Murder in Midwinter (13 page)

‘To sunbathe, ducky,’ said Peter. ‘We’d have to unwrap you like a parcel.’

‘Best left to our Ben,’ said Harry, waving his glass in the air.

‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ said Ben.

Libby, rather red-faced, buried her nose in her drink.

‘How did you come to choose Anderson Place?’ asked Ben, as Harry seated them round the table.

‘It was nearest,’ said Peter.

‘And Laurence Cooper recommended us,’ said Harry.

‘Who’s he?’ asked Libby.

‘He
was
the restaurant manager. He’s not there any more. I met him at the wholesaler’s a couple of times, and he put me on to some good local organic suppliers. He suggested we try the Place when I told him we were looking for a venue. Good bloke.’

‘Pity he’s left, then,’ said Ben.

‘It is, but his assistant is very capable and they’re still using his old menus. Or rather, his this season’s menus. Now,’ said Harry, ‘shut up while I bring in la zuppe.’

During supper, the conversation turned to the pantomime. Harry was surprisingly laid back about it, considering, as it had left him with most of the work of the upcoming wedding. ‘I shall get my own back,’ he said, offering more vegetables. ‘He can’t drag his mind away from it, even though it isn’t his baby any more.’

‘I know,’ said Libby, shooting Peter a malevolent look. ‘I wonder sometimes which of us is the director.’

‘It’s my vision you’re mangling,’ said Peter, complacently, ‘I’m entitled.’

‘Who said I was mangling? You didn’t say that about
The Hop Pickers
!’

‘That was different,’ said Peter.

‘I’ll say,’ said Harry under his breath.

‘All right, all right, children,’ said Ben, ‘don’t squabble. It’s going very well, Pete. Even I’m enjoying it.’

‘There you are, you see,’ said Harry, ‘but I can’t get his mind on to anything else. That’s why I wanted to have you two over to discuss things. Focus him a bit.’

‘Wasn’t terribly good timing, was it, Pete?’ said Libby, patting his arm.

Peter smiled at her. ‘No, it wasn’t, and that’s my fault entirely. You warned me, Ben, didn’t you.’

‘I did,’ said Ben, ‘and don’t worry, Hal, I told him he should concentrate on the wedding rather than the panto. After all, he wrote the script during the summer, didn’t he? He could have just handed it over to Lib and that would have been that.’

‘I know,’ sighed Harry, ‘but he’s just not like that. So I let him get on with it and do all the arrangements myself. Now we need a bit of outside help.’

‘What for?’ asked Ben and Libby together.

‘Clothes.’ Harry looked at Libby. ‘You asked me what you should wear, and I said we wouldn’t wear anything special, but Pete thinks we should. So, what?’

‘Oh, God, not those matching shiny frock coats, please,’ said Ben.

‘No?’ said Peter.

‘You wouldn’t!’ said Libby, shocked.

‘Oh, OK. What then?’

‘Why not both choose what you would like best? After all, in a traditional wedding, the groom doesn’t know what the bride is wearing until she walks up the aisle,’ said Libby.

‘This is different. Anyway, the groom always knows the colour scheme, at least, doesn’t he?’ said Ben.

‘Oh. I suppose so. Well, haven’t you seen anything you like on any of these websites?’

‘I have,’ said Peter. ‘A black velvet three-quarter-length coat with grey trousers.’

‘That sounds good,’ said Libby. ‘What do you think, Hal?’

‘Not sure,’ said Harry. ‘I like the black velvet, though.’

‘How about,’ said Ben, as one struck with inspiration, ‘both wear black velvet and grey trousers, but design your own coats? And have a trim or waistcoat or something in the same fabric?’

‘That’s brilliant,’ said Libby, looking at him with admiration. ‘I didn’t know you were so clever.’

‘I knew I could rely on my big cousin,’ said Peter. ‘What d’you reckon, O light of my life?’

‘Like it. Can I go over the top?’

‘Not too over the top,’ Peter with a smile, giving him a hug. ‘Now all we have to choose is a fabric.’

‘And a tailor,’ warned Harry, ‘who can do it in two weeks.’

‘You don’t have to buy made-to-measure,’ said Ben. ‘All the specialist shops will have ready-mades in all the different styles.’

‘Well, this is something you’re going to have to do, my love,’ said Harry. ‘We’re going to have to actually go in person.’

Peter shrugged. ‘I know.’

‘How about,’ said Libby, pushing her chair back from the table, ‘going online now and finding out where the nearest shop is?’

‘Good idea,’ said Harry. ‘Tomorrow’s Monday, and I’m not open, for a change.’

‘But I –’ began Peter, and was silenced by a howl of protest from the others. ‘Oh, all right. Come on then.’

When a list of wedding outfitters had been concocted, dessert offered and eaten, and brandy and coffee supplied in the sitting room, Libby returned to the subject of Anderson Place.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ she said, ‘and I remember it being open to the public when the children were small. When did it become a hotel?’

‘Not until the late eighties, I believe,’ said Peter. ‘Laurence Cooper gave us a bit of a potted history, didn’t he, Hal?’

‘Yes, apparently it had been used as a hospital during the war –’

‘Lots of big houses were,’ said Libby.

‘Don’t interrupt,’ said Harry. ‘Well, the family didn’t know what to do with it, and eventually one of the grandsons of the original owner had the idea of a hotel. I don’t know how he did it, because they had no money by that time. I think they’d tried giving it to the nation, but the nation wasn’t interested.’

‘Original owner? That can’t be right,’ said Libby. ‘When was it built?’

‘Well, no, not quite right,’ said Peter. ‘It was a wreck in the early part of the twentieth century, and somebody bought it and restored it to true Victorian grandeur.’

‘Should have been Edwardian by that time,’ said Ben.

‘But the old boy who bought it was a true Victorian gentleman. He renamed it Anderson Place,’ said Peter.

‘Was that his name?’ asked Libby.

‘Apparently. I don’t think he was famous, or anything. Anyway, that’s the story. I don’t know what happened to the family.’

‘Moved into a semi in Canterbury, probably,’ said Ben. ‘Wouldn’t have been able to afford anything else.’

‘Isn’t it sad,’ said Libby.

‘What? Bloated plutocrats being forced out of their palaces?’ Harry was indignant.

‘Well, yes, in a way.’ Libby lit a thoughtful cigarette. ‘When they first went to live there it would have been quite normal, and then by the time the war came, the second one, I mean, they would have been broke, with no way of getting rid of this millstone round their necks. How many beautiful buildings have we lost in those circumstances?’

‘Several,’ said Ben. ‘Many of our finest old houses were literally knocked down because of the horrendous taxes and cost of upkeep.’

‘Really? What about listed buildings?’ asked Peter.

‘That only began in 1950,’ said Ben. ‘Partly a reaction to the war, and partly because we were losing buildings, as I’ve said. It was the government rapping our knuckles again.’

‘Oh, well, we’ve still got Anderson Place,’ said Harry, ‘and I’m really glad we’re getting married there.’

‘So am I,’ said Peter. ‘Now, get us another drink.’

‘So what do you think that was really about?’ asked Ben, as he and Libby walked back to Allhallow’s Lane.

‘Eh?’ Libby turned her head to look at him. ‘They wanted our advice. They said so.’

‘It was hardly world-shattering, though, was it? They could have worked that out themselves.’

‘But they weren’t, were they? They’d obviously got to an impasse, and needed somebody else to break the deadlock. That’s what we were there for. And not before time, otherwise they’d have been going up the aisle in a couple of tablecloths.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Ben. ‘I just hope they’re doing the right thing. It’s all so sudden.’

‘Sudden?’ Libby laughed. ‘They’ve been together for nearly seven years, they own a house and a restaurant together. I wouldn’t say it was sudden.’

‘You know what I mean. They’ve been pootling along for all this time, then suddenly Peter wants to get married as quickly as possible.’

‘I think it was partly the shock he got when he found out Harry had been seduced by the “other side” back in the spring,’ said Libby, referring to an unfortunate incident which had been revealed during the murder investigation in which they had all been involved.

‘Well, if he thinks being legally bound to each other is going to stop that, he’s wrong,’ said Ben, taking Libby’s key from her hand and unlocking the door.

‘That’s cynical,’ said Libby, ‘if true.’

‘Harry’s much younger than Pete,’ said Ben, ‘and he might not be completely settled in his sexuality.’

‘Oh,’ said Libby, going into the kitchen and switching lights on as she went, ‘I think he is.’ She smiled, remembering Harry’s confessions to her. ‘I think he is.’

‘I just hope so. I have to say I’ve been put off marriage for life after my experience.’ He smiled at Libby. ‘And you must have been, too, after Derek’s behaviour.’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Libby dismally, and went to fetch the Scotch.

Chapter Eight

‘
W
HERE DO WE START
, then?’ asked Libby, as she climbed out of the passenger seat of Fran’s smart new car, which Guy had immediately christened the Roller-skate.

‘I knew what I wanted,’ Fran had told Libby, ‘I just wanted him there as back up. He’ll have to eat his words when I show him the petrol consumption.’

‘It parks really easily,’ said Libby now. ‘Go on then, where do we start?’

‘In the shed, although I want to see if Bella left the letter from Peter Prince in the sitting room. She didn’t give it to me with the other stuff and she said she’d found it.’ Fran wrestled with the door key they had just picked up from George in the Red Lion. Eventually it gave in and they were able to enter.

‘Would this be it?’ Libby stopped in her prowl round the sitting room and held up a yellowing envelope with faded writing and a lot of official looking markings.

‘Looks like it.’ Fran took it and turned it over. ‘Yes, this is it.’ She sat down in one of the fireside chairs and took the fragile piece of paper from the envelope.

‘Nothing much, really,’ she said after a moment, ‘just how much he misses her and the baby –’

‘That would be Aunt Maria,’ said Libby.

‘– and hoping the theatre is doing well. Oh, and listen to this! “And when I come home, my darling, please will you marry me and give our beloved daughter an honourable name?” Well, well, well.’

‘So it was Dorinda who didn’t want to get married,’ mused Libby.

‘I would have guessed as much,’ said Fran, ‘when you consider what she’d already done by this time.’

‘What I still don’t understand,’ said Libby, ‘is why she ran away in the first place.’

‘According to Maria, just because she and Peter had an undesirable relationship, she was turned off, she didn’t run away.’

‘Holiday romance with a Redcoat sort of thing,’ said Libby. ‘Italian waiter syndrome.’

Fran smiled. ‘Exactly, except I’m not sure about that. If it had been, would Peter have stuck by her?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Libby. ‘They don’t usually, do they?’

‘Don’t forget this was 1903. Things were different then.’

‘Human nature doesn’t change. I would have said the only reason he stuck by her was a) if he was really in love with her, and b) if she was pregnant. Which would have been favourite, in my opinion.’

Fran smoothed the paper in her lap. ‘I think he loved her. And Maria was only two when this letter was written.’

Libby shrugged. ‘Perhaps she had a miscarriage the first time.’

‘Then why did they stay together? She would have been ruined, anyway.’

‘Oh, come on, Fran! You’re the psychic! For a start, wasn’t she earning money by giving piano lessons that winter? You’ve more or less proved that, haven’t you? And then she started the Silver Serenaders. No wonder he stayed with her after that. I’m just surprised that he stuck by her at first.’

‘I told you. Love. I think that was genuine. And you’re right, she was worth sticking to after that. He was quite a weak sort of person.’ Fran stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what else we can find.’

Fran opened up the shed while Libby made tea. Bella had stocked the cupboards, and even left food in the fridge, so she was obviously intending to come back fairly soon. Balzac came to see what was going on, and Libby gave him some milk.

‘Sidney can’t drink milk,’ she told him, ‘but you seem to enjoy it. Just don’t get used to it.’ Balzac ignored her, so picking up the two mugs, Libby left him to it and went to join Fran.

Over the next few hours, Fran opened all the folders on the computer, and they made a start on the box files. Of the discoveries they made, the most interesting were those referring to Dorinda’s management of the Alexandria, which, in its heyday, had rivalled any seaside theatre, attracting some top names long before the glitzy end-of-pier Blackpool-style shows of the sixties. She had even managed to keep the theatre open during the winter, and it was during a sortie up to London to recruit talent for the forthcoming season that she had met Daniel Durbridge.

They also discovered that Dorinda had taken in the young widow of another Silver Serenader, originally a member of Peter’s first troupe, Will’s Wanderers. This woman and her child shared the second bedroom in March Cottage and looked after Maria when Dorinda was working.

‘Well, that answers that question,’ said Libby. ‘I suppose she was still there when Dorinda went to South Africa.’

‘As far as I can see, yes,’ said Fran, leafing through the contents of one of the files. ‘I don’t think she got on with any of the other women at the Alexandria.’

‘The performers, you mean? Well, she wouldn’t would she? Unless she had been a performer herself.’

‘I don’t think so. There’s a rather odd letter here, returned after Peter died, I think. From her to him. Listen: “I am glad to have dear Phyllis and her little Arthur here. Unlike my Alexandrian ladies, she has no knowledge of those unfortunate events over ten years ago. Dear Algy was too loyal to have mentioned anything to her. How we miss him!” What do you think of that?’