Murder and the Glovemaker's Son

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘You didn’t want them to hear, either,’ said Fran. ‘You stayed away from them, too.’

  ‘I did. So come on.’

  ‘She’s worried about all these new people turning up,’ said Libby, when Fran didn’t answer.

  Ian’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘It just seems a bit suspicious.’ Fran sighed heavily.

  ‘They’ve all arrived unasked – Gilbert, Richard, Michael...’

  ‘We’ve checked them all, Fran. Gilbert and Michael are both highly respected academics, as is your cousin Richard, Ben, in his own field. Michael’s even been on television, if that’s a recommendation.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Fran was still frowning. ‘Still, that’s all. We can go home, now.’

  Libby stopped dead.

  ‘What’s up, Fran?’

  Everyone else stopped, too.

  Fran looked up and gave a crooked smile. ‘I don’t know. I’m just not happy. I haven’t had any of these...well, “moments” for ages. Not sure how to deal with them.’

  ‘I suggest we sit down and pick it apart, then,’ said Ian. ‘None of us will feel happy if it’s wavering around in the ether unresolved.’

  They resumed their walk. Ben let them in to Number Seventeen and Sidney shot out between their legs.

  ‘That cat!’ grumbled Ian.

  ‘You told me last year you’d wondered about getting a cat for company,’ accused Libby.

  ‘I also told you I’d decided not to. Not fair on the poor animal, leaving it shut in all day.’

  Libby opened her mouth and Ben and Fran dug her in the ribs from opposite sides.

  ‘Drinks?’ asked Ben, turning on lights in the sitting room.

  ‘I won’t, thanks,’ said Ian, ‘but you go ahead.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Fran, ‘I’m driving, too.’

  Libby, Ben and Guy all had whisky, while Fran frowned over her clasped hands.

  ‘Honestly,’ she burst out at last, ‘I don’t know what it is. You know when I’ve had pictures in my head before – like Aunt Eleanor dying? Or the woman under the Willoughby Oak?’

  Everyone murmured agreement.

  ‘Well, this isn’t like that at all.’ Fran shook her head, as if to free it from cobwebs. ‘It’s just like fuzz in my head, with this doubt in the middle of it.’

  ‘Doubt? About a person or a situation?’ asked Guy.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Fran looked miserable. ‘At first, when I told Lib the other day, I though it was about one of the people. I said how could they be sure that Richard was who he said he was, when they’d only found him through the internet, but it doesn’t seem like that now. Not entirely, anyway.’

  ‘So it could be one of them, still?’ said Libby. ‘They aren’t right?’

  ‘Maybe. But I don’t know. I could be making it all up.’

  ‘I’ve never known you make things up,’ said Ian. ‘You’ve always been spot on, even if you didn’t know what you were talking about.’

  ‘That sounds completely barmy,’ said Libby, ‘but I know what you mean. I didn’t believe her when it first happened, but Ben convinced me.’

  ‘There’s the whole situation surrounding the suspicious death,’ said Ian. ‘It could simply be that your subconscious is rebelling against the murder.’

  ‘I sometimes see murders, or experience them,’ said Fran, looking worried, ‘but it’s normally more of a direct threat. This is sort of – a – a vague, amorphous mess.’

  ‘I think,’ said Guy, putting down his glass, ‘that it’s what you said. You haven’t had one of these for a long time, and you don’t know how to deal with it. Or your mind doesn’t.’

  Fran smiled at him gratefully. ‘I expect so. If I could stop worrying about it, it would resolve itself.’ She stood up. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve worried everybody else, too.’

  Guy also stood and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Let’s go and let them puzzle it out on their own,’ he said. ‘And thank them for a lovely evening.’

  To Libby’s surprise, Ian didn’t leave with Fran and Guy, but sat back down when they’d gone.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘What about? Fran’s niggles?’

  ‘There’s usually something in it, isn’t there? I know I keep her involvement quiet as far as possible, but I’d be a fool to ignore her when she’s had so much success.’

  ‘If you can call it success,’ said Libby.

  ‘More whisky?’ asked Ben. ‘Sure you won’t, Ian? Your room’s ready over at the Manor. You look as though you want to talk it over a bit more.’

  Ian looked undecided for a moment, then sighed and grinned.

  ‘You’ve twisted my arm. Shall I call Hetty?’

  ‘No – she’s half expecting you anyway,’ said Libby. ‘So, what do you think you ought to do?’

  ‘Have another look into all the backgrounds. Although I think I could ignore Gilbert. Andrew really did know him from years ago, and Michael really has been an advisor to the V&A as well as a fairly well-known expert on the history of theatre. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard of him.’

  ‘Where would I have done, though?’

  ‘He’s been on TV, I told you. I thought you would have watched programmes on the history of theatre.’

  ‘Not always,’ said Libby. ‘I know we can watch anything any time these days, but I don’t always hear about them.’

  ‘So it’s only my cousin who’s doubtful,’ said Ben.

  ‘He’s the only one we haven’t got independent confirmation of,’ said Ian, apologetically.

  ‘But you have checked his credentials?’ said Libby.

  ‘Of course. Dr Richard Wilde, Senior Lecturer in Environmental Sciences.’ Ian frowned at his whisky. ‘What we haven’t checked is if he really is your relation.’

  ‘And, as Lib said, it’s a common name. It could be another Richard Wilde.’

  ‘That doesn’t really make any sense,’ said Libby. ‘If there was a big prize to claim, yes, but there isn’t in this case. What’s he got to gain? If there was a real Shakespeare letter it would be different.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Ian. ‘In fact, it’s a mess. I think this murder may be nothing to do with the letter. Duncan Lucas may well be a career criminal.’

  ‘And not old Nathan Vine’s nephew after all?’ asked Ben.

  ‘He still might be,’ said Ian. ‘London are looking into that end. We should know tomorrow.’

  Ian left shortly afterwards, but Libby continued to sit staring at the empty fireplace.

  ‘Are you coming to bed?’ asked Ben from the bottom of the stairs. ‘You’re not waiting up for Bel, are you?’

  Libby looked up. ‘Hardly! I don’t think she’d risk staying over at the Manor, however tolerant Hetty might be, but I can’t see her coming home before the small hours. No, I’m just trying to decide what to do.’

  ‘What do you mean, what to do?’ Ben moved further into the room.

  ‘I can’t just do nothing, Ben. Someone’s been murdered and our theatre and now your family are involved. Something’s got to be done.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben, coming back to perch on a chair, ‘and the police are doing it. What could you do?’

  ‘Ask questions.’

  ‘Of whom? Tristan’s told us everything he knows, so have Gilbert and Michael, there isn’t anyone else.’

  ‘There must be someone.’ Libby scowled at her other half. ‘Where we can find out who knew enough to make the fake.’

  ‘There are two strands to that,’ said Ben. ‘One – who knew enough technically, and two – who knew about the history of the house.’

  ‘It would have to be someone who knew the history of the house, who could also lay their hands on a forgery expert.’

  ‘Or, if it was the original owner, Nathan Vine, he could just have been persuaded to buy it,’ said Ben.

  ‘Which looks as if it would have to have been your uncle,’ said Libby.

  ‘Unless he also bought - or acquir
ed - it in good faith,’ said Ben.

  ‘And – what? Sold it because he needed funds?’

  ‘Well, he did need funds,’ said Ben. ‘He wasn’t well off, and he resented Dad getting the Manor.’

  ‘Suppose he got all the documents and archive material – and suppose - ’ Libby sat up straight, eyes shining, ‘ – just suppose the letter was actually in there! In with all the archive material and your dad didn’t know!’

  Ben frowned. ‘But how would it have got there? Dad had no interest in the history, and no one would have access to the archives to slip it in unnoticed.’

  ‘Oh, perhaps not then.’ Libby deflated.

  ‘Leave it for tonight,’ said Ben. ‘Things might be clearer tomorrow, or Ian might have some news. And perhaps Fran’s moment will have broken through.’

  Libby gave him a wan smile. ‘Perhaps. And perhaps not.’

  Wednesday morning was flat and uninteresting. Ben had gone up to the Manor, ostensibly to work on the micro-brewery but, in reality, as he confided to Libby, to see what the quorum of academics were doing with the archive material. Andrew and Gilbert had arrived at nine thirty to join Michael and Richard in the dining room and a disgruntled Bel had appeared to join Libby over tea in the garden.

  ‘No point in me going up there,’ she told her mother. ‘I don’t understand half of what they’re talking about and I can’t actually do anything. I could go back up to the attics and poke about up there, I suppose, but I don’t really know what I’m looking for. And they’re waiting for this dendro-date or whatever it is which will tell everyone exactly how old the building is. So quite honestly, Ma, I think I might as well go back to London.’

  ‘Not getting on as well as you’d hoped?’ Libby ventured, never quite sure how much to ask her offspring about their private lives.

  ‘Fine, as far as it goes, but all he’s interested in really is all this archive material and the Shakespeare connection. I think they’ve more or less proved that he did come here, but they just want more.’

  ‘Well, help me with our investigation then,’ said Libby. ‘I want to know more about this Duncan Lucas’s murder.’

  ‘Oh, you always do. But the police are looking into it and it might have nothing to do with this letter. Isn’t Ian looking into other aspects?’

  ‘Yes. The bloke might be a career criminal, he thinks.’

  ‘And you can’t do anything about that.’ Bel stood up. ‘I’m going to go up and see if Jeff-dog wants a walk. Want to come?’

  ‘No, I’ve got some stuff to do here, and I’ll give Fran a ring to see if her moment’s got any clearer.’

  ‘Sarjeant and Wolfe back on the trail again, eh?’ Bel gave her mother an affectionate buffet on the shoulder. ‘Go on then. See you later.’

  Libby put mugs in the dishwasher, went upstairs and made the bed then went down to call Fran.

  ‘No, nothing’s clearer, but I feel a bit happier about it. I thought, if you don’t mind, I might come up and see if I can latch on to anything up there. And we need to do something about the Summer Show, too, before it’s too late.’

  ‘Oh, golly, we do,’ said Libby. ‘I’d better start calling people and putting them off. I hope The Alexandria won’t be too cross.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be a bit put out, but they’ve had a bargain for the last few years.’

  ‘They can’t really complain. Oh – hang on, the mobile’s going.’ Libby looked at the screen. ‘It’s Bel. I wonder what she wants? She’s only just gone up to the Manor. Hello – Bel? What’s up?’

  ‘Ma – Jeff-dog’s found a body!’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘What?’

  ‘He – oh, Mum, can you call Ian? Please!’ Belinda sounded almost hysterical.

  ‘Just ring off and dial 999, darling. Quickest way. Where are you?’

  ‘Near the huts. Will you come?’

  ‘Yes, but ring the police Bel – now!’

  Libby returned to the landline.

  ‘Fran – Bel’s found a body – yes, she was walking Jeff-dog, no, I’m going up there. Near the huts. No, I don’t know any more. If you come up, go straight to the Manor.’

  Libby felt as near to panic as she ever had in her life. Suppose the killer was still there? Was it murder? Could it be a tramp? If not, who? She grabbed her basket and keys and dived out of the cottage as fast as she could. She dithered for a moment wondering whether to go via the fields or round by the high street and the drive and opted for the fields, suddenly accompanied by Sidney. She found she was still clutching her mobile and rang Ben.

  ‘All right, Lib, all right.’ His calm voice soothed her. ‘I’ll go and find her and meet you up here. You did the right thing.’

  By the time the huts came into view, she could also see a cluster of people a little further on and a police car, its blue light still flashing. Ben detached himself from the group and came towards her.

  ‘It’s all right, Lib, Bel’s fine. The police car and I arrived at the same time – they sent someone who was already here, down at the church hall.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Libby managed to get out.

  ‘I don’t know. They’ve called Ian and the whole circus, so we’ll know soon. The officer says we can take Bel back to the Manor.’

  Michael had appeared by now and had his arm round a shivering Bel. Jeff-dog was sitting, alert, by her feet. Libby practically fell over her own feet in her haste to get to her daughter, who promptly burst into tears.

  ‘If you’d like to go back to the house, madam,’ said the officer, looking somewhat out of his depth, ‘someone will be over to see you shortly.’

  Slowly, not looking towards the ominously shielded lump on the ground, the little procession made its way back towards the Manor, where Hetty waited by the big oak door. No one said anything.

  In the kitchen they were met by Gilbert, Richard and Andrew, all looking worried.

  ‘Is it -’ began Richard, and Ben shook his head.

  ‘Let Bel come to terms with it,’ he said. ‘Time for questions later.’

  Hetty was already pouring tea. Jeff-dog, looking as relieved as a collie could, settled down by the Aga where he could keep an eye on the company. If there was any more excitement, he wasn’t going to be left out.

  Bel began to speak.

  ‘It was so weird. You always hear about dog walkers stumbling across bodies, but you don’t expect… I’d just let him off the lead, you see, and he went straight to this bush -’ She stopped. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Nothing else you could do, gal,’ said Hetty gruffly. ‘Right thing.’

  Libby sat ineffectually patting her daughter’s arm, while Michael stayed by her side, his arm still around her shoulders. Bel seemed to notice neither. Ben roamed round the kitchen frowning.

  ‘What was someone doing up there?’ he said. ‘Richard must have seen something. I’ll go and ask him.’

  ‘No, don’t,’ said Libby. ‘Leave it until Ian or someone else gets here.’

  ‘Why?’ said Ben. Libby scowled at him and he subsided.

  It wasn’t long before Fran arrived, followed very soon after by Ian and a female officer. Everyone stood up.

  ‘Shall we go?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No, Ma, stay,’ said Bel, the panic returning to her voice.

  ‘Yes, Libby, stay,’ said Ian. ‘If the rest of you would -? Hetty, I’m sorry to turn you out of your own kitchen.’

  ‘Be in my room,’ said Hetty, giving Bel a final valedictory pat.

  ‘And we’ll wait in the dining room,’ said Ben. ‘Come on Michael.’

  ‘This is DC Trent,’ said Ian, smiling at the female officer and waving her to a chair. ‘You won’t mind her taking notes, Bel?’

  Bel shook her head, glancing nervously at the notebook which had appeared in the officer’s hand.

  ‘So, tell me what happened?’

  Bel repeated her story, only stumbling when she got to the body.

  ‘And you’d
never seen him before?’

  Bel shook her head.

  ‘Had you, Libby?’

  ‘I’m afraid I didn’t look,’ she said. ‘But as Ben said, what was someone doing up there? And why didn’t Richard see it?’

  ‘It was hidden,’ said Bel. ‘It was only because Jeff-dog sniffed it out…’

  ‘Richard’s staying in the Hoppers’s Huts?’ said Ian. ‘I shall have to talk to him.’

  ‘Have you seen it?’ asked Libby. ‘Do you know who it is?’

  ‘There’s no confirmation as yet.’ Ian stood up. ‘I’ll go and speak to Richard and send Ben and Michael back in.’

  DC Trent gave them a vague smile and followed Ian from the room. After a moment, Ben, Fran and Michael came back in.

  ‘He knows who it is,’ said Libby.

  ‘He didn’t say that, Ma.’ Bel sounded stronger.

  ‘He said “no confirmation”. That means he does, but the body has to be formally identified.’

  ‘Someone we know, then?’ said Ben.

  ‘Bel would have recognised it,’ said Fran. ‘She’s met everyone connected with this business.’

  ‘Someone connected with Duncan Lucas who we don’t know about then,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps Ian was right. Lucas was a villain and his murder was nothing to do with the Shakespeare letter.’

  ‘He’s talking to Richard,’ said Gilbert. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because Richard’s staying near where the body was found,’ said Ben. ‘Ian wants to know if he saw or heard anything.’

  ‘There’s nothing much there to see or hear,’ said Libby. ‘You can’t even see the huts from here, or from the top of my lane.’

  ‘Is it a short cut to anywhere?’ asked Michael.

  ‘No. Just from here to, as Lib said, the top of our lane. Nowhere else.’

  Richard came in looking shaken.

  ‘I’m beginning to think it’s not a good thing to be connected to this family,’ he said.

  ‘Something a lot of us have said for a long time,’ said Andrew. ‘But quite exciting, nevertheless.’

  ‘If you can call murder exciting,’ muttered Richard.

  ‘I take it you didn’t see or hear anything?’ said Fran. ‘Last night or this morning?’