Murder at the Laurels (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

B
EFORE SHE MET PETER
at Victoria, Fran phoned Libby.

‘What time are you seeing Ben tonight?' she asked.

‘I needn't see him at all,' said Libby, with rare insight.

‘I don't want you putting him off for me,' said Fran, ‘but I would like to talk to you on your own.'

‘Get Pete to drop you off at mine, then, and we can have supper. Ben won't be round till later.'

‘Are you sure, Lib?'

‘Of course I'm sure. And I've got some news for you, too, assuming this is because you've got news for me.'

‘Well, yes. I think so.'

When Fran arrived at Victoria, Peter was already there, and they were able to make the ten to six train. Fran was quiet, and Peter, after a quizzical look or two, left her in peace. Getting back into Canterbury just before half past seven, Peter dropped Fran outside Number 17 ten minutes later.

‘See?' he said. ‘No trouble at all.'

‘It feels like a lifetime,' said Fran. ‘I'd hate to do it every day.'

‘Well, mind you tell me what's been going on. I'm a positive hive of seething curiosity.'

‘I will,' said Fran, with a tired smile, ‘when I've worked it all out myself.'

Libby settled her with a large gin and tonic, having learnt that her friend's favourite tipple was not the same as her own, brought Sidney in from the garden and dumped him on her lap.

‘You look as if you need him,' she said, sitting on the sofa, and for once, avoiding the creak.

‘Thanks, Lib.' Fran stroked Sidney, who butted her other hand and spilled gin and tonic on his nose.

‘So? What did you want to tell me?' Libby lit a cigarette.

‘I did stay in the cottage in Nethergate,' said Fran. ‘In fact, my Uncle Frank owned it.'

And she recounted her search at the Betjeman flat, and the discovery of the photographs, the picture and the china ponies.

‘So,' she concluded, ‘Uncle Frank actually bought the cottage.'

‘I hate to story cap,' said Libby, stubbing out her cigarette, ‘but Ben and I found that out, too.'

She told Fran of the visit to Jim Butler, and his recollections of the sale of Coastguard Cottage.

‘So we worked out that Barbara must be Eleanor's brother's child, and Charles the sister's son. Would that be right?'

‘I suppose it must be. I never thought to ask Charles, but he hasn't said anything about the cottage.'

‘Have you asked him?'

‘No,' said Fran, surprised. ‘Although we did talk about it, didn't we? When I said Charles lived in Steeple Mount.'

‘He probably wouldn't have known anything about it, anyway, being a child at the time,' said Libby. ‘But go on. What else?'

‘I remembered,' said Fran, ‘and it was horrible.'

Libby was silent when Fran finished. Eventually, she stood up and took Fran's glass to top it up.

‘So Uncle Frank and your mum were having an affair?' she said as she sat down again. ‘And you knew about it?'

‘Now I've remembered, I can put things together. I can only assume that that night at the cottage was so traumatic I blotted everything out. As soon as I saw the photographs of Mum and me and Uncle Frank it began to come back to me, then when I found the ponies, it was just as though I was reliving it all over again.' She shuddered. ‘I hated it.'

Libby nodded. ‘And presumably, they stopped when Frank got married, then he came down to the cottage that night and Eleanor followed him?'

Fran shrugged. ‘I suppose so. I thought Eleanor was going to kill my mother.'

Libby thought for a moment. ‘So, how did the whole business of Eleanor and the cottage come about?'

‘We used to stay there every year, and I think Frank must have met Eleanor when we were down there, through her father, who owned the cottage at the time.'

‘But if you were all down there, and he and your mum were – um – together, how come he married Eleanor?'

‘Now that I've remembered, there was one year when we left Uncle Frank down there, and we didn't see much of him when we got back. I remember wondering why, but if I asked Mum, I don't think she told me anything. They must have had a row.'

‘I wonder why they never married? Your mum and Uncle Frank?'

‘I wondered that, too. Perhaps they didn't think it would be right, Frank being my dad's brother.'

‘That's just plain stupid,' said Libby, snorting indignantly.

‘Things were different then. Perhaps Mum didn't want any gossip.'

‘Well, she didn't go about it in a very sensible way, did she? Going away on holiday with him every year. And you said you spent a lot of time together at home.'

‘Oh, yes. It was as though he really
was
my father. He was there all the time.'

Libby eyed her curiously. ‘I don't suppose he
actually
was your father?'

Fran's mouth opened in shock. ‘Good Lord! I've never even considered it,' she said.

‘I expect it's on your birth certificate.'

‘Yes, and I'm sure it says Herbert,' said Fran. ‘Anyway, why on earth would my mother have lied about that?'

‘If she was married to Herbert, had an affair with Frank and became pregnant, she would have a very good reason to lie about it, wouldn't she?'

‘Oh, hell, this is awful,' said Fran, dislodging Sidney and putting her head in her hands. ‘I hate the thought of my mother having an affair.'

‘Well, it would appear that she did,' said Libby, ‘although it wasn't really a very sleazy one.'

‘Except that apparently they carried it on after Frank and Eleanor got married.' Fran lifted her head and pushed her hair back. ‘I don't understand any of it.'

‘I certainly don't understand why the stupid bugger went down to the cottage when his wife knew about it,' said Libby. ‘It had even belonged to her family. She must have known about your family holidays there.'

‘At least I know now why we had to leave Mountville Road,' said Fran, ‘and why we never spoke to Frank or Eleanor after that. Poor Mum.'

‘And she never told you about any of it?'

Fran shook her head. ‘Not a word. She never mentioned either of them, not even when she was ill at the end.'

‘When did Frank die?' asked Libby. ‘Did they tell you that?'

‘No. I've no idea. I don't know how I know, but I'm pretty sure he died quite young. Perhaps someone did get in touch with Mum and tell her, and I found out, somehow. We kept up with a few of Frank's friends, but that all petered out because, as I see now, she was a single mother with a daughter, not a nice safe couple to go to dinner with. There was someone from the Conservative Club – or was it the golf club? Joe, his name was. He had a big old car, and he used to come and take us out sometimes, but his wife never came, and after a while that stopped, too.'

‘You poor old thing,' said Libby.

‘Oh, I was all right,' said Fran. ‘I was growing up, and although we moved, I still went to the same school, and had the same friends. It's Mum I'm sorry for. I never understood. No wonder she loved my children so much. She'd never had much of a family, had she?'

‘No, I suppose not. I'd love to know what really happened that night, though.'

‘You can make an educated guess. You already did. Eleanor followed him down.'

‘But it could have been quite innocent. Perhaps, knowing you were down there, Frank and Eleanor came down to stay with her parents for a few days, and they popped in to see how you were getting on.'

‘In which case, why was my mother undressed, and why was Eleanor trying to kill her?'

‘That's the flaw in the argument,' said Libby.

‘Oh – and I brought this for you to see,' said Fran, handing over a plastic bag.

Libby took out the little picture and gasped. ‘That's my picture!'

‘I remember it now. It hung in my room at the cottage, but it was a cheap print we bought in a gift shop. Your parents must have bought one, too.'

‘I suppose so. But what a coincidence. And if I hadn't had it, you would never have found out – well, everything.'

‘I know.' Fran looked solemn. ‘The sort of coincidence that people say can't happen in real life.'

‘If it was in a book it wouldn't be allowed,' agreed Libby.

‘Good job you're not Miss Marple, then,' said Fran.

Libby grinned. ‘Isn't it.' She stood up. ‘I'd better check on supper. Here, or in the kitchen?'

Ben arrived as they finished eating and Fran got up to go.

‘Don't go on my account,' he said, squashing himself onto a chair between the table and the Rayburn.

‘No, I want to get back,' said Fran. ‘I've got a lot to think about, and it's been a long day. I don't know how people commute.'

‘I'll walk you to the end of the lane, then,' said Ben, unsquashing himself.

‘No need, honestly, I'll be fine. It's not late.' Fran went into the living room to retrieve her bag. ‘Thanks for the supper, Lib. I'll talk to you tomorrow.'

‘How much can I tell Ben?' asked Libby quietly, as she saw Fran to the door.

‘As much as you like. I don't mind Ben knowing. And Peter wanted to know all the facts as well, but I think I might give them an edited version.'

‘Very sensible,' said Libby, and kissed Fran's cheek. ‘Let me know what you want to do next.'

‘You were going to talk to Nurse Redding, weren't you?'

‘Never got round to it after seeing Jim Butler,' said Libby, ‘but I'll try tomorrow.'

Libby went back into the living room and found Ben sprawled on the sofa with his shoes off.

‘Make yourself comfortable,' she said.

‘Come here, then,' said Ben, holding out a hand.

Libby's stomach contracted and she walked forward. She and Sidney landed on Ben's lap at the same time. She won.

Chapter Twenty-seven

J
UDGING THAT BEING ON
earlies meant Nurse Redding would be home by two o'clock, Libby phoned at five past.

‘It's Libby Sarjeant again,' she said when Redding answered. ‘I do hope you don't mind my bothering you.'

‘That's all right.' Nurse Redding sounded bored.

‘It's a bit embarrassing, but it's something you said the other day. About sin.' Libby crossed her fingers and held her breath.

‘Yes?' The voice sounded marginally more interested.

‘I expect I got the wrong end of the stick, and I can't really understand what made me think of it,' or what made Harry think of it, anyway, she corrected mentally, ‘but I've always been interested in –' oh, hell, interested in what? ‘– er, alternative religions. If you know what I mean.' She felt perspiration on her brow and her heartbeat hammering in her ears.

‘Oh?' was the unpromising answer.

‘Well, yes,' said Libby, aware that she was now going fast into waffle mode. ‘And I don't know whether you've ever heard of it, but there's a chapel over in the woods near Tyne Hall – you know? The place outside Steeple Mount. And I was told – I heard – that there was – well, there
had
been – some sort of, er, meetings there. I just wondered.' Now her heart was going so fast she thought she might faint.

‘I wouldn't know,' said Nurse Redding, sounding suddenly quite different, ‘and I wouldn't advise you to find out, either.'

‘Oh, why?' said Libby, feeling excitement rise.

‘I just wouldn't, that's all.' There was a silence, and Libby wondered if she'd been cut off. But: ‘You couldn't, anyway. It's confidential.'

‘So you do know something about it?'

‘I didn't say that. Now, if you don't mind, I've got things to do.' And this time, the phone really was switched off.

Well, that proves it, thought Libby. Now how do I check it? Her first idea was to phone Ben, but decided he might view delving into the Black Arts as a mite foolish. The thought that it perhaps
was
a mite foolish she thrust down. Fran might help, but Fran needed a bit of time to think through all she'd found out over the last few days. Peter would be disparaging and disbelieving. Which left Harry.

‘You in this afternoon?' she asked, when he answered the phone.

‘In where?'

‘Home?'

‘In about half an hour, yes. Why?'

‘Is Peter there?'

‘Yes. Is that a problem?'

‘Why should you think that?'

‘You wouldn't have asked, otherwise. Are you going to invite me for a cuppa?'

‘Yes,' said Libby, ‘please. I need your advice.'

‘Gor blimey,' said Harry, ‘that'll be a first.'

When he arrived, looking gorgeous in a short-sleeved white T shirt and tight jeans, Libby fleetingly regretted his sexuality on behalf of her own sex. Then she reflected that if he wasn't gay, he probably wouldn't be her friend, and decided her own sex could fend for themselves.

‘OK, then, what's it all about?' said Harry, once he was settled in the garden with a mug of tea.

‘Nurse Redding and the Black Arts,' said Libby, and repeated her conversation.

‘And you want to know whether you should try and find out more?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘Well –' began Libby, then stopped to think. ‘I suppose because it might give her a motive. If she's a member of a coven, or something, she wouldn't baulk at murder, would she?'

‘Oh, I don't know about that,' said Harry. ‘I don't think they go that far. Isn't it more sticking pins and casting spells?'

‘I haven't got a clue. I just thought she might have used her – oh, I don't know – her powers or whatever to protect Marion Headlam and The Laurels.'

‘I'm confused. Protect them from what?'

‘If the will, or codicil, was false, the witnesses might need to be eliminated, and old Auntie bumped off so the will came into effect.'

‘I sort of see that, but the will's missing, so where's the point?'

‘She didn't know the will was missing, did she?'

‘I still think it's a bit of a leap in the dark,' said Harry, leaning back and crossing his ankles. ‘And how would you try and find out more, anyway? She's told you off about being nosey already. Where would you go from here? It could be dangerous.'

‘You just said they wouldn't go that far,' Libby reminded him.

‘I didn't mean they'd hire a hit man, but they could make life uncomfortable, maybe.'

Libby looked at him thoughtfully. ‘So you don't think I should go any further, then?'

‘I don't see what good it would do.' Harry shrugged. ‘But if it's just your ‘satiable curiosity, go ahead. Nothing anyone can do to stop you.'

‘You just said –'

‘I meant nothing any of your friends could do,' said Harry testily.

‘You wouldn't feel inclined to help me, then?' Libby looked up into the branches of the tree.

‘No, I would not! The idea.' Harry poked her with a foot and grinned. ‘What would our Ben say?'

Libby smiled back reluctantly. ‘That we were both mad, I expect.'

‘Wouldn't he forbid you to do it?'

‘Forbid? What century are you living in, young Hal? Anyway, I don't know that there's enough to our relationship for him to comment on anything I do.'

‘Why didn't you ring him, then? Or ask him when you see him tonight?'

Libby felt herself blushing. ‘I didn't think he'd be interested,' she said.

‘Gertcha! You were scared.' Harry poked her again. ‘See, underneath it all, you're a sweet old-fashioned girl, aren't you?'

‘No, I'm not. I'm a free, emancipated woman, thank you very much.'

‘Well, now you've had the benefit of my advice, I'll pick your brain.' Harry leant forward in his chair. ‘What's left of it.'

‘I don't know much to pick,' said Libby.

‘Your opinion, then.' Harry stopped and stood up. After taking a turn round the garden, he came back and stood over her.

‘Pete wants to get married,' he said.

Libby gaped at him. ‘What?' she gasped. ‘But you – he – you're –'

‘To me, idiot,' said Harry, perching back on the edge of his chair. ‘A civil partnership. At Christmas. What do you think?'

Libby flung her arms round him. ‘I think it's wonderful.'

‘Well, don't say anything to anyone yet. I think he wants to make a formal announcement. Will you be a bridesmaid?'

‘Yes, please. Can I wear a long frilly frock?'

‘You may, Cinderella.' Harry leant over and kissed her. ‘You could even be my best woman. Except Pete might want you as his.'

Libby hugged him again. ‘I think it's just wonderful,' she said. ‘Go on, go off home to him, and try and get him to make a formal announcement as soon as possible. Give us something to celebrate.'

Libby decided she really needed a computer. Watching Harry stride off down the lane, she wanted to look up civil partnerships and see what happened. And where they could be held, and whether you had bridesmaids or best people. A computer would be useful for all sorts of things, wouldn't it? Emailing – her children were always complaining that she hadn't got email – looking up covens, or Tyne Hall, or what happened with wills.

She went out into the garden to collect the mugs. She knew she ought to let Fran know about her conversation with Nurse Redding, but for a while she needed to think about it and decide what to do. Harry had confirmed her belief that meddling any further would not meet with anyone's approval, and looked at from a sensible angle, there really didn't seem to be any reason for suspecting Nurse Redding of anything. And the police would have found out if she had any connections to the murder, wouldn't they? After all, they always seemed to be one step ahead of everything she and Fran found out. Libby washed the mugs and felt a bit stupid. That was it, really, wasn't it? Why on earth were they investigating? The police were much better at it than they were, and it would be far less dangerous if they just sat back and waited for results.

Except, she thought, as she went into the conservatory to stare at her easel, they wouldn't know about Coastguard Cottage. Not that she was sure how that affected the murder, but she was certain there was a connection somewhere. Perhaps, she reflected, as she wandered back into the front room, they ought to tell the police about it and let them work it out.

But what would they say? Inspector Murray might listen to Fran, but even he would find it difficult to get a handle on the information. And what with repressed memories, remote viewing and witches, the whole thing was becoming too far-fetched for words. Much simpler, Libby decided, to lay the blame on the ubiquitous tramp and try and forget it.

Fran had come to the same conclusion as Libby, and that was to tell Chief Inspector Murray everything she'd learned. She could hardly be accused of withholding information, as a) she wasn't going to, and b) it would hardly have been seen as relevant.

She was surprised to be put through to Murray almost immediately.

‘What have you got to tell me, Mrs Castle?' His voice sounded vaguely amused and avuncular, and Fran almost decided not to tell him anything. Gritting her teeth and swallowing her pride, she told him.

‘So, you see, it may be nothing,' she said when she'd finished. ‘It just seemed such a coincidence, and from my memory, if that's what it was, Eleanor Bridges was not very happy with my side of the family.'

‘And you say Coastguard Cottage isn't in family ownership any longer?'

‘No, it's been sold twice since then. I don't suppose it's got anything to do with Eleanor's death, but it's odd that no one else seemed to know anything about it.'

‘Are you sure they don't?' said Murray.

‘Oh!' Fran stopped and thought. ‘No, I suppose I'm not. Charles Wade lived in Steeple Mount when he was a child, but I think Barbara lived in Nethergate. No one's ever said anything about it, though.'

‘If it's all that long ago, and not owned by the family anyway, why should they?' said Murray. ‘No, Mrs Castle, I think you were right. It's nothing to do with Mrs Bridges' death. But thank you for telling me, anyway.'

Feeling dismissed, Fran sat down in her chair by the window and looked out at the high street. Over the road, she could see Flo and Lenny walking slowly, hand-in-hand, and further down the street, Lenny's sister Hetty going into the butchers. How lovely, she thought, to belong so completely to such a community. As the Stones did to Nethergate, she supposed.

Despite Chief Inspector Murray's dismissal of her information, Fran still felt sure it had something to do with Eleanor's death. How it could, she was unable to work out, but somewhere, somehow, it fitted in. She wondered if she should go back to Nethergate and see if anything struck her. Perhaps she should go and see – what did Libby say his name was? – Jim Butler.

‘Libby, it's me,' she said, when Libby answered her phone. ‘Listen, I'm wondering whether that Jim Butler would see me. What do you think?'

‘I don't see why not,' said Libby, ‘but why?'

Fran explained. ‘And I know Murray dismissed it, but I can't.'

‘Do you know, that's exactly what I thought. Tell it all to the police and let them get on with it,' said Libby. ‘But it seems they don't want to know.'

‘No.' Fran sighed. ‘I wish I could just forget it.'

‘But you can't,' said Libby. ‘Anyway, I called Nurse Redding again this afternoon.'

She told Fran about the conversation, and Harry's subsequent visit, although keeping his exciting news to herself. ‘So what do you think?'

‘About what? I think Harry's right. Stay out of it. I don't think she's got anything to do with it.'

‘What about Tyne Hall?'

‘What about it? Tyne Hall's a Red Herring you've pulled in yourself. Leave it, Libby. You go poking your nose into that sort of thing and you're liable to get hurt.'

‘How?' scoffed Libby. ‘According to everybody it's all a load of hooey.'

‘Honestly, Lib, you're just like one of those stupid heroines in films who go off into the cellar with only a candle after they've heard suspicious noises. Northanger Abbey, here you come.'

‘Ah, but Northanger Abbey was all in Catherine Morland's imagination, wasn't it?'

‘No comment,' said Fran. ‘Just don't go there.'

‘So where
do
we go?' asked Libby. ‘Or is that it?'

‘I'd like to talk to Jim Butler, I told you.'

‘But we've decided it's nothing to do with Eleanor's death, haven't we?'

‘Even so, for my own satisfaction I'd like to. Would you like to come with me?'

‘I'd have to ask Ben for the phone number. He arranged it last time.'

‘Will you, then? Tonight? Or aren't you seeing him tonight?'

‘I expect so,' said Libby, clearing her throat. ‘He hasn't actually said.'

‘But he'll turn up anyway?'

‘Yeah, I guess,' said Libby gruffly. ‘I'll have to warn the kids.'

‘Oh, yes, you said they were coming. Is it this weekend? All of them, was it?'

‘Bel and Ad in a few weeks,' said Libby. ‘Dom's gone off to France.'

‘And they don't know about Ben?'

‘Well, sort of, but they might not like it if I have a man in every night.'

‘No,' agreed Fran, ‘they don't really like thinking of their parents having sex, do they?'

‘They accepted Derek and the floosie all right.'

Fran laughed. ‘Ah, but he didn't do it under their noses, did he?'

‘Well, he does now. That's who Dom's with in France.'