Ben smiled and put an arm round her. ‘Tom Barton is a tenant farmer and much more experienced than I am. If he wants help he knows he can ask. Stop worrying.’
‘OK.’ Libby leant her head on his shoulder. ‘I wonder what’s happening with Cy, though? Do you think Harry will be able to find out? And will Colin get home?’
‘Oh, Libby! Stop taking the world’s troubles on your shoulders. If you want to worry about anything, start with your blessed son.’
‘Why?’ Libby turned to face him in alarm. ‘What’s the matter? Do you mean Adam? Or Dominic?’
‘Oh, calm down! I meant poor old Adam who hasn’t been able to work since he hurt his leg, and won’t be getting any extra work from Harry if people can’t get to the caff.’
‘Oh, I see what you mean. No money.’ Libby moved away towards the door. ‘I’ll give him a ring later. Not that I can do much and he doesn’t like me offering him money. It makes him feel like a kid again.’
‘He is to us,’ said Ben, sliding his arms into his dressing-gown. Libby smiled ruefully. ‘They all are,’ she said. ‘Are you going in the bathroom first? I’ll go and cook a traditional hearty breakfast if you like.’
Over bacon, eggs and wicked fried bread fifteen minutes later, Libby eyed Ben thoughtfully.
‘Why are you so interested really in these babies?’ she asked, stirring tea.
He didn’t answer for a moment, then sat back and gazed at the wall.
‘I suppose it’s because it’s so close to home,’ he said finally. ‘After all, the same thing happened to my mum, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, it did, but she came back and Greg – sorry, your father – married her.’
‘But look at the fuss it all caused. You should know as well as anybody.’
‘Yes.’ Libby thought back to the Oast House Theatre’s first production, written by Peter about the family story. Murder, suicide and mental breakdown had not added up to an entirely happy production. ‘But the real outcome, for the family, was very positive, wasn’t it? You and Susan both grew up happy here, so did Millie, for the most part.’
‘Yes, and that’s what makes it worse, somehow.’ Ben looked down at his plate and pushed the knife and fork together carefully. ‘It could have ended happily for Amy and – what’s her name? – Josephine’s mother.’
‘Cliona Masters. But we don’t know that it didn’t for her, do we? Except that Josephine was adopted, or fostered, as we now know. But she could have got together afterwards with the father and lived happily ever after.’
‘But it didn’t end happily for poor Amy Taylor, did it? Poor woman remained a spinster and committed suicide at – what? Forty-five? Fifty?’
‘No.’ Libby sighed. ‘And you even remember it. I should have realised how you would feel about it.’
Ben smiled. ‘No, you shouldn’t. But it has given me an insight to how you feel when you take up your causes. It was seeing Lisa, I’ve told you that, and realising how much of an effect these things have on a family. On everyone. And then hearing about those babies – well. I know it hasn’t got anything to do with Cy’s attack or Patrick’s murder. I just want to know.’
Libby smiled back and nodded. ‘I know the feeling. And as we can’t do anything to help poor Cy any more, you might as well go on trying to find out, just for interest’s sake, as long as we don’t step on any toes.’
‘We?’ repeated Ben.
‘All right, I expect I’ll join in.’ Libby stood up and laughed. ‘How complicated we make things, don’t we?’
‘Do we?’ Ben frowned up at her.
‘Well, I do. I’m not at all sure how I ended up with the whole Burton and Taylor saga, but it was basically nosiness. If I admitted that to myself and didn’t try to justify things, life would be a lot less complicated.’
Ten minutes later Ben, wrapped up for arctic conditions, stomped off through the snow to get to the Manor. On the phone Hetty had been her usual self, assuring him that she and Greg were fine, the electricity hadn’t gone off and there was plenty in the larder, but nevertheless he wanted to check on them, and see if there were any problems with the estate, what there was left of it.
Libby called Flo Carpenter and learned that she and Lenny were also fine, and that there was a special lunch being prepared in the community building in Maltby Close.
‘And Doctor Anderson’s coming to check on everyone,’ she added. ‘Nice young bloke, he is.’
‘I’ve never met him,’ said Libby. ‘I’m so disgustingly healthy.’
‘Don’t you boast about it, gal,’ warned Flo. ‘Another few years and you’ll have all the aches and pains. If not worse,’ she added darkly.
‘Gee, thanks, Flo, you know how to cheer a girl up.’
‘Girl – gawd, that’s a laugh,’ said Flo with a wheezing cackle.
‘Yeah, yeah, all right,’ said Libby. ‘Listen, Flo, you remember telling me about Amy Taylor the other day?’
‘Yeah, you was asking about anonymous letters.’
‘That’s right. Well, Ben’s got interested in her.’
‘Ben?’ Flo sounded incredulous.
‘Yes, well, we came across this other person who had been fostered and who seemed to have come from a picking background, and it sort of rung a bell with Ben.’
‘It weren’t him Het got up the duff with,’ said Flo.
‘No, I know, but it’s part of his history, isn’t it? There wouldn’t be a Ben without Susan. If Hetty hadn’t got pregnant with Susan she probably never would have married Greg, and then Ben wouldn’t have been born. And the family wouldn’t have lived here. So of course it’s important to him.’
‘’Spose so,’ grunted Flo.
‘Anyway, he was trying to find out what help would have been on hand if any of the girls got pregnant. Were there any sort of social services?’
‘Lor love yer, no!’ Flo cackled again. ‘Sally Army, Red Cross, them so-called Hoppers’ Hospitals and a few neighbourhood busybodies, you know, like the vicar’s wife. And the vicar sometimes. Anyway, if a girl got herself pregnant while she was hoppin’ she wouldn’t know till she got home, would she? Then it’d’ve been born by the time she come back the next year.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I never thought of that. I bet Ben didn’t, either.’
‘But then, we had the odd baby born during picking,’ said Flo, obviously settling herself down for a nice chat. ‘And some of them weren’t wanted, like.’
‘So what happened to them?’
‘Dunno. But they must’ve been took off somewhere, mustn’t they? Stands to reason.’
‘Would the Red Cross have done it? Taken it to an orphanage, or something?’
‘Might’ve done. Be more likely the Sally Ann, though. They was all for spitual something or other.’
‘Spiritual welfare?’ suggested Libby.
‘That’s it. Mind, they used to give us tea and stuff. And have a service on Sundays. So did the vicar, but we didn’t like him much. Come to think of it,’ Flo said slowly, ‘I was wondering. Was old Amy the vicar’s daughter?’
‘No!’ gasped Libby. ‘Surely not?’
‘Well, see, I didn’t know her at the time, this all happened early on in the war and I was only a kid. Me and Het didn’t see the locals much, but I remember she used to come round with stuff for the kiddies, like. Shy, she was.’
‘I thought the vicar’s name was Reverend Greene, like in Cluedo?’
‘Cor, you ain’t been listening. He was the new one her and Maud got hot under the collar for.’
‘Oh, yes. And you can’t remember the vicar’s name back in 1940?’
‘Course I bloody can’t! I was a kid and we didn’t have anything to do with the church. Besides, it was 1939. We didn’t see her the next year.’
‘Oh, yes. If the baby was born in 1940, it would have been 1939. She was sent away and didn’t come back, then?’
‘I dunno. Long before Het met Greg. Nothing to do with Ben.’
‘I wonder what happened to Amy? Did she get sent to a far-off relative? And what happened to babies then? Were there adoption societies?’
‘Look, Libby gal, don’t you go getting yourself involved,’ said Flo. ‘If Ben wants to find out, let him try. But you know what you’re like. Next thing we know you’ll be getting yourself hit over the head again.’
‘I’ve never been hit over the head,’ said Libby indignantly.
‘Near enough,’ said Flo.
Acknowledging the truth of this, Libby didn’t reply.
‘Well, if that’s all,’ said Flo, ‘I’m going to get meself ready for this lunch. Good of ’em, isn’t it?’
Libby went and lit the stove in the conservatory, took some coal in for the living room fire and checked the oil for the Rayburn. There seemed to be plenty of everything, but as usual, not an awful lot of actual food. She sighed. Her shopping was getting worse. She always thought she’d stocked up, but frequently ended up having to go out for something vital. She wondered how much the eight-til-late would have. Presumably, delivery lorries hadn’t been able to get through. Still, it was worth a try. And Bob the butcher would probably have something in his cold store.
But before she could get herself ready to go out the phone rang.
‘Cy’s in hospital,’ said Harry without preamble, ‘and they’re not going to let him go home alone. So he’s coming here.’
‘Eh? How? Nothing can get in or out of the village, apparently.’
‘The ambulance will. I’ve just had the police on the phone. They’re concerned about him. Sheila would have had him, but they think that’s too close to home. So he’s coming here. I can’t say Pete’s thrilled about it, but he agreed we don’t have a lot of choice.’
‘Do they know what happened?’
‘They haven’t said,’ said Harry, ‘but someone will come with him in the ambulance, or an escort, or something, and they’ll talk to me then.’
‘Goodness, how dramatic,’ said Libby. ‘What about Colin? Will he be able to get home?’
‘I don’t know. I expect Cy’s tried to get in touch with him or the airline. I’ll hear all about it later. Do you want to come over?’
‘He won’t want that, neither will the police,’ said Libby. ‘Where are you going to put him? In your spare room? Who’s going to look after him? You’ll be at work, and you said Pete isn’t thrilled.’
There was a short silence and Libby closed her eyes.
‘No, Harry,’ she said. ‘You can’t mean it.’
‘It won’t be for long,’ said Harry persuasively. ‘You could just pop in and make sure he’s OK. Pete will, too, but he’s not exactly the best nurse in the world.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Libby, reluctantly, also not the best nurse in the world. ‘I’ve only just got rid of Adam, and you helped me do that.’
‘Well, it’s a favour returned then,’ said Harry brightly. ‘I’ll ring you later.’
‘You do that,’ said Libby, and switched off the phone. ‘And you can explain to Ben,’ she told the receiver. ‘Because he’s not going to be exactly thrilled, either.’
Chapter Seventeen
BEN WAS, IN FACT, rather cross. Libby never knew what he said to Harry, but it was a very much changed Harry who rang later in the afternoon.
‘I know you’re busy,’ he said diffidently, ‘but if you have time to pop in on your way to rehearsal tonight –’
‘No rehearsal tonight,’ said Libby. ‘There wasn’t one scheduled, and no one would have got here, anyway.’
‘Oh, right.’ Silence fell.
‘So you wanted me to pop in and say hello to Cy?’ prompted Libby.
‘Only if you wanted to,’ said Harry.
Libby grinned to herself. Ben had obviously given Harry a good talking to.
‘Well, I can’t say I particularly want to go out again today,’ she said. ‘And I don’t suppose he’s in much of a mood to talk to anyone.’
Harry sighed. ‘Well, no, but he did ask if you were coming over. I shall have to go to the restaurant this evening, even though we’ve had cancellations. Some of the locals might want to come in.’
Ben had already suggested they ate at the caff, but Libby had braved the weather and the shops to buy food and wasn’t going to have the effort wasted.
‘Just tell me what happened,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll struggle down to see him tomorrow.’
‘He heard a noise outside and went to investigate.’
‘Yes, you told me that,’ said Libby. ‘No more details?’
‘I think he’s rather hazy on the details, which is normal apparently for head injuries.’
‘Yes,’ said Libby, remembering Terry Baker’s head injury eighteen months ago, also the result of an attack. ‘Oh, Harry, I do hope I’m not a jinx.’
‘Oh, come on, you silly old bat. When Cy was attacked the first time, neither of you had heard of each other. Nothing to do with you.’
‘But I’ve talked to him since,’ said Libby.
Harry heaved an impatient sigh. ‘Don’t be so daft! How could talking to him have caused another attack? You weren’t standing in the middle of Maidstone shouting at one another, were you? No one knows you talked to him.’
‘Except Sheila,’ said Libby. ‘Hey, that’s a thought, Harry. Sheila was on the spot immediately after both attacks, wasn’t she? And she lives right opposite, so she could have put the letters through his door.’
‘Sheila? Have you gone a bit soft? She’s in her late seventies. Besides, what would her motive be?’
‘She could have been a picker – oh, no she wasn’t allowed was she. Although she went, I think, without her parents knowing. Anyway she could have known Josephine’s mother. Or Patrick’s family.’
‘And?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. She’s just the only link between the two men that I can think of apart from the Hop Hall Players.’
‘And she’s a member of them, too,’ said Harry. ‘Must be a master criminal.’
‘Oh, I know it’s ridiculous, but she was there. Both times.’
‘She was called for after Cy’s attack last night. She didn’t just turn up.’
‘Oh, all right. I just can’t think of a reason to attack Cy again. After all, he’s been mugged once and Patrick’s been killed. If it’s a simple homophobic attack –’
‘Nothing simple about those, ducky.’
‘No, sorry, but you see what I mean. Do they often attack someone more than once?’
‘Yes, Lib, of course they do. I can give you some literature, if you like. Heard of Stonewall?’
‘Jackson?’
‘No, idiot, Stonewall the group. It campaigned against Section 28 and their Education for All campaign helps tackle homophobia and homophobic bullying in schools. You should look them up. They know all about homophobic attacks.’
‘I will,’ said Libby. ‘The things you learn. So there’s no more detail on the attacks, then?’
‘Not really. The police actually deigned to talk to me, as I’d offered to take Cy in, but they seem as much at a loss as everyone else. They have some forensic evidence, they said, but didn’t sound very happy about it.’
‘And what did Sheila have to say?’
‘Sheila? You’re not back on her again, are you?’
‘No, no,’ said Libby hastily, ‘I just meant did she come with him in the ambulance, and did she tell you anything about last night.’
‘Of course she didn’t come with him. How would she have got back? You can’t hitch a ride in an ambulance. It isn’t a taxi.’
‘The police might have taken her back.’
‘True. But she didn’t come. I haven’t spoken to her, but Cy says she was a tower of strength, as usual. I mean, she called me, didn’t she?’
‘I know. Did she manage to get through to Colin? Or has anybody?’
‘The police contacted the airline and they’re getting a message through. They’re just hoping his flight will be
able to land on Saturday.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Libby. ‘Poor Cy. Look, tell him I’ll come by in the morning, and ask if he wants anything. You know, books or something.’
‘Would you have anything he’d like?’ said Harry, and she could hear the grin in his voice. ‘I mean, chick-lit isn’t quite his scene, I wouldn’t have thought.’
‘Don’t scoff!’ said Libby. ‘And don’t use chick-lit as a pejorative term, either. A lot of it is really good and well written. If you had a brain I’d let you read some of mine. Anyway, I haven’t only got women’s fiction, I’ve got lots of crime, too. Oh.’
‘Yes, oh. Anyway, I’ll ask him. Oh, and Lib’
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry I tried to get you to look after him earlier.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll pop in anyway, when I can.’
‘But you’re busy. Panto and everything. And Christmas.’
‘Well, I haven’t got to do Christmas dinner again, this year. God Bless Het. Are you going?’
‘Of course,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s hope Cy won’t still be here!’
Libby switched off the phone and went to turn on the lights in the front room. Pushing Sidney off the sofa, she sat down and poked the fire she’d lit a couple of hours earlier. The one thing, she thought, that hadn’t emerged during that conversation, was why the police had thought it would be better for Cy to be away from home. Which must mean they had some sort of evidence that the attacker was from his neighbourhood. Which tied in with the theory that it was someone from the Hop Hall Players. But who?
Harry was right of course. Although Sheila looked terribly suspicious, at least to Libby she did, she was nearly eighty and had no noticeable homophobic tendencies, in fact, quite the reverse. And neither did anyone else Libby and Ben had met at the rehearsal last week. Sighing, she stood up and went to find some books Cy might enjoy. A Simon Brett and a Judy Astley seemed to fit the bill, and she put them on the table by the window ready to take them round tomorrow.
‘So,’ said Ben later, ‘you’re not going to minister to the wounded soldier?’
‘Don’t be cruel,’ said Libby, putting a plate of steak and kidney pudding in front of him. ‘I’m not going to nurse him, no. But I’m going to pop round with some books in the morning. I really don’t think he’ll need more than that. The attack can’t have been that serious, or they would never have let him out of hospital.’
Murder Imperfect Page 12
