Murder and the Glovemaker's Son

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Golly,’ said Libby.

  ‘Wow!’ said Ben.

  ‘Huh?’ said Bel.

  Ian turned to Michael. ‘Did you have any contact with this man Law?’

  Michael shook his head. ‘No. Only with Tristan Scott, and very little of that. It was mainly Lucas himself – except, as I told you, I never met him.’

  Ian sighed. ‘Well, thank you for coming down to talk to us, Doctor. We could have come to you, but it was very kind of you.’

  ‘Doctor?’ said Bel.

  ‘Of history,’ said Michael with a grin. ‘Took years!’ He turned to Ian. ‘Actually, if Mrs Wilde will have me, I’d quite like to stay on down here for a few days.’ He looked at Libby. ‘Do you think that would be all right?’

  ‘I’m sure it would,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll be glad to have you around.’ She ignored Bel’s now familiar blush. ‘So now can you tell us a bit more about Lucas’s death, Ian?’

  ‘There’s not a lot to tell. I told you earlier where he was found, in a small guesthouse in Canterbury. We know nothing about why he was there, and the only reason we came to National Shakespeare was the tour flyer and Tristan Scott’s missed calls.’

  ‘But how was he killed?’ asked Libby.

  ‘The ubiquitous blunt force trauma, and before you ask, sometime the evening before, we think. Or the doctor does. No PM as yet.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Ben.

  ‘The coroner hasn’t ordered one yet,’ said Ian. ‘He will.’

  ‘And no witnesses?’ said Michael. ‘I don’t mean someone standing there watching the whole thing...’

  ‘No, sadly. None of the guesthouse staff saw anything.’

  ‘So you think it was this Gideon Law?’

  ‘Not necessarily. But he’s certainly got some questions to answer.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I wonder,’ said Libby to Ben, as they walked back down the drive towards the high street, ‘who made contact with whom.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Ben.

  ‘Gideon Law and Duncan Lucas.’

  ‘It only makes sense if it was Lucas who contacted Law,’ said Ben. ‘Law wouldn’t have known anything about the letter.’

  ‘Unless Nathan Vine had been in touch with National Shakespeare,’ said Libby.

  ‘Isn’t it a fairly new organisation? When did Vine die?’

  ‘Oh, some years back, I assume. We don’t actually know, do we? So no, perhaps discount that idea. So Lucas gets in touch with Law first. Why Law? What did he know about him?’

  ‘Perhaps it was just a shot in the dark? You know, “Would this rare document be of any interest to your organisation?” sort of thing.’

  ‘Could be,’ agreed Libby. ‘And then what?’

  ‘He suggests the tour, and having been told what’s in this rare document, suggests Steeple Martin as a venue. Then Lucas comes out in the open and that’s when Tristan comes into the picture.’

  ‘It’s plausible,’ said Libby, ‘but what’s in it for Gideon Law? What’s he getting out of it?’

  ‘I don’t know, unless he’s just got the good of National Shakespeare in mind. And in that case, why would he kill Lucas?’

  ‘Lucas had withdrawn the letter.’ She sighed. ‘Getting us nowhere. Ian’s not likely to tell us any more details, and the play hasn’t been shut down, so I suppose it’s time to back out.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Ben grinned at her in the darkness. ‘That’ll be the day!’

  Sunday morning and after a leisurely breakfast, Libby called Fran to update her.

  ‘Well, that all sounds exciting,’ said Fran when she’d finished. ‘And what was the production like?’

  ‘Lovely. They’d erected this little marquee-thing on stage, which was their version of an Elizabethan booth stage, and it was played only with original instruments – just like they do at the Globe. You’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘I will, but I’m a bit worried about Guy!’

  ‘It will appeal to his artistic sensibilities,’ said Libby. ‘So what do you think about our murder?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Fran firmly, ‘and I don’t think you should, either. Much better to concentrate on what young Michael can find out about Titus Watt and the house back then.’

  ‘Yes, but what about Ben’s uncle and cousin?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Well, they seem to me to be the only people who knew anything about the house and the fact that Shakespeare could have been here. Which means they were the only people who could have supplied the information to the forger.’

  Fran sighed. ‘All right. Try and find out about them, then, but leave the murder alone.’

  ‘All right, killjoy. If I don’t see you before, I’ll see you on Tuesday.’

  ‘Fran thinks we should concentrate on finding out about your relatives,’ misquoted Libby when she ran Ben to earth in the garden. Ben regarded her suspiciously.

  ‘She actually said that, did she?’

  ‘Yes. After all...’

  ‘After all what?’

  ‘They were the only people who could have supplied the forger with enough info.’ She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

  Ben laughed. ‘And therefore, mixed up in the murder.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Libby looked horrified. ‘I didn’t mean that at all!’

  ‘It’s OK, Lib.’ Ben got up from the deckchair beneath the cherry tree and came to put an arm round her. ‘Actually, it’s a good idea. I ought to try and find some of the relatives, however estranged they are – or were. Especially after Russell’s son wrote to tell us he died.’

  ‘Did Hetty answer the letter, do you know?’

  ‘I expect so. She was brought up in the age of always sending condolence cards and thank you letters at birthdays and Christmas.’

  ‘But she hasn’t kept the address.’ Libby sighed. ‘Well, there’s always Google.’

  ‘And genealogy sites,’ agreed Ben. ‘I’ll have a go. Tell you what, after lunch I’ll go into the office and do some searches on the computer.’

  Sundays were lunch with Hetty days. Hetty did a roast, and whoever was available was welcome to join in. If he wasn’t needed to help Harry in The Pink Geranium, Peter came sometimes, as did his younger brother James if he was visiting, Fran and Guy if they were visiting, Libby and Ben, and any of Libby’s offspring who happened to be free. Ian was sometimes included, although Libby didn’t expect him to be there today with a fresh murder on his hands.

  ‘Michael will be there, I expect,’ said Libby. ‘And I assume Bel came home last night?’

  Ben grinned. ‘Yes, dear. And he walked her home. Very old-fashioned gent.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I heard them outside.’

  ‘Anyway, you always used to insist on seeing me home before you moved in,’ said Libby. ‘And Hal and Pete did, too. Honestly, you’d think I couldn’t look after myself.’

  ‘And who’s been bashed over the head almost outside her own door before now? And nearly run down in the high street?’

  ‘Oh, all right. I’ll go and wake her up. She’ll need a couple of hours to get ready if Michael’s going to be there.’

  ‘Ooh, miaow!’

  Sidney’s ears twitched.

  At one o’clock, Libby, Ben and Bel were back at the Manor. They found Michael already in the kitchen putting cutlery on the table. He grinned at them.

  ‘She wouldn’t let me do anything else.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ said Ben. ‘She’s only just started letting us wash the pots and pans up after Sunday lunch.’

  ‘Get the wine, son,’ said Hetty, not turning from the Aga. ‘And you get the plates, gal.’

  Ben dutifully went to fetch some of Hetty’s fine selection of wines, her taste inherited from Ben’s father, while Libby took plates from the dresser and put them in the warming oven.

  ‘That Ian coming?’ asked Hetty.

  ‘Shouldn’t think so,’ said Libby. ‘Not with a murder investigation going
on. Did you see him this morning?’

  ‘No. He stayed though.’

  ‘He can have only had a couple of hours sleep,’ said Michael. ‘He hadn’t come in before I went up to bed.’

  ‘Maybe he arrived while you were walking Bel home,’ said Libby innocently and watched gleefully as both Bel and Michael blushed.

  Hetty turned round and gave her a warning look. Libby shut up.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Russell and his son, Mum,’ said Ben, coming in with bottles. ‘If we could find out where the son lives, we might be able to trace those papers you said Russell took away when I was young.’

  Hetty shrugged.

  ‘Was it before or after Greg died that you heard about Russell, Hetty?’ said Libby.

  ‘After. Otherwise he’d have written to the son.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You don’t remember anything about the letter, or where he came from?’ said Ben.

  ‘Durham – Dublin? Something beginning with D.’

  Hetty and Ben exchanged frowns.

  ‘Excuse me for butting in,’ said Michael, ‘but couldn’t you look up the details online?’

  ‘I’m going to, right after lunch,’ said Ben, ‘but we don’t know the son’s name.’

  ‘If you’d like me to, I could have a go,’ Michael offered diffidently.

  ‘He’s a historian,’ said Bel.

  Libby looked at Ben. ‘That is what he came down for, really, isn’t it? The whole Titus Watt thing?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Ben. ‘We’ve got Russell’s address – and Nathan Vine’s, come to that, so maybe we could find something there.’

  ‘Great!’ said Michael. ‘Birth dates?’

  ‘No, sorry. I suppose Russell would be round about 80? Mum?’

  ‘Older than your dad,’ she said. ‘Dunno, really.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have a look after lunch,’ said Ben. ‘Shall I pour wine, Mum?’

  Lunch finished, Michael and Ben disappeared into the office, and Libby packed Hetty off to her sitting room while she and Bel loaded the dishwasher and tackled the roasting tins.

  ‘What do you think they’ll find, Mum?’ Bel asked.

  ‘I’m hoping they’ll find Russell’s son, just to see if he knows anything about the stuff his dad took.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  Libby frowned. ‘Well, I suppose I’d really like to know if Russell was the original forger, or knew the original forger.’

  ‘Or if his son was,’ said Bel. ‘And if he was, he’s not going to admit it, is he?’

  ‘No,’ sighed Libby.

  ‘Also, Mum, we don’t know that the whole fake letter thing is anything to do with this Lucas person’s murder, do we?’

  Libby looked startled. ‘No, I suppose we don’t. I’ve just assumed...’

  ‘You do that rather a lot,’ said Bel, with a wry smile.

  ‘I know,’ said Libby, now looking sheepish. ‘Jumping to conclusions again.’

  After an hour, Libby went to the office to ask after progress. ‘I wanted to know whether to make a pot of tea here, or wait until we got home.’

  ‘We normally go to Peter and Harry’s on our way home,’ said Ben. ‘Have we stopped drinking?’

  ‘Well, it’s a bit different this afternoon, isn’t it?’ said Libby. ‘So, how are you getting on?’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Michael, looking up from the computer screen, ‘but I do keep veering off in other directions.’

  Ben rolled up his eyes and grinned at Libby.

  ‘Actually we’ve found out a few things,’ said Ben. ‘You put the kettle on and we’ll come in and tell you.’

  Libby made tea in the big brown teapot, and Bel took a cup in to Hetty. Ben and Michael appeared looking pleased with themselves and with a sheaf of notes.

  ‘Right,’ said Ben. ‘We’ve found Russell’s son, Richard, obviously named after his grandfather, and we looked at the records of Nathan Vine’s address as found in Dad’s address book. Pity we can’t look at the details, but they still aren’t released to the public for 100 years. Still, we googled it and there are no records of it being sold, and we can’t look at the Land Registry, so Nathan must have died when he was living there.’

  ‘Unless he moved before then,’ said Libby. ‘He might have rented.’

  ‘And Lucas came to us in spring last year, so it must have taken him a little while to make up his mind to do that,’ said Michael. ‘If, of course, he really was Vine’s nephew.’

  ‘What about this Richard Wilde,’ asked Libby. ‘Where’s he?’

  ‘On social media,’ said Ben, ‘so no address. We looked up Russell first, and he turned out to have been a bit of an amateur historian and even had a few things published. So Richard was fairly easy to track through social media, even though it’s quite a common name.’

  ‘Have you sent him a message?’

  ‘Yes, but you know what it’s like, he might not see it as we don’t officially know each other.’

  ‘Anything else we can try?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I’m going to try for Nathan Vine’s death certificate, working backwards from 2014,’ said Michael, ‘and Ben’s ordered one of Russell Wilde’s books – pamphlets, rather. It appears to deal with Tudor houses and households.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Bel. ‘That’s exactly what you’re looking for, isn’t it? If there were papers here and Russell took them away...’

  ‘That would be the basis of his research! Yes,’ said Libby. ‘Well done, you two.’

  ‘Hetty’s given me permission to go all over the house with a metaphorical toothcomb,’ said Michael. ‘Do you know it well, Bel?’

  ‘Not as well as Mum and Ben,’ said Bel. ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought you might be my guide.’ The startlingly blue eyes crinkled at the corners again.

  ‘Oh... well, I suppose...’ Bel looked at Ben, who nodded, grinning. ‘When were you thinking?’

  ‘Tomorrow, unless you’re going back to London?’

  ‘No, I’m staying for a few days,’ said Bel. ‘Catch up with Mum and my brother Adam. We could start this evening, if you like?’

  ‘Good idea.’ The eyes crinkled even more.

  ‘In that case,’ said Ben, standing up, ‘we’ll be off. Got your key, Bel?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby, also standing. ‘Yes... see you later, Bel. Don’t bother Hetty.’

  ‘Mum, I’m not a child anymore.’ Bel smiled pityingly at her mother.

  ‘No, dear,’ said Libby, with a glare.

  They said goodbye to Hetty and told her of Michael and Bel’s plans, then left to walk down the drive. Ben called Peter to ask if they were too late for their customary Sunday afternoon drink.

  ‘Seemed surprised I should have asked,’ said Ben as he ended the call.

  ‘So get us up to date, loves,’ said Harry, still in his chef’s whites, sprawled on the sofa. ‘How’s the Boy Wonder?’

  ‘Have you seen him?’ asked Libby, from the depths of her usual chintz covered armchair.

  Peter handed her a whisky. ‘I told him last night. Desperate to see him, aren’t you, dear heart?’ He grinned across at his partner.

  ‘Actually Bel and he seem rather taken with each other,’ said Libby. ‘They’re making a tour of the Manor together as we speak.’

  ‘Ooh, I say! Romance among the toffs,’ said Harry.

  ‘We’re not toffs,’ said Libby, slightly affronted.

  ‘Not you, you dear old trout. Master Benjamin’s lofty ancestors.’

  ‘What about Ian’s murder?’ asked Peter. ‘Is it connected to the fake document?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Ben. ‘And the problem is, it then could be connected to those self same lofty ancestors.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Well, not ancestors, exactly, but my cousins. Second cousins, or something,’ Ben corrected himself.

  ‘I say!’ Harry swung his legs off the pouffe and sat straight upright. ‘That’s a turn up, old thing.’ />
  ‘Not the first time there’s been scandal in the family, though, is it?’ said Ben darkly.

  Everyone looked uncomfortable for a minute. Then Libby said, ‘But there’s no actual evidence that this murder had anything to do with the fake letter. All Ian had to go on was the flyer in the victim’s pocket, and Tristan’s number in his phone. And then, of course, Tristan phoned while the police were there.’

  ‘And that was purely circumstantial because he was down here in Kent, with the flyer, and Tristan’s number was the last one in his call log,’ said Ben.

  ‘So he could have been a villain murdered by another villain?’ said Peter.

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby.

  ‘Don’t sound so disappointed, sweetie,’ said Harry, leaning over to pat her hand. ‘There’ll be another nice murder along any minute.’

  ‘Shut up, Hal,’ said Peter and Ben together.

  Later in the evening, as Libby was dozing in front of the television, Ben tapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘I’ve had a reply from Richard. Want to see?’

  Libby sat up and reached for the phone.

  “Hi, Ben,” read the message. “Great to hear from you. Heard from your mother after I informed her of Dad’s death, but we don’t appear to have had much contact between the two families, although Dad was very keen on the history of the Manor.”

  Libby turned to Ben. ‘There! Proof!’

  ‘Of what, though?’ said Ben. ‘Read on.’

  “Do you still live there? This is a bit of a cheek, but I don’t suppose I could visit if you do? I’ve always longed to see it, having heard so much about it from Dad. I look forward to hearing from you.” And there followed an email address.

  ‘Blimey!’ said Libby. ‘The answer to our prayers.’

  ‘Only about the history of the Manor, and the possibility of Titus Watt being involved with Shakespeare,’ said Ben. ‘Nothing to do with the murder.’

  ‘Oh, bother the murder!’ said Libby. ‘I’m interested in the Manor and Shakespeare, now!’

  ‘I’ll invite him, then, shall I? He can stay at the Manor, and I’ll ask him if he’s got any of the documents his father took all those years ago.’