‘Did you tell the police?’
‘Course. No point in keepin’ it to meself, was there?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Libby. ‘Did you see there was a new lock on the shed door?’
‘I did. And it weren’t me what put it there. New hasp, an’ all.’
‘Yes, I noticed that. Looks as though someone’s been using it again, don’t you think?’
‘Dunno who. Old Terrance’s been dead for years, now, and no one’s been lookin’ after that cottage.’
‘What about his farm itself? Do those buildings next to it belong to it?’
‘Them buildings are only used for storage, but yes, they belong to the farm. See, it was only bought a year or so ago. ’Ad to go through the law, first.’
‘Probate?’
‘Aye. Reckon Terrance’s son got it in the end and sold it.’
‘Does he still live here? The son?’
‘No, shot off years ago. Couldn’t be doin’ with farmin’, see. Well, I’ll be off, then.’ Johnny stopped at the end of the high street. ‘I’d like to know what’s goin’ on up there, though. Give us a shout if you find out? Leave a message with Tim at the pub.’
Libby said she would and watched him turn up the Nethergate Road. And then remembered a question she’d wanted to ask Andrew and Gilbert. She took out her phone.
‘Andrew, sorry to bother you, and I know I’m going to see you later, but I just remembered. Did you ever ask that person’s advice? What was his name – Harrold?’
‘Jim Harrap. Yes, we asked him a few questions. He actually knew quite a lot about both The Lord Chamberlain’s Men and the spy network, but I don’t know how useful it would have been. I mean, what exactly were we trying to find out?’
‘I suppose basically – where would the knowledge have come from to make the forgery in the first place,’ said Libby. ‘But only tangentially to do with the murder.’
‘Or murders,’ said Andrew. ‘Look, I’ve got to go now, but if you like I’ll bring down my notes of what he told me this evening.’
‘Oh, good, thanks,’ said Libby.
And Andrew was right to ask, she thought, as she walked slowly home. What exactly were they trying to find out? And just how important was it?
Chapter Twenty-eight
Once at home, Libby sat down at the table in the sitting room window with the laptop and a notebook to make notes. What was the problem here?
The first thing was the letter which was linked to the Manor. Then the discovery that it was a fake. The link to The Glover’s Men she dismissed as irrelevant, except that it had brought them to Steeple Martin and the Oast Theatre. Then the discovery of Duncan Lucas’s body, which was linked to The Glover’s Men tour, so perhaps it wasn’t irrelevant. And because he had been the person both to show the letter to the V&A and offer it on loan to National Shakespeare, it was felt that here was the motive for his murder.
But looked at like that it didn’t seem a very sound reason to kill someone, Libby thought. Just because he was trying to pass off a forged Shakespeare relic? And despite all her ferreting round there was no connecting Lucas with the village, despite him having the tour flyer on his person. Naturally he was interested, he’d more or less caused this stop on the tour. But nothing more. As for Gideon Law, they knew nothing at all about him, and had nothing to connect him to anyone or anywhere else. Libby sighed.
And then Nathan Vine, who wasn’t even related to Duncan Lucas after all, and Russell Wilde, who were both interested in the history of the Manor, who both looked into the archives and stayed in the village, yet didn’t seem to do anything of interest except build a shed.
So what does all that add up to, she asked herself. The answer – very little. Vaguely nefarious goings on, but I’ve made more of them than there actually is. As usual. And I’ve taken everybody else with me.
Well, she argued, there’s the interest side of things, and the fact that we’ve found out that Shakespeare really did come here. And of course, Titus Watt. She looked up from her notebook and surprised Sidney, who had come on to the table to assist. Was that behind it all? Titus Watt, the Elizabethan Spy? But no one seemed to know much about him, either, and he’d hardly be a problem today, would he?
In fact, the whole case looked as though it had been blown out of all proportion – a spider’s web of half-truths. There was obviously a case to be investigated, but it was Ian’s case, and nothing to do with Libby, Ben, the Manor or the Oast House Theatre. She sighed and shut the laptop.
Later in the afternoon, Harry phoned.
‘You’ve got an extra at dinner tonight,’ he said. ‘Mind you, he’s only coming to see me.’
‘Edward? He said he’d come this week.’
‘Yes. He said he was killing two birds with one stone.’
‘Oh? What did he mean?’
‘I don’t know, chuck, do I? He’ll tell you later.’
The Wednesday night gathering, somewhat augmented, now consisted of Libby, Ben, Fran, Guy, Patti, Anne, Andrew and Edward. Everyone greeted Edward like a long-lost friend and wanted to know about his new job and digs.
‘It’s the digs that are the problem,’ he said, as they settled round the big round table in the right hand window. ‘I’m too old to be living in what are effectively student halls.’
‘Are you a full professor now?’ asked Anne.
‘Yes – although it’s more an honorary title than anything else. I’m still a Doctor.’
‘It’s very hit and miss, isn’t it? Academia?’ said Libby.
‘It is, a bit,’ said Edward, flashing his grin at her.
‘So come on, Libby said you were killing two birds with one stone,’ said Fran. ‘Which birds?’
‘I’m going to buy a house in Steeple Martin!’ Edward beamed round at the delighted expressions from the assembled friends.
‘I know you said you thought about it, but you also said it was too far from the Medway campus,’ said Libby.
‘I’ve changed my mind. I can stay up there a couple of nights a week, or when I need to, and spend the rest of the time down here. Better life-work balance.’
‘And where’s the house?’ asked Guy.
‘That’s where I need your help, all of you. I need local knowledge. I’ve got some details from agents, but I don’t know exactly where they are, or anything about them. I probably need Fran in her former capacity!’
‘Actor?’ said Anne.
‘No! Investigator for Goodall and Smythe in London,’ said Ben.
‘Aren’t they the posh estate agents?’ said Anne.
Fran was scowling by this time.
‘Yes,’ said Patti, hurrying in to save the situation, ‘but Libby would be better as a local informant, surely?’
‘That was what I was thinking,’ said Edward apologetically, ‘but I hesitated to suggest it.’
‘Oh, I’d be delighted,’ said Libby. ‘It’ll get me away from thinking about this Shakespeare business.’
‘Why?’ asked Fran. Everyone looked surprised.
‘Because it’s pointless,’ said Libby, and outlined her reasons. To her disappointment, everyone reluctantly agreed with her, and no one protested.
‘I did find out a bit more about Titus Watt, though,’ said Andrew, ‘just for interest’s sake.’
‘Oh, I wondered about him,’ said Libby, ‘just in case he was the whole reason for the fake and the murders. But I don’t see that he could be.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Andrew took a sip of wine. ‘And the main reason for the connection with Shakespeare is that he appears to have visited Trebona with John Dee and Edward Kelly, when it’s thought that Shakespeare was the other mysterious gentleman who visited.’
Most of the others gathered round the table were now looking confused.
‘That’s during the Lost Years?’ asked Libby.
‘Yes. It’s speculation, but very persuasive. Several writers of the period were used as spies – Marlowe for one. And Dr Jo
hn Dee went abroad with Edward Kelly, who claimed to be able to perform transmutation, but he was still in Elizabeth’s pay. Shakespeare was thought to visit under a false name to take and bring back messages. It stopped when he came back to Mortlake. Shakespeare visited there once, but when his theatre career took off he appears to have given up his spying activities. However, it looks as if he and Watt encountered each other through Dee, and when the Lord Chamberlain’s Men left London for their tour, Watt suggested he bring them to Quinton St Martin. There is also a suggestion that at this time, a year after the battle of Cadiz, the Earl of Essex was no longer in favour, and that Robert Cecil had both John Dee and Titus Watt looking into his affairs. Shakespeare, out touring England, would be ideally placed to nose out any further problems.’
‘Right – I’m lost,’ said Guy. ‘I don’t even know all the names.’
‘Well,’ said Libby, amused, ‘I know the names, if not the detail, but I can tell you one thing. Quinton St Martin is Steeple Martin, and as far as we can see, it more-or-less consisted of the Manor and the church, although the Manor didn’t look like it does now, and the church was rebuilt in the Victorian era.’
‘The things we learn!’ said Patti admiringly. ‘Did you know all this, Anne?’
‘No! I knew Titus Watt had a house here, as I said, but absolutely nothing else.’
‘I’m still a bit worried that people will find out about it,’ said Ben. ‘We don’t want to be a showplace.’
‘You don’t look like a showplace,’ said Harry, coming up behind him. ‘Come on, let’s be ’avin’ you. I haven’t got all night.’
Edward smiled up at him. ‘It’s good to see you, Harry.’
Harry, to Libby’s astonishment, went a gentle shade of pink.
Orders placed, the conversation reverted to Edward’s future home.
‘Shame Farm Cottage is in such a state,’ said Libby, and had to explain Farm Cottage to the rest of the table.
‘Isn’t the photo shop still empty?’ asked Fran. ‘That was a lovely flat upstairs, wasn’t it?’
‘I don’t think Edward would want that,’ said Libby. ‘Bad connotations.’
Immediately, Edward wanted to know what connotations.
‘Connected to one of the investigations,’ said Ben, ‘but as it happens, it is empty, and it’s also been approved for change of use.’
‘How do you know?’ Libby raised her eyebrows in surprise.
‘Aha!’ said Ben, and tapped the side of his nose. Libby snorted.
‘Can I go and see it?’ asked Edward.
‘But it’s a shop!’ said Libby.
‘It was a house originally,’ said Ben. ‘And there’s access from the back, from Lendle Lane, so you could have parking space, without using the high street.’
‘Stop the sales pitch!’ laughed Guy. ‘You can find out about it tomorrow.’
It was only when coffee had been served to those who wanted it that Libby found out why Andrew had wanted to talk to her.
‘I got myself into a tricky situation, actually,’ he said.
‘You did?’
‘Yes. Gilbert.’
‘Gilbert?’
‘Don’t look so horrified.’ Andrew looked amused. ‘I just wished I hadn’t asked him to stay. It was his interest in the whole situation – it began to strike me as a bit unhealthy.’
‘Unhealthy – how?’
Andrew sat back in his chair and looked at her. ‘How was he when you first met him?’
‘Worried. Flustered. He didn’t want National Shakespeare to go ahead with the whole forged letter thing.’
‘No, exactly. That’s what he told me, but why was he so bothered? It hadn’t got anything to do with him anymore.’
‘Well, it was his professional reputation, I suppose.’
‘Anything else?’
Libby frowned. ‘I don’t know why. Why? He isn’t a fake himself, is he? No, he can’t be – you knew him, and so did Michael, at least by repute.’
‘No, he isn’t a fake. But why did he stay here?’
‘You asked him!’ said Libby in surprise.
‘May I butt in?’ asked Fran.
‘Please do – I’m flummoxed,’ said Libby.
‘You said he was excited.’ Fran looked at Andrew. ‘Is that it?’
He nodded. ‘And the further we delved into it the more frantic he got.’
‘Frantic?’ repeated Libby and Fran together.
‘It looked like it.’ Andrew twirled his coffee cup in his hands. ‘I began to get a bit uneasy, especially when he started making suggestions.’
‘Like what?’ asked Libby.
‘About trying to get Ben and Richard to part with the family archive. It seemed almost – I don’t know – underhanded. Not illegal, exactly, but...’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Libby, looking worried. ‘I shouldn’t have introduced him, should I?’
‘I don’t see how you could help it,’ said Fran. ‘Under the circumstances.’
‘Exactly,’ said Andrew. ‘It was my fault for inviting him to stay. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have got involved with the family, would he?’
‘I suppose,’ said Fran slowly, ‘it was a bit odd anyway, his coming down here on spec to try and talk to Tristan.’
‘Come to think of it,’ said Libby, suddenly sitting up straight, ‘how did he know about Tristan in the first place?’
‘Didn’t Tristan tell you that Gilbert got in touch with him to say the letter was a fake?’ Ben, who’d come in on the end of this conversation, joined in.
‘Yes, so I guessed Gilbert was genuine, so to speak, and took him for granted.’
‘Well, he was who he said he was,’ said Andrew. ‘He had worked for the V&A, and he did work on the letter first time round. It was Edward who put me on to him.’
‘Edward? How?’
‘You’re an advisor to the Arts and Antiques squad, aren’t you?’ said Fran to Edward, who nodded.
‘And they didn’t use Gilbert?’ said Ben.
‘No – and he’s an Elizabethan expert who works – or worked – for the V&A. I found that odd.’ Andrew finished his coffee. ‘Do you think Harry would bring me some more coffee?’
‘Nothing stronger? Oh, no you’re driving, aren’t you.’ Libby waved at Adam and indicated coffee.
‘We could have brought you,’ said Fran. ‘How silly, I didn’t even think.’
‘Neither did I.’ Andrew smiled at her. ‘Anyway, do you think we should do anything about the Gilbert situation?’
By this time Patti, Anne and Guy had all joined in.
‘There’s no actual evidence of him doing anything – well, odd, is there?’ asked Patti.
‘No. It was just his attitude.’ Andrew sighed. ‘I’m probably making a mountain out of a pimple, and of course, it may be that I was simply becoming uncomfortable having someone permanently in the flat. I’m not used to it.’
‘No, I don’t think that’s it,’ said Libby. She turned to Fran. ‘You weren’t very happy right at the beginning, were you?’
Fran looked surprised. ‘That’s right – I wasn’t. I’d forgotten that. We decided that I was fed up because I was left out, didn’t we?’
Guy snorted. ‘Oh, come on! You’ve never been like that in your life!’
‘It does sound unlikely,’ said Anne. ‘Now, if it was me...’ She turned to Patti. ‘Now there’s a thought, Pats. We could team up like Libby and Fran. What larks!’
Patti looked horrified and everyone else laughed.
‘Mind you, I can see you doing it, Anne,’ said Fran. ‘You can do it when I take a holiday.’
‘You’re on!’ said Anne happily. ‘And now – what were you saying about being left out?’
‘Fran wasn’t very happy about Gilbert – or Richard, come to that, were you?’ said Libby.
‘No, but Ian had them checked out, and Michael, too. I think I was just worried about all the academics gathering round.’
‘Like vultures
?’ Andrew grinned. ‘Yes, that happens sometimes. And we all try and find things out – and beat each other to it. And argue about it.’
‘So let’s go back a bit,’ said Libby. ‘Edward told you the Arts and Antiques people didn’t use him, or hadn’t heard of him?’
‘I’m not absolutely sure if they’d heard of him, but they don’t use him. And by the way, the police had called them in over this, but of course they haven’t got the actual letter,’ said Edward.
‘Well, I can’t see that there’s anything to be worried about,’ said Guy. ‘He hasn’t got away with anything precious, has he?’
‘Nooo...’ Andrew was frowning. ‘I don’t know, really.’
Libby continued to look at Andrew thoughtfully while the others started up the conversation again.
‘Do we mention this to Ian if he’s in the pub?’ she said, as Adam arrived with the bill.
Andrew laid his bank card on top of it. ‘My treat,’ he said, amid protests. ‘I don’t know. Do you?’
‘I would think so,’ said Ben. ‘I know I complain sometimes when these women go ferreting things out, but this is a bit close to home.’ He looked across at Guy. ‘Sorry, mate.’
Guy grinned at him. ‘I’m used to it,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Just as they were leaving the caff, the door opened.
‘Come on, Anne,’ said Ian, holding the door open. Anne gave him a delighted smile and manoeuvred her chair through the door.
‘We wondered if you’d be here,’ said Libby, following the wheelchair into the high street.
‘It looks as though it’s a good job I am,’ said Ian. ‘What is it, a council of war?’
‘No, just a normal Wednesday, and Andrew joined us to celebrate being back to normal And Edward..’
Ian smiled. ‘Must have been hard for him to have someone living in his flat with him for such a long time.’
Andrew tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Wasn’t that long, you know!’
‘Over a week,’ said Ian. ‘How did you find him?’
‘Well...’ began Andrew.
Murder and the Glovemaker's Son Page 21