LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Libby was frustrated. There was nothing she could possibly do to help with the search for Harry’s parentage or to discover whether Celia had been murdered, and if so, by whom. In the past when mysteries had dropped into her lap or tripped her up, she had been able to keep following lines of enquiry, but this time she had nothing. Harry told her he had written a very difficult letter to Jeanette Price, with Peter’s help, and sent it to Matthew’s solicitor, who would forward it if he felt it was the right thing to do. So all he, and Libby, could do was wait.

Meanwhile, life went on. Libby painted a couple more small pictures for Guy’s Nethergate shop, and attended rehearsals for The End Of The Pier Show. The first time they had done this it coincided with a murder investigation, and even involved a member of the company, but it hadn’t put anyone off. It had been such a success the management company had asked them to repeat it. Libby and Peter had sourced more music hall and variety material, called in favours from everyone they knew, including their musical director, Susannah, and her drummer, David Fletcher, who, despite his memories of the previous year, decided he was happy enough to come back. He was, however, going to stay in Peel House with Jane and Terry Baker rather than the cottage he had hired last time. ‘That really
does
have bad memories,’ he told Libby on the phone.

Rehearsals were held at their own theatre, and Libby spent as much time as possible there, planning and drawing vague pictures of the sets she wanted. She was rummaging in the wardrobe store the following Friday when she heard her mobile ringing in the dressing room.

‘Bother.’ She disentangled herself from a pile of Victorian bathing costumes and made for the door, but of course the phone stopped ringing. Reaching it, she found a missed call from Harry and her heart missed a beat.

‘What?’ she said breathlessly when he answered.

‘What
have
you been doing?’ Harry asked, sounding amused.

‘Sorting out costumes. What’s happened? Have you heard from Jeanette?’

‘No, sorry to disappoint you, but I have heard from the solicitor.’

‘Really? What about?’

‘You remember your mad idea to hold a memorial service?’

‘Yes? Oh – no! Really?’

‘Yes. A proper Fleet Street one. Or what was Fleet Street.’

‘Not St Bride’s!’

‘St Bride’s. Pete can’t believe it. And we’ve been invited.’

Libby sat down at the dressing table. ‘But who by? Who’s organising it?’

‘I don’t know. I was so surprised I forgot to ask.’

‘If it’s St Bride’s, it must be some of his newspaper pals, mustn’t it? It’s the Fleet Street church, after all. I didn’t realise he was that well known.’

‘Not by the general public,’ said Harry, ‘but in his world he was. And he still did what the old girls called “brain pieces”.’

Libby laughed. ‘I suppose they’ll come, too? Might be awkward.’

‘We only have to say hello, then you can avoid them.’

‘Is it just you and Pete and Ben and me?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so, but Fran didn’t know him, did she?’

‘No, she won’t mind.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘You don’t suppose Lucifer’s behind it, do you?’

‘Could be. In which case you’d better keep your eyes open.’

‘I always do, but it would be pretty useless in this case,’ said Libby. ‘A St Bride’s memorial service attracts plenty of well-known people – he could be anybody. And what about the person who wrote to the sisters? And left you the note?’

‘He or she or they will probably be there too,’ said Harry, ‘but again, we don’t know –’

‘Unless it’s someone we recognise from the Island,’ Libby cut in.

‘Well, that’s not many, is it?’

‘There’s Amanda Clipping. Fran and I met her. Fran thought her parents might be your father’s adoptive parents.’

‘Lib, you can’t expect everything to fit neatly into slots like a jigsaw.’

‘They’re more likely to go to this than the funeral, don’t you think? London’s nearer to Surrey – or do I mean the other way round?’

‘Surrey practically is London,’ said Harry. ‘London postcodes and everything.’

‘There you are then,’ said Libby. ‘So when is this service?’

‘Next Thursday. How will you contain yourself?’

‘Oh, you! Aren’t you interested?’

‘I’ve got over it a bit now. Pete and I have talked the whole situation into the ground, and yes, it might be nice to know a bit more, but it doesn’t actually matter. I’m happy and settled, and now I’ve got a bit of money coming so I can upgrade the caff a bit.’

‘Don’t change it too much, Hal! It’s perfect as it is.’

‘Can’t do much, can I? It’s a terraced shop, after all. There isn’t even room to extend the kitchen.’

‘What about the flat? You could turn that into another dining room.’

Harry let out a whoop. ‘The woman’s a genius! Great idea. I’ll tell Pete.’

‘I aim to please. So we’re going up Lunnon on Thursday, then. What time?’

‘Service is at half past two. We’ll sort out details nearer the time. OK?’

Libby locked up the theatre and went over to the Manor, where she found Ben in the estate office.

‘So you’ll be able to peer through your spyglass at the whole congregation and pick out the murderer,’ said Ben.

‘Oh, ha ha. Look if you don’t want to go, I’ll go with Harry and Pete. You didn’t know him that well, did you?’

‘I didn’t think you did!’

‘Better than you, anyhow.’

‘No, I’ll come, if only to keep an eye on you.’ Ben got up from behind the desk. ‘Come and get a coffee with Mum.’

Later, Libby called Fran.

‘Sorry you aren’t invited,’ she finished.

‘I’m not,’ said Fran. ‘It would be frankly ridiculous for me to go when I’d never met the man. But watch your back.’

‘Eh?’

‘I’m sure that it will have got out, on the Island at least, that you were snooping round –’

‘We hardly snooped at all!’ Libby broke in, indignantly.

‘That nice man in Beech –’

‘Bernie Small.’

‘– will probably have told Amanda that her “friends” were looking for her. And what’s the betting she went and asked the sisters about us?’

‘Hmm,’ said Libby. ‘And no doubt told anyone else who might have been interested, like her parents.’

‘Or old Lady – what was her name? Bligh. And the other people.’

‘Duncans? Something like that. They were at the funeral, too. But why would she tell them all? And why would they be interested?’

‘Dougans. Because they were all the same generation as Matthew and probably know whatever it is the sisters are hiding.’

‘And you think a bunch of geriatrics are going to try and shut me up?’ Libby laughed. ‘I’d like to see it.’

‘Libby,’ said Fran, exasperated, ‘just remember how many times you – and I, come to that – have been in quite – er –
dangerous
situations. It’s not funny. And we are talking about suspected murder here, not just illegitimate children.’

‘I know, I know. But it looks as though it’s Harry whoever-it-is would like to find, not me. The service will give them another chance.’

‘Then both of you will have to take special care.’ Fran was sounding worried now. ‘It’ll be crowded. Don’t be in the middle, and don’t stay with the sisters, if they’re there.’

‘Well, of course they will be. And why not? Not that they’re likely to want anything to do with us … Oh. I see. That could be what identifies us.’

‘Exactly. Will you talk to Harry about it?’

‘Yes, Mum, I will. Promise.’

Harry was inclined to pooh-pooh the idea much as Libby had, but Peter took it seriously.

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t go after all,’ he said after rehearsal that evening.

‘The bloke’s left me money,’ said Harry. ‘I can’t not go.’

‘It was your grandmother’s money,’ said Libby.

‘He looked out for me all my life,’ said Harry. ‘Well, since I was sixteen, anyway. I don’t know where I’d have ended up if it hadn’t been for him.’

Susannah called across from the auditorium doors. ‘I’ve got special leave as it’s Friday. Coming to the pub?’

‘Yes,’ called Libby. ‘Won’t be long.’ She turned to Harry. ‘By the way, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in the caff?’

‘We had an early party booking, and they’d all gone by nine, so I shut up shop. Come on, let’s go and get drunk.’

Peter sighed and grinned at Libby. ‘What shall we do with him?’

‘Your problem,’ said Libby, grinning back. ‘I’m going to find mine.’ She went up on to the stage and called for Ben, who appeared from the workshop wearing a fetching shade of blue paint. Libby sighed.

Libby, not known for her patience, spent the next few days in a fever of anticipation.

‘You’d think you were going to a special treat, not a memorial,’ said Ben one evening.

‘I know, I’m sorry. I’m the only one who seems to be – to be – well, I don’t know, actually.’

‘Is Fran still worried?’

‘She warns me every time I speak to her. Has Pete said anything to you?’

‘No, not much. I think he still doesn’t want us to go.’

Libby frowned. ‘Do you honestly think Hal could be in danger from someone?’

‘Honestly – no. I mean, why? We’ve been through all this.’

‘Suppose Lucifer’s still alive and is jealous?’

‘Oh, come on, Lib!’ Ben laughed. ‘Lucifer’s probably Matthew’s age! And Matthew’s dead. Why would he be jealous?’

‘Oh, OK, clasping at straws there.’ Libby sighed. ‘I insist that we stand right at the back of the church, though. Preferably with our backs to the wall.’

On Thursday, the four of them travelled up to London in the morning in time to have lunch before arriving at St Bride’s church in Fleet Street.

‘Let’s wait,’ said Libby, as they looked down towards the church door, crowded with people. ‘Wait until they’ve all gone in.’

The other three looked at her, but although eyebrows were raised, no comment was made, although Harry made a great show of sighing and shuffling his feet. Finally, just as someone in vestments appeared at the door and looked round, Libby rushed them all forwards. They were smiled in and handed service sheets, and Libby, as she had wished, was able to stand right at the back.

‘I’m sorry there are no seats left,’ whispered the verger. ‘Full house.’

The organ swelled and the choir processed in.

‘Do you usually have a choir at these things?’ whispered Harry.

‘I think you can have what you want,’ whispered back Libby, just as the door creaked open behind them and another latecomer was ushered in.

They all looked. The woman looked at them and paled.

‘Jeanette Price,’ whispered Libby.

Chapter Nineteen

Harry, after one look, swallowed hard and faced the front. Throughout the service he didn’t look at his mother once. Libby had been almost certain the woman would turn tail and flee, but she stayed exactly where she was. Libby wondered if her feet hurt. Hers certainly did, but at least she could lean against Ben.

Many people spoke about Matthew, some of them well known, some only known in their own industry. Libby stared at them all hard, trying to decide which one was Lucifer, if indeed any of them were. Or was he hiding in plain sight in the body of the congregation? Or, she reflected with resignation, he could be dead.

At the end of the service, Jeanette Price, if it was her, shot out of the doors before anyone else and Libby muttered under her breath. But, to her surprise, as they left the church, there she was, waiting. As Harry came level with her, she spoke.

‘I knew you were coming. I got your letter. If you don’t want to do this now, I’ll go.’ Her voice held a faint undertone of an accent, which Libby guessed had been ruthlessly expunged over the years.

Peter went to take Harry’s arm, and Ben and Libby moved back out of the way of the rest of the congregation who were now surging out of the church, chatting and hugging.

‘Several well-known faces,’ murmured Ben. ‘Look, there’s Fay Scott.’

Libby craned to see the theatrical dame on the arm of a theatrical knight.

‘Isn’t that Andrew McColl?’ she whispered.

‘Yes – and there’s George Fredericks.’

‘Who?’

‘The author, you ignoramus. The Inspector Carney series.’

‘Oh, yes. I loved the TV series.’

Ben shook his head at her.

‘There’s the Clipping woman,’ Libby whispered. ‘I don’t see either of the people who were with her on the Island.’

‘The sisters have just come out,’ said Ben, who at half a head taller than Libby could see further. ‘Amelia’s talking to two couples, their sort of generation I would say.’

Libby stood on tiptoe and craned her neck. ‘The elder Clippings and the Dougans, perhaps,’ she murmured. ‘I wish we could ask.’

As they watched, Amanda Clipping went up to the group of older people and slipped her arm through that of one of the women.

‘I was right,’ muttered Libby, nudging Ben.

As they watched, the press of people between them cleared and Alicia and Amanda looked straight at Ben and Libby. Libby, about to wave, saw the horror that passed over Alicia’s face and the speed with which Amanda marshalled the whole party down the path into Fleet Street.

‘Well!’ she said to Ben. ‘What was that all about?’

‘At least they didn’t see Harry, or who he was talking to,’ said Ben, turning back to where Harry and Peter were still talking to Jeanette. ‘Perhaps we ought to go back there, now.’

As they approached another man appeared at Jeanette’s side.

‘Mr Price, I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Ronald Deakin, Matthew’s solicitor. I see you’ve met Mrs Landor.’

Ben and Libby stopped short of the group as Harry shook hands and introduced Peter. Then he turned and grinned at Libby.

‘And these are our friends, Libby Sarjeant and Ben Wilde. They were friends of Matthew’s, too.’

Libby and Ben shook hands all round, Libby in a fever of curiosity and impatience.

‘I believe the people who organised this event are holding some kind of reception back at their offices,’ said Ronald Deakin. ‘Will you be going?’

‘No,’ said Harry. ‘I didn’t know any of his work associates.’

Libby opened her mouth, then shut it again when the other two men agreed with Harry. Jeanette Landor also shook her head.

‘I thought – we thought – that perhaps Jeanette would like to come and have a drink with us before we go and catch our train,’ said Harry. ‘Will you join us, Mr Deakin?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ said Deakin with a smile. ‘Although I do need to talk to you fairly soon, Mr Price. About the will.’

‘Of course,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll ring you in the next couple of days and make an appointment.’

Libby marvelled at how composed and mature Harry sounded. Quite unlike his normal self.

Ronald Deakin took his leave and the other five looked at each other.

‘This is my mum, Lib,’ said Harry. ‘Doesn’t look old enough, does she?’

Libby saw Jeanette’s face soften and saw him take a deep breath. ‘Indeed you don’t,’ she said aloud. ‘I suppose I expected you to be about my age, but you’re so much younger.’

Jeanette gave a wobbly smile. ‘It’s very nice to meet you all.’

‘I expect,’ said Ben practically, ‘you would prefer to talk to Harry alone, so why don’t you two go and have a drink together, and Pete, Libby and I will meet you back at Victoria.’

Libby dug him in the ribs, but Ben took no notice.

‘Actually, I’d like Pete to stay, if – er – Jeanette doesn’t mind.’

She shook her head and smiled at Ben. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

Ben pulled Libby down into Fleet Street and marched her firmly towards the Strand.

‘What did you do that for?’ she complained. ‘He won’t know what questions to ask her.’

‘Libby.’ Ben stopped and turned her to face him, oblivious to the other pedestrians who muttered and surged around them. ‘Hal has just come face to face with the mother who gave him up thirty-odd years ago. What he wants to know is personal to him, and to her. It is not part of an investigation.’

Libby blinked at him and felt her throat go tight. Without a word, she took his arm and began walking again. They didn’t stop until they reached a favourite pub of Ben’s off Drury Lane.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Libby, after Ben had ordered drinks. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘No, love, you weren’t.’

Libby sighed. ‘I’ve got so used to being important in Hal’s life …’

‘You still are,’ said Ben. ‘I doubt he’s going to make Jeanette his favourite woman at this stage of his life. But they need to get to know a bit about each other to see if they want to get any closer. And I’m sure he’ll remember to ask about his father.’ He smiled and patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

An exchange of text messages saw Peter and Harry meeting Ben and Libby in The Iron Duke at Victoria Station half an hour before the train back to Canterbury. Tucked into a corner table, Harry raised his glass to his friends.

‘Thanks for being here,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘We didn’t do anything,’ said Libby.

‘You came up to the service,’ said Harry. ‘And you were there on the Island.’

Libby looked at Ben and nodded. ‘We were.’

‘And now you want to know about Jeanette,’ said Peter. ‘It was thoughtful of you to leave us alone with her, Ben.’

Libby nudged Ben’s leg with her own and saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.

‘Well,’ said Harry, ‘there isn’t much. She met my dad when he was working in London. She said he was very buttoned-up at first, but gradually he seemed to change into a different person, as though he was trying to make up for not having much fun in his early life.’

‘Were they working together?’ asked Libby.

‘In a way. She was a trainee in the company, only sixteen. When he began to take notice of her, she was – in her own words – dazzled. And after a works do of some sort – well …’

‘So how old was he at that time?’ asked Ben.

‘She didn’t know exactly, but quite a bit older than she was. She was still living with her mum and dad.’

‘Difficult,’ said Libby.

‘Not really. He had a flat in London. He’d been commuting at first, but when he began to “break out” as she put it, he found this flat. Off Vauxhall Bridge Road, in fact,’ said Harry, nodding in the direction of that road.

‘One of the mansion blocks,’ put in Peter, ‘so not squalid.’

‘And then, after a few months, she discovered she was pregnant,’ continued Harry. ‘He was horrified and kept saying it had only been a bit of fun. She told her parents, who supported her decision to keep the baby –’

‘That was quite unusual thirty years ago,’ said Libby.

‘I suppose so. Anyway, she wanted to keep the baby and bring it up herself, but after a while it was too much for her and social services came and took it – me – away.’

‘And where did Matthew come in?’ asked Ben.

‘He turned up out of the blue on her doorstep one day. She says she has no idea how he found her, because she’d moved from her parents’ house, and from the company where she met my father. He said he knew the baby’s – my – grandparents and they wanted to make some sort of contribution to my upkeep.’

‘If that was so, why couldn’t she keep you?’ asked Libby.

‘I’d already been taken away.’

‘Couldn’t she have got you back?’ said Ben.

‘Apparently it was very difficult, and maintaining she had an income from an anonymous donor would be highly suspicious.’ Harry sighed. ‘So that was that.’

‘Well, at least you know his name now,’ said Peter. He nodded at Libby.

‘Really? So …?’

‘Doesn’t help. Keith Franklin.’

‘So, he wasn’t brought up by the Clippings when they went to live in Surrey,’ said Libby.

‘No. And Jeanette has no idea if he was formally adopted or not. In fact, she didn’t know he was adopted until Matthew found her.’

‘What about you, though? How did Matthew track you down?’

‘She doesn’t know. She told him where you’d gone – or at least the Social Services department who’d taken you, but that was all she knew.’

‘So no nearer, then.’ Peter drank the last of his wine.

‘But Matthew kept in touch with her?’ said Libby.

‘Intermittently. And in the early days he helped her out with money. She says he was her fairy godfather, but she knew nothing about him.’

‘We could try Keith Franklin on the birth certificate site,’ said Peter. ‘If we took an educated guess as to his birth year.’

‘There’s an application for access to birth records on the government site,’ said Libby. ‘If you were adopted. Harry wasn’t, so it doesn’t apply to him.’

‘I could have done, though,’ said Harry. ‘Just didn’t see the point. But I don’t think you can do it for someone else.’

‘Anyway, you’d have to know the adoption dates before you could look for the birth date,’ said Peter, ‘and we don’t know either.’

‘So frustrating,’ said Libby, scowling into her drink.

‘Look,’ said Harry, ‘I’ve met my mother, and I know now she didn’t abandon me. I don’t think I really want to know any more about my background. I’ve done my best to forget where I was when Matthew found me, and I’m happy. So shall we forget it?’

Everyone looked at Libby.

‘Of course,’ she said sensing relief all round. ‘As long as you’re allowed to forget it.’

‘What?’ Harry frowned.

‘As long as whoever was watching you on the Island doesn’t come after you again.’

‘I can’t see why they should,’ said Peter.

‘Did anyone see the expression on the sisters’ faces back there?’ asked Libby. ‘Or the way the Clipping woman got everyone out of the way?’

‘There’s something still hidden,’ said Ben, ‘and it’s worrying those people. But it really is their problem, not Harry’s, or ours.’

Libby sighed. ‘I know, and I’d just as soon not have to think about it. We’ve got an End Of The Pier show to work on.’

Harry leaned across the table and gave her a kiss.

‘And if anyone does come after me, who’s the first person I’d turn to?’ he said.

Libby grinned. ‘Chief Inspector Ian Connell, I expect!’

‘Oh, yes, the dishy Inspector,’ said Harry with an answering grin. ‘But don’t worry. This is the end of the matter as far as we’re concerned.’ He raised his glass. ‘Cheers!’

As Libby raised her glass to respond, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of apprehension. Was it the end?