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

by Cookman, Lesley

  She pulled in to the car park of The Dragon and sat thinking. Was she right to just burst in on Carl, following an uneducated hunch that he knew where Adelaide was? She thought back to the last time Carl had been mentioned in front of Adelaide, when there had been noticeable tension. Adelaide hadn’t looked happy. What was it Julian had said? “She looked as though she was expecting something to happen and it hadn’t.” Had she been expecting Carl to come and take her away? To make good on a promise, perhaps?

  Sighing, she got out of the car. At least she could call in, saying she’d been passing, which was more or less true, and wondered if he was all right.

  ‘Come on then,’ she told herself. ‘Best foot forward.’

  She went up the steps and knocked on the blue door. No one came. Suppressing a little surge of relief, she knocked again, before turning to go down the steps.

  ‘Oh, Mrs – er. Sorry, I was at the back of the house.’

  Libby nearly fell down the steps. ‘Mr Oxenford! I mean, Doctor …’

  The doctor gave a half smile. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t insist on it. What can I do for you?’

  Libby felt the heat coming into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude,’ she said. ‘I was, quite literally, passing, and I thought I’d see how you are.’

  ‘How kind,’ said Carl Oxenford, with an ironic little bow. ‘Where were you passing from? Dark House?’

  ‘Er – no, actually. Cob Farm.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think I know it.’

  ‘The other end of Dark Lane,’ said Libby. ‘Past Dark House.’

  ‘Ah. Of course, no one’s there now, so I suppose you wouldn’t have come from there.’ There was a slight interrogative note in his voice.

  ‘No.’ Libby cleared her throat. ‘The last time I was there was on Wednesday, when I helped Adelaide – Mrs Watson – to pack up before she went back to London.’

  ‘Ah, yes. She hated being cooped up in the hotel.’

  ‘Did you see her then?’ Libby injected surprise into her voice. ‘I didn’t think you knew each other very well.’

  ‘No,’ he said, and sighed. ‘Well, thank you for calling, Mrs – er –. I’m doing better as time goes on, but until I’m able to have the funeral …’ he let his voice tail off and Libby felt guilty.

  ‘No, of course. And I’m sure you have plenty of friends and family to turn to, but if there’s anything I can do …’

  The slight, dark man gave another little bow. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well – yes.’ Libby smiled nervously and retreated down the steps. Carl Oxenford closed the door.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ‘Well, that didn’t get me anywhere,’ Libby said to Fran on the phone when she got home half an hour later.

  ‘No, but he was evasive, wouldn’t you say?’ said Fran. ‘And you more than made up for it with Marilyn Fairbrass.’

  ‘I know. Talk about a turn-up for the books. I can’t wait to find out what it is she wants to show Edward.’

  ‘Something to do with the Wyghthams,’ said Fran. ‘It has to be, otherwise, why would Rachel and Olive be so keen to try and find this “treasure”? And how did Roland Watson know about it?’

  ‘What was it the barman at The Dragon said? People thought he’d been talking to Lady Middleton before she died. I wonder why?’

  ‘Perhaps he approached her about selling the house?’

  ‘Sort of cold calling?’ said Libby. ‘I still wonder why.’

  ‘Would he have found anything out about the house beforehand?’ said Fran.

  ‘He could have heard someone talking about it, I suppose. Perhaps he’d heard about the grotto.’

  ‘Shame we can’t ask her,’ said Fran. ‘Or him.’

  ‘And do we think Adelaide really didn’t know anything about it?’

  ‘I certainly don’t think Roland would have told her if there was anything underhand going on.’

  ‘Or anything that might make him money,’ said Libby, ‘although I don’t quite know how that fits in …’

  ‘We’ve already thought about that, haven’t we? Either some kind of forgery or arts and antiquities smuggling.’

  ‘But could he have been planning it that long ago?’

  ‘He was still working locally at that time, wasn’t he? It wasn’t until after they’d bought the house that he lost his job and got his new one abroad. That must have held him up.’

  ‘I wonder …’ said Libby. ‘If he didn’t try and seduce Ramani with tales of the treasure, but recruited her for her knowledge. As we’ve already said.’

  ‘That’s a lot more likely, isn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, I’ve got customers.’

  Libby sat for a while staring into the fireplace. Sidney appeared on the hearthrug and stared at it pointedly. Libby took the hint and lit the fire, then called Edward.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said when she’d recounted her meeting with Marilyn and the subsequent one with Carl Oxenford.

  ‘I’m hoping she’s got some artefact dating back to Sir Godfrey,’ said Edward. ‘I don’t dare speculate as to what it is.’

  ‘A document, I would have thought,’ said Libby. ‘But what about Carl and Adelaide?’

  ‘Look, I don’t know Carl any better than you do, nor Adelaide, come to that. And you’re better at reading people than I am.’

  ‘Well, I could hardly ask him, could I?’ Libby sighed gustily. ‘Oh, well, we’ll just have to hope the police track her down.’

  ‘And you’re coming this evening, aren’t you?’

  ‘Try and stop me. I’m booked in at the caff for nine o’clock, though, so I shall have to leave then.’

  ‘She’s coming at seven, that should give us plenty of time.’

  Libby arrived at the pub in time to see Marilyn Fairbrass staring in astonishment when Edward introduced himself. She hurried forward.

  ‘Mrs Fairbrass – Marilyn. I hoped I’d be here in time to make the introductions.’

  ‘How did you know who I was?’ Marilyn looked nervously up at Edward.

  ‘It wasn’t hard.’ He grinned. ‘A woman of the right age who looked as if she was looking for someone – and looking nervous.’

  ‘Oh.’ Marilyn looked first at Libby, then back at Edward. ‘Well, I hope you won’t be too disappointed.’

  ‘I’ll be interested, I’m sure of it,’ said Edward. ‘Now, as there are no private rooms here, would you like to go up to my room here, or will you be all right in the bar?’

  ‘It’s quite quiet over there,’ said Libby, pointing to the area which once had been the lounge bar, and the corner beyond the large fireplace.

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ said Marilyn, and allowed herself to be led to the table in the corner. Edward went to order coffee for her, and drinks for himself and Libby. By the time he got back, she’d recovered her composure.

  ‘So what do you want to show us?’ he asked, settling himself in one of the large carver chairs.

  Marilyn reached down into a capacious canvas bag and brought out a folder. ‘This is the evidence Rachel and Olive had for believing there was treasure at Dark House. It’s not very much, I’m afraid.’ She looked apologetic as she handed the folder to Edward. ‘And a bit fragile.’

  Edward gave her a quick look, and pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket.

  ‘Always prepared,’ Libby muttered to Marilyn, who gave an anxious half smile.

  Edward drew a plastic document wallet out of the folder and placed it gently on table. They all leaned forward to look.

  To Libby, it appeared to be an ancient document written in a script she couldn’t read. It also looked as though it had been torn from something else. To Edward, it was obviously something else.

  ‘And this is all there is?’ He looked up at Marilyn. ‘Did either of them ever say where they got it?’

  ‘No. I gathered it had passed down through the family.’

  ‘And Libby said the Wyghthams weren’t livi
ng in the house when you first knew them? Do you know how they lost Wyghtham Hall?’

  ‘No, I know nothing. Rachel was an unmarried mother when I first met her, living with her old father in Cherry Ashton. It was a nice enough house, but I don’t think they’d been there for generations.’

  ‘And do you think she married Mr Middleton just to get Dark House?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ said Marilyn dryly. ‘I never heard her mourn him, only Olive and the bloody treasure.’

  ‘We were told Roland Watson talked to Lady Middleton before she died,’ said Libby.

  ‘Who told you that?’ Marilyn looked surprised.

  ‘The barman at The Dragon,’ admitted Libby.

  Marilyn laughed. ‘Gossip! Actually, it’s true. And if you’re right, that this has something to do with his murder, that must have been what started it.’

  Edward and Libby looked at each other, confused.

  ‘You see,’ Marilyn went on, ‘I didn’t live in, but I went in every day to see that she was all right. Towards the end, I’d managed to persuade her to have what they call a care package, so she had a professional in twice a day, but she would only let them do the minimum. Anyway, one morning, I arrived and let myself in and found a strange man there.’

  ‘Watson?’ said Edward.

  Marilyn nodded. ‘Apparently, he’d knocked while the carer was there and she’d let him in.’

  ‘That wasn’t right, surely?’ said Libby. ‘He could have been anybody.’

  ‘He asked for her by name.’ Marilyn shrugged. ‘It was common knowledge that Lady Middleton lived there.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He had the cheek to ask if she was thinking of selling the house, because he was looking in the area and it appealed to him.’

  Libby gasped. ‘Colossal cheek!’

  ‘She didn’t mind, though. When I got there, she was in the middle of telling him all about her family’s right to the place and sent me off to make coffee. She was going a bit – well – forgetful by this time, of course. After I brought the coffee, she started hinting about the treasure. I could see he was interested. Anyway, when he’d gone, she told me to let him have first refusal of the house after she died. So I did. And that,’ she pointed at the document, ‘was in with all the deeds and her will. I decided he shouldn’t have it. It had brought Rachel and Olive nothing but tragedy, and I didn’t want anyone else to suffer.’

  ‘So did you actually set up the sale?’ asked Edward.

  ‘I was her executor, so yes. And that was why I said I’d act as a sort of housekeeper-come-caretaker. Of course Johnny Templeton lives on the premises to keep a day-to-day eye on it.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why he didn’t hear anything when – when the – er – the –’

  ‘It’s all right, we know what you mean,’ said Libby. ‘But it is strange that he didn’t. Although he lives beyond the grotto, doesn’t he? That would probably act as a sound break.’

  ‘So would whatever he was smoking,’ said Marilyn grimly. ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘No. Adam has, of course.’ Libby turned to Edward. ‘Johnny was the one who found the body.’ She turned back to Marilyn. ‘I’m surprised he’s still there.’

  ‘I don’t suppose the police want him going anywhere.’

  ‘So what is it, Edward?’ Libby drew the document carefully towards her.

  ‘I’m not absolutely sure. It could have been part of a will, or it could just be a letter. It’s what it says that’s surprising.’ He looked at Marilyn. ‘Do you know what it says?’

  ‘No. I didn’t see it until after Rachel died, although I knew this was what she called her evidence. The folder was always under lock and key in her desk. It’s about Sir Godfrey, isn’t it?’

  ‘It appears to be from Sir Godfrey,’ said Edward.

  ‘Good God!’ said Libby.

  ‘And seems to be about his wife.’

  ‘Rebecca? When did he write it? Was it during the war?’

  Edward shook his head slowly. ‘No, not Rebecca. His other wife.’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘What?’ Libby almost shouted in shocked disbelief. Two drinkers in the other bar looked over curiously.

  ‘“My wife Evelyn” it says.’ Edward looked up.

  ‘But –’ Libby struggled to get her thoughts in order. ‘It says in the church that Rebecca was the wife. And that note in the parish records.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Marilyn, looking from one to the other.

  ‘Do you know anything about Sir Godfrey Wyghtham at all?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Only that he was an ancestor who was supposed to have left some treasure at the house. Neither Rachel nor Olive explained why, although they went into great detail about how they’d traced their line back to him.’

  ‘A mistress?’ Libby turned to Edward.

  ‘Addressed as “my wife”?’ Edward shook his head. ‘Let me see if I can decipher any more of this.’ He took a notebook and pencil out of his jacket pocket and bent over the document.

  Libby looked at Marilyn. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve found out about this man so far,’ said Marilyn. ‘Or how – er – Edward got involved.’

  Libby explained the circumstances of Edward’s arrival, and all the background they had on Roland, Ramani and the Wyghthams.

  ‘We did find a cross and a gimmel ring hidden in the attic, and Edward said they might be worth a bit, but they wouldn’t be worth enough to murder for.’

  Marilyn nodded. ‘I did look in the attics, but to be honest, I was scared of falling through the floor.’

  ‘Lewis said it was in a state up there when he and his team went in.’

  ‘That’s the television person, isn’t it?’ Marilyn looked interested.

  ‘Yes. He’s the person who got me involved in the first place, except for Adam being there when the first body was found.’

  ‘Is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. And Adam works for him at his house – or garden, I should say.’

  ‘I think I know what this is.’ Edward looked up, leant back in his chair and took a healthy swig of beer. ‘It’s part of a letter. I don’t know who to or when it was written, but it’s talking about money and the house. It’s just conceivable that it could be construed as proof that there was money hidden in the house, but it isn’t very clear. I’d like Andrew to see it.’

  ‘Professor Andrew Wylie. He’s an Emeritus Professor of History,’ Libby explained to Marilyn. ‘He’s been helping, too.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Marilyn. ‘I’m not sure I should let it out of my sight.’

  Edward frowned. ‘But strictly speaking, it isn’t yours anyway. It really belongs to Rachel’s heirs.’

  ‘Family heirs, you mean? There was only a second cousin, who she’d never met. She left a small portion to her and the rest to me.’

  Edward and Libby stared at her. ‘So you’re executor and beneficiary?’ said Libby eventually.

  Marilyn nodded, looking faintly embarrassed.

  ‘In that case, may I take a copy of it?’ asked Edward. ‘And this complicates the matter even further.’

  ‘Does it?’ said Libby.

  ‘If anything is found. Who it belongs to.’

  ‘The Wyghtham family, really,’ said Marilyn. ‘If it was Godfrey who hid it.’

  ‘But you said the only heir was a second cousin,’ said Libby.

  ‘But there are other Wyghtham lines.’ Marilyn sighed. ‘I know that, because Rachel was obsessive about the family history.’

  ‘She must have had a family tree, then,’ said Edward.

  ‘She just had her own notes. I used to tell her to get a proper family history done, but she never would.’

  ‘Have you got the notes?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No, I never thought they’d be important. I only kept this because it looked old.’

  ‘We’r
e going to have to do a proper job on old Godfrey,’ said Libby, ‘out of interest’s sake, if nothing else.’

  ‘Andrew, then,’ said Edward. ‘May I take a copy, Mrs Fairbrass?’

  ‘You can take it,’ said Marilyn. ‘You’ll probably look after it better than I will.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Edward. ‘I’ll give you a receipt for it.’

  Marilyn waved a hand. ‘No, no, it’s fine. Just let me know what happens.’ She stood up. ‘I’m glad I brought it to you. I’ll be even more glad if it’s any help in finding a murderer.’

  Libby walked her to the door. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re not in the phone book, neither’s your son. Only under Cob Farm. Do you both live there?’

  Marilyn looked amused. ‘Not exactly. Kevin does, but I have what used to be one of the tied cottages. I’m not in the phone book because I only give my number to people who need it. Here,’ she rummaged in the large bag and found a pencil and an old receipt. ‘You can have it. I don’t always answer my mobile, but I’ve put both numbers. And you’ve already got Cob Farm’s number.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Libby. ‘I’m in the book.’

  She watched Marilyn walk back to the battered Land Rover that was obviously a farm vehicle, and then turned back into the pub.

  ‘So what do we think of that?’ she asked, sitting down and picking up her drink.

  ‘I think,’ said Edward, ‘that Evelyn may have been a first wife. We may be wrong in thinking he left money for Rebecca in case he died in the war. If he left any, it would have been for Evelyn.’

  ‘Unless she had already died and he’d married Rebecca,’ said Libby.

  ‘We need a family tree,’ said Edward impatiently. ‘I’m going to ring Andrew.’

  Libby watched while Edward made the call, recognising the relief in his face and voice when Andrew obviously agreed how important it was.