Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  ‘There isn’t anything to say he was a smuggler himself, but he was definitely one of those who not only turned a blind eye, but actively encouraged it. He was a local magistrate, and even though, after the Smuggling Acts of 1736 and 1746, the regulations and punishments were tightened up, there is considerable evidence of him turning a blind eye, if not, as I say, actively encouraging smuggling.’

  ‘So would he have been storing goods?’ asked Fran.

  ‘It’s certainly possible. He was allowing contraband through the area and as a person in authority had influence in the right places. I would think he received his fair share of brandy and tobacco.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be treasure, though.’ Libby frowned and Andrew twinkled.

  ‘Ah, but what happened later! Do you know much about the Napoleonic Wars?’

  Libby looked up nervously. ‘N–no. Should I?’

  ‘Well, you know the basics, surely?’ Andrew looked from Fran to Libby, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Waterloo and Trafalgar?’ said Fran.

  ‘Elba and Saint Helena?’ said Libby.

  ‘Wellington and Nelson?’ they said together.

  ‘Yes, all of those.’ Andrew sipped his tea. ‘One thing that isn’t generally known, or studied, at least, is the subject of the French Prisoners of War.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Libby sat up straight. ‘Now, hang on, I do know a bit about this. Weren’t they held in the prison hulks in the Medway?’

  ‘Yes, they were, among other places, including the Thames estuary and just off Sheerness. Terrible places, even worse than the prisons of the day, which were bad enough. And have you heard about the escapes?’

  ‘No.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Were there any? I thought it was impossible.’

  ‘Oh, yes, there were escapes. And do you know who helped them escape?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘The smugglers.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Libby.

  ‘Good Lord!’ said Fran.

  ‘In this area? But we’re not near the sea here,’ said Libby.

  ‘We’re not that far, as the crow flies,’ said Andrew. ‘And the route those French prisoners were sent on was purposely devious. A lot of them were landed at Whitstable – ’

  ‘Whitstable?’ echoed Libby. ‘But if they were landed there, why did they come here? Couldn’t they have been transported back to France direct from Whitstable?’

  ‘There were various reasons, not all of them fathomable. But you must know – in fact you do know – that the whole area is peppered with smugglers’ haunts. You told me that you suspect a tunnel leading from Dark House to a pub in Keeper’s Cob, and you’ve told me about other tunnels you’ve discovered in the past. Anyway, it’s a fascinating subject, and I’ll give you some of the sources I found.’

  ‘How did they do it, though?’ asked Fran. ‘I thought French ships stayed off the coast and smaller boats went to and fro with the contraband. Is that what they did with the prisoners?’

  ‘Sometimes. But they also got transported direct to France.’

  ‘How could they do that? Surely they’d be spotted by the French in the channel? We were at war,’ said Libby.

  ‘But not entirely,’ said Andrew.

  Libby sighed. ‘I don’t understand. We either were at war, or we weren’t.’

  ‘Oh, we were. But although trade had been blocked, both the French and the English realised that a certain amount of trade had to take place between the two countries and a limited number of licences were issued. And then Napoleon allowed smugglers entry, providing further outlets. And this was where the prisoners were landed. And something else was being smuggled in.’

  ‘Into France?’ asked Fran.

  Andrew nodded.

  ‘Well, what?’ said Libby.

  ‘Bullion,’ said Andrew.

  Both Fran and Libby gasped.

  ‘Bullion?’ repeated Libby. ‘Gold?’

  ‘Mainly gold in the form of guineas,’ said Andrew. ‘And they built special, fast boats to do it.’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ said Libby. ‘English smugglers were smuggling gold into France. What for?’

  ‘Because Napoleon needed gold to pay his troops.’

  ‘So who was giving it to him?’ asked Fran.

  ‘British merchants.’

  ‘British?’ squeaked Libby. ‘No! That would be treason.’

  ‘But it was happening. It was such big business that special boats, known as “guinea boats” were built in Deal and could be rowed across the Channel in five hours. When they were forbidden in England, they simply went to France and built them there, under the protection of the French government.’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ said Libby.

  ‘So are you saying,’ said Fran, ‘that these guineas might have been smuggled through here?’

  ‘There is some evidence that this was a house on the smuggling route even after William Goodman. It was tenanted by a Reverend Mostyn, for whom there seem to be no records, so I expect it’s not a real name or a real person, but the estate stretches quite a long way, and includes most of Keeper’s Cob, so it would have been a protected smugglers’ area, from the owling trade through to Victorian times.’

  ‘That could definitely be the treasure Roland told Ramani about,’ said Libby, turning to Fran. ‘Blimey! Suppose it’s true?’

  ‘It would belong to the Crown,’ said Andrew with a smile. ‘Don’t go getting excited.’

  ‘Oh, I know, but if it was true, Roland would never have given it up.’

  ‘Black market?’ said Andrew. ‘Very difficult.’

  ‘Yes, but as Ian and Ben reminded us, Roland spent a lot of time on the continent in exactly the right area for the illegal arts and antiquities smuggling routes.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I don’t know. We don’t even know if his story of treasure was true.’

  ‘It’s a reasonable assumption,’ said Fran, ‘that if somehow he knew this house was used for bullion smuggling, he would have made it into a story to impress Ramani Oxenford.’

  ‘Even though it wasn’t her era?’

  ‘She was a historian. It wouldn’t matter,’ said Fran.

  ‘That doesn’t work.’ Libby shook her head. ‘She told Edward, and he’s a Civil War authority.’

  ‘True, and he was – or is – certainly looking for that connection.’

  ‘This is all very interesting,’ said Andrew. ‘Will you explain? And can I have more tea?’

  Between them, Libby and Fran went into slightly more detail, including the story of their own investigations so far.

  ‘It seems to me,’ said Andrew, leaning back and sipping his fresh cup of tea, ‘that you’re chasing moonbeams.’

  Libby looked gloomy. ‘I know. It looked so perfect at first. Godfrey Wyghtham left some silver behind for his wife when he went off to Maidstone in 1648 and it’s still here.’

  ‘But except for that tiny notation in the parish records, there’s nothing,’ said Fran. ‘And he came safely back here and died some years later. If he had left something here, it would have been retrieved.’

  ‘Unless he forgot where he’d put it,’ said Andrew, laughing.

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Fran. ‘Would you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t, but I know people who might.’

  ‘Rosie,’ nodded Libby. ‘She even forgets where she’s put Talbot.’

  ‘So, has this got you any further?’ asked Andrew, changing the subject.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Libby looked at Fran. ‘We know there must be tunnels, and possibly secret passages in the house itself.’

  ‘Think of when it was first built,’ said Andrew. ‘Catholic persecution.’

  ‘Priest holes,’ said Libby.

  ‘Quite probable.’

  ‘Roland found it, perhaps?’ suggested Fran.

  ‘And there was something in it?’ Libby looked at Andrew.

  ‘Oh, I doubt that, unless they left a rosary behind when they were escaping. No, if there is any sort of treasure, I think
the best bet is gold from a guinea run.’

  ‘So where were these smuggling runs, then? Are they still traceable?’ Libby leant forward, elbows on knees.

  ‘Some are, and a lot of the old names are still there.’ Andrew reached down into his briefcase and brought out a small pamphlet. ‘Here. This is all about the smuggling routes and the Prisoners of War.’ He opened it and pointed to a picture – very fuzzy and in black and white. ‘See?’

  Libby and Fran both leant to see it and gasped.

  ‘It’s Dark House!’ said Libby.

  Andrew smiled triumphantly. ‘It certainly is. And this booklet gives the route on which it stood.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?’ said Libby indignantly.

  ‘I’d only have had to backtrack to the beginning, wouldn’t I?’ said Andrew, still grinning. ‘This way, you’d already absorbed the background information, so the picture makes sense.’

  ‘I can see you were a good lecturer,’ said an amused Fran.

  ‘I’m going to make more tea, and then we can have a look at that route,’ said Libby, getting to her feet and collecting mugs.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Andrew, once more brandishing his tablet. ‘I’ve done it all on here.’

  Libby stood with her mouth open for a moment, then retreated to the kitchen.

  Ten minutes later, the three of them were seated at the small table in the sitting room window, Andrew’s tablet between them.

  ‘Now look,’ he said, swiping the screen. ‘This is the map of the route in that booklet.’ Up came a rather amateurish hand-drawn map. ‘And this is the modern Ordnance Survey map overlaying it.’

  Andrew had highlighted the old route in thick black lines in order to show up against the multi-coloured OS map.

  ‘I still don’t understand why, if the prisoners were landed at Whitstable, they had to go up to London and back out again,’ said Libby.

  ‘They didn’t always,’ said Andrew. ‘As far as I can make out, some of them came this way, and were then taken down another route to go with the guineas. But the only boats that were supposed to go to France, not the guinea boats, left from places like Tilbury, so the prisoners had to be taken there and smuggled aboard.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘It’s so complicated.’

  ‘It is, but interesting, isn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘I think we should investigate the Dark House tunnels and see where they go.’

  ‘According to this booklet, they go to Keeper’s Cob, which you know, and down to a church –’ Andrew peered at the map ‘– here.’

  ‘Good lord, that’s St Mary’s, the Rev. Toby’s church!’ said Libby.

  ‘That’s where the notification in the parish records is,’ said Fran.

  Yes.’ Andrew nodded. ‘I found a reference to his memorial tablet.’ He smiled at them both. ‘So there you have it. All your ends neatly tying together.’

  ‘And adding up to nothing,’ sighed Libby. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Andrew – what you’ve done is brilliant, but it probably doesn’t do anything to catch a murderer, does it?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘You’re lucky Andrew wasn’t offended,’ said Fran later, when the professor had gone.

  ‘I know. He found it funny.’ Libby was washing mugs in the kitchen. ‘And it is interesting. Fascinating, in fact, but I honestly don’t see Roland bothering to do all that detailed research, do you? Just to get Ramani into bed?’

  ‘Was it Peter or Harry who said the whole reason for the murder could be as simple as the affair? Either Adelaide or Carl bumping off the two of them because of that?’

  ‘Or both of them in cahoots,’ said Libby. ‘Yes, it’s possible, except that they’re both alibied up to the hilt. Carl was miles away at a conference or something and Adelaide was in London.’

  Fran perched on the kitchen table. ‘So if we wash out the treasure motive – sadly – we need to find another reason for the murders. Because I really don’t think we have two separate murderers. Too far-fetched altogether.’

  ‘OK.’ Libby sat on the other side of the table. ‘What are the usual motives for murder?’

  ‘Money, fear, revenge – ’

  ‘Revenge is a very unlikely motive.’

  ‘All right, but money and fear are strong.’

  ‘Sex? Love?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘Only if someone is in between you and the object of desire. In this case both partners in the affair were killed and there isn’t anyone else in the equation.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Fran, slowly.

  Libby looked interested. ‘So Adelaide might have killed Ramani in order to get Carl? But then why kill Roland?’

  ‘To get him out of the way so the road was clear?’ Fran put her head on one side and considered. ‘Too far-fetched again.’

  ‘There could have been someone else,’ said Libby. ‘Someone who wanted Carl, so killed Ramani, then Roland found out so he had to be killed, too.’

  ‘Well, that fits Adelaide,’ said Fran. ‘And we do know now that she and Carl knew one another better than anyone thought.’

  ‘Still doesn’t feel right, though, does it?’ Libby stood up. ‘Come on, let’s forget all about it and go and watch an old film or something until it’s time to go out.’

  Later, in The Pink Geranium, they found Peter waiting for them on the sofa in the window, with Adam and the pretty PhD student in attendance. Harry popped a dishevelled head out of the kitchen and shouted.

  ‘I took your pollo verde out of the freezer, so you’d better eat it!’

  Libby blushed as the other customers regarded her with amusement.

  ‘So where are you with the case of the murders in the dark?’ asked Peter, when wine had been brought and poured.

  ‘Nowhere,’ said Libby. ‘We’ve begun to think your theory of a wronged wife or husband may be the true one, despite the fact that we’ve found out all sorts of fascinating historical things from Andrew.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Did you know that the English were selling gold to Napoleon –’

  ‘To pay his troops, yes,’ said Peter.

  ‘Oh, bum. You know everything,’ said Libby.

  ‘But I don’t,’ said Guy. ‘What’s that all about?’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Ben. ‘You weren’t very forthcoming when we arrived earlier.’

  ‘Because we hadn’t got anywhere, that’s why,’ said Libby.

  ‘But we’ll tell you now, because it’s fascinating,’ said Fran.

  Between them, with occasional interjections from Peter, who obviously knew all about it, they told Ben and Guy of the guinea boats, the French prisoners of war, the prison hulks and the smuggling routes.

  ‘I’ve got a lot of that in the notes I made,’ said Peter when they’d finished. ‘Harry did say.’

  ‘But you didn’t give them to me,’ said Libby. ‘And anyway, you wouldn’t have had those lovely overlaid maps that Andrew had.’

  Peter looked amused. ‘I expect I could have worked it out.’

  ‘Andrew enjoyed doing it,’ said Fran, soothingly. ‘It gives him something to do.’

  ‘But we’re no nearer catching a murderer,’ said Libby, peering gloomily into her glass of red wine.

  ‘To be fair, it isn’t your job,’ said Guy.

  ‘What might be a good idea,’ said Ben, topping up glasses, ‘is to go for a day out and try and get as far as possible along one of those smuggling routes. I do like the sound of the Bogshole Brook.’

  ‘Bogshole Lane is still there,’ said Libby. ‘And so is Convicts’ Wood. It was on Andrew’s map.’

  ‘So you could walk it?’ said Guy, looking interested.

  ‘Well, you might,’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘I don’t see me doing it.’

  ‘Not even in the interests of research?’ grinned Ben.

  ‘You ought to know our old trout doesn’t do exercise,’ said Peter. ‘Ah, here’s Adam to take our order. Saved by the bell.’
/>   As they lingered over coffee at the end of the meal, Fran turned to Libby.

  ‘Would it be a good idea, though? To investigate the smuggling routes?’

  ‘I can’t see why. They’re hardly likely to be in use today, are they?’

  ‘Not for their original purpose, no. But it might be interesting.’

  Libby shrugged. ‘You and Guy go off on a hike then.’

  Fran looked at her closely. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just fed-up that we’ve got nowhere after trying so hard,’ sighed Libby. ‘Even though I didn’t want to get involved in the first place.’

  ‘But we’ve found out some really interesting facts,’ said Fran. ‘And we can still have a look at the Dark House tunnels.’

  ‘If Ian allows us to,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s face it, there’s nothing we can do that the police can’t. And Edward can be just as useful to them as he was to us, and so can Lewis. And even Andrew – Ian knows him, too, if he wants to consult any more expert witnesses.’

  Fran sat back in her chair. ‘In that case, we might just as well forget all about it and go back to normal. After all, you’ve still got the panto to occupy you.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Libby, looking mournful. ‘I’ll have to be content with that.’

  Exasperated, Fran turned to Ben. ‘For God’s sake, cheer this woman up. She’s going into a decline.’

  Harry appeared at the table.

  ‘She’ll have to lose some weight first,’ he said, dragging over a chair. Libby hit him.

  ‘I suppose you could always ask the vicar of the church at Steeple Cross if he knows where the entrance to the tunnel was,’ said Peter, gazing thoughtfully out of the darkened window.

  All eyes turned towards him.

  ‘Why?’ asked Libby, suddenly looking a little brighter.

  ‘Didn’t you say the woman went there? Looked at the parish records? Must have seen that message or whatever it was?’

  ‘Yes?’ Fran looked puzzled.

  ‘Suppose she was also looking for the tunnel. Suppose her inamorata had found out something about it and told her?’

  ‘I don’t see what difference that would make,’ said Libby. ‘If she knew …’

  ‘Then someone also knew about it and wanted to keep it quiet?’ asked Ben.