Mrs Maurice said nothing, but gave a slight nod.
‘Mrs Sarjeant and I researched Peel House on the internet to see if there was any reason that the house could be important, or hold some sort of secret. That was when we came across the fact that it was owned by Jessica Maurice and had, in fact –’ and here Libby saw a slight involuntary movement of Fran’s hands ‘– been bought for her by her lover Simon Madderling.’
Mrs Maurice’s face had tightened into even more of a mask than it had been before. Scored a hit, there, Fran, thought Libby.
‘Then there is very little else I can tell you.’ The woman fixed her eyes on a point above Fran’s head. ‘Jessica Maurice worked for some sort of civil service branch in London during the war as many women did. She met this man who apparently worked for the same service but who was a follower of Mosley.’ She spat the name out of her mouth like a bad taste. ‘I believe she lived with him in London until he bought the house in Nethergate.’
Result! thought Libby.
‘But did you know,’ Fran said, ‘that Simon was a British spy?’
‘Even worse,’ said Mrs Maurice. ‘He betrayed his country doubly, then.’
‘No, not at all,’ said Fran hurriedly. ‘He was posing as a Fascist to infiltrate the organisations.’ She glanced briefly at Libby for support. ‘Did you ever know a friend of Jessica’s called Joan Miller?’
‘I wasn’t even born then,’ said Mrs Maurice. ‘How would I have known any friends of Jessica’s? And where did you get that nonsense about that man?’
‘It was published a few years ago,’ said Fran. ‘You must remember when the 50 year rule came to an end? When all the wartime documents were released?’
Mrs Maurice shook her head. Fran sighed and glanced again at Libby.
‘So you never knew or met Simon Madderling or Joan Miller?’ said Libby.
‘Of course not. I wasn’t born until the end of the war.’
‘Oh?’ said Libby.
Faint colour crept up Mrs Maurice’s unlovely neck. ‘1942, actually, if you must know. But I was far too young to know anything of this. I didn’t meet Jessica until after I met my husband.’
‘Of course,’ said Fran. ‘Did he tell you anything about his aunt?’
‘I heard all about her from his mother,’ said Mrs Maurice. ‘He always supported her. Jessica Maurice, that is.’
‘Yes, we heard she treated him like a son,’ said Libby innocently. Mrs Maurice’s lips clamped together and her colour flared.
‘So there is, in fact, nothing you can tell us,’ Fran put in hastily. ‘Nothing we don’t already know.’
‘You don’t think you know. She was no better than she should be, that woman. A bad influence on my husband and my daughter. I warned Jane about going to live there. That house was bought from immoral earnings.’ Mrs Maurice’s voice had risen considerably, and noticing a blob of spittle at the corner of her mouth, Libby was uncomfortably reminded of Peter’s mad mother Millie.
‘It was good of you to see us,’ said Fran, rising quickly.
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Maurice,’ said Libby, following her example. ‘We’ll say hello to Jane for you.’
They made their way silently through the hall, across the blue and green floral carpet, past the gold painted ironwork mirror and hall table and through the reeded-glass inner door. Jane’s mother closed it firmly behind them without another word.
‘Whew!’ said Libby as soon as they reached the pavement. ‘No wonder Jane wants to live in Nethergate.’
‘I wonder why she didn’t warn us,’ said Fran, looking up at the house. ‘She must have known what would happen.’
‘Perhaps she thought she would open up to us,’ said Libby, gesturing with her head towards the flick of a net curtain in the bay window. Fran nodded and turned to walk away.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I think it was to punish us for finding out facts she thought supported her mother’s dislike of her aunt.’
‘Eh?’ Libby turned a puzzled gaze on her friend.
‘We found out about her having a wartime lover who was supposed to be an enemy of the state. Jane’s mother had always disapproved of Aunt Jessica, and this may have seemed to Jane to explain it. Then she probably felt guilty for blaming her mother for her dislike of Aunt Jessica.’
‘Oh, I see! Thinking it must have been justified, you mean?’
‘Exactly. And the thing is, until those documents were published, in her own lights she probably was justified.’
Libby shook her head. ‘I can’t believe her attitude, though, can you? I mean, she’s only a few years older than we are –’
‘Ten,’ said Fran.
‘All right, ten years older than we are, but she’s only in her sixties. She sounds as though she’s still in the fifties.’
‘Nineteen fifties?’
‘Of course nineteen fifties! Immoral earnings indeed!’
‘Yes, but Libby, until comparatively recently, people thought Madderling was a fascist spy.’
‘It doesn’t excuse her completely out-dated attitudes, I’m sorry.’ Libby trudged along with a mulish expression on her face.
No.’ Fran glanced at her friend with amusement.
‘So what did we learn? Precisely nothing. Waste of time and petrol.’ Libby exhaled gustily.
‘We had our suspicions confirmed. Simon did buy the house for Jessica.’
‘That’s about all, though.’ Libby frowned, deep in thought. ‘I reckon we ought to find out more about this Joan Miller.’
‘I think we’re in danger of digging too deep,’ said Fran.
‘What?’ Libby stopped and turned to her friend. ‘You were the one who had a thing about the house. You were the one who thought Terry’s attack was the result of something hidden there.’
‘I know, but I really don’t think we’re looking for something that’s of national importance, and going into Joan Miller’s life takes it into that sort of realm.’
‘Was she that important?’
‘Even I’d heard of Joan Miller,’ said Fran. ‘She left MI5 to get married before the end of the war. She wrote a book about it all. I think the powers that be tried to get it suppressed. I don’t know how true it was.’
‘Oh.’ Libby began walking again. ‘I suppose it does seem a bit far-fetched. But you were certain yesterday.’
‘I know,’ sighed Fran, ‘but now it looks a bit pathetic. Am I trying to justify myself?’
‘Oh, don’t start that again,’ said Libby, ‘if only for my sake. Let’s go home, go and tell Jane what her ma said, and then go and have a nice soothing drink at The Sloop or The Swan. Ben can come down and pick me up.’
‘All right,’ said Fran. ‘And Peel House can keep its secrets.’
‘Whatever happens,’ said Libby darkly.
Chapter Twenty-one
SETTLED AT A TABLE in The Sloop overlooking the harbour, Libby ordered drinks while Fran talked to Jane on her mobile.
‘She’s coming down to join us.’ Fran sat down at the table and put the phone back in her bag.
‘What did she say about her mum?’
‘Nothing. I just said we were back, she asked where we were and she said she’d come down. I don’t know whether she was at work or at home.’
While they were waiting for Jane to arrive, Libby phoned Ben and asked him if he could come and fetch her from Nethergate.
‘Not too popular,’ Libby said to Fran. ‘He was busy doing something mechanical on the estate. I shall just have to wait until he’s ready.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Fran. ‘You can come back and wait with me.’ She turned her head. ‘Here’s Jane.’
‘Hi,’ said Libby. ‘You look bushed.’
Jane coloured faintly, in a much more attractive way than her mother.
‘I had to get up early to make sure Terry had everything before I went to work,’ she said.
‘I hope he’s fully appreciative,’ said Fran, as Libby got up to get a drink for Jane.
‘Oh, he doesn’t think I should be looking after him,’ said Jane with a little laugh. ‘I think he thinks it’s unmanly.’
‘From what I’ve seen of Terry that sounds very likely,’ said Libby, coming back to the table. ‘But I bet he likes it really. Have his parents gone home?’
‘Oh, yes. As soon as they saw he was all right, they went back. His mother’s coming down on Wednesday, I think, just to see how he is.’
‘Good. Now,’ said Fran, pulling her chair forward, ‘tell us why you didn’t warn us about your mother.’
Jane looked down into her glass. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.
‘Your mother,’ said Libby, ‘is a living breathing miracle. Transported from the last century.’
Jane looked up and opened her mouth. Fran stepped in.
‘Century before last, Lib,’ she said, defusing the situation. ‘What Libby means is, your mother seems to have the same morality as her mother’s generation. She hasn’t moved with the times.’
Jane subsided. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I always wonder if it’s just me, but then I meet other people’s parents.’ She looked up. ‘And you two. You’re nearly the same age as my mother, aren’t you?’
‘About ten years difference,’ said Libby, ‘but, yes, nearer her age than we are yours.’
‘She’s always been like it. Drove my dad and me mad. And my grandmother was just the same. It was almost as though she was my mother’s mother, not my father’s.’
‘What was your grandfather like? Jessica’s brother?’ asked Libby, leaning her elbows on the table.
‘Quite jolly. I don’t remember him very well, but I would think Dad was more like him. Aunt Jess was the same. My mother was scandalised when she opened the house as a B&B, but that was Aunt Jess. Independent. Wouldn’t be beholden to anybody.’
‘Well, your mum confirmed that Simon Madderling bought the house for Aunt Jessica during the war, obviously before he disappeared, and that she thought he was a fascist spy.’
‘And you say he wasn’t,’ said Jane slowly.
‘That’s what the official documents said when they were released,’ said Fran.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You know?’ Libby raided an eyebrow.
‘I looked him up, of course. I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this.’ Jane shook her head.
‘I don’t suppose your father would have told you, and your mother certainly wouldn’t. The only person who might have done would have been Jessica herself, and I expect she thought it was best to let the past stay buried,’ said Fran.
‘I talked it over with Terry last night,’ said Jane, ‘and we wondered why, as Jess left the house to me, she didn’t tell me if there was something hidden there. That’s your thinking, isn’t it? That’s why Terry was attacked?’
‘It’s one theory,’ said Libby. ‘Only because we were working on Fran’s – er – insights.’
‘And have you told the police?’ asked Jane.
‘I’ve left a message for my friend Inspector Connell,’ said Fran.
‘He’s not the one in charge of Terry’s investigation, though, is he?’
‘No, but none of the other officers are likely to take anything I say seriously,’ said Fran.
‘What, not even after those other cases you’ve helped with?’ Jane looked surprised.
‘My involvement was blown a bit out of proportion,’ said Fran. ‘Your chap at the Mercury was somewhat intrusive.’
‘That’s Bob, the news editor,’ said Jane. ‘But you did help, didn’t you?’
‘A bit,’ said Fran. ‘So did Libby.’
‘Yes.’ Jane looked at Libby for a moment. ‘So what do you think now?’
‘Not much.’ Fran sighed and shifted in her chair. ‘I think maybe I was getting something from a long way back and just assumed it had something to do with Terry’s attack.’
‘You don’t think there’s any danger of anything else happening?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Fran. ‘I was interfering. Sorry.’
Libby looked at her in astonishment. ‘You were interfering?’
Fran laughed. ‘Yes. Now you can tell me off.’
Jane frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m the nosy interfering one,’ said Libby. ‘Everybody tells me so. Especially Fran.’
‘Oh.’ Jane twirled her glass. ‘Well, I think you’re very good at interfering, and I wish you’d go on doing it.’
Libby and Fran both looked at her and then at each other.
‘What, exactly, do you mean?’ asked Libby.
‘Not so that I can do a piece on you,’ said Jane, looking at Fran, ‘even though I wanted to at first. No, because everything you’ve been doing interests me, and I want to find out more about Aunt Jessica and Peel House. And Simon Madderling, of course. As I said, I googled him this morning and found out quite a bit about him and it even mentions Aunt Jessica on one of the sites.’
‘It was the house that led me to the information,’ said Fran, quoting what she had told Libby the previous day.
‘Yes. Well, there must be more to find out, surely?’ said Jane, looking from one to the other. ‘Couldn’t you look into it?’
Fran looked uncomfortable.
‘She doesn’t really do stuff to order,’ said Libby. ‘That’s why she doesn’t like helping the police. She’s only happy if something comes to her sort of – oh, I don’t know – spontaneously.’
‘But the house did, didn’t it?’ persisted Jane. ‘And there must be more to find out.’
‘I’m sure there is,’ said Fran, ‘but do you really want me to? I mean, our visit to your mother wasn’t very successful, was it? I could just be wasting time.’
‘My mother confirmed what you thought, that Simon bought the house. See,’ said Jane, ‘you knew about it all along, really, didn’t you? You remember that first time you came to the flat you asked about my aunt’s job and how she’d afforded the house?’
‘I hope I didn’t sound as rude as that!’ said Fran, frowning.
‘No, it wasn’t rude. It was – um – enlightening.’ Jane looked down at the table. ‘I really think I ought to know if there’s anything there. To be found, I mean. I think I need to know.’
Fran sighed. ‘Well, I’ll have another go. Can I have a wander round the house sometime?’
‘Any time!’ said Jane. ‘We can go now if you like.’
‘Haven’t you got to get back to work?’ said Libby.
‘Oh – yes. But that doesn’t matter. I can let you in. Terry’s there.’
‘What about your new tenant?’
‘Mike’ll be at work. Mrs Finch will be there. I’m sure she’d let you into her flat.’
‘I think it would be better if you were there,’ said Fran. ‘Would it be convenient if I popped round this evening about eight?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Jane. ‘Then I could explain to the other tenants what was going on.’
‘Not too much,’ said Fran. ‘They’ll laugh at you. And me,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘That’s great.’ Jane stood up. ‘Thanks for the drink, Libby. Will you come tonight too?’
‘That depends on Fran,’ said Libby.
‘I don’t think I could stop her,’ said Fran, looking amused.
‘Do you think it will work?’ asked Libby when Jane had gone.
‘It’s the only thing other than the boat moment that has got the antennae twitching for ages, so it might. Funny.’ Fran looked out of the window at the sea. ‘Just those two.’
‘And the farm.’
‘That wasn’t connected.’
‘And you think the other two are?’ Libby’s voice rose in amazement.
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ said Fran, looking back at her with a smile. ‘It just feels right, somehow.’
‘Well, look what happened when you tried to connect all those other bits and pieces,’ said Libby. ‘You said yourself it was a disma
l failure.’
‘Mmm.’ Fran’s gaze returned to the sea. ‘I think I’m going to have to sit down and work things out a bit better.’
‘How?’
‘Write them all down, then concentrate on them and see what happens. I can do it with photographs, now, can’t I?’
‘Yes.’ Libby looked at her watch. ‘Ben’ll be here in a minute. Shall I send him away? Then I can spend the afternoon helping you before we go to Peel House.’
‘If you send Ben away now he’ll probably never come back,’ laughed Fran, ‘and anyway, I’d prefer to be on my own while I try this.’
‘OK,’ said Libby, peering out of the landward window. ‘Here comes Ben. I’ll see you at Jane’s at eight, shall I?’
‘Come to me and we’ll go together,’ said Fran, getting to her feet and joining Libby at the door. ‘Although I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s certainly not to help the police, is it? It’s just sheer nosiness.’
‘We helped Bella when it wasn’t anything to do with the police, too,’ Libby reminded her, ‘but I know what you mean. Oh well, just call it a hobby.’
Ben was placated by the promise of a meal in The Swan, after grumbling most of the way back to Steeple Martin. Libby called Fran and suggested she drop Ben off with Guy first and then meet them when they’d finished at Peel House.
‘It’ll give us an excuse to get away if we need one,’ said Libby. ‘And I’ve promised to drive.’
At ten to eight, Ben was knocking on the door of the flat above Guy’s gallery and Fran was climbing into Romeo the Renault.
‘Still plenty of people about,’ said Libby, avoiding a family with young children strolling along Harbour Street with ice creams.
‘They might as well make the most of it if they’ve got young children,’ said Fran, ‘when they get back to their hotels or flats they can’t do much else, can they?’
‘No,’ agreed Libby. ‘We always let ours stay up when we were on holiday.’
This time, there was space to park almost in front of Peel House. Jane must have been watching for them, as the front door opened almost immediately.
‘Where do you want to start?’ she asked.
Murder by the Sea - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 16