‘Come on, then,’ said Edward, standing up. ‘Let’s go and look at the cellar.’
The police had obviously investigated, because the cellar door now opened fully and smoothly.
‘I thought Lewis said the cellar had been bricked up,’ said Libby, peering nervously into the darkness, where a flight of steep steps led downwards.
‘He did.’ Edward was standing on the top step. ‘But it isn’t.’
He shone his torch round, showing them brick walls.
‘These are much earlier than the bricks blocking the grotto tunnel. And the police have been down here – no cobwebs.’
‘I am not going down there,’ said Libby firmly.
‘I am,’ said Fran suddenly. ‘Libby, you remember where I was on the stairs? Can you go back there?’
‘Yes. Now?’
‘Please.’ Fran stepped on to the top step beside Edward, who, along with Andrew, was looking bewildered. ‘Come on, Edward, let’s go down.’
Libby watched them descend. ‘You’d better stay at the top, Andrew, so they don’t accidentally get shut in. I’m going up the stairs.’
Libby found the right staircase below Adelaide’s room and sat on the third step down. After a few minutes, she heard a muffled shout and Andrew’s answering call. And then, with stomach-dropping suddenness, Fran’s voice spoke almost in her ear.
Chapter Twenty-two
‘Libby? Are you there?’
Libby shot to her feet and slipped. Grabbing hold of the banister rail, she hauled herself upright.
‘Wh-where …?’ she managed.
‘Oh, good,’ came Fran’s slightly muffled voice. ‘I thought I was right. Go back to the half landing.’
On slightly shaky legs Libby climbed back to the half landing, where the tall stained glass window looked out over the side of the house.
‘Can you see this?’ asked Fran, sounding nearer.
‘See what?’ said Libby, and then saw. Part of the panelled wall was shaking. She went across to it and gingerly gave it a push. It gave way and she almost fell through, straight into Fran’s arms.
‘Bloody hell!’
Fran steadied her and stood back. ‘Look,’ she said.
Libby saw that she was standing in a small, stone-walled room. Fran was shining a torch into the corners.
‘Did you borrow Andrew’s torch?’ asked Libby.
‘No, this is Edward’s. He went back and got Andrew’s.’
‘So how did you find it? And how did the police miss it?’
‘At the bottom of the cellar steps you can see where the tunnel goes towards the grotto, and eventually, where it’s bricked-up. And the police had obviously been there. But something took me back to the cellar steps. And there’s a door underneath them.’
‘But surely,’ said Libby, ‘the police would have found that when they were investigating?’
‘Oh, they did,’ said Fran. The hinges had been oiled and the door opened really easily.’
‘So how did they miss – er, what did they miss?’
‘It was a classic understairs cupboard. I don’t know what it was used for when the cellars were in use, if they ever were used for anything legitmate. That’s when I borrowed the torch.’
‘And?’
‘At the back was a panelled wall. I thought that was a bit odd in a cellar cupboard.’
‘So would I.’
‘So I went and pushed. But it didn’t work, so I called Edward and he came and we levered it open. This one opened outwards. It had to, because of the stairs behind.’
Libby gasped. ‘A hidden staircase after all! And it led here?’
‘It’s actually built underneath the main staircase, so there’s not much head room, but it leads here, look.’ Fran pointed the torch to the nearest corner of the room, where the steps could just be seen. ‘No one very big could have gone up and down, but people were smaller a couple of centuries ago, weren’t they?’
‘What date are we talking, though?’ asked Libby. ‘Could this have been constructed after the house was built?’
Edward’s head appeared at the top of the steps. ‘It’s a bit of a squeeze,’ he said, with a grin, ‘but I’ve made it. I sent Andrew up the main stairs.’
‘And here I am,’ said Andrew stepping into the little room behind Libby and going straight to the walls.
‘Prop that door with something, Libby, so we don’t get shut in and we’ve got some light.’ Edward squeezed himself through the gap and stood up, brushing himself down. Libby ran up to Adelaide’s room and fetched a small chair which she used as a doorstop.
‘What do we think?’ she asked. ‘Priest’s hole? What we were looking for last week?’
‘It certainly looks like it,’ said Andrew. ‘And it goes right down into the cellar and then away to Keeper’s Cob. The grotto wouldn’t have been there, then.’
‘Do you suppose the Victorians who built the grotto found it and they were the ones who bricked up the tunnel?’ asked Fran.
‘Do we know when the grotto was built?’ asked Andrew.
‘Yes, there’s an inscription on the underside of that fake bridge,’ said Edward. ‘1883. But I would have thought the bricking up was done earlier.’
‘Can I have that torch, Fran?’ asked Andrew. He took it and peered at the wall. ‘Look, here.’
The other three came to peer over his shoulder. Very faintly, they could see, scratched into the stone, “1647”.
‘The date it was made?’ asked Libby.
‘No.’ Edward stood back. ‘The last date it was used, maybe.’ He swung his torch round the room, revealing cobwebs. ‘This was made earlier. By Nicholas Owen, do you think, Andrew?’
‘A bit crude for Owen, perhaps?’ Andrew turned a full circle looking at the little room.
‘Excuse me,’ said Libby. ‘Who is Nicholas Owen?’
‘Saint Nicholas Owen,’ said Andrew, ‘according to the Catholics, anyway. He was a Jesuit lay brother who was an expert at constructing priest’s holes. He died in 1606.’
‘So if he built it, it was before Godfrey Wyghtham made the alterations in 1643,’ said Fran.
‘And that’s when he would have found it!’ said Libby. ‘And where he would have hidden his treasure for Rebecca.’
‘It isn’t here now,’ said Edward, giving the room another sweep with his torch, ‘but I really want to examine this place thoroughly. Andrew?’
‘It’s all very well keeping the keys to have a quick look round,’ said Libby, ‘but suppose Adelaide checks with the police that we’ve handed them in?’
Edward looked at his watch. ‘Could we stay here for a couple of hours now?’
‘We-ell,’ Libby looked at Fran.
‘We were given permission to be here, today,’ she said.
‘But only at the grotto under police guard,’ said Libby.
‘And you had Adelaide’s permission to be here in the house,’ said Fran.
Libby fidgeted.
‘It’s not like you to be squeamish about doing something without the benefit of police blessing.’ Fran eyed her friend quizzically.
‘I know, but …’
‘I’ll call the chief inspector,’ said Edward suddenly, stepping out on to the half landing and taking out his phone.
‘No need. I’m here.’
Four people swung round to face Chief Detective Inspector Connell, looking up at them from the foot of the stairs.
‘And for once,’ he said, starting to climb towards them, ‘I was very pleased to hear Mrs Sarjeant upholding the law.’
Libby went pink.
‘I suppose you were going to tell me eventually what you were doing?’ Ian joined them and peered into the priest’s hole. ‘What have we here?’
‘That’s what you wanted us to find, isn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘Why you asked me, specifically? You let us have a look at the grotto, hoping for dating evidence of the tunnel and that I might have a revealing flash of inspiration. Well, this was it.’
>
Andrew, Edward and Libby looked relieved.
Ian smiled. ‘Well done. I knew I could rely on you.’ He went inside the priest’s hole and looked round. ‘No sign of anything relevant?’
‘Not yet,’ said Edward, ‘but Andrew found a date scratched on the wall.’
Andrew took his torch and showed Ian the marking.
‘And the steps?’ asked Ian, going down on his haunches in front of them.
‘If we go downstairs, we’ll show you,’ said Fran.
Leaving the door to the little room open, they trooped down the stairs to the inner hall, where Edward and Fran led Ian into the cellar. Andrew and Libby retired to the kitchen, where Libby rooted round and found tea, coffee and sugar, and even a container of dried milk.
Whe Ian, Fran and Edward appeared, divesting themselves of even more cobwebs, Libby offered tea or coffee.
‘I’m sure Adelaide wouldn’t mind,’ she said. ‘After all, she did ask me to come and help her pack this morning.’
‘And you did, obviously,’ said Ian, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table.
‘That’s why I’ve got the keys,’ said Libby, omitting the fact that she was supposed to be handing them over. ‘And there’s something else.’
Edward frowned at her, but she nevertheless produced the scrap of paper.
‘We think it must be all connected. If any of them was looking for so-called treasure, they would have come across the guinea boat story as we did. But there is no Institute.’
Ian took the paper and squinted at it. ‘So this is –? What?’
‘A fake. But who by?’
‘Edward? Andrew?’ Ian turned to the two men. ‘No idea?’
‘Neither of us have ever heard of the Institute,’ said Andrew. ‘What interests me is why someone should have bothered to set it up, and how they knew to get in touch with someone in this house.’
‘That’s not necessarily so,’ said Fran. ‘It could have been someone here who set it up.’
They all looked at her.
‘We’ve said all along Roland could have been trying to impress Ramani,’ Fran went on. ‘What better than to set something like this up?’
Edward shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t have been fooled. She was a historian, remember.’
‘The other way round, then?’ suggested Libby. ‘Ramani invented it to – to – well, to do something.’
Ian turned to Fran. ‘Do you think those steps and the priest hole are connected to either of the murders?’
‘I don’t know. But when we went into the tunnel under the grotto, I knew there’d been deaths there.’
‘But not whose?’
‘No, sorry.’
Ian sighed. ‘We’ll get forensics to go over the priest’s hole and the steps to the cellar. It’s a perfect escape route.’
‘Roland couldn’t have got down there,’ said Libby. ‘Edward only just managed it, and Roland was twice his size.’
‘We’ll still look at it,’ said Ian, and took a small evidence bag from his pocket. ‘I think this is closing the stable door, considering you’ve all probably handled it, but better safe than sorry.’ He dropped the piece of envelope into the bag. ‘Where did you find it, Libby?’
Libby told him. ‘I didn’t tell Adelaide.’
‘Was it one of her drawers?’
‘I assume so. We discussed it, and we don’t think Roland would have left it behind, and it was a drawer we’d emptied. It didn’t occur to me, but she would only have emptied her own drawers. His stuff will still be there.’
Ian sighed. ‘And we’ve let her go back to London.’
‘Can’t you go up there?’ asked Andrew. ‘Surely it’s enough of a – a – what do I mean?’
‘Clue?’ suggested Libby.
‘I’ll send someone to ask her,’ said Ian.
‘But unannounced. Don’t give her a chance to think up an answer,’ said Libby.
Ian laughed. ‘Yes, Libby. I think we know enough to do that.’
‘Sorry.’ Libby made a face.
‘Well, if that’s all, I think we might lock up and go home.’ Ian held out his hand. ‘I’ll take the keys, thank you, Libby.’
Libby handed them over. ‘We did find something out for you.’
‘You did.’ He turned to Fran. ‘Thank you, Fran.’
Fran cleared her throat and gazed at her feet.
Libby collected mugs and rinsed them in the sink, then, in silence, they all trooped out of the house.
‘Is the back door locked?’ asked Ian.
‘We didn’t lock it,’ said Fran.
Ian sighed and went inside.
‘That’s it, then,’ said Libby. ‘We can’t do any more searching.’
‘We’ve still got a lot to look for,’ said Edward. ‘I’m determined to find out about that Napoleonic Institute, and as much as I can about Godfrey Wyghtham.’
‘You’re getting worse than me,’ said Libby.
Ian came out of the front door and locked it behind him. ‘I’ve set the burglar alarm,’ he said, ‘so don’t try getting back in.’
‘As if we would,’ said Libby indignantly.
‘I wouldn’t put anything past you, Libby.’ Ian smiled and patted her shoulder. ‘Will you be in the usual place this evening after rehearsal?’
Edward’s eyebrows went up.
‘Yes, I expect so. Will you be popping by? Edward’s staying in the pub for the time being, by the way.’
‘I know,’ said Ian. ‘Don’t forget I was the one who told him he could come over here today.’
He turned to Edward and Andrew.
‘Will you give me a brief report on your thoughts, both of you? In writing?’
‘I’ll email it later,’ said Edward.
‘So will I,’ said Andrew. ‘When you’ve given me your email address.’
Ian nodded. ‘See you later then. And Libby, please don’t go poking round the garden or the grotto.’
‘Who am I? The naughtiest girl in the school?’ grumbled Libby, as they watched Ian drive away.
‘Meet you behind the bike sheds,’ said Fran.
Chapter Twenty-three
‘Do you really think Edward will carry on on his own?’ said Ben later, when Libby had relayed the day’s doings.
‘I really think he might, but he’s got to get back home at some point,’ said Libby. ‘I expect he’ll be in the pub tonight to see what Ian has to say.’
Sure enough, when Ben, Libby and Peter followed other cast members down to the pub at just after ten o’clock, Edward was there, nursing a drink at the bar.
‘Come and meet the gang,’ said Libby, leading him to the table where Patti and Anne sat. ‘You know our friend Patti, and this is her friend Anne.’
‘I thought it was you, but I didn’t like to intrude,’ said Edward, sitting down next to Anne’s wheelchair.
By the time drinks had been fetched, Ian had joined them and asked for his customary coffee. He fixed Edward with a stern eye.
‘Now don’t tell anyone anything that’s said tonight. I’ve got into the habit of coming and talking things over here whenever Libby’s involved in something, which,’ he said, turning the stern eye on Libby, ‘is far too often. You’ll have already seen how helpful she and Fran –’
‘Mostly Fran,’ Libby put in.
‘– mostly Fran,’ amended Ian, ‘can be. And as long as it doesn’t hamper the police investigation, I’m happy with the situation. However, my superiors, not to mention some of my junior officers, wouldn’t be.’
‘That’s fair,’ said Edward. ‘But haven’t you ever let out something in front of someone who turned out to be – well – the wrong person?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ian. ‘Unless you’re confessing to something?’
It was difficult to tell, but Libby was sure Edward flushed.
‘No, of course not.’
‘Good.’ Ian looked at him for a moment longer. ‘So, anyone come to any startling con
clusions since this morning?’
Patti, Anne and Peter all demanded to be told what had happened that morning, and after Libby and Ian between them had filled in the details, Patti said, ‘What about that jewellery you found last week?’
‘I’d forgotten about that!’ said Libby.
‘It’s gone to some experts,’ said Ian. ‘We haven’t had the results back yet.’
‘It strikes me,’ said Anne, leaning forward in her chair, ‘That this whole thing is an elaborate set-up.’
Everyone looked at her earnest, pixie face, with its lively brown eyes.
‘Set-up?’ repeated Ian.
‘Everyone’s said at one time or another, if I’ve got it right – Patti tells me things I don’t know, you see – that they think that this Roland made up the treasure story to capture the woman’s interest. The envelope and fake Institute would be part of the same thing.’
‘But why on earth go to such lengths?’ said Peter. ‘The other woman – what’s her name – Adelaide – said he was always having affairs. Why did this one matter so much?’
‘He’d really fallen in love?’ suggested Patti, to be met by scornful snorts from all the men. ‘Obviously not, then.’
‘You know,’ said Libby, ‘the one thing we haven’t thought of. At least, I haven’t. What did Roland want from Ramani if it wasn’t just sex? If Anne’s right, and the fake Institute is part of the hoax?’
‘We talked about that this morning,’ said Edward. ‘I said, if you remember, it wouldn’t have taken her in.’
‘But you’re right,’ said Ian. ‘Roland wanted more than just sex from Ramani. And I don’t think it was love, either.
‘But then he was killed too.’ Anne looked round at them all. ‘Why?’
Libby leant back in her chair and looked at the ceiling. ‘I think we’ve been looking at this upside down.’
All attention turned to her.
‘What if,’ she said, returning her gaze to the company, ‘Roland wanted Ramani to help him in some kind of scam?’
Silence met the remark.
‘Good Lord,’ said Ian eventually. ‘I think you might have done it again.’
Ben grinned and patted Libby’s hand. ‘Classic, love.’
‘You see,’ Ian looked round the table, finishing up with Edward. ‘This is where the leaps of faith come in. As police officers, we can’t speculate and we’re not supposed to go on blind hunches, so blind hunches get trained out of us. And occasionally, Libby or Fran come up with something that wouldn’t have even occurred to us. Oh, we might get there in the end after pursuing a lot of tortuous leads, but this way we might be able to work backwards to prove it.’
Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) Page 17
