An answer to the email came back almost immediately, agreeing to come to the Manor tomorrow, if possible, and yes, he would love to stay and see the Shakespearean production.
‘Hadn’t you better tell Hetty?’ said Libby, after Ben read out the email.
‘It’s too late now. We’ll tell her in the morning and go and help sort out a room for him.’
‘Oh, it’s “we” is it? And suppose all the rooms are full? I can’t remember how many cast members are in there, and Michael’s there now, too.’
‘There’s always Steeple Farm. Tristan’s the only one up there.’
‘Really? We can’t wish Tristan on a total stranger.’
‘Pub, then. Gilbert’s checked out to stay with Andrew.’
‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll talk to Hetty first in the morning, then Tim at the pub. And Ian’s at the Manor, too – don’t forget that.’
‘I won’t, but Ian’s got a permanent room now. Hetty treats him like one of the family. I’m sure she doesn’t charge him. I’ve seen nothing coming through the books.’
Libby grinned. ‘That’s because you abandoned her to come and live with me. She’s got someone she can mother.’
‘With all of us dancing attendance on her? Obeying the summons every Sunday? Come off it,’ said Ben scornfully. ‘And I’ve just thought – the Hoppers’s Huts. No one’s in those, are they? He could be completely private there.’
‘We’ll give him the option,’ said Libby. ‘And now, please, I’d like my nightcap and then I’m going to bed.’
First thing Monday morning Richard Wilde emailed to say he would arrive in the early afternoon, bringing with him any of his father’s research material that he could find. Ben arranged to meet him at the Manor, before calling Hetty to see if there was a room for him there. However, it appeared that Hetty was full, so Ben and Libby walked up to the top of Allhallow’s Lane and across the field to inspect the Hoppers’s Huts.
‘Oh, well, they’re all right, aren’t they?’ said Libby. ‘I’ll give it a bit of a dust and hoover and make up the bed and we’re sorted. Which one?’
‘The end one – it’s bigger,’ said Ben. ‘And I’ll do the dusting and hoovering. You go up to the Manor and get the bedding and towels.’
The huts had their own little service area at the end, where cleaning materials were kept, along with spare toilet rolls and soap.
‘Mind you,’ said Libby, eyeing it thoughtfully, ‘most people bring their own these days.’
By lunchtime, the hut was ready. Bel hadn’t been seen, and Michael was clambering about in the Manor’s roof. Hetty told them Ian had been in last night and out again this morning very early. The team at the church hall appeared to have dispersed, leaving Tristan as sole representative of “management”. This didn’t worry the cast and crew, who were happier without people looking over their shoulders all the time, but left Tristan cold. He turned up at the Manor, ready to moan about everything and anything, and was given short shrift by both Hetty and Libby.
‘Look, it isn’t anyone’s fault about the letter being fake, nor about Lucas’s murder,’ said Libby. ‘And the press are leaving you alone, now, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, but there was going to be such a media explosion. We would have been front page news everywhere,’ whined Tristan. ‘Now all we’ve got is snide little comments about “The Fake” in the Sunday gutter press and a few reviews in the cultural press.’
‘They’re good reviews, aren’t they?’
‘Well, yes.’ Tristan heaved a great sigh.
‘Well, just be glad that it’s not worse. The company could have been implicated in the murder itself,’ said Libby, aware that Ian had been trying to prove just that.
‘Oh, God!’ said Tristan in horror-struck tones. ‘Don’t let that happen, please.’
‘Well, DCI Connell did come here straight away because your number was in Lucas’s phone, and you just happened to phone the crime scene,’ said Libby wickedly.
‘That’s enough, gal.’
Hetty’s gruff interjection stopped Libby in her tracks. She grinned across at her mother-in-law-elect. ‘Sorry, Hetty, Tristan. Look, we’ve got a visitor coming this afternoon – a member of Ben and Hetty’s family. Do you think you could organise a comp for him for tonight?’
Tristan brightened. ‘Does he know anything about the Shakespeare visit?’
‘He might do,’ said Libby cautiously.
‘I’ll go and see to it right away.’ He bounced up from the kitchen table and disappeared towards the theatre.
Michael and Bel suddenly erupted into the kitchen looking vaguely sooty and Hetty hurriedly moved a large pot of soup out of the way.
‘What have you been doing?’ asked Libby.
‘In these old houses smoke leaks through the bricks,’ said Michael cheerfully. ‘Your attics are covered!’
Hetty looked stricken.
‘Not your fault, Hetty,’ said Bel. ‘Those attics are never used, are they? It’s just really where all the beams are holding the roof up.’
‘And did it tell you anything?’ asked Libby.
‘I’ve taken some samples for dendro-dating,’ said Michael, ‘but what I really need is those documents.’
‘Well, you might just be in luck,’ said Libby and explained about Richard Wilde. ‘In fact, he should be here soon. Ben’s just gone over to check on his precious brewery, and then we’ll form a welcoming committee.’
‘Get that soot off,’ said Hetty, ‘and you can have some soup.’
By three o’clock, Ben, Libby, a reluctant Hetty, a spruced-up Bel and Michael and a brightly alert Jeff-dog all waited in the kitchen for the arrival.
‘There’s a car,’ said Libby, as Jeff-dog pricked up his ears. Ben went to the front door, turned and nodded. Outside, a rather large, shambling man with greying fair hair was climbing out of an old sports car that seemed much too small for him. He beamed across the roof at the party in the doorway.
‘Hello! I’m Richard,’ he called. ‘Hang on a minute.’ He appeared to have a struggle with the car door and when it finally shut, gave it a valedictory pat and ambled towards them holding out a huge paw.
Introductions were quickly made, and then, with Hetty excusing herself, the rest of them made for the kitchen and tea offered.
‘Where have you come from?’ asked Bel, who had taken an instant shine to her new almost-by-marriage relative.
‘Norfolk. Practically web-footed.’ He smiled at her.
‘The Broads?’ asked Libby. ‘I’ve always wanted to go there.’
‘You must come and visit,’ said Richard, ‘and let me return the hospitality. ‘Not that I’m actually on the Broads, exactly, just close by. Rather isolated, I’m afraid.’
‘Is that where your father lived?’ asked Ben. ‘I barely remember him at all, I’m afraid.’
‘No, no. He wasn’t far from here. I grew up in London. He never spoke about your side of the family to me. I didn’t know you existed until much later when I’d left home and he suddenly sent me this little booklet he’d written, and told me about the papers from the house. Then he told me all about it, and didn’t seem to be able to leave it alone. I once asked if we could visit, but he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.’
‘Was that the one on Tudor houses and households?’ said Ben. ‘I ordered a copy over the internet.’
‘Oh, I wish you hadn’t,’ said Richard earnestly. ‘I’ve got about a thousand packed away in the garage.’
‘What do you do up there in the Broads?’ asked Libby, retrieving the brown teapot and pouring tea.
‘I moved up there when I went to teach at UEA.’
Yes, thought Libby, you look like a lecturer. Leather elbow patches and all.
‘What field?’ asked Michael.
‘Environmental Sciences.’ Richard pulled a face. ‘Sounds boring, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Bel. ‘That’s fascinating.’
Michael, who was turning out to be very good a
t sensing atmospheres, said, ‘Actually, if you really have got a spare copy of that booklet I’d appreciate one. I’ve come down to have a look at the house and see what it can tell me, too. I’m from the V&A.’
‘Really?’ Richard sat up like a pointer dog.
‘I’d better explain,’ Ben cut in, ‘the situation’s slightly more complicated than simply wanting to see the papers.’
‘Oh?’ Richard was looking more and more interested.
Between them, Libby, Ben and Michael told the whole story, with occasional interjections from Belinda. They said nothing about previously thinking Duncan Lucas might be the son of Russell, nor of the suspicion that he may have been the original forger. When they finished, Libby sat back in her chair and waited for a response.
‘So,’ Richard said slowly, his eyes on the table, ‘you’re wondering if my father was the person who arranged to have the fake made?’
There was a collective indrawn breath around the table.
‘You must see that it was a reasonable idea,’ said Ben. ‘But once we heard from you, it seemed highly unlikely.’
Richard beamed round at them all. ‘I’m glad about that. Obviously, I can’t be sure, and he wouldn’t have told me if he had, but I can’t see what he would have gained from it.’
‘Did he know Nathan Vine?’ asked Libby. ‘Only his name is in Ben’s dad’s address book, too. Hetty didn’t know him.’
‘I have no idea,’ said Richard. ‘Once I left to go to university I never went home again – not until Dad was dying. I can ask my mother. She’s still living in the family home.’
‘Where’s that?’ asked Bel.
‘It was in Dad’s address book,’ said Ben, ‘Barnes.’
‘Quite near Mortlake, then,’ said Libby. Richard sent her a quick look.
‘Yes, why?’
‘Coincidence, I suppose. Mortlake was where John Dee lived, wasn’t it?’
Richard frowned. ‘I think so, but -’
‘It’s hardly relevant, Lib,’ said Ben, and turning to Richard, ‘just that Titus Watt, who lived here, was, like Dee, a supposed wizard and apothecary – and spy.’
‘Ah.’ Richard’s face cleared. ‘Like Shakespeare.’
Chapter Twelve
Michael broke the resulting silence. ‘So your father also knew that.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Richard looked surprised.
‘That wouldn’t have been in the household documents,’ said Michael.
‘No, but he didn’t only rely on the documents. Once he’d got really interested, he wanted to verify several facts, so he tracked down various experts. And one of them was a Shakespeare expert, obviously.’
‘Who was it?’ Michael was leaning forward now. ‘We did the same obviously.’
‘Oh, I can’t remember.’ He stood up. ‘I’ve got all the stuff in the car. I’ll just pop out and get it.’
When he’d left, the others all looked at each other in some bemusement.
‘It’s all very well,’ said Ben, ‘but where does it leave us?’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Libby.
‘It all sounds a bit academic,’ said Ben. ‘I can’t believe respectable experts would be involved in forged letters.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said Michael. ‘They’re the very people who might. Sometimes just to prove a point they’ve made.’
‘But this was hardly that,’ said Libby with a frown. ‘If you know what I mean. This was...’ she broke off. ‘Actually, I don’t know what it was.’
Richard came back into the room carrying a briefcase. ‘Here we are,’ he said, emptying it on to the table. ‘A lot of the original documents and a copy of his pamphlet. I expect he acknowledges his expert in the front of that.’
Michael was quicker than anyone else and grabbed the booklet. ‘Acknowledgements – yes. Oh!’ He looked up. ‘It’s Dr Harrap.’
‘Who?’ came the chorus.
‘He’s Reader in Shakespeare, among other things, at Brett University. At least, he used to be. We’ve used him ourselves.’
‘Would he have been consulted in the case of our fake?’ asked Libby.
‘I don’t think our team did, but we could ask Gilbert,’ said Michael. ‘I can’t think we wouldn’t have used him over a Shakespeare relic. That was one of his particular fields of expertise.’
‘Why didn’t you consult him then?’ asked Ben.
‘We already had the previous team’s views, and he’s now retired. At least, as much as any academic retires. You’ve seen yourselves how much work both your friend Andrew and Gilbert still do. And if you’re an expert in anything, you’ll still be called in.’
‘Can we still get in touch with him?’ asked Richard.
‘I think so, but would it be wise?’
‘Wise? What do you mean?’
Michael frowned. ‘Well, it’s part of a police investigation now, isn’t it?’
‘It might be, but that hasn’t been proved,’ said Ben. ‘The murder might have nothing whatsoever to do with this. We don’t know who Duncan Lucas was, nor if he really had anything to do with Nathan Vine.’
‘We need to track him - Nathan Vine - down next,’ said Libby.
‘How? He’s dead,’ said Bel.
‘Find out who he really was. We’ve got his old address, haven’t we? From Ben’s Dad’s address book.’
‘I wonder why?’ said Ben. ‘Dad wouldn’t have been interested in anything like this. He’d already handed everything over to Richard’s father.’
‘Have you looked him up?’ asked Richard.
‘Er – no.’ Ben looked at Libby. ‘Have we?’
‘No.’ Libby sounded surprised. ‘Can’t think why.’
Michael put his phone on the table and began searching.
‘Where did he live?’ asked Richard.
‘I’ll get the book,’ said Ben.
Libby’s phone rang. She excused herself and stood up.
‘Lib, it’s me,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, hi. I’ve got lots to tell you, but I can’t right now. We’re deep in conference.’
‘About the case?’
‘The case?’ repeated Libby, amused. ‘The one Ian’s investigating, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, no. We’re looking into the fake.’
‘Isn’t it the same thing?’ said Fran, sounding surprised.
‘Not as far as we know.’
‘Oh.’ Silence.
‘Come on,’ said Libby, suspiciously. ‘What have you come up with?’
‘No – nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, yes it does,’ said Libby, even more suspicious. ‘Out with it.’
‘The first person to go to the V&A – what was his name?’
‘Nathan Vine. Michael’s Googling him as we speak.’
‘Did you look up his address?’
‘Yes – Ben’s gone to get it. It’s in his Dad’s address book, along with his cousin Russell’s.’
‘Well, do you see where it is?’
Libby looked across at Ben, who had re-entered the kitchen with a look of astonishment on his face.
‘He lived here!’ he said. ‘In Steeple Martin.’
‘Golly,’ said Libby. Then, into the phone, ‘How did you know?’
‘I don’t know. I just did.’ Libby could almost hear Fran shrugging. ‘He had something to do with finding the documents belonging to the house.’
‘How...?’ Libby began incredulously, and gave up. ‘Look, I’ve got to go now, but I’ll ring you later. I’m not behind the bar tonight, so I can put my feet up. Speak later.’
‘Where in Steeple Martin?’ she interrupted Ben as she came back to the table.
‘Steeple Lane. Where your friend Una lives, just beyond Steeple Farm. It used to be part of the estate.’
There were various exclamations of surprise from everyone.
‘That could explain a lot,’ said Michael.
‘How?’ asked Libby.
‘Perhaps Nathan, like Richard’s father, was interested in the history of the house, and once Russell had taken all the documents, got in touch and – I don’t know – helped him with research?’
‘In the course of which he turned up the letter!’ said Libby triumphantly.
‘Or got enough information to pass to a forger,’ said Richard.
‘We need to find out from Gilbert what Vine said when he took the document to them,’ said Ben.
‘Have a look through this lot,’ said Richard, waving a hand at the pile of papers on the table, ‘and see if there’s a clue in there.’
‘If you and Ben don’t mind,’ said Michael rather diffidently, ‘I’d like to look through them with Gilbert.’
‘Excellent idea,’ said Ben. ‘After all, you both know what you’re looking for, and you’ve both seen the original fake. Can you call a fake an original?’
‘I agree,’ said Richard. ‘And although I’m used to research, it’s not my field. What about Dr Harrap?’
‘Let’s ask Gilbert first,’ said Ben. ‘Libby?’
‘You want me to ring him? And ask him what?’
‘If he’d like to come and look through this lot with Michael, and if he knows Dr Harrap.’
Libby got up once again and went outside to call Gilbert. When she’d explained as well as she could, and received his enthusiastic response, she returned to give the good news.
‘He and Andrew will both come over in the morning, and yes, he knows Dr Harrap, and once he knows what questions to ask, will be happy to get in touch on our behalf.’
‘There, that’s settled,’ said Ben. ‘And now, Richard, we’d better show you your rural accommodation. How long did you come prepared to stay?’
‘I’d hoped for a couple of days. I didn’t intend to ask you to put me up, though. I thought I’d find a pub...’
‘We can ask at the pub,’ said Libby, ‘but they have been full up this week because of the play. We thought you might like to stay in one of our huts.’
‘Huts?’ Richard looked faintly shocked.
Ben grinned. ‘Come on, we’ll show you.’
He led Richard out, and Libby turned to Bel and Michael. ‘Are you around for dinner?’
‘We thought we’d eat at the pub, if you don’t mind,’ said Bel. ‘Harry’s closed on Mondays, isn’t he?’
Murder and the Glovemaker's Son Page 8
