‘Well, it was a difficult time,’ said Guy.
‘But it was as though they didn’t want me to see something. I don’t mean something like a book, I mean something intangible.’
‘You were being a bit pushy,’ said Libby.
‘Was I? Oh. My obsession again, was it?’
‘Your subject means a lot to you,’ said Fran peaceably.
‘So, if no one in here will talk about Dark House,’ said Guy, ‘how are you going to find out who Roland bought it from?’
‘Ask Adelaide?’ suggested Libby. ‘I can always call her tomorrow to see if she got home all right.’
‘She might not tell you, she’s got out and wiped our dust off her feet,’ said Fran. ‘I think that’s it as far as Adelaide goes.’
‘I suppose so. So, nowhere to go, then?’
‘I might pop over to check on Carl after we’ve eaten,’ said Edward, his familiar white grin breaking out. ‘That’s what you were hoping, weren’t you?’
Libby felt the heat coming into her cheeks.
‘I did wonder,’ said Fran, calmly. ‘We know so little about him.’
‘Then you all have a final drink at the bar when we’ve finished, and I’ll go and see him.’
The tagines were all pronounced delicious. Libby decided she would have to persuade Harry to include a vegetarian version in his repertoire.
When they assembled at the bar, Edward left to go and see Carl, and Ben ordered drinks all round. A different barman served him.
‘Heard you was asking about the Middleton place earlier,’ he said conversationally, pouring wine.
‘Middleton?’ repeated Ben with a frown.
‘Yeah. Place where the murders were. The Middleton place. Old Lady Middleton died. Old Wyghtham’s daughter.’
Chapter Twenty-five 1964
Stunned silence.
‘Wyghtham?’ Libby croaked finally.
‘Yup.’ The barman slid two glasses of wine and two brandies across the counter. ‘Always swore it had been her family home.’
‘Who exactly was she?’ asked Fran, the first to recover properly. ‘Was she Lady Middleton? Who was her husband?’
The barman looked up with a chuckle. ‘Want to know a lot, don’t you?’
The four of them looked at each other.
‘Well, yes,’ said Libby. ‘We’re – ah – involved in the investigation, you see.’
‘You’re not police.’
‘No, we’re …’ Libby stopped, not sure precisely what they were.
‘We know Mrs Watson,’ said Fran. ‘We were called in to help her as she didn’t have any local support.’
‘No, she wouldn’t.’ The barman turned and put Ben’s money in the till. ‘Not much for being part of the village. Course,’ he continued with a shrug, ‘she weren’t here mostly, and the old Middleton place isn’t hardly in the village. More Keeper’s Cob, to my way of thinking.’
‘So,’ said Libby, leaning cosily on the bar. ‘This Lady Middleton. She owned the place?’
‘Her old man did. Got his title back in the eighties. He got the house when his older brother died.’
‘Is he still alive?’ asked Ben.
‘Nah. Died in the nineties. She stayed there until the last minute. Went into hospital kicking up a dust and died later the same day.’
‘When was this?’ asked Fran.
‘Just before them Watsons bought it. They reckoned she’d been talking to him before she died.’
‘Who do?’ said Guy.
‘Who do what?’
‘Who reckon she’d been talking to Roland Watson?’ elaborated Libby.
‘Oh, everyone. “They” y’know?’
‘Villagers,’ said Fran.
‘Yeah – just people. She weren’t popular, see. Always had stuff delivered.’
‘Didn’t buy in the village,’ said Libby.
‘Even when we had a shop. Everything delivered. And only that Marilyn to help in the house.’
‘Marilyn?’ Libby and Fran both leant closer.
‘Yeah.’ The barman looked surprised. ‘You know her?’
‘Marilyn Fairbrass?
‘Kevin’s ma. Yeah.’
‘Does she live on the farm with Kevin?’ asked Fran.
Now the barman narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘You don’t know her.’
‘Only as Adelaide Watson’s housekeeper,’ said Libby. ‘So she stayed with the house.’
‘You could say that.’
‘So, Lady Middleton. She was a Wyghtham.’
‘From over Cherry Ashton way. The Wyghthams been around here for ever.’
Edward appeared behind them.
‘Wyghthams?’ he repeated.
‘We’ll tell you outside,’ said Libby. ‘Are you going to have a drink?’
‘No, I’m driving us back to Steeple Martin, aren’t I?’
‘How was Carl?’ asked Fran.
‘Subdued.’ Edward glanced at the barman, who was looking interested.
‘That Doctor Oxenford?’ he asked. ‘Poor bugger. Only been here five minutes and goes and loses his wife. Mind, none of us know him, really.’
‘Isn’t he your doctor?’ asked Guy.
‘Well, no. Everyone goes to the Health Centre over in Steeple Mount. Always have. Haven’t had a practice in the village since – before I were born, anyhow.’
‘Did you know his wife?’ asked Fran.
‘Only saw her once. She were another one who never joined in. Never saw her about the place. Had things delivered.’ He looked up at Edward. ‘Sorry, mate, if she was a friend of yours.’
Edward shook his head with a slight smile.
‘Come on, then,’ said Libby, sliding off her bar stool. ‘Time we were going.’ She turned to the barman. ‘Thanks for all the information. Let’s hope it all gets cleared up soon, eh?’
She led a small company simmering with questions and tensions out of the bar and into the car park.
‘What the –?’
‘Wyghtham?’
‘Middleton?’
‘Cherry Ashton –?’
‘No patients?’
Libby sat on the low wall that bordered the road. ‘Do you realise we learnt more from that bloke than we’ve learnt in days. Well done for spotting that ad, Fran.’
‘I wonder why the first barman was hostile?’ mused Ben.
‘I don’t think he was hostile. He was just like those three blokes I saw the first time I came here. Wary.’
‘Well Sammy the Second Barman certainly wasn’t,’ said Guy. ‘I don’t think I understood half the references you did.’
‘And I haven’t even heard them,’ said Edward.
Libby rummaged in her bag and fished out a rather battered packet of cigarettes. ‘I know I hardly ever have one of these now, but I feel the need,’ she said. ‘So don’t anyone lecture me.’ She lit the cigarette and proceeded to recount the barman’s information, with frequent interruptions from Fran, Ben and Guy.
Edward looked positively lit-up. ‘So there could be something there!’
‘Not if old Lady Middleton-Wyghtham had been living there for twenty years or more. I wonder if she only married Mr Middleton to get back into the house?’
‘They couldn’t have had any children,’ said Fran, ‘or it would have been them who sold the house to Roland.’
‘We just have to talk to Adelaide, now,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder if the police know this?’
‘I don’t suppose they’d think it was relevant,’ said Ben.
‘What about Carl?’ asked Fran.
‘He was just – subdued, as I said.’ Edward frowned, leaning back against his car, his arms folded. ‘He didn’t say much.’
‘In view of what the barman said, I wonder if he’ll stay here,’ said Guy,
‘I don’t understand it.’ Edward shook his head. ‘Why come here and start up a practice if there were going to be no patients?’
‘He probably thought there would be, as there isn
’t a doctor in the village,’ said Libby. ‘How do you set up a practice? I thought there already had to be one you bought in to?’
‘Quite a lot to look into,’ said Fran. ‘Go on, go home. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
‘And then,’ said Libby, once they were in the car, ‘there’s Marilyn Fairbrass. We couldn’t find a number for her, and it sounds as though we really need to talk to her. I wonder if the police have?’
‘Of course they have,’ said Ben. ‘You know that.’
‘But have they talked to her about this? About having been with Lady Middleton until the end?’
‘I don’t suppose they would even have thought about it,’ said Ben.
‘But she must know something,’ said Edward.
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Libby, ‘but someone needs to talk to her.’
‘I really don’t think the police are going to be interested, Libby.’ Ben swivelled round from the front passenger seat. ‘They only indulged you all about the treasure hunt while they were casting around for something else.’
‘You think this is involved with the treasure, then,’ said Edward. ‘This Lady Wyghtham – ’
‘Middleton,’ said Libby.
‘Lady Middleton knew about it … that’s why she married?’
‘I hope she wasn’t quite that cynical,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll see if Adelaide knows anything, and talk to Marilyn Fairbrass. At least we know her son’s name now.’
‘How will you find her?’ asked Ben.
‘Ask Adelaide,’ said Libby.
But the next morning, Adelaide wasn’t answering her phone.
While Libby was doing her Friday shop at the supermarket, her mobile rang.
‘Can’t hear you properly,’ she said to the burbling voice. ‘I’m in the supermarket.’
‘Go to the door then,’ came Ian’s voice, and Libby, startled, did so.
‘What’s up?’ She stood near enough to the doors to hear without setting off the alarms.
‘Have you been in touch with Adelaide Watson since you saw her the day before yesterday?’
‘No. I tried to ring her this morning but there was no reply.’
‘Why? Why did you ring her?’
‘To see how she was – if she’d got home all right.’ Libby prevaricated. ‘Why?’
‘We can’t get hold of her either. We sent Robertson up there yesterday, and according to the neighbours, no one’s seen her.’
‘What about Julian Watson?’
‘Robertson tracked him down at work. According to him, he didn’t even know his mother was coming back to London.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Apart from having had an affair with Ramani Oxenford while she was in London, he doesn’t seem implicated in any way.’
‘Oh, he’s admitted that, has he?’
‘Yes. He says he wasn’t the only one.’
‘Hmm. Ian, we learnt something else interesting yesterday. At least, we thought it was interesting.’
DCI Connell sighed heavily. ‘OK. What now?’
‘Do you want to talk about it now? I’m in the middle of Sainsbury’s and my frozen food’s melting.’
‘How urgent is it?’
‘Not to say urgent, exactly.’
‘I’ll meet your at your place in – what? Half an hour?’
‘OK,’ said Libby meekly. She ended the call and phoned Fran.
‘Can you meet me there, too?’
‘I’m supposed to be shop-sitting, I can’t really.’
‘Oh, bugger,’ said Libby, earning herself a dirty look from a passing grandmother with a toddler.
‘You can call me while he’s there if you need to,’ said Fran. ‘Go on, get a move on.’
Even though she hurried, Ian was still there before her, leaning on the bonnet of his long dark saloon looking Celtic and forbidding. He unbent enough to take her shopping bags while she opened the door, avoiding Sidney as he shot out of the door between their legs.
‘Now, what’s this all about,’ he asked, as Libby began putting the frozen food away.
‘Put the kettle on, will you?’ said Libby. ‘We can talk just as well with a cup of tea.’
Ian filled the electric kettle and switched it on. ‘I don’t trust your Rayburn. Now, go on.’
Libby told him everything they’d learnt the previous day, even her suspicions about the arts and antiquities racket.
‘So you see, I really wanted to talk to Marilyn Fairbrass,’ she finished, ‘only we haven’t got a number for her or her Kevin.’
Ian took his mug into the sitting room and sat in the armchair by the fireplace. ‘To find out what?’
Libby sat opposite him. ‘About old Lady Middleton. Did you know about her?’
‘We knew Watson bought Dark House from the estate after probate, yes.’
‘Who was her beneficiary?’
Ian raised his eyebrows. ‘Her beneficiary? Why should we need to know that?’
‘Ian!’ Libby was shocked. ‘Think about it. Someone might have been cross about the sale.’
‘No, Libby. It would have been her beneficiary who authorised the sale.’
‘Oh.’ Libby deflated. ‘Oh yes. Anyway, I’d still like to know. They might have found something out about the house after they’d sold it.’
‘Why kill Ramani?’
‘I don’t know. I’m still thinking about this. It’s a new theory. Anyway, what about Marilyn?’
‘It’s true we didn’t know she was also with the previous owner. I suppose that bears further investigation.’
‘Can’t we talk to her?’
‘If you can find her, I can’t stop you,’ said Ian with a sly smile.
‘So you aren’t going to tell me where she is?’
‘No. But I will tell you the name of her son’s farm.’
‘Kevin. Does she live with him?
‘The farm is Cob Farm. At the other end of Dark Lane.’
‘Oh, lord,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘I hate that road. And what about Carl Oxenford and his ghost practice?’
‘Just unlucky? From what we’ve heard over the last couple of weeks, his sole idea was to keep his wife away from temptation. I’ll get on to the local Health Trust, see what I can find out.’
‘You know,’ said Libby, ‘Adelaide was the one who told us Carl was their doctor. But was he NHS? Couldn’t he have been private?’
‘He could. That might make a difference.’
‘Edward told us Carl was in practice in Leicester. Have you looked that up?’
‘Libby,’ said Ian, exasperated, ‘we’re the police. I am a Chief Detective Inspector. Of course we have!’
‘And was that private?’
‘No, although some of the doctors had private patients. Believe it or not, Carl Oxenford is still a partner of that practice, and personally owns the freehold of the property.’
‘Blimey!’ said Libby.
Chapter Twenty-six
Ian went away, promising to let Libby know if he heard anything about Adelaide. Libby rang Fran and told her what Ian had said.
‘I want to see Marilyn Fairbrass,’ she said. ‘She’s got to know something.’
‘Did Ian say you could?’
‘He said I could if I could find her. He also said she bears investigating.’
‘When will you go?’
‘I thought now. This afternoon. Before it gets dark.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to wait until tomorrow morning? It gets dark so early in December.’
‘But I want to speak to her as soon as possible!’
‘Libby,’ said Fran, with a patient sigh, ‘suppose something happens? You get lost, or stuck in the mud or something?’
‘Like Kevin turning out to be a mad axeman?’
‘And it’s dark. And you’ve got to get home again. You know what those lanes are like. They frightened you the first time you went there.’
‘Oh, all right,’ Libby grumbled. ‘Will you be able
to come with me tomorrow?’
‘No, I’m still working in the shop. You ladies of leisure might be able to do what you like, but us workers can’t.’
‘You’ve got pots more money than I have!’ said Libby indignantly.
‘I also have a husband who won’t take a penny of it and needs to make his business pay.’
‘OK, OK. If Ben lets me, of course.’
‘I thought he was off on his annual Christmas visit to the children tomorrow?’
Ben’s grown-up children were now scattered over the country, but came together in London in order to see their father every Christmas. It wasn’t an occasion either side relished.
‘Oh, so he is. Bum. And it isn’t Monday, so Harry can’t come with me.’
‘You’ve said you don’t want Harry to come with you any more.’
‘I could ask Pete.’
‘You could ask Edward. He’d be game.’
‘No.’ Libby was firm. ‘Much as I like him, I still don’t quite trust him. He’s got his own agenda. Pete hasn’t got any agenda.’
‘Ask him, then. But let me know when you leave, and text me every so often so I know where you are.’
Slightly unnerved by Fran’s concern, Libby rang Peter.
‘I’m sorry, me old trout,’ he said, ‘I’m off up Lunnon to do Christmas shopping and then go to a press dinner. I’m not coming home until Sunday.’
‘Oh,’ said Libby. ‘Are you travelling up with Ben?’
‘We are. And back on Sunday. We’re even staying in the same hotel.’
‘Why didn’t I know any of this?’
‘Because you don’t listen, dear heart. Now, I shall tell Hal that you’ll be in for supper on your own tomorrow night, shall I?’
‘All right, thanks, Pete. Have a lovely time.’
Feeling forlorn, Libby wandered into the conservatory and peered out at the wintry garden. Low mist hung beyond the fence at the bottom, and the bare cherry tree dripped onto the dead leaves below. Libby sighed.
Christmas shopping, she pondered. Oh dear. She hadn’t given it a thought. All she’d done was drag Ben off to get the tree. And now it was only two weeks until Christmas Day and a bit risky to rely on online shopping. However, if she made a start now, and paid for first class delivery, she supposed …
She went into the kitchen put a pan of soup on to heat and went to light the fire in the sitting room. Ten minutes later, she was at the little table in the window, a bowl of steaming soup and the open laptop in front of her.
Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) Page 19
