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

by Cookman, Lesley

  Half an hour later, her mobile ringing startled the life out of her.

  ‘Is that Libby Sarjeant?’ asked a strange masculine voice.

  ‘Yes. Who’s that? And how did you get my number?’

  ‘It’s Julian Watson here. Remember, we met in Canterbury?’

  ‘Oh, yes. What can I do for you? I was actually trying to get hold of your mother this morning to see if she got back safely.’

  ‘So were the police.’ Julian sounded strained, and Libby decided not to tell him she knew that. ‘So does that mean you don’t know, either?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. When did you last see her?’

  ‘Last week in Canterbury, after she moved hotels. When did you see her?’

  ‘The day before yesterday. She called me on Tuesday and asked me to go to Dark House with her to help her pack, as she didn’t want to go on her own. So I went on Wednesday morning. When she left she said she was driving straight to London.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t. None of her neighbours have seen her and I went with the police to the flat. There’s no sign that she’s been there.’ Libby heard him take a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Where can she be?’

  ‘Julian, think. What do you know about your mother’s private life? I’m not talking about the life she shared with your father.’

  ‘That’s just as well, because there wasn’t much. He was hardly ever in the country.’ Julian’s voice was hard now. ‘She wasn’t happy, you know.’

  ‘No. She changed a lot after he died, even in just a week.’

  ‘Yes …’ Julian trailed off.

  ‘Was there something else? Something you’ve just thought of?’

  ‘She was angry. I don’t know what about, but it was as though she was expecting something to happen and it didn’t.’

  ‘Julian, I don’t want to offend you, but – ’ Libby stopped, trying to work out exactly how to put her query.

  He sighed heavily. ‘I think I know what you’re going to say. Was she having an affair.’

  ‘Actually, yes. I was.’

  ‘The truth is, I don’t know. God knows, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d had a dozen affairs, the way he treated her, but I truly don’t know.’

  ‘Even though you both lived in London most of the time? Didn’t you see her then?’

  ‘Sometimes, but we didn’t move in the same circles. We’d have lunch or dinner together every now and then.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a possibility that she’s gone to a lover? Sorry to put it like that.’

  ‘If she has, why didn’t she let me know?’ Julian’s voice was breaking, now. ‘She didn’t even tell me she was leaving the hotel.’

  ‘What about your brother?’

  ‘He hasn’t heard anything either.’ Julian took another deep breath. ‘I know she wasn’t everyone’s idea of a good mother, but she was good to us.’

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’ asked Libby. ‘Is there anyone down here you’d like me to go and see? Talk to? I’m going to see Marilyn Fairbrass tomorrow. Do you think she might know something?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Now Julian sounded deflated. ‘And that doctor, too. Ramani’s husband.’

  ‘Carl Oxenford.’

  ‘Yes.’ For a moment Libby thought she heard some other emotion in his voice. ‘I’m pretty sure Mum knew him better than she let on.’

  ‘I’ll see them both,’ promised Libby. ‘What’s your number? I’m no good at finding the numbers people are calling from.’

  Julian reeled off two numbers, and also said he would let Libby know if he heard anything.

  ‘Fran.’ Libby took the phone with her into the kitchen, where she moved the big kettle on to the Rayburn hotplate.

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Libby recounted her conversation with Julian. ‘Oh, and Pete’s going up to London tomorrow with Ben, so I’ll have to go to Cob Farm on my own. And I’ve promised Julian I’ll see Carl Oxenford.’

  ‘On your own?’ Fran sounded doubtful. ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘I can’t see Carl as a mad axe-wielding murderer, can you?’’

  ‘There’s something not right about him, though,’ said Fran. ‘All the business of having no patients.’

  ‘I’ll risk it. It’ll be broad daylight, and I’ll ring you when I’m on his doorstep. So what do you think has happened to Adelaide?’

  Fran was silent for a moment. ‘I’m not feeling anything awful,’ she said eventually. ‘I wish we had something of hers, though.’

  ‘Julian sounds frantic, poor boy.’

  ‘I thought you’d stigmatised him as a money-grabbing ex-public-school trader?’

  ‘I had. But he’s still her son.’

  Ben, as predicted, was dubious about the proposed expedition.

  ‘But I’ve got to see if anyone knows where Adelaide might be,’ argued Libby. ‘Her son’s worried stiff.’

  ‘Shame he wasn’t in touch with her more often, then,’ said Ben with a scowl.

  ‘He said they met in London, but when his father was home he wouldn’t have wanted to come down here. And this wasn’t their childhood home.’

  ‘That isn’t the only reason you’re going, though, is it?’

  ‘Well, no. I want to know about old Lady Middleton and the Wyghthams.’

  ‘Can’t you just ring up?’

  ‘Neither of the Fairbrasses are listed in the directory. They must be mobile only.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Ben sighed. ‘But promise me you’ll keep in touch, at least by text.’

  ‘I will. I told Fran the same thing.’

  Peter collected Ben on Saturday morning, and, with many dire warnings, they drove off towards Canterbury. Libby, having a sudden brainwave, went once again for the phone book and looked up Cob Farm. Sure enough it was there – under business listings. She took a deep breath and pushed the right buttons.

  ‘Cob Farm,’ said a female voice. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘I’m awfully sorry to bother you,’ said Libby, clearing her throat, ‘but I’m trying to get in touch with Marilyn Fairbrass –’

  ‘That’s me,’ broke in the voice. ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘My name’s Libby Sarjeant,’ said Libby, wishing she’d thought this through.

  ‘Oh, are you young Adam’s mother?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby in surprise. ‘He didn’t say he knew you.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t, not really,’ said Marilyn Fairbrass with a chuckle, ‘but I know him. Johnny Templeton told me their names. The gardeners.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, I was actually wondering if I could talk to you at some point – ’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Adelaide Watson. She’s disappeared.’ Libby wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have let this out, but too late now.

  ‘Disappeared? Oh. Bloody hell.’

  ‘Exactly. Julian’s really worried about her.’

  ‘Julian? That the eldest boy? But he was hardly ever here. Mind, neither was she, much. Anyway, how can I help? I haven’t seen her since before – before –’

  ‘No, I realise that, but there were one or two things … You see, she asked my friend and me to help her after – well, after her husband …’

  ‘Oh, hang on. Now I know who you are. That psychic woman.’ Marilyn Fairbrass’s voice changed.

  ‘No, that’s my friend, Fran. No, please don’t hang up. You see, we know you worked for old Lady Middleton before the Watsons bought Dark House, and – and – well, we think something she knew was why the murders – er – happened.’ Libby fanned herself with her hand and sat down abruptly on the stairs.

  There was a short silence.

  ‘All right,’ said Marilyn Fairbrass eventually. ‘Come along here – you know where we are? I usually have a cup of coffee about twelve, that do you?’

  Libby ended the call with a sigh of relief and sent a text to both Fran and Ben telling them where she was going and when. She decided against fore-warning
Carl Oxenford of her visit in the afternoon, just in case, as she was almost certain, Adelaide had gone into hiding with him, although she couldn’t imagine why.

  Dark Lane was as miserable as ever. Beyond Dark House, the trees closed in even more, until the lane bent round and on to an open area, almost obscured in the ever-present mist. However, on her left, she could just make out a metal sign announcing Cob Farm, and thankfully turned into the gateway.

  A long, low metal building stood in front of her, with a light coming from behind a door at the far right end. She parked the car and went towards the door. As she approached, it was thrown open and a woman stood there.

  ‘Saw you coming,’ she said.

  Marilyn Fairbrass was a surprise. Tall and broad-shouldered, she resembled nothing more than a seasoned county point-to-pointer. Her navy sweater had leather patches on the elbows, and her serviceable cord trousers were pushed into the top of rubber boots. Her iron grey hair was cut in a no-nonsense bob.

  ‘Libby Sarjeant.’ Libby held out her hand, which was taken in a firm, calloused grip.

  ‘Come in. Kettle’s on.’

  The office, if that’s what it was, smelt faintly of dog and horse. Marilyn Fairbrass indicated a chair on one side of the large desk while she went to a small area which held a sink, a kettle and a microwave oven.

  ‘So what’s all this about then?’ She came back with two mugs of strong-looking coffee.

  ‘No one knew you’d worked for Lady Middleton before you worked for the Watsons,’ said Libby bluntly. ‘And as it looks as though there may be a reason connected with the house that has a bearing on the deaths of Mrs Oxenford and Mr Watson, it seemed that you were the most likely person to know about it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Have the police been in touch with you today?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘And did they say the same thing?’

  ‘I didn’t speak to them. I was away. My son spoke to them.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby looked down at the dark brown liquid and wondered if she dared drink it.

  Marilyn Fairbrass sighed. ‘I suppose it can do no harm.’

  Libby looked up.

  ‘Lady Middleton had a daughter, Olive. Back when Olive and I were young, we were friends.’ Marilyn leant back in her chair. ‘We rode together, you know, Pony Club, local gymkhanas.’

  ‘Was this when the Middletons were at Cherry Ashton?’

  ‘She wasn’t Middleton then. Cherry Ashton was where the Wyghthams lived. Rachel Wyghtham married Tim Middleton and went to live at Dark House later. Olive, you see, was illegitimate.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby was sympathetic. Illegitimacy was the worst blight on a young person’s life in the fifties, when she supposed it would have been.

  ‘Rachel used to talk to Olive and me about Dark House in the old days. Except she swore it should be called Wyghtham Hall.’

  ‘She was right. What did she have to say about it?’

  ‘Oh, she said her ancestor had left treasure behind, and it belonged to the Wyghtham family. It all sounded like a fairy story to me, but Olive believed it.’ Marilyn shook her head. ‘And then Rachel met Tim Middleton. She was a good-looking woman, and still young, of course. I don’t know what went on, but within a year, she and Olive had moved to Dark House and she was Mrs Middleton. The Lady came later.’

  ‘Is Olive still alive?’ asked Libby, thinking maybe here was someone with a grudge against the Watsons.

  ‘No.’ Marilyn was silent for a moment. ‘She was convinced about this story of treasure, and she kept looking for it. And then – you know that ridiculous Victorian grotto at the house?’

  Libby nodded.

  ‘She was poking about there and the ground gave way. Collapsed on top of her.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Libby gasped. ‘Underneath the grotto?’

  Marilyn nodded.

  After a moment, Libby said, ‘How did Mrs Middleton take it?’

  ‘Badly. She tried to blame Mr Middleton for not keeping it in good repair, but he’d always said the grotto was out of bounds. Anyway, she never got over it. Mr Middleton was knighted for services to business or something, and Rachel used to like me to come and sit with her to talk about Olive. And the treasure of course. I didn’t believe in it any more than Mr Middleton did, but it became an obsession with Rachel. And when he died, I became a sort of companion to her. We had help in the house at first, but she wasn’t happy with other people there, and gradually, they all went.’ She shook her head. ‘It was hard. I couldn’t keep up with all the work in a house that size, especially as a lot of it was practically falling down by then.’

  ‘Why did you come to work for the Watsons?’

  ‘Because I knew the house. And I was hardly required. Only when she came down and the house wanted airing through. I employed a firm of cleaners to go through the place every now and then.’

  ‘Did you? Who were they? That’s the first I’ve heard of them.’

  ‘Why should you?’ Marilyn looked up at Libby suspiciously. ‘I don’t know why you want to know all this, or why I should tell you, come to that.’

  ‘I was with Adelaide the day Ramani was found.’ Libby crossed her fingers. ‘And I’ve been trying to help ever since. I even helped her pack up to move out of the house the other day.’

  ‘You did?’ Marilyn frowned. ‘I wonder why she didn’t tell me?’

  ‘Well, the police are still in and out of the place, perhaps she thought you didn’t need to know. Only now, no one can find her.’

  The corners of Marilyn’s mouth pulled down. ‘Are you sure?’

  Libby considered for a moment. ‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with Carl Oxenford, would it?’

  ‘You’re sharp,’ Marilyn said.

  ‘Despite both of them denying it vigorously, it looked to me as if they knew one another far better than they said. I was actually there when Carl phoned Adelaide to tell her Ramani was missing.’

  ‘Which he wouldn’t have done if they hardly knew one another.’ Marilyn nodded. ‘What’s happened since?’

  Libby gave her an edited version of events since Ramani’s death, including the theory that Roland had seduced Ramani with tales of treasure somewhere in Dark House. Marilyn sighed.

  ‘God, that bloody treasure. Caused two more deaths now. If it exists, which I doubt. If Rachel couldn’t find it, despite having me searching the house every five minutes, it isn’t there.’

  Libby thought. ‘Did you know,’ she said at length, ‘about the secret room?’

  ‘Secret room?’ Marilyn sat up. ‘What secret room? Where? I never found one.’

  ‘On the first floor,’ said Libby, deciding to keep the secret staircase out of it for the moment. ‘Well, on a half-landing, to be precise. And it’s all right, there was nothing in it. No treasure. It was just a priest’s hole. Nicholas Owen, we think,’ she couldn’t resist adding.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, someone who built priest’s holes in the sixteen hundreds,’ said Libby vaguely. ‘Anyway, there was nothing there. Sir Godfrey didn’t hide anything in there.’

  ‘You know about Sir Godfrey?’

  ‘Edward Hall, the old friend of Ramani’s I told you about, he’s an authority on the English civil wars, and he’s including Sir Godfrey in a book.’

  ‘Oh.’ Marilyn looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t know?’

  Marilyn came out of a brown study and looked at Libby. ‘I’ve got something. I’m wondering if I should give it to this Edward Hall.’

  Libby felt as if her heart had missed a beat. ‘Shall I ask him to call you? He’s staying in my village at the moment.’

  ‘Can I trust you?’

  Libby was taken aback. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Would you give it to him?’

  ‘Me? Well …’ Libby frowned. ‘I would, of course, but don’t you think he might want to talk to you about it? You could tell me, but I wouldn’t know what to a
sk.’

  ‘That’s very honest.’ Marilyn looked down at her clasped hands on her desk. ‘In that case, could I come and see him, do you think?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to?’

  ‘He’ll advise me, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes, I expect so,’ said Libby, more puzzled than ever. ‘Here, if you’ve got a phone directory, I’ll look up the number of the pub for you.’

  ‘Haven’t you got his number in your phone?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course, but it could be anybody. I thought you’d rather check.’

  ‘Write it down for me and I’ll call him.’ Marilyn gave a wry smile. ‘I’m more trusting than you think.’

  Libby watched and listened.

  ‘Mr Hall? My name is Marilyn Fairbrass. I worked for Mrs Watson – yes, I know – and for the previous owner. I have Mrs – er?’ she frowned at Libby.

  ‘Sarjeant.’

  ‘Mrs Sarjeant with me and she gave me your number. I have something to show you on which I think you may be able to give advice. No, Mrs Sarjeant says you might want to ask me questions. No, I’ll come to you, if that’s all right. Would early evening be convenient?’

  Marilyn finished the call. ‘I’m meeting him in the pub at seven. Will you be there?’

  ‘Only if you want me to be,’ said Libby, burning with curiosity.

  ‘I’m sure you want to be.’ Marilyn smiled again. ‘After all, you know so much about it already …’

  ‘I’d be delighted. But I’ll check with Edward first.’

  ‘I shall tell him I want you to be there. As insurance.’

  ‘Right.’ Libby stood up. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Fairbrass. And I’ll see you tonight.’

  Feeling very confused, Libby drove out of the farmyard and headed back down Dark Lane towards Steeple Cross, barely even noticing the wet leaves and the lowering mist. Why hadn’t Marilyn Fairbrass been questioned more thoroughly before? Why was this – whatever it was – only just coming out?

  That’s easy, said Libby’s sensible inner voice. Because no one thought about it before. All she’s been asked about is where she was on the night of November the something-or-other, and did she know the victim. But, wondered Libby, was she asked before Ramani had been identified, or after? And did it matter? Libby shook her head at herself and realised she was almost at Steeple Cross and Carl’s house.