‘So you did?’ said Ben.
‘We invited him in to show us the document.’
‘And he came?’ said Andrew.
‘No, that was the first odd thing. He didn’t. He said he would send us the document Special Delivery. Even when I tried to insist we dealt with him personally, he refused, so in the end we accepted. And sure enough, it arrived. It wasn’t just me, of course, I was there as a specialist in Shakespearean artefacts and history, but the other experts were the more technical kind – paper and ink and so on.’
‘The bits I could never cope with,’ said Gilbert.
‘You weren’t the predecessor Michael got in touch with, then?’ said Libby.
‘No. The man Michael got in touch with had been the team leader on the project. He did consult me, though.’
‘So what happened next, Michael?’ asked Andrew.
‘We began looking into it, but as time went on, we all became more and more convinced it was a fake. Then we saw the pre-publicity for the Shakespeare tour.’
‘And decided you ought to tell him not to go ahead.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And then – what?’
‘He withdrew the document. We were worried that he was going to go ahead anyway.’
‘I don’t suppose, by some random piece of luck, he actually went to collect it himself?’ said Libby.
‘No.’ Michael smiled. ‘He requested its return by the same courier company.’
‘Return address?’ said Gilbert hopefully.
‘No. No address supplied. I understand everything is conducted from their offices.’
‘Bum,’ said Libby.
Gilbert and Bel looked faintly shocked. Everyone else laughed.
‘There was better luck with Vine, though, wasn’t there, Gilbert?’ said Michael. ‘You saw him in person.’
‘Yes, we all met him. Rather a nice old boy,’ said Gilbert with unconscious irony. ‘I’m pretty sure – we all were – that he knew nothing about the fact that the document was fake. We rather thought someone had palmed it off on him.’
‘There was no evidence of that, though?’
‘Actually,’ said Ben and Libby together.
‘You go on,’ said Ben.
‘Well, we’ve just found his address in Ben’s father’s old address book,’ said Libby. ‘So we have to believe that they were in touch. Ben’s mum doesn’t remember him, though, do you, Hetty?’
Hetty shook her head.
‘And your family didn’t know about the history of the house?’ Michael was leaning forward now, eyes intent on Ben.
‘Hetty and I certainly didn’t,’ said Ben. ‘But anything Dad thought wouldn’t interest Mum he didn’t bother to tell her about. And I went off to university and never really came home until the last few years, when I took over the running of the estate, such as it is, these days.’
‘But what about that cousin – Russell, was it?’ asked Andrew.
‘What’s that about?’ asked Michael.
Ben sighed. ‘We just wondered if Russell turned out to be Nathan, and his son to be Lucas. But then we found Nathan’s address as well as Russell’s so it doesn’t look very likely.’
‘No.’ Michael sat back in his chair. ‘It’s also very confusing.’
‘We also heard that Russell was more interested in the history of the house than Ben’s Dad, and took away all the papers relating to it,’ said Libby.
‘I didn’t even know there were any,’ said Ben.
‘I did, but I didn’t take any notice,’ said Hetty.
‘So there are none left?’
‘Only what we found at the county archives,’ said Gilbert. ‘And whatever you found out in your researches.’
‘Which were much the same as yours,’ said Michael. ‘Well. There isn’t much I can do, is there?’
‘Ian wanted to ask you questions, don’t forget,’ said Libby. ‘Did he say what time he was coming, Hetty?’
‘Supposed to be going to see it tonight, ain’t he?’
‘Yes, we all are,’ said Libby. ‘Can we get Michael in, do you think, Ben?’
‘Not sure. We’re stuffed to the rafters as it is.’
‘I’m on the bar, aren’t I?’ said Libby. ‘He can have my seat, and I’ll nip up into the Lighting Box. That is, if you’d like to see the performance, Michael?’
‘I would, very much, but it’s putting you to a lot of trouble.’
‘No, it isn’t. And it’s a free seat, so don’t try and give us any money.’ Libby grinned at the young man, who was looking rather embarrassed.
‘They haven’t said anything in the press about the situation, have they?’ said Gilbert suddenly.
‘Not that I’ve heard,’ said Ben.
‘Nor me, and I’ve kept an eye out for it,’ said Michael, waving his phone in the air.
‘Well, I expect there will be questions from the press tonight,’ said Ben. ‘We seem to have shedloads of journalists coming. All keen to see a genuine sixteenth-century production.’
The three historians grimaced.
Bel took Michael up to his room, Hetty retired to her sitting room and Gilbert and Andrew went back to the pub, where they booked an early dinner. Ben and Libby wandered over to the theatre, where they found Tristan Scott and Ian Connell in the bar area. Tristan looking most uncomfortable.
‘Ben, Libby.’ Ian stood up. ‘Has Dr Allen arrived yet?’
‘Doctor?’ Libby raised her eyebrows.
‘I looked him up,’ said Ian. ‘Very eminent.’ He turned to Tristan. ‘That’s all for now, Mr Scott. Just do not let any of this go any further than it already has. No press!’
Tristan skulked off into the auditorium.
‘The press will be here in force tonight,’ said Ben. ‘They’re bound to ask. What will the company say?’
‘That’s up to them to figure out,’ said Ian. ‘Any news?’
‘One thing,’ said Libby. ‘Gilbert – Professor Harrison – actually met Nathan Vine, the original owner of the fake.’
‘Why didn’t he say so?’
Ben shrugged. ‘No idea. Perhaps he didn’t think it was important.’
‘I’ll speak to him tonight.’
‘Well, I’m doing the bar,’ said Libby, ‘so I’ve got to be here early, so we’d better go and forage for a bit of supper. Michael’s waiting for you over the way, don’t forget.’
‘So what do we know now?’ Libby asked Ben, as they walked down the Manor Drive. ‘Nathan knew, or at least was in touch with your dad.’
‘And he had the fake.’
‘And your dad’s cousin Russell had taken all the old household documents away. So it was odds on that he knew all about the Lord Chamberlain’s Men coming to Quinton St Martin. So, again, odds on that Russell and Nathan knew each other.’
‘How do you make that out?’ Ben frowned.
‘Well, it’s not exactly a well-known story, is it? Or a well-known house, come to that. It’s only really known by historians, and then only certain historians. And Nathan wasn’t a historian.’
‘We don’t know that,’ said Ben. ‘He could have been.’
‘Then why did he need verification from the V&A?’
‘As you said – only certain historians. Perhaps he was an expert on – I don’t know – nineteenth-century Greece or something.’
‘Well, for whatever reason, Nathan had been in touch with your Dad, perhaps to verify the document? Or the history of it, anyway.’
‘Maybe,’ conceded Ben. ‘But then he upped and died.’
‘Leaving the document to his nephew Duncan Lucas. Who then has another go at verifying the fake. Does he realise it is a fake before he sends it away?’
‘Look at his secrecy about it all. The courier service, no address – I would say he definitely did know.’
‘That’s true. But we don’t think Nathan did know?’
‘I suppose we’d know more if we knew what he talked to Dad about – assuming that he
did.’
‘I still think,’ said Libby, ‘that we ought to find your cousin, or second cousin, or whatever he is, Russell’s son. Hetty said she’d had a letter to tell her when Russell died. Why didn’t she keep it?’
‘Why should she?’ asked Ben reasonably. ‘We weren’t close as a family. Russell had got the papers years before and apart, as Mum said, from him visiting when I was a boy, which I don’t remember, we didn’t keep in touch.’
‘I suppose so. But now we need to know about Duncan Lucas. And if he really was Nathan’s nephew, or was he this mysterious son of Russell? And how did he die?’
Chapter Nine
Amidst the roar of applause, cheers and whistles, Libby slipped down the spiral staircase into the foyer, to find Peter already behind the bar.
‘Thought you might need a hand, dear heart,’ he said. ‘With all those ravening journalists and avid critics. How did it go?’
‘Great. I enjoyed it, anyway. Twins, as usual, were the weakest, poor things, and Orsino wasn’t quite the handsome hero, but Olivia and the comedy trio were terrific.’
‘And Feste? Hal’s always wanted to have a go at Feste.’
‘Much clownier than usual.’ Libby checked the ice in the bucket and straightened the drip towels. ‘Where are they all? Still taking bows?’
The auditorium doors suddenly burst open and the young director, unfortunately named Hereward, shot through, red of face and excited of manner.
‘Went well,’ said Libby.
‘Fabulous,’ gasped Hereward. ‘I need a drink!’
‘I should think you’ll be bought quite a lot, don’t you? What do you want?’ asked Peter.
‘Gin and tonic, please, although we’ll all have fizz a bit later, courtesy of management.’
‘And where are management?’ asked Libby.
Hereward frowned. ‘Not many of them here. Do you think it’s all that fuss about the Shakespeare letter?’
‘Possible,’ said Libby carelessly. ‘Oh, look, here they come!’
The next twenty minutes were busy, to say the least. The foyer was packed, and Peter and Libby were kept too busy to have time to chat, even when Ben ushered Gilbert, Andrew, Michael and Bel to their reserved table.
‘Where’s Ian?’ Libby whispered to Ben as he collected the tray of drinks for his party.
‘No idea. What about Tristan?’ said Ben.
Libby shook her head and shrugged.
Eventually, the rush subsided, and the foyer cleared enough for Libby to see Tristan surrounded by what looked like a crowd of journalists. He looked flustered and uncomfortable. Of Ian, there was still no sign.
‘What time are we closing?’ asked Peter.
‘Soon,’ said Libby. ‘I think Hetty’s allowing them to use the big sitting room at the Manor for their celebration, so we haven’t got to stay open. I might go and chivvy people along. Especially Tristan – he looks as if he needs rescuing.’
‘Go on, then. Bring me as many glasses as you can.’
Ben was loading glasses from his party on to a tray. ‘Time to go?’
‘Yes. Will you all go to the Manor, or will Gilbert and Andrew go back to Nethergate?’
‘I think they want to go straight back. I don’t know about Michael. He and Bel seem rather friendly.’
‘I wondered about that earlier,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘If they go back to the Manor, they don’t have to go into the big sitting room with the cast – they can go into the kitchen.’
‘So could we, come to that. What about Ian?’
‘Still haven’t seen him,’ said Libby. ‘He did watch the performance, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but he disappeared at the end. Didn’t you see him leave?’
‘No, but if he managed to get out as soon as the bow was taken, he could have been gone before I got down the staircase.’
‘I wonder why, though?’ said Ben and picked up his tray.
Libby went across to Tristan and squeezed through the journalists to his side.
‘We’re just about to close, Mr Scott.’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘Eh?’
Libby smiled at the faces around her. ‘Sorry, ladies and gentlemen. I must ask you to leave now.’
There was a disgruntled muttering and a few protests, but Libby was adamant, to Tristan’s obvious relief.
‘What about the rest of them?’ he asked as Libby shut the door on the last journalist.
‘The company? They’re all going to the Manor, aren’t they? Hetty’s given them the big sitting room to use. Hereward says there’ll be fizz. But no one from Management appears to be here, except you. Do you know why?’
‘I think they’re trying to distance themselves from the whole thing.’ Tristan looked uncomfortable once more. ‘I think they thought that was the best way to minimise the damage.’
‘And what were the journalists asking?’
‘Why wasn’t the Shakespeare document on display, was this the actual venue - ridiculous! - of the first performance – all sorts of things. I tried to laugh it all off.’
Libby looked dubious. ‘Didn’t look like it.’
Tristan sighed. ‘I didn’t say I was successful.’
‘What did they say about the production?’
‘Not much – they honestly didn’t seem interested. There wasn’t a theatre critic among them.’
‘Really?’ Libby opened her eyes wide.
‘There were a couple of “arts commentators”, but the rest were just journos.’ Tristan sighed again. ‘None of it seems worth it, somehow.’
‘Well, at least you brought it here to us,’ said Libby. ‘We’re grateful for that, at least. And the audience enjoyed it.’
Tristan nodded. ‘OK. I’ll just go backstage and see if they’re ready to go.’
Ben was getting ready to usher Gilbert and Andrew out of the door.
‘And we’ll go, too,’ said Bel. ‘We can sit in the kitchen, Ben says. Are you coming?’
‘Yes, just for a little while,’ said Libby. ‘I was hoping Ian would put in an appearance, but he’s disappeared again.’
At last the theatre was empty except for Ben and Libby themselves, who did the usual rounds of doors and lights before leaving with sighs of relief.
‘Quick nightcap over the way?’ said Ben. ‘Then I assume we leave the young folk on their own?’
‘I can hardly insist Bel comes home with us, can I?’ said Libby. ‘She’s not sixteen any more. Thank goodness,’ she added after a pause.
‘I wonder what happened to that musician she was seeing last year?’ mused Ben. ‘I quite liked him.’
‘I don’t think that was a particularly happy period in her life,’ said Libby. ‘I just hope this won’t be tainted, too. If there is a “this” of course.’
In the kitchen, it certainly looked as though a ‘this’ was in progress. Both protagonists were leaning forward, elbows on the table, in earnest conversation. Bel even blushed slightly when her mother walked in.
‘Did you want coffee?’ she asked. ‘I made a pot.’
‘Hard stuff for us, Bel,’ said Ben. ‘Either of you want a proper drink?’
‘Whisky, please,’ said Libby.
‘Could I have a white wine, please?’ asked Bel. ‘Michael?’
‘I suppose there isn’t a beer?’ he said hesitantly.
Ben smiled broadly. ‘Certainly is. A choice of local bottled ales. Come and see.’ He led Michael away to inspect his collection.
‘All right, love?’ asked Libby.
‘Um, yes, thanks, Ma,’ Bel looked down at the table. ‘He seems nice, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, yes. Very fanciable.’
‘Mum!’ Bel protested, blushing even harder.
Libby laughed. ‘Well, he is. Ben wanted to know what happened to that musician you were seeing last year?’
‘Oh, that was only a – I don’t know – a passing thing. Because of the circumstances, you know?’
Libby refrained f
rom pointing out that this could be, too.
Ben and Michael returned with all the drinks, just as the door opened to admit Ian.
‘I wondered if I’d find you here,’ he said, when Ben had supplied him with a whisky. ‘Not with the main party?’
‘No, certainly not. Tristan is. He’s the only member of the management team that is,’ said Libby.
‘That could be because one of them’s just been arrested,’ said Ian.
‘What?’ His four listeners spoke together.
‘Well, not actually arrested. Helping police with their enquiries is the usual phrase.’ Ian took a sip of whisky.
‘Not for Duncan Lucas?’ said Ben incredulously.
‘Yes, incredibly.’ Ian smiled round, amused at their astonishment. ‘I suppose I’d better tell the tale, hadn’t I?’
Libby turned to Michael. ‘Ian occasionally tells us details of the case if we’re involved. And I suppose we are this time. But you’re not to breathe a word to anyone else, or we’ll make you leave the room.’
Michael crossed his chest with a long finger. ‘I swear,’ he said solemnly.
‘As you would expect,’ Ian went on, ‘Lucas’s flat was searched earlier today. What they were looking for was correspondence with or regarding his supposed uncle Nathan Vine. They found nothing, although there’s more to go into more thoroughly. What they did find was correspondence with someone called Gideon Law, who turns out to be on the management team of National Shakespeare, particularly responsible for the money side of things.’
‘No!’ gasped Libby.
‘So what had he done?’ asked Ben. ‘Did he go to Lucas to ask him about the document? Bypassing Tristan and the V&A?’
‘Apparently not. The correspondence the CSI’s found -’
‘CSI?’ asked Michael.
‘Crime Scene Investigators – although these weren’t, actually, because Lucas wasn’t found in his own home. The officers, let’s say, then found correspondence dating back to well before Lucas contacted Tristan Scott. Before, in fact, he submitted it once again to the V&A.’
Murder and the Glovemaker's Son Page 6
