‘I think Flo and Lenny are coming today, too,’ said Ben. ‘Flo has a bottle of something special that needs opening, apparently.’
Lenny was Hetty’s brother, Flo her oldest friend. After years apart, they had found each other again and Lenny had moved into Flo’s sheltered accommodation with her. Flo’s late husband had been something of a wine buff and left her the contents of his cellar, which she now guarded with the devotion of a connoisseur.
‘That’s something to look forward to,’ said Libby, brightening. ‘And now tell me how your day went.’
By the time Libby and Ben arrived at The Manor, Peter, Adam, Flo and Lenny were all assembled round the huge kitchen table, while Hetty transferred trays of vegetables into old blue and white dishes. On top of the Aga, the roast beef rested quietly under its overcoat of tea-towels.
Supplied with aperitifs of gin and tonic (for a change), they all exchanged news. Adam was most concerned with the plight of Johnny Templeton, but Libby was able to console him with the news that now she had helped Ian find Adelaide Watson, she might be able to get something out of him.
‘You’d think she’d ʼave stopped all this lark by now, wouldn’t you?’ Flo said to Hetty. ‘Yer gettin’ too old, gal.’
‘Oh, thanks, Flo,’ said Libby. ‘No offence taken, I’m sure.’
‘We’re all younger at our age than you were when you were our age,’ explained Ben, putting an arm round Libby. ‘If you know what I mean.ʼ
‘I was always young fer me age,’ said Lenny, brushing his little white moustache proudly.
‘Specially when you was nineteen,’ said Flo, giving him a dig in the ribs. ‘Wouldn’t look at yer twice.’
It was while they were all laughing at this that Libby’s phone rang. About to switch it off she looked at the caller.
‘Ian,’ she said to the table, and answered it.
‘Libby, I think I’m going to have to talk to you officially. I don’t want to have to bring you in to the station, so I’m coming round now.’
‘What?’
‘I think we may have found the source of your stories of treasure.’
Chapter Thirty-one
‘You what?’ Libby gasped.
‘I’m not saying any more over the phone. I’ll see you in half an hour.’
‘But Hetty’s just dishing up lunch!’ wailed Libby.
‘Bloody hell, it’s Sunday,’ said Ian. ‘Oh, all right. An hour then, and we’ll come to The Manor.’
‘We?’
‘I’ll have a sergeant with me, of course. And I’m sure,’ he finished sardonically, ‘that the rest of the party will be on tenterhooks to find out what we’ve been talking about.’
Libby pulled a face at the people round the table. ‘All right. I’m sure Hetty will let us use the drawing room. See you in an hour.’
She relayed what Ian had said while Hetty brought the beef to the table to carve.
‘Treasure?’ said Lenny. ‘What treasure?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘And Ian said “the source of the stories” so it sounds as if there isn’t any. Does anyone mind if I send Fran a text to tell her? Then I promise I’ll turn the phone off.’
Lunch was enlivened, as would be expected, by all sorts of speculations about the treasure. Hetty, Flo and Lenny were filled in regarding Sir Godfrey’s possible hoard and the Napoleonic guineas, the fake insitute and the French prisoners of war. As none of them had come from the area originally, but arrived as hop pickers during the last war, they’d heard nothing of the local stories and were fascinated.
‘Joe at Cattlegreen says we’ve probably got a tunnel under The Manor, Mum,’ said Ben, helping himself to more roast parsnips.
Hetty grunted. ‘Don’t you go diggin’ no holes in my floorboards.’
‘There’s a tunnel under the church,’ said Flo.
They all turned to her. ‘How do you know?’ asked Libby.
‘Go ter church, don’t I? It’s in the booklet. Vicar a few years ago wrote it. Smugglin’, it says.’
‘Yes, that’s it. They must have stored the contraband under the church,’ said Peter. ‘I nearly wrote a play about it once.’
‘Good job you didn’t,’ said Hetty.
‘Oh, don’t remind him,’ said Libby. ‘It’s hardly Pete’s fault that people kill each other off during his plays!’
Ben was pouring them all brandies at the end of the meal when there was a knock at the big oak door.
‘Come in,’ shouted Ben, and Chief Detective Inspector Connell, followed by a still surprised DC Robertson, emerged into the kitchen.
Ian was greeted familiarly by everyone, and Hetty offered coffee.
‘I think we’d better go into the other room, Hetty,’ said Libby. ‘They won’t want to waste time.’
‘I’ll bring coffee in,’ said Ben. ‘Use the office.’
Seated in the office, Libby having allowed Ian to sit in Ben’s chair behind the desk, she explained the situation to DC Robertson. ‘He told you he knew the family, didn’t he? Well, he knows all of us, you see. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been allowed to come and question me, should you, Ian?’ She grinned mischievously. Reluctantly, he smiled back.
‘No, probably I shouldn’t, but as you aren’t a suspect and have been giving me useful information, I think we can overlook it this time.’
Ben arrived with a tray of coffee and quirked an eyebrow at Libby. She shrugged, and he left.
‘Now,’ said Ian, pouring himself a cup, and indicating that DC Robertson should do the same. ‘First of all, I want you to tell me how you first became aware of the stories about the treasure.’
Libby was surprised. ‘But you know all this,’ she said.
‘Indulge me.’
‘OK.’ She frowned. ‘Blimey, it’s quite difficult. We seem to have known about it for ever. Well. The first we heard about it was when Edward arrived. Wasn’t it?’ She looked up at Ian. ‘When he told us that Ramani had told him that there was Civil War treasure buried somewhere inside Dark House.’
‘Yes. Was there any confirmation of that story?’
A cold hand gripped Libby’s stomach. ‘Er, no.’
‘So, what happened next?’
‘Edward looked up the records and came to see me and Fran. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Did anyone else say anything about the treasure?’
‘No. But then we went to the church and found Sir Godfrey’s grave, or plaque, whatever it was, and found out when he and his wife Rebecca died.’
‘And then Mr Watson was found dead.’
‘And then you had to authorise the search after he was dead, because you couldn’t get hold of him before.’ Libby was watching Ian closely. ‘You’re not telling me that Edward had something to do with this after all? That he killed Roland in order to search the premises?’
‘I’m not telling you anything,’ said Ian. ‘Go on. When did the story of the Napoleonic treasure arise?’
‘Oh, Lord, I can’t remember! Oh, wait. Yes, I do. Andrew found it, after we asked him to do some research for us.’
‘Dr Hall didn’t find it?’
‘No.’ Libby shook her head emphatically. ‘It isn’t his period, is it?’
‘His university don’t seem to know that he has a speciality,’ said Ian. ‘He’s a history lecturer pure and simple.’
Libby felt a certain amount of relief. At least Edward was a real historian. Perhaps the civil wars were a private obsession.
‘And has Dr Hall had access to Dark House at any time that you know of, other than when you were with him?’
‘Not as far as I know.’ Libby was bewildered. ‘But he does know – well, we both saw Marilyn Fairbrass yesterday. And he’s got a document she gave him that belonged to the previous owner. A descendant of the Wyghtham family.’
‘What document?’
‘I’m not sure. He called Andrew and was going over there last night to see if they could sort it out.’
‘Wh
at did it say?’
‘I couldn’t make any of it out, but apparently it said that Sir Godfrey had another wife, Evelyn.’
Ian frowned. ‘Why does that matter?’
‘Because in the church the slab says “his wife Rebecca”. Anyway, it was this document that made old Lady Middleton – you know who she was?’
‘The previous owner.’
‘Well, made her and her daughter, who died years ago – guess where?’
Ian closed his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me. The grotto.’
‘Exactly. Anyway, this mother and daughter both believed that this document, whatever it is, proved there was treasure somewhere in Dark House. Which was why Lady Middleton married her husband, who was living in the house.’
‘And Edward Hall has gone off with this document.’
‘You could check with Andrew,’ suggested Libby. ‘And please tell me why you’re suddenly so interested in Edward?’
‘We’ve been interested in him from the beginning.’ Ian picked up his phone and punched in a number. ‘We’ll see. Ah – Professor Wylie. Yes it’s DCI Connell. Mrs Sarjeant tells me Dr Hall brought a document to you yesterday evening. Oh, you have?’ Ian’s gaze flicked to Libby. ‘Yes, of course. No, that’s fine. As soon as you have.’ He ended the call.
‘Dr Hall left the document with Professor Wylie. As soon as he has something definite, he’ll tell us before he tells Dr Hall.’
‘Did he say if it mentioned treasure?’
‘No.’
‘So why are you interested in Edward? You still haven’t told me. And you’ve been fine about letting him help with the searches and everything.’
‘Easier to keep a check on him if he was with all of you.’
‘But you actually called him in and told him he could have a look at the grotto.’
Ian smiled. ‘And he was just about to go back to London, wasn’t he?’
‘Oh!’ Libby gasped. ‘You wanted to keep him here!’
‘And right under your nose, too. You remember what he said that night in the pub? Hadn’t I ever let something out in front of the wrong person?’
‘And he blushed when you asked him if he was the wrong person.’ Libby shook her head and groaned. ‘Oh, no. I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?’
‘No. Think about it. Was Fran worried?’
‘No. She wanted to come to my house to meet him the first time he came over, to see if he was a suspect, but she said he wasn’t.’
‘He was. But although his main idea was to find a seventeenth-century treasure, he didn’t have anything to do with the murders.’
‘You’ve just led me up the garden path!’ said Libby indignantly.
‘No. We needed to find out – still do – if his main interest was the supposed treasure or simply the evidence.’
‘Do you honestly think he came here to steal it? The treasure, I mean.’
‘I don’t know. It was the coincidence of his turning up after Ramani Oxenford died which was so suspicious.’
‘He thought it was because he was black you took him in,’ said Libby darkly, turning to DC Robertson, who went pink.
‘He has got a bit of a chip on his shoulder about that,’ said Ian. ‘Anyway, we’ll still keep an eye on him. Are you seeing him today?’
‘No idea. I imagine he might stay around while Andrew does his research on the document. And now, please tell me what you meant about the treasure. You said it was urgent.’
Ian leant back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. ‘Johnny Templeton.’
‘Yes. You’ve arrested him. And what has it got to do with Edward?’
‘Nothing, we hope. You’ve just told me that you only found out about the Napoleonic connection from Professor Wylie.’
‘Yes.’
‘We went to talk to John Templeton about the possibility of a different type of treasure.’
‘Why? I don’t understand.’ Libby’s brow was wrinkled.
‘You remember your Institute of Napoleonic Studies? You were right about that scrap having come from one of the online printing companies. His was the name on the order form.’
‘What? That’s nonsense.’
‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’
‘And this was – when?’
‘Over a year ago.’
Libby gaped. ‘OK. It still doesn’t make sense.’
‘Particularly when you discover that John Templeton has no computer, no smart phone, no modern technology at all, other than a very old mobile phone.’
‘So he couldn’t have ordered it?’
‘He could, using a public computer.’
‘He’d need a credit or debit card.’
‘Indeed. The order at the print company was paid by credit card in his name.’
‘So you arrested him?’
‘We went to talk to him. He wasn’t exactly co-operative, so we took him to the station to help with our enquiries.’
‘Late at night?’
‘No, it was quite early in the evening.’
‘But he didn’t call Mog until after one in the morning.’
‘No, because he was being, as I said, unco-operative. In the end, we decided to keep him and have another go this morning. He asked if he could call someone to let them know where he was.’
‘So what’s his explanation? And why did you want to talk to me about it?’
‘Because we needed to know who knew that there was a possibility of smuggled gold somewhere in Dark House.’
Chapter Thirty-two
‘Gold?’ repeated Libby. ‘You mean the Napoleonic guineas?’
Ian nodded. ‘Now, this part is off the record. Robertson, put your notebook away. We searched Templeton’s cottage, which we hadn’t done before, and eventually we found a stack of stationery, all with this fake Institute’s heading. I must say, it looked good. He’d used a very good quality paper.’
‘And what was it for? And why had he used his own credit card?’
‘All he’s said this morning is that it was nothing to do with him. Last night he was considerably under the influence of something, which the doctor confirmed, so it was no wonder he was unco-operative and belligerent.’
‘I thought it always made people rather – well – benign.’
‘Depends on the circumstances. He was fine when we first got there.’
‘So what does it mean?’
‘We aren’t sure, but there was a standard form letter among the stationery informing the addressee that their property was the possible location of a hoard of guineas dating from the Napoleonic wars.’
‘Which addressee? Who?’
‘I just said,’ explained Ian patiently, ‘it’s a form letter. Something that could be sent out to many.’
‘And it was sent to the Watsons?’
‘I’m not saying that. We’ve looked at the credit card account that was used to buy the stuff, and it’s only ever been used for that one transaction. The card account was one of those that could be opened online, and the security doesn’t appear to have been that tight. The account was paid off with cash over a bank counter. It looks as though Templeton was used by whoever initiated the scam, or whatever it is, but without his own bank account being compromised, so it may not come to light.’
‘Sneaky. So he’s nothing to do with it, as he said?’
‘Not quite,’ said Ian. ‘But he’s storing the evidence. And he won’t say who told him to.’
Libby frowned. ‘Presumably it was delivered to him? So he really might not know who did it. And they could have kept him quiet by some sort of blackmail? He looks as if he might have something dodgy in his past.’
‘It’s a possibility. But you see why I had to know who knew about the smuggled gold in the area. I had to know if Edward Hall knew.’
‘It’s even more puzzling now. The local families – the old ones – they knew. And I would have thought a historian would know. Andrew probably knew but hadn’t connected it up. Edward didn’t seem to k
now at all. And I’d swear he didn’t know anything about the fake Institute.’
‘Thanks for your help.’ Ian put his coffee cup back on the tray. ‘You’ll also be glad to know that we went to have a chat with Mrs Watson this morning.’
‘At Carl Oxenford’s house?’
‘Yes, although he tried to tell us she wasn’t there.’
‘Have they been having an affair?’
‘It would appear so, but for how long we don’t know. Neither of them is being very forthcoming about it.’
‘Did she say anything about the Institute? That’s what you were going to ask her, wasn’t it?’
‘She’d never heard of it, and didn’t recognise the piece of envelope. She knows nothing about Napoleonic gold, smugglers or civil wars, according to her. History has no interest for her. As for Doctor Oxenford, he just looked bemused about the whole thing.’
‘What about this false practice of his, though?’
‘I did just touch on that,’ said Ian, with a grin, ‘but he simply looked mournful and said it hadn’t worked out. All the villagers were registered with a practice at Steeple Mount and didn’t want to change.’
‘So how come the Watsons were his patients? Were they private?’
‘I don’t know. And we’ve enough to do trying to work out who knew, or thought they did, about the so-called treasure and who would have murdered for it.’
‘Are we allowed to talk to Edward?’
‘I’m going to see him now. He’s expecting us at the pub. After that, yes.’
‘And what about Johnny and the Institute?’
‘We can’t hold him. And there was nothing else at his house to suggest that he was involved in anything more than looking after the stationery and purchasing it. If he did. We will look into the blackmail aspect, of course.’
‘And do you think it might lead to the murderer?’ Libby stood up.
‘As I said as soon as we heard about it, just the rumour of it might be enough, if someone thought it was worth it.’ Ian went to the door and DC Robertson held it open. ‘I’ll just say goodbye to the family.’
‘So,’ said Peter, as soon as they’d seen the two policemen off the premises. ‘What was that all about?’
Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) Page 23
