‘I’m not entirely sure I understood that,’ said Edward, with his large white grin, ‘but well done, Libby, anyway. I think.’
‘It makes perfect sense,’ said Ben. ‘Think of the jewellery. The clues that you have all followed up. Suppose people were supposed to follow those clues. Or suppose Roland and Ramani were going to lay them out for people. Then the fake Institute would be part of the scam.’
‘Exactly,’ nodded Libby. ‘Roland, for some reasons of his own, probably financial, wants to prove that the house is of some historical importance. Edward, would that make sense?’
‘It’s already Grade II listed,’ said Edward. ‘It attracts any funding that might be going from English Heritage, but it’s not of huge importance.’
‘So would faking a connection with historical events make a difference?’ asked Ian.
‘It might, if they were going to go public, say, with a book?’ said Patti.
‘It’s an awful lot of trouble to go to,’ said Libby dubiously, ‘but I still think it’s a possibility.’
‘And they were both killed because of it?’ asked Peter, nursing his glass of pale lager.
‘Well, it’s about the only thing that’s made sense so far,’ said Libby.
‘And it does make sense,’ said Ian. ‘Thanks Libby. You’ve done well today. What with Fran’s secret stairs and priest hole, and you with the envelope and inspiration.’
‘Thank you.’ Libby beamed at him. ‘Oh – I know what I wanted to ask you. Did you get anyone to speak to Adelaide?’
‘Not yet. Local officers have called twice and there’s been no answer. Tomorrow, Robertson and a female DC are going up to try again, and they’ll try Julian Watson, too.’
On the way home, Libby linked her arm with Ben’s and sighed.
‘It was a brilliant theory, but I actually can’t make it fit anything.’
‘No,’ admitted Ben, ‘neither can I.’
‘I like the idea of Roland and Ramani being in cahoots, though. It makes more sense than just the sex thing.’
‘I wonder if Ramani’s husband had any idea what was going on?’ said Ben.
‘He lied about the affair, so he might have done. And I still wonder about his relationship with Adelaide. She’s been very tight-lipped about it.’
‘Perhaps it was those two who were in cahoots,’ suggested Ben.
‘Oh, don’t,’ groaned Libby.
The following morning, after a brisk flurry of housework and washing, Libby, settled herself down at the laptop. Sidney sat down beside it and butted her fingers with a wet nose.
‘You are not helping,’ said Libby reprovingly, and tried to move him aside. He put his ears down and closed his eyes. Libby sighed and began her internet search. But whatever search terms she used, she couldn’t find anything which would relate to a historic house scam.
‘Had this brilliant idea,’ she emailed Fran, ‘but I think I was on the wrong track.’ She went on to describe the brilliant idea, but the more she wrote it down, the more ridiculous it sounded. In the end, she pressed send and shut the laptop.
‘OK,’ she said to Sidney, ‘what shall I do now?’
If it was summer, or spring at least, she could go exploring, round the lanes near Steeple Cross and Keeper’s Cob perhaps. But her experiences of the lanes on her own and with Fran had put her off. And now that Adelaide had gone back to London there was no point of contact with the investigation. Carl Oxenford was an unknown quantity; she couldn’t go bothering him.
Brainwave: what was the name of Adelaide’s housekeeper? And Johnny Whoever who looked after the grounds. Why hadn’t they seen him yesterday? Libby called Adam.
‘Marilyn Fairbrass is the housekeeper. She comes over from Keeper’s Cob in her son’s Land Rover. And Johnny – I’ve forgotten his surname – he’s still living in his cottage, or hut, or whatever you’d call it, but keeping strictly out of the way. Mog spoke to him the other day.’
‘You don’t know the Fairbrass son’s name, or the name of his farm?’
‘Of course not, Ma.’ Adam sounded exasperated. ‘What are you planning, anyway? You can’t go barging in asking questions when you’ve never met people.’
‘No, I suppose not. You don’t fancy taking me over to see Johnny?’
‘No, I do not!’ Adam exploded. ‘Honestly, Ma. Grow up and leave this to the police.’
‘A fine way to talk to your mother,’ said Libby huffily and switched off the call. ‘Phone book,’ she said to Sidney, and went to find it. Sometimes, old technology beat new.
But although there were three Fairbrass entries in the phone book, one was in Dover, one was in Felling and one was in Canterbury.
‘Which,’ Libby told Sidney, ‘means only that they no longer have landlines, Marilyn and her son. Would have thought the farm needed a landline, though.’ She sighed, and opened the laptop to see if Fran had replied. She had.
‘It’s a very good theory,’ she wrote, ‘but I can’t see the point of it. There would have to be a pay-off, and just faking the Napoleon site as a connection wouldn’t be enough. There has to be gain somewhere.’
‘Exactly,’ Libby wrote back. ‘And that doesn’t seem possible.’
Unless, she thought a little later while making toast for lunch, they were planning something else.
‘I’ve had another idea,’ she told Fran over the phone. ‘I think I need either Andrew or Edward to look at the county archives again.’
‘How about,’ said Fran, ‘we don’t bother with them, but we go into Canterbury and find Anne in her library. I bet she’s got access to stuff there.’
‘I never thought of that!’ said Libby. ‘How clever. Do we know which library she’s in?ʼ
So it was that Fran arrived at half past one, collected Libby and drove into Canterbury.
‘We could go to Waitrose while we’re here,’ said Libby, as they emerged from the car park.
‘Have you come in to money?’ asked Fran.
‘Just to have a look,’ said Libby. ‘Where are we going?’
They found Anne in the beautifully modernised library where she was working at a computer.
‘Hello!’ she said, surprised.
Libby explained what she was looking for.
‘Items connected to the Napoleonic Wars?’ Anne looked doubtful. ‘Yes, there are some, but there are more in Maidstone.’
‘What about smuggling?’
‘Oh, yes, we’ve got some of that, but then, so has Whitstable. What are you looking for specifically.’
‘You know those guinea boats we were talking about?’
‘Yes?’
‘What about guineas? Or gold?’
Anne laughed. ‘You don’t imagine any of that would have survived! No one would have left any gold lying around for nearly two hundred years.’
‘No,’ said Libby, strangely triumphant.
‘What’s this all about?’ asked Anne. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Libby’s told me about her great idea last night,’ said Fran, ‘which she then decided was a non-starter.’
‘Until,’ said Libby, ‘I suddenly realised that could be what Roland and Ramani were planning to create. Fake guineas. A fake French prisoner of war hide out. Think how famous that would make Dark House!’
Chapter Twenty-four
Anne frowned. ‘It might, I suppose, but I can’t see that there would be any money in it.’
‘If they could prove the link to the prisoners of war and the smugglers’ runs, what they found would be of huge interest,’ said Libby. ‘Look, they’d report the stuff to whom? The local Finds Liaison Officer. Then the coroner would decide if it was treasure trove. Meanwhile, some kind of provenance would be needed, so the fake Napoleonic Institute provides information that proves Dark House’s connection to the whole business. As long as there’s enough there, once it had been authenticated, it would be bought by a museum and Roland would have got the spoils.’
‘But not a lot,’
objected Anne. ‘Not like a Saxon hoard. And surely he’d be better keeping the guineas if he’d got any.’
‘That is a bit of a stumbling block,’ said Libby, ‘but he could never get rid of them unless he sold them on the black market, anyway.’
‘So we’re back to the arts and antiquities smuggling game,’ said Fran.
Libby turned and looked at her in awe. ‘Bloody hell, Fran! Of course!’
‘Eh?’ said Anne, bringing her chair a bit nearer. ‘And keep your voice down.’
‘Oh, sorry. But they haven’t got the silence rule any more, have they?’ Libby obligingly moved nearer the desk. ‘That’s it, don’t you see? I’d got it a bit wrong. Roland was trying to smuggle stuff and the fake Institute was to provide provenance for fake antiquities.’
Fran looked smug. Libby squinted at her. ‘I bet you didn’t actually think of that, but never mind – it works.’
‘It does,’ said Anne. ‘More sense than faked guineas or whatever going to the FLO.’
‘Well, there! So what antiquities have you got that might be worth money?’
‘None. Not of that period. Hang on, I’ll look up Maidstone.’ Anne slid her chair back to behind her computer and tapped at the keyboard. ‘Napoleon’s chair from St Helena at the Maidstone Museum,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if I can access the new Kent History and Library Centre. I think you might have to go there and ask. But it won’t have artefacts.’
‘That’s a help, though,’ said Libby. ‘What do you think, Fran?’
‘Apart from the fact that you’re off on another wild goose chase?’
Libby was indignant. ‘You said it was a good idea, too. You wanted to come.’
‘Yes, to see if there was anything in it. By accident, we – or you – think it might be to do with an antiques faking enterprise. So not entirely wasted.’
Anne laughed. ‘Damned with faint praise,’ she said. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’
Libby went to Waitrose after all.
When they arrived back at number 17, the local free paper had been delivered. Fran picked it up while Libby went through to the kitchen to unpack and put the kettle on.
‘That pub on the corner of Dark Lane,’ said Fran coming in to the kitchen with the open paper. ‘Is it The Dragon?’
Libby thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I think so. Why?’
‘They’ve got a special on tonight.’
‘A special what?’
‘A Middle Eastern night, three courses for the price of two.’
‘With belly-dancing?’
Fran looked up. ‘I could do without that.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Libby put the last item in the fridge and brought out the milk. ‘That we go there tonight? Why?’
‘I don’t know. I thought it might be interesting. And Carl Oxenford lives right behind.’
‘I somehow doubt he’ll be there,’ said Libby, pouring boiling water into the teapot.
‘He might come out if we took Edward with us.’
Libby laughed. ‘Fran! You’re getting even more devious than I am.’
‘Well? What do you think? You’re not rehearsing tonight, are you?’
Libby put mugs on the table and sat down. ‘Are you suggesting we go without Ben and Guy and ask Edward and Doctor Oxenford to escort us?’
‘No, of course not. Well, not quite. Just us and Edward. And he could call in on Carl to see how he was.’
‘How would our menfolk react, do you think?’
‘I’ll ask Guy.’ Fran found her phone. ‘Hello, darling. Oh, I’m at Libby’s. No, no, I was just wondering if you minded if we went out for dinner tonight? No, Libby and me.’ She rolled her eyes at Libby. ‘Yes, of course it is. The pub at Steeple Cross. Yes, we will. Of course. See you later.’
She put the phone away. ‘There. Guy doesn’t mind. He did ask if it was to do with “the case” and told us to be careful.’
‘Are you going home first? Only we’ll have to take both cars …’
‘Yes, yes. Now call Ben.’
‘No need, I’m here.’ Ben appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘What about?’
Fran explained while Libby got out another mug. ‘Guy’s all right about it,’ she finished.
‘Neither of us would stop you going out together,’ said Ben, ‘but we might be concerned about your safety.’
‘We’re hoping Edward will come with us,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, nice! You don’t want us, but you do want Edward!’
‘We wouldn’t mind at all if you wanted to come with us,’ said Libby. ‘It’s just you don’t usually want to get involved.’
‘I think it would make a change,’ said Ben, grinning at Fran. ‘Go on, we’d love to come. I’ll phone Guy and ask – er – tell him!’
Fran shrugged and laughed, Ben got out his phone and Libby got hers to call Edward.
Edward volunteered to drive, grateful, as he said, to have something to do.
‘Not that I don’t have plenty of things to do at home,’ he said, negotiating the turn into the car park of The Dragon, ‘but I can’t seem to drag myself away.’
‘Libby’s now decided the whole thing is an arts and antiquities scam,’ said Ben, unfastening his seat belt.
Edward came round to help Libby out of the back seat. ‘So nothing for me at all?’
‘Well,’ said Libby, ‘no treasure, maybe, but you do know about Sir Godfrey. He’s worth researching in his own right, isn’t he? He’ll fit into your book.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Edward ushered them both into the pub. ‘Table for five for Hall,’ he told the waiter.
‘Oh, you booked?’ said Libby in surprise.
‘Look,’ said Edward indicating both sides of the bar. It was almost completely full.
‘I didn’t even think about it,’ said Ben. ‘Thanks, Edward.’
They were led to a table at the far end of the right hand room, where Fran and Guy were already seated.
‘Look!’ said Libby. ‘Proper tagines!’
The main course was, in fact, a choice between chicken, lamb or vegetarian tagine served with couscous. There were various desserts, a lot of which featured semolina, and starters including Dolmades, hummous and meze. After they’d ordered, Edward sat back and regarded them quizzically across the table.
‘Why here?’ he said. ‘Right in front of Ramani’s husband’s house?’
‘It was Fran’s idea,’ said Libby defensively. ‘She saw the ad in the paper for the Middle Eastern night.’
‘To be fair, I liked the sound of the evening,’ said Ben. ‘I persuaded Guy we should come.’
‘So no ulterior motive, then?’ said Edward.
‘Would you have minded if there was?’ asked Fran.
‘No.’ Edward chuckled. ‘I’m obviously as mad as you are, now.’
‘I did wonder if anyone knew anything about either who owned Carl’s practice or Dark House before Carl and the Watsons,’ said Libby. ‘It’s the only thing we don’t know.’
‘Would they know in here?’ said Guy.
‘Not if the people I met the first time I came here are anything to go by,’ said Libby. ‘I came in to ask the way. They weren’t friendly.’
‘But didn’t they think you might be press?’ said Fran. ‘That made a difference.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. And there was no one except the three of them in here. It doesn’t seem like a proper local.’
‘Obviously this is what they rely on.’ Edward waved a large hand.
‘Doesn’t hurt to ask,’ said Guy. ‘They didn’t take a drinks order, did they? I’ll go to the bar.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Ben, and they left the table to squeeze between the other diners.
‘Not like them to get involved,’ said Libby, following their progress.
‘Oh, I don’t know. There have been times.’ Fran sat back and watched her husband complacently.
The men came back with a bottle of wine and two and a
half pints of bitter, Edward limiting himself to the half.
‘I’m having just the one pint,’ said Guy. ‘I think the tagine will soak it up.’
‘So did you ask?’ said Libby.
‘We did,’ said Ben. ‘Very casually. You’d have been proud of us.’
‘And?’ prompted Fran.
‘Carl set up the practice. There hadn’t been a doctor here for some time. People were surprised.’ Guy poured wine for Fran and Libby.
‘I asked about Dark House, but the barman was very cagey about that,’ said Ben. ‘Said they’d had enough of reporters and didn’t want to get involved.’
‘I expect the police have asked Adelaide,’ said Fran.
‘Adelaide didn’t think there was anything in the documents when they bought the house,’ said Libby. ‘But then he probably didn’t show her everything.’
‘Surely if they bought it between them –’ began Ben.
‘With mainly her money,’ said Libby.
‘She would have had to see all the documentation?’
‘She was so cowed by him, I imagine he did the “don’t bother your pretty little head about it, just sign here” thing,’ said Libby.
‘I can see that,’ agreed Fran, ‘but she’s changed a lot since he died.’
‘She was beginning to change after Ramani died,’ said Libby. ‘A lot stronger.’
‘And we still don’t know if she and Carl were having an affair,’ said Fran.
Just then, the waiter brought their starters, and conversation stopped. When it resumed, Edward had obviously been thinking over what had been said.
‘I don’t know about an affair,’ he said, pushing his plate away, ‘but there was certainly some kind of relationship between them. Remember that first day we met?’
‘Yes.’ Libby and Fran nodded.
‘They were very uncomfortable around one another. I got the feeling they didn’t want me there.’
Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) Page 18
