Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) (12 page)

I
t was Friday before Libby heard any more about Martha’s condition, when, once more, Patti called her from Italy.

‘Will you call the Abbey?’ asked Patti. ‘Catherine seems not to be able to keep a telephone number in her head. She wants to tell you about Martha.’

So Libby called the Abbey and asked for Sister Catherine.

‘Oh, Libby, I’m so glad you called. Now before I forget, I’ve got a pencil and I’ll write down your number. I felt so silly phoning Patti in Italy.’

Libby told her both numbers. ‘And now, what about Martha? Patti says you have some news.’

‘Indeed, I do, although not entirely good news. I was allowed to go and see her yesterday, because she is, at last, speaking.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘Well, nothing really.’ Libby could hear the puzzlement in Sister Catherine’s voice. ‘She kept saying she was sorry, and she couldn’t remember anything. Well, that’s not quite true. She says she remembers going down early to check that the reliquary was all right because it was going to be collected that morning, but nothing more. Apparently, that’s quite normal. But she seems very agitated.’

‘Because she can’t remember, I expect,’ said Libby. ‘She felt it was her responsibility, didn’t she. Does she know about Dominic yet?’

‘Dominic –? Oh, the poor man who was murdered. No, I don’t think so.’

‘She’ll feel even worse then,’ said Libby. ‘Poor woman. I wish I could see her. Do you think they’d let me?’

‘I think you have to have permission from the police,’ said Sister Catherine. ‘You could ask your friend.’

‘What do you reckon?’ said Libby to Fran later. ‘Shall I phone Ian?’

Fran, who had come to Steeple Martin to talk about Libby’s End of The Pier show, was dubious. ‘He might feel you’re interfering.’

‘But I was the one who saw her most,’ objected Libby. ‘We got really friendly.’

‘Call his private mobile, then,’ said Fran. ‘Then he can answer if he chooses, or ignore you if he feels like it.’

Ian, however called back within half an hour.

‘Yes, you may visit her, but check with the hospital. She’s still very fragile, and she doesn’t know about the murder yet. They had to leave her in a medically induced coma to let the brain swelling go down. At least I think that’s right.’

‘And is there any other news?’

Ian sighed. ‘No, Libby. Oh – except that we’ve found the old man who left Bernard Evans the reliquary in the first place. His name, anyway.’

‘You have? Gosh! Who was he?’

‘A Ronald Barnes, who died childless at the age of ninety. We’ve got someone looking into the possibility that Bernard was a distant relative. If it doesn’t impact on the enquiry, I’ll let you know more when I have it.’

‘So there we are,’ said Libby, relating this to Fran as she made tea. ‘Shall we see if we can trace Ronald Barnes?’

‘You think we’d do better than the police?’ laughed Fran. ‘I hardly think so! Anyway, we’ve got Andrew tracking down your Jolly Tolly, we don’t need any more, do we?’

‘Spose so.’ Libby sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I shall phone the hospital in a minute. Do you want to come, too?’

‘No, one’s enough. Just don’t upset her.’

Libby was allowed to visit Martha the following afternoon. She was still in intensive care and attached to an alarming number of tubes and machines, but when a nurse showed Libby in, she opened her eyes and tried to smile.

‘Don’t talk if you don’t want to,’ said Libby, leaning to give her a kiss on the forehead. ‘I brought grapes, but I don’t suppose you’re allowed them. I just wanted you to know we’re all thinking of you.’

‘The play?’ whispered Martha.

‘Yes, all of us connected with the play,’ confirmed Libby.

Martha’s smile faded and she frowned. ‘It’s still there?’ she said.

‘The play? Oh, the reliquary. No, that’s gone back to the auction house, I believe, although it won’t be sold yet. In fact, the police might have it, for all I know. I think they think you saved it from being stolen.’

Martha’s expression lightened a fraction. ‘I did? They didn’t tell me that.’

‘What – um – what did they tell you exactly?’ asked Libby hesitantly.

‘That I’d been hurt at the Abbey and did I remember anything. I couldn’t at first, then they mentioned the play and the reliquary and gradually I began to remember a little. Just getting up early and going to –’ She frowned. ‘Where did I go?’

‘The atrium?’ suggested Libby nervously, hoping she didn’t trigger a setback.

‘Ah – the atrium.’ Martha’s eyes closed. ‘And then …’ her voice faded. ‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘Nothing. A bright light.’

‘That’s –’ began Libby, and stopped. She daren’t tell Martha that was what Fran had seen. And what did it mean, anyway?

The nurse opened the door and sent Libby a significant look.

‘I’ve got to go, now, Martha.’ She leant over to give her another kiss. Martha caught her arm.

‘Will you come again, Libby? I’m only allowed to see Sister Catherine apart from you.’

‘Yes, of course. But what about relatives?’

‘I have none,’ said Martha, and closed her eyes again.

‘No relatives?’ Libby asked Ian when she reported on her visit as requested.

‘Apparently not. Her parents are dead, she said. There are only some distant relatives – second cousins, or something.’

‘Second cousins aren’t distant,’ said Libby. ‘That simply means that their parents were first cousins. I’ve got very close cousins and second cousins.’

‘Well, it didn’t sound as though Martha had,’ said Ian, ‘and I could hardly question her closely about it.’

‘What about the husband?’

‘She has no desire to see him, according to Sister Catherine, but we are, obviously, tracing him.’

‘Could he be a suspect?’ asked Libby.

‘Unlikely,’ said Ian. ‘They’ve been estranged for some time. How would he have known about the reliquary?’

‘Are you sure it’s all about the reliquary?’

‘It’s hardly going to be about anything else, is it? If someone had a grudge against Mrs Fletcher they wouldn’t break into the Abbey at dawn to have a go at her. Much more likely to attack her on the outside.’

‘Yes,’ said Libby reluctantly, ‘and she does go out and about. She was going to come and see us. So may I go and see her again?’

‘Yes, and let me know if she remembers anything else. I don’t want to pester her.’

‘And is there a guard? I didn’t see one.’

‘Despite what you see on the television, vulnerable patients aren’t easy to get at, Libby. There is no way in to that ward except through various security measures. I’m sure you went through them.’

‘Yes, I did,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, well. I just wouldn’t like her to get attacked again.’

‘You don’t say?’ Ian laughed. ‘Go on with you. Enjoy your Saturday night.’

Sunday was damp. Libby, trudging up the Manor Drive towards Hetty’s traditional rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding, was joined by Lenny and Flo, who carried a precious bottle from her late husband’s cellar.

‘You needn’t have brought that, Flo. Hetty’s got a good few left.’

‘Special, this is gal. My Frank laid down a case for me birthday.’

‘Oh, Flo! Is it your birthday?’ Libby stopped and stared at Flo in horror.

Flo cackled. ‘Yeah – and I’m not sayin’ which one. Don’t carry on about it these days, but we always have a bottle of this.’ She patted the bottle.

Lenny winked. ‘Knew what I was doin’, didn’t I?’

‘Taking up again with Flo?’ said Libby. ‘I don’t think it was your decision, Lenny.’

Ben, who had gone to the Manor earlier, opened the door to them.

‘Happy birthday, Flo!’ he said, giving her a kiss.

Libby looked at him accusingly. ‘You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘She doesn’t like a fuss,’ said Ben. ‘Just happens that this year her birthday falls on a Sunday. Mum’s done something special.’

‘No roast?’ Libby’s face fell.

‘Pudding.’ Ben leant forward and whispered. ‘Spotted Dick tied up in a cloth in the old iron stock pot.’

‘Do they not mind being reminded of their hop picking days after all that trouble we had?’ Libby frowned.

‘Of course they don’t. That’s why they’re here in Steeple Martin, isn’t it?’

Peter joined them, and to their surprise, so did his younger brother James, both of whom had brought flowers. Flo pretended to be annoyed, but was obviously pleased, and quite delighted when the Spotted Dick made an appearance.

‘So what’s happenin’ about the young fella that got killed?’ she asked, after Hetty had produced coffee and Ben offered brandy.

‘Not a lot, at the moment,’ said Libby. ‘Even the lady who was attacked has come round now, and doesn’t remember a thing.’

‘What lady?’ asked James. Libby explained.

‘So we’ve no idea who killed Dominic, who attacked Martha, if it was the same person or even why they were attacked,’ said Peter.

‘To steal that weird thing,’ said Flo, who had been to one of the performances and peered disparagingly at the reliquary.

‘But no one did. It was still there,’ said Ben.

‘That woman protected it,’ said Lenny, after giving it some thought.

‘That’s what it looks like,’ said Libby, ‘but there seem to be at least two hours between the attacks.’

‘How d’yer know?’ asked Flo.

‘The security guard’s rounds. Four a.m. and six a.m.’

‘Now, ’ang on,’ said Lenny. ‘Do yer mean he didn’t see this Dominic on his first round?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby, Peter and Ben together.

‘So, ’ow do yer know he was dead then?’

‘Doctor’s evidence,’ said Ben. Lenny sniffed.

‘And ’ow was ’e killed?’ asked Flo.

‘Blunt instrument, wasn’t it?’ said Peter.

‘But what with? Have they found the murder weapon?’

‘Pity it wasn’t that thing,’ said Flo. ‘Horrible, it was. Dead fingers. Ugh.’

They all laughed.

‘She had a point, though,’ said Libby to Ben, as they strolled home through the drizzle a little later. ‘It would almost have been right if he had been hit with the reliquary.’

‘Which was still in its case,’ said Ben.

‘I wonder if it had any fingerprints on it?’ mused Libby.

Ben sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll ever know, Lib. And don’t go asking Ian.’

The light on the answerphone was flashing as Libby let them into number 17. As Ben headed for the kitchen and the kettle, she pressed the button.

‘Libby, it’s Andrew Wylie. I’ve had a good poke around and come up with some information, although I don’t know how useful it will be. It won’t solve your murders, anyway. Give me a ring when you can.’

‘I’ll leave it till tomorrow,’ said Libby, following Ben into the kitchen. ‘Let’s have a murder-free night.’

‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ said Ben. ‘And anyway, he says it won’t solve the murder – or is that why you’re willing to leave it?’

Libby grinned. ‘I just fancied having a night of ordinariness and watching some Sunday evening telly.’ She gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Like normal couples do.’

‘He called me, too,’ said Fran the following morning when Libby rang her. ‘I said I’d talk to you.’

‘Does he want us to go and see him?’

‘I think that would be best, don’t you?’

‘Rather than have him drag everything to you or me. When shall we say?’

‘I could do this afternoon,’ said Fran. ‘Believe it or not, Chrissie and the baby are coming over this morning. It will give me an excuse to get rid of them.’

‘Poor baby Montana,’ giggled Libby. ‘Have you got used to it, yet?’

‘I keep calling her Monty, to Chrissie’s annoyance, but I think that’s what everyone will call her eventually. Go on, you call Andrew and text me the time he wants to meet.’

Andrew was quite happy to see them at any time, he said, but they settled on two thirty that afternoon.

‘And we’ll have tea,’ he said. ‘I have cake!’

‘Really? Did you make it?’

‘No, Rosie brought it back from Westmorland. It’s Pepper Cake.’

‘Oh, well, they say black pepper is good on strawberries, so why not in cake?’

Libby and Fran met outside the block of flats.

‘How were Chrissie and Monty?’

‘You’d think I’d never had three children the way she goes on,’ said Fran, as they climbed the stairs. ‘Or that I had two other grandchildren. And she’s constantly moaning that she never goes out.’

‘She wants a regular babysitter,’ said Libby.

Fran sighed. ‘I know. And lots of other grandparents care for their grandchildren all the time. I do feel guilty sometimes.’

‘Well, don’t,’ said Libby, ‘although I know that’s easy for me to say when I haven’t got any.’

Andrew welcomed them in and showed them to the table in the window where he had various documents laid out.

‘The kettle’s on,’ he said, ‘so sit down and have a look at what I’ve found out. I think you might be surprised.’

‘
F
irst, the London Directories,’ said Andrew, putting a document in front of them. ‘I printed everything out I was allowed to.’

‘And this is for our Barty?’ said Libby.

‘It is. Bartholomew Tollybar lived here,’ he pointed, ‘and appears to be a trader of some kind. So I looked up everyone else mentioned in his will, but it is Thomas Tollybar who I think is of the most interest.’

‘Thomas?’ said Fran.

‘Remember your Barty’s housekeeper? And her son? Well, his name is Thomas and he took the name Tollybar, so obviously he is Barty’s son. He had a daughter, who had a son and a daughter, both of whom kept the “Tollybar” in their names. The son also had a daughter –’

‘Hold on,’ said Libby, ‘this is getting complicated. This is the,’ she counted on her fingers, ‘the great granddaughter of Barty?’

‘Great-great granddaughter,’ corrected Andrew. ‘She died in 1911, also leaving a daughter.’

‘And this is interesting why?’ asked Libby.

‘Wait till I fetch the tea,’ said Andrew, grinning.

‘I don’t understand this at all,’ said Fran. ‘Why are we interested in the Tollybar line?’

Libby shook her head. ‘I’m quite glad I never decided to become a historian.’

Andrew returned with a tray, and offered cake.

‘After we’ve got to the bottom of this, Andrew,’ said Fran firmly. ‘We’re getting totally confused.’

‘Right, I’ll make it simpler for you,’ said Andrew, putting down the teapot. ‘Let’s go back to the Beaumonts.’ He pulled another document towards him. ‘After Tollybar bought the reliquary and bequeathed it to his housekeeper, it turned up briefly back at Maidenhaye – I took the chance of calling Alastair Beaumont and he confirmed this – but said it disappears from the records almost immediately, so everyone always thought it was a mistake. Now, it so happens that at this point in history a third or fourth cousin of the direct line was packed off to India in disgrace, and it isn’t a great leap of imagination to assume that the reliquary went with him.’

‘That is a bit of a leap,’ said Fran, frowning.

‘Ah – not when you discover that just after the first World War an Australian soldier who had been recuperating in England turned up at Maidenhaye claiming to be a descendant of this particular member of the family saying he would love to see the famous relic his ancestor mentioned so often in family history.’

‘Well!’ Libby and Fran exchanged looks. ‘That is progress,’ said Libby.

‘Alastair tells me this person has been added to the family tree rather arbitrarily, and they assumed there would be other descendants, but none have ever come forward. In a letter, Alastair’s grandfather says this person, whose name is Albert Glover, seems to want to know more about the reliquary “than is seemly”. He and the rest of the family deduce that it did go to India, and perhaps thence to Australia with the black sheep who was banished, but has not passed to Albert’s particular branch, but they have no way of tracing it or the family.’

‘But why didn’t Alastair tell us all this when we went to see him?’ Libby burst out. ‘It’s essential knowledge.’

‘I don’t suppose he thought it was,’ said Andrew, once more offering cake. ‘It disappears as far as the family are concerned.’

‘But we wanted to find out about the person who left it to Bernard Evans. That’s the biggest clue to what’s happened since. It was obviously a descendant of the black sheep! What was his name, by the way?’

‘The black sheep?’ Andrew pulled another document forward. ‘The Hon John Jarvis, commonly known as Jack. Despoiled the playing fields of Eton, apparently, as well as a few young women.’

‘Not very hon, then,’ said Libby. ‘So can we trace him in Australia?’

‘Give me a chance, Libby! I think I’ve done pretty well to get this far!’

Libby was contrite. ‘Sorry, Andrew, you certainly have. I was just a bit indignant that Alastair didn’t tell us all this.’

‘He didn’t know a lot of it. He’s grateful, too.’

‘So, the Tollybar connection,’ said Fran. ‘You said we would see why that was important.’

‘Right.’ Andrew leant back in his chair and twinkled at them. ‘You see, Bartholomew Tollybar’s great-great-great granddaughter –’

‘Is that the final one we got to before?’ asked Libby.

‘It is. May Tollybar Williams. She turns up at Maidenhaye just after World War One as well.’

‘What?’ said Libby and Fran together.

‘I told you it was interesting,’ said Andrew. ‘More cake?’

‘Surely the Beaumonts recognised the name? After all Alastair knew about Barty, his grandfather must have done, too.’

‘But they didn’t know her middle name,’ said Andrew. ‘Alastair’s grandfather again.’ He picked up another document. ‘He says “We have been lucky enough in these hard times to secure the services of a new lady’s maid for my wife, May Williams. She seems to have attracted the attention of our soi-disant cousin, Albert.” Which strikes me as interesting.’

‘So how do you know it was the great-great-great granddaughter of our Barty?’ said Libby.

‘Because they got married.’

There was a stunned silence.

‘I told you it was interesting,’ said Andrew. ‘So now you’ve got the renegade Beaumonts and the Tollybars united in a search for the reliquary.’

‘You think that’s what May was doing at Maidenhaye?’ said Fran.

‘I haven’t got proof, but I think it’s a fair assumption that the Tollybars also believed that the reliquary was family property and wanted it back. Presumably, both Albert and May believed Alastair’s grandfather and realised that it was no longer in the family’s possession. Their marriage seems to suggest a pooling of resources.’

‘So,’ said Libby with a frown, ‘it wasn’t them that left it to Ronald Barnes.’

‘No,’ said Andrew, ‘but if Bad Jack Jarvis did go to Australia from India and Albert Glover is a genuine descendant, then there could well be others. If Jarvis had more than one child, they each had more than one – you see?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Fran. ‘So do we think Bernard was a descendant?’

‘He could have been. We’re all waiting for the details of his benefactor.’

‘And then trace him backwards?’ said Libby.

‘Maybe,’ said Andrew. ‘Meanwhile, do you want me to go on digging?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Libby. ‘But what about Bernard? Can’t we just trace his family tree backwards?’

‘I tried the direct line and it goes nowhere near the Jarvis line,’ said Andrew. ‘We’ll have to rely on other sources.’ He waved the teapot at them. ‘More tea?’

‘Lovely,’ said Libby. ‘And Andrew, I can’t tell you how grateful we are. May I pass this on to the police?’

‘To Ian, certainly,’ said Andrew, ‘though whether it will help him, I’ve no idea.’

‘It may help with Bernard’s murder, if not with Dominic’s,’ said Fran. ‘We still have no idea about that, or why his wife Estelle has turned up.’

They left Andrew’s flat just after half past four and stood looking out over Nethergate bay.

‘I still can’t believe Alastair Beaumont didn’t know any of this,’ said Libby. ‘You can’t help wondering if he was concealing it on purpose.’

‘I doubt it. Andrew turned most of it up, and applied to Alastair for confirmation. I don’t suppose Alastair had ever read his grandfather’s letters.’

‘But he’s sorting out all of the archives in the muniment room, I told you. Cataloguing everything.’

‘But didn’t you say they were doing it from the earliest records? Perhaps he just hadn’t got to Grandfather yet.’

‘But.’ Libby held up a finger. ‘We actually looked at the family tree. Peter held one end of it.’

‘So? It must have been huge.’

‘It was. It was a family tree they’d had drawn up a few years ago, he said.’

‘So, if Albert Glover, for instance, had just been pencilled in in Grandfather’s time, he might not have appeared in the current one.’

‘And Alastair did say they’d got so many off-shoots now they couldn’t keep track.’

‘Exactly what Andrew said – one child has two more, they each have two and there you are. The start of a whole new family tree.’

‘So whole sections could be left off?’ said Libby. ‘I see what you mean. Complicated, isn’t it?’

‘It is a bit.’ Fran smiled. ‘What I do know, though, is that this reliquary must be fabulously valuable or there wouldn’t be such competition for it.’

‘Mmm.’ Libby stared thoughtfully at the cupola on the Alexandria, just visible above the rooftops below. ‘Unless it was the religious aspect that they were fighting for.’

‘More likely to be the family luck and fortune,’ said Fran. ‘The religious aspect doesn’t really come into it these days, does it?’

‘It did with Martha,’ said Libby, as they turned and made their way towards their cars.

‘Because she was living a religious life,’ said Fran. ‘And even if she would have liked to see the reliquary staying in St Eldreda’s, the Order didn’t. They knew they had no claim on it, and they’re faintly disapproving anyway.’

‘It does seem a bit ironic,’ said Libby. ‘Martha is almost killed preventing the bloody thing being stolen when the nuns don’t want it anyway.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ said Fran.

Rather than leave yet another message for Ian, Libby decided to send an email, which she did while a shepherd’s pie browned in the oven. When she’d sent it, she clicked on her inbox and was surprised to find an email from the trustees of the Alexandria.

‘You know we’re having a meeting tonight about the Oast’s next production,’ Libby said over her shoulder to Ben.

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I’ve got something else to add to the agenda.’

‘Yes?’ said Ben again, more warily.

‘The End of The Pier Show looks like it’s on.’

It was still light when they walked to the theatre. Peter felt that meetings would be less likely to degenerate into purposeless chat if held there rather than one of their homes or the pub. When they arrived, he had pulled two of the little white tables together in the bar area, and Harry was behind the bar.

‘Might as well have a drink, ducks,’ he said, as Libby raised her eyebrow at him. ‘And it’s my night off. Whatdjer want?’

Libby and Ben both had red wine and took their seats.

‘So, next production,’ began Peter. ‘We’ve got several bookings from other companies and a few one-nighters. There isn’t room in the theatre to do anything else before we get to panto.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Libby, ‘but look what I received today.’ She laid the printed-out email on the table. Peter and Harry both craned to see it.

‘A variety show?’ Peter looked shocked.

‘At the Alexandria,’ said Libby. ‘I sent them an email about next summer, but they’re saying what about the end of August this year because they’ve had a booking cancelled.’

‘It’s practically the end of July now,’ said Peter. ‘We couldn’t possibly!’

‘You could, you know,’ said Harry, leaning back in his chair. ‘What about that Old Time Music Hall you did the other year. You did a whole seaside set in that. You’ve still got the costumes, haven’t you, Lib?’

‘Yes! Oh, Harry, what a good idea! And I wonder if we could find any of the stuff about Will’s Wanderers and Dorinda Alexander?’

‘Who were they?’

‘The original Pierrot troupe and the founder of the Alexandria.’

‘Oh, come on, Lib!’ said Ben. ‘That wouldn’t be in the best of taste, would it?’

‘Just because the Alexandria’s had an unfortunate history since their time? It’s all beautifully refurbished now, and those people were there at the beginning. I bet we’d be allowed to use it.’

‘Wasn’t it Dorinda who built it?’ said Peter, looking less shocked and more interested.

‘Yes, that’s why it was called the Alexandria, after her. And,’ continued Libby, ‘now I come to think of it, Will’s Wanderers didn’t perform there, it was Dorinda’s own new troupe, the Silver Serenaders, who all wore silvery Pierrot costumes.’

‘Seeing the age of the members of our company who might be taking part, that’s very appropriate,’ said Ben.

‘We’ve still got the sketches and songs from the Music Hall,’ said Peter slowly. ‘If the cast are still around.’

‘And not on holiday,’ said Harry.

‘The dates cover August Bank Holiday,’ said Ben, pulling the email towards him.

‘I’ll ask everyone tomorrow,’ said Libby, ‘if you all agree?’

Peter and Ben looked at one another.

‘She’s done it again,’ said Peter.

Harry laughed and raised his glass.

‘Here’s to Libby,’ he said, ‘and here’s to the Silver Serenaders!’