents then or when he came down before?’
‘I would think then, wouldn’t you?’
Libby nodded.
‘Oh – and she remembered the Chess Club.’
‘No!’
‘Yes!’ Ben grinned. ‘Not that she or Dad were members, but they met in the pub, apparently, and – get this – they still do!’
‘Oh, good lord. And this was when?’
‘Oh, she doesn’t remember that. But it was before I moved back, obviously, and she thinks before Peter and Harry came back, too.’ He sighed. ‘What a pity Mad Millie isn’t slightly more – well, with it.’
‘What about,’ said Libby, suddenly struck with inspiration, ‘your sister Susan?’
‘Susan? What, a member of the Chess Club?’
‘Or maybe her – er – husband.’ Libby swallowed nervously. ‘Do you think...?’
‘Despite what happened when we put on The Hop Pickers,’ said Ben, with a wry smile, ‘I suppose Susan and David were upstanding members of the community. I could ask her.’
Libby breathed a sigh of relief. Susan was rather a tricky subject in the Wilde family.
‘Where is she now?’ she asked. ‘I lost track.’
‘London, believe it or not,’ said Ben. ‘Mum’s family are still up there, or some of them are, and she went to stay with Great-Aunt Bessie. Then, when the dust had settled, so to speak, and she had some money, she bought herself a little flat and got a job. Mum couldn’t believe it.’
‘Gosh!’ said Libby, who couldn’t imagine strait-laced countrywoman Susan living and working in London. ‘One of Betjeman’s businesswomen in Camden Town, eh?’
‘Overlooking the railway lines?’ Ben smiled. ‘Maybe, but it’s more Canning Town than Camden.’
‘Goodness! She hasn’t got one of those smart Docklands flats, has she?’
‘No, it’s a Victorian conversion. I popped in to see it once or twice when I was up there.’
‘You didn’t tell me!’
‘Well, no. Not the happiest memories, are they?’
‘No,’ conceded Libby.
Luckily, the cast of Twelfth Night had no desire to party long and hard after the show now they had two more performances on Sunday, and Libby and Ben were able to get down to the pub as soon as Libby had spoken to Sandra, who didn’t appear to be keen to stay and chat.
‘She said Dr Dedham was a member of the Chess Club,’ she told Ben triumphantly, ‘so perhaps you needn’t ask Susan now.’
Murder and the Glovemaker's Son Page 16