Murder in Midwinter (33 page)

‘Try and stop me,’ said Ben, removing the mug from her hand.

Ben had cooked a very respectable beef in red wine casserole for Friday evening’s supper, which they ate in the kitchen. Hetty looked in from time to time, to Libby’s amusement.

‘She still can’t understand why you won’t move in,’ said Ben after the third little visit.

‘It’s not going to help if she keeps coming in to keep an eye on us, is it?’ said Libby.

‘She’s hoping to persuade you with her chumminess,’ said Ben, with a grin.

‘Oh, is that what it is,’ said Libby, grinning back. ‘Well, she’s not going to persuade me. I like my little house.’

‘Would you move in with me if I bought a house of my own?’ Ben sent her a considering look.

‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ said Libby in surprise. ‘I thought you moved back here to take over the management of the estate.’

‘I did. Once I’d given up the business it seemed like a good idea. Dad isn’t fit enough and Mum’s getting on. But they don’t necessarily need me in the house, do they?’

‘Well, no.’ Libby looked thoughtful. ‘But my house isn’t big enough …’

‘I didn’t say anything about moving in with you, did I? Although I seem to be there more than here at the moment.’

‘And it’s working, isn’t it?’ said Libby. ‘If it ain’t broke –’

‘I know, I know,’ said Ben, standing up. ‘Pud?’

Saturday morning found Libby unexpectedly nervous. ‘Why?’ said Ben, as he poured tea at the kitchen table, fending off Balzac and Sidney, who had tacitly agreed to ignore one another in peace.

‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘I just don’t want to do anything wrong and spoil it for them.’

‘You’ve only got to hand them the rings,’ said Ben. ‘Now, drink your tea and go and have your bath. I’m going home to get m’lady’s transport.’

Dressed in her new wedding outfit, her hair pinned up as the hairdresser had shown her, Libby surveyed herself in the landing mirror. It didn’t look like her, she decided, although the slimming effect of the dress was quite pleasing. Ben, coming up the stairs behind her, was obviously impressed.

‘Everyone will think you’re the bride,’ he said, kissing the back of her neck.

‘Oh, God, don’t!’ Libby turned to face him, nearly tipping them both down the stairs. ‘I’m not going to upstage them, am I?’

Ben laughed. ‘I doubt if you could upstage Harry,’ he said. ‘Come on, time to get round there and soothe the savage beasts.’

‘I thought it was breasts,’ said Libby.

‘Not in this case,’ said Ben, handing her bag. She took it and wrinkled her nose. ‘Why couldn’t I use my basket?’ she said.

‘Doesn’t go with the outfit. Stop complaining,’ said Ben, holding the front door open and stopping escaping cats with a foot.

The atmosphere in Peter and Harry’s cottage was surprisingly calm. They were both dressed and offered Libby a glass of champagne as soon as she set foot inside the door.

‘Only one, though,’ said Peter. ‘We don’t want to be smashed before we get there.’

‘So is there anything for me to do?’ asked Libby, taking a grateful sip.

‘Keep us calm,’ said Harry, with a grin. ‘Or should it be the other way round?’

‘Probably,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know why
I’m
nervous, though.’

‘Fear of the unknown,’ said Peter. ‘Civil partnerships aren’t exactly the norm, yet, are they?’

‘Maybe.’ Libby looked into her glass. ‘I’m very proud to be part of yours.’

She received a kiss on each cheek for this statement, and the emotional level went up a notch or two.

‘Quick, have a fag,’ said Harry, offering a packet. ‘No outbursts yet.’

‘I’m trying to give up,’ said Libby, taking one, nevertheless. ‘I’m down to one or two a day, now.’

‘Good girl,’ said Peter, ‘but not today. Wait until after Christmas.’

The car arrived shortly afterwards, and Libby sat in front with the driver. She was surprised at how many villagers waved at their procession through the High Street, and reflected that prejudice seemed to be far less rampant than it had been only a few years ago. Peter and Harry had fallen silent, and peering over her shoulder, she smiled to see them holding hands and gazing at each other.

Most of the guests were waiting on the steps of Anderson Place as they drew up. Libby felt like a handmaiden to royalty as she followed Peter and Harry into the reception hall and watched them go into the ante-room with the celebrant, a small, round man with a jolly, smiling face, who looked as though he’d be more at home in a red suit with white whiskers. The guests crowded round her.

‘They look very calm,’ said Fran, resplendent in peacock blue.

‘They are. Much calmer than I am,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know why they needed me at all.’

‘Have you got the rings?’ asked Ben.

‘Here.’ Libby patted her small bag. ‘I hope I don’t drop them.’

But there were no disasters. Peter and Harry emerged from the ante-room, and, according to their wishes, the guests took their places in the large room Libby had seen before, then the celebrant led them in, with Libby following behind. She stood to Harry’s right as the service began, surreptitiously feeling inside her bag for the rings and a tissue. Which, she discovered, as she sat down next to Ben after handing over the rings, was just as well, as the script which the couple had settled on with their celebrant was intensely moving. Both tall and blond, their black coats and grey trousers emphasising their height and physiques, they made an impressive picture, and at the end, when Peter kissed Harry’s hand and then his cheek, the room was filled with a fluttering of sighs and sniffs, before the spontaneous applause broke out.

Libby and James left their seats to stand beside the table where the register was signed, and added their signatures under a positive lightning storm of camera flashes. Then it was off to the garden room under the watchful eye of Melanie, who Libby saw had attended the ceremony in formal black, not a trace of unusual colour in her hair. She winked as Libby passed her.

‘What do you think of the floral decorations?’ she whispered.

‘Just right,’ said Libby. ‘Thanks for all your trouble.’

‘It’s my job,’ said Melanie, ‘but these two are just dreams, aren’t they? What a waste for the female population.’

‘Oh, yes. But they make great friends.’

‘I can see that,’ said Mel. ‘Now you’d better hurry, or you’ll miss the receiving line.’ She made to go, then turned back. ‘Oh, and Sir Jonathan’s going to look in. He said he’d found something that might interest you.’

‘Oh, how kind of him,’ said Libby. ‘Did he say when?’

‘No, just that he’d be in sometime. He doesn’t want to intrude.’

‘I’m sure Pete and Hal will be delighted to see him,’ said Libby, and followed the crowd towards the garden room.

The champagne flowed, the buffet, overseen by a rather subdued Danny, was decimated rather more quickly than anyone had anticipated, and the speeches were short and witty. Peter and Harry paid tribute to their friends and families, or family, Libby supposed, as none of Harry’s were there, and she was surprised and pleased to see Peter’s mother, mad Millie, sitting between James and Hetty. Looking bewildered, it had to be said, but there, nevertheless.

When Harry turned towards her, Libby’s heart turned over. He held out a hand towards her, and Ben gave her a hefty push in the back. ‘Go on,’ he whispered. ‘They want you up there.’

She shuffled awkwardly towards them and was swept into a bear hug by Harry, while Peter kissed her cheek.

‘This is our bridesmaid, everybody,’ said Harry, ‘or Best Person. I’m not sure which, and despite an unfortunate tendency to get involved in other people’s business, she’s been here for both of us for a long time. So we’d like you to accept this, Lib.’

Peter handed her a beautifully wrapped package, and Libby’s throat went tight. She managed a croaky ‘Thank you’, kissed them both, and amid loud applause, staggered back to Ben.

‘Open it, then,’ said Fran, appearing by her side.

Inside, the package contained the most beautiful silver necklace Libby had ever seen, set with a large oval cornelian.

‘And look, Lib, matching earrings.’ Fran stroked the silver. ‘How beautiful is that.’

Libby once again had recourse to her tissues and had to be revived with more champagne, brought by Danny.

‘By the way,’ he whispered, leaning over her shoulder and flicking a glance towards Fran. ‘Do you know anyone by the name of Durbridge?’

‘Durbridge?’ Libby searched her slightly fuzzied memory banks. ‘I’m sure I do.’ She turned to Fran. ‘Do we know a Durbridge?’

Fran’s expression sharpened. ‘Durbridge? Why?’

Danny stood up straight looking self-conscious. ‘Laurence was talking about someone called Durbridge a few days before he – went missing. I’ve only just remembered. Is it important? Should I tell the police?’

‘Yes, do,’ said Fran slowly. ‘Don’t be surprised if they don’t take much notice, but tell them anyway. Thanks, Danny.’

‘Durbridge?’ whispered Libby. ‘Why do I know the name?’

‘Bella’s maiden name, remember? Now why would Laurence know that? Even George at The Red Lion didn’t know Bella’s name, so how did Laurence know it?’

Libby looked up at her in bemusement. ‘I thought we were going to let it lie?’

‘Yes, but if this is a clue to the murder …’ Fran’s voice trailed off.

‘And you think it is.’ Libby stood up. ‘I forgot to tell you, Sir Jonathan’s going to pop in. He’s got something to tell us – or show us, Mel said.’

‘Really.’ Fran’s eyes had gone blank. Luckily, at that moment Guy came over and put his head on one side quizzically.

‘And where exactly have you gone now, Mrs Castle?’ he said, and Fran snapped back to normal.

Libby had gone on to water by the time Sir Jonathan put in an appearance. He went straight to the happy couple and obviously delighted them by his attention, before surveying the room for Fran and Libby. Libby waved and began to make her way across the garden room.

‘Mrs Sarjeant,’ he said, ‘may I say how charming you’re looking.’

‘You may, Sir Jonathan,’ she twinkled up at him.

‘And Mrs Castle.’ He turned as Fran came up behind them. ‘You were interested in the portraits, weren’t you? Did you like the one of my grandmother?’

‘She was very beautiful, but rather sad,’ said Libby.

‘Well observed, Mrs Sarjeant.’ Sir Jonathan patted her arm. ‘Well, there’s another you might like to see upstairs in my suite. It might interest you, I don’t know.’

‘Who is it?’ asked Libby.

‘Sir Frederick and his wife,’ said Sir Jonathan. ‘Would you like to see it?’

‘We’d love to,’ said Fran. ‘When would you like us to come?’

‘If you can slip away, we could pop up there now?’

Libby and Fran looked at each other.

‘Great,’ said Libby.

They excused themselves to Ben and Guy, who both looked resigned, and followed Sir Jonathan out of the room. He led them into a gilded lift cage which took them to the third floor, and then into a large comfortable room which, thought Libby, would have wonderful view in the daylight.

‘There,’ said Sir Jonathan, leading them to a small painting hanging over a pretty bureau.

It was an uncharacteristic Edwardian painting, of two heads and shoulders, not the traditional one-seated one-standing pose. The gentleman, who looked a lot like Sir Jonathan, was positioned just behind his much younger wife. Libby frowned and looked at Fran, who was transfixed.

‘The diamond necklace,’ she breathed.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Sir Jonathan from behind. ‘Still in the family. It passed to my mother.’

‘And that’s Ivy,’ said Fran.

‘Yes.’ He sounded surprised. ‘His second wife.’

‘Ah.’ Fran nodded. ‘So Nemone – your grandmother – was the daughter of his first marriage? And she married a Shepherd?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Sir Jonathan. ‘Earnest Shepherd.’

Chapter
Thirty

‘
E
ARNEST
!’
SAID LIBBY, TURNING
to Fran.

‘Yes, that was his name.’ Sir Jonathan frowned.

‘It was also Laurence Cooper’s name,’ said Fran.

‘Really?’ Sir Jonathan looked as though he wanted to say “So?” thought Libby.

‘I suppose there’s no chance there might be a family connection?’ said Fran.

‘Good Lord, no!’ said Sir Jonathan. ‘Earnest and Nemone had three children, William, Frederick and Julia. Unless –’ he broke off, frowning.

‘Unless?’ prompted Libby.

‘There was another child born – hmm – out of wedlock.’

Fran nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Laurence’s father.’

‘We know Laurence’s father was Colin Cooper,’ said Libby.

‘Do you?’ said Sir Jonathan.

‘Yes, it’s on Laurence’s birth certificate,’ said Libby.

‘So where does Albert come in?’ said Fran with a smile.

‘Albert? Oh, Albert.’ Libby frowned.

‘Who’s Albert?’ asked Sir Jonathan, sitting down with a bemused expression on his face.

‘We don’t actually know yet,’ said Fran, ‘but as soon as we do, we’ll let you know everything.’

‘What?’ said Libby.

‘Laurence’s father,’ repeated Fran, ‘and who Albert is.’

‘Laurence’s grandfather?’ hazarded Libby.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Fran.

Sir Jonathan was sitting with his mouth open looking from one to the other.

‘The necklace,’ said Fran, turning to him. ‘Are there any stories about it?’

He shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. I believe there was some concern when it was given to Ivy, as my grandmother had it before then.’

‘I suppose her mother left it to her?’ said Libby.

Sir Jonathan nodded. ‘But from what my mother told me, Nemone never liked it much. She said it suited Ivy much better.’

They all looked at the portrait above the bureau. Ivy positively sparkled, and Libby agreed that the necklace suited her far better than the sad-looking woman in the other portrait.

‘So, when it was stolen, it was obviously recovered,’ said Fran.

‘I didn’t know it had been stolen?’ Sir Jonathan sat up straight looking startled.

‘We found an old press cutting dated 1903,’ said Libby. ‘It was reported to the police.’