Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series Read online

  ‘Oh, no, I wasn’t. I mean, it doesn’t matter to me. We’re not – I mean – I’m not, well …’ she petered out.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ said Fran, sounding amused. ‘So I’ll see you tomorrow. About four?’

  ‘Sounds fine. I’ll make sure I’m here,’ said Libby, although there was no reason why she would be anywhere else.

  Sidney was sitting facing the fire, his ears down and his tail twitching.

  ‘All right, all right, I’m sorry,’ said Libby, returning to her chair. ‘You can come and sit on my lap again now.’

  Sidney turned his back.

  ‘Well, you can at least listen to me,’ she said, poking him with a toe. ‘Fran thinks I’m interested in Ben. I must be really transparent.’

  Sidney’s ears twitched.

  ‘But then, Fran’s psychic – or something – so maybe it’s only her.’

  Sidney turned round and looked at her.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she sighed, ‘it probably isn’t. I expect I look like a teenager with a crush. How embarrassing.’

  Sidney stood up, stretched and walked to the kitchen. Suppertime, he said. Blow your introspective ramblings.

  Libby got up early the next morning, at least, early for her, and set about getting the spare room ready for Fran. She was interrupted by the phone just after ten o’clock and, for once, wasn’t expecting it to be Ben. She was therefore reduced to silence when it was.

  ‘Just wanted to tell you, Pete’s gone to town today, but he’s managed to set up a rehearsal this evening. Everybody seemed keen to carry on.’

  ‘What about Paula?’ said Libby, finally finding her voice. ‘I mean, Paula’s part.’

  ‘He’s going to talk about it when they all get there.’

  ‘Surely they must have asked, though?’

  ‘Some of them did. I expect the women were a bit chary in case they sounded unfeeling.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘If they were interested in doing the part it might have seemed as though …’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Libby nodded at Sidney, who ignored her.

  ‘So we’ll find out tonight. Eightish.’

  ‘Right,’ said Libby, wondering whether she should mention Fran.

  ‘And we’ll put all this other business behind us, and leave Paula’s murder to the police.’

  Libby decided not to mention Fran.

  ‘Fancy a drink at lunchtime?’

  Experiencing the now familiar adrenalin surge, Libby blustered.

  ‘Er, no – no thanks, Ben. I’m – er – busy. Working.’ She took a deep breath. ‘What about you? Aren’t you working?’

  ‘No, it didn’t seem worth going in just for today. After all, it’s Saturday tomorrow. Sort of thing you can do when you’re your own boss. Sure you won’t change your mind?’

  ‘No, I’ve done far too little work over the last two weeks, one way and another. Must get on.’

  Ben didn’t ask her with what, to her relief, but merely said cheerfully that he would see her tonight.

  Absurdly pleased that he would be there, and had wanted to take her out for a drink, Libby sat staring at nothing for several minutes. Equally pleased that she had refused, she smiled soppily to herself and gave Sidney a conciliatory stroke, before returning to the spare bedroom with renewed vigour. When she’d finished, it looked less like a store room, and, anxious not to make herself a liar, she went out to the conservatory and began to prepare some paper.

  Although she hadn’t been hopeful, she found that working distracted her from the mass of thoughts fighting for supremacy, and was quite surprised when Sidney came to remind her that it was lunchtime. After a tin of soup, she returned to the conservatory, and was still there when the doorbell rang.

  Fran had dressed down today, and Libby felt a lot more comfortable to see her in jeans and a jumper. She had one large holdall and smiled rather hesitantly as Libby welcomed her with a kiss.

  ‘I just hope I’m of some use,’ she said. ‘I feel as though I’m conning a free weekend away.’

  ‘Of course not. I’m really pleased you could come,’ said Libby. ‘I haven’t told the others, though.’ She was leading the way up the stairs.

  ‘Was that wise?’ Fran manhandled her bag through the spare room door.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘Do you think I should have told them?’

  ‘You know them better than I do, but they weren’t keen yesterday, were they?’ Fran dumped her bag on the bed. ‘This is a nice room.’

  ‘Thanks. It doesn’t get much use, except for the kids, and they don’t come much.’

  ‘How many?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Three. Two boys and a girl. I never know when they’ll turn up, although I expect they’ll come down for the play. Shall I leave you to sort yourself out while I put the kettle on?’

  By the time Fran came downstairs Libby had made tea and taken it through to the sitting room. Fran introduced herself to Sidney, who traitorously demonstrated undying love and took up a place on the arm of her chair, where he periodically butted her with his head, purring loudly.

  ‘Sorry about Sidney,’ said Libby. ‘He’s not usually so forward.’

  ‘I like cats, as I said. I wish I could have one, but I live on the top floor with no garden access, and I’m out quite a lot. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘You work a lot then? Always the same thing?’

  ‘Mostly. I can’t really do anything else, and this has been sort of thrust on me.’ Fran sighed. ‘I don’t really like doing it. It still seems like a con.’

  ‘Well, if it works, it isn’t.’ Libby lit a cigarette. ‘I hope you don’t mind …’

  ‘No, I’m a reformed smoker, but not a belligerent one.’ Fran put down her cup. ‘And now, tell me all about it from the beginning.’

  ‘Hasn’t Ben told you?’

  ‘Only bits. Just the bare bones of the accidents, and the murder, obviously. I’d like to know the background.’

  So Libby told her, beginning with Peter’s play and the events it related, to the discovery of Paula’s body and Libby’s visit to Uncle Lenny. Fran listened carefully, but made no comment until Libby reached the end of her narrative.

  ‘It sounds to me as though something happened when Hetty’s father disappeared which the family have covered up. Doesn’t it to you?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘But what could it be? What could be worse than your father murdering someone and running off?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but there’s something.’

  ‘I don’t think the children – that is, Ben and Peter – know anything. They were as puzzled as I am. They just suddenly seemed to close ranks.’

  ‘Perhaps they found out what the other thing was?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Libby slowly, ‘which is why they’re sure Paula has nothing to do with it?’

  ‘Could be. But we’re not going to try and find out who murdered Paula, are we? We’re not television detectives.’

  ‘No, I’ve said that already. I suppose I should just let things lie, really. If everyone’s happy to go ahead with the play …’

  ‘But you still want to know about the accidents, don’t you?’ said Fran, leaning back in her chair and stroking an ecstatic Sidney’s head.

  ‘Well, yes, it would make me feel safer.’ Libby stubbed out her cigarette and emptied her ashtray into the fire.

  ‘And that’s what I’m here for,’ said Fran, ‘otherwise I really will feel like a spare part.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here anyway,’ said Libby, ‘I’ve felt rather excluded the last few days.’

  ‘So has Harry,’ said Fran.

  Libby was surprised. ‘When did he tell you?’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t.’ Fran looked embarrassed. ‘Just one of those feelings. Like I said yesterday, he’s more worried than the rest of you about Paula. I don’t know how I know, I just do.’

  ‘What about the rest of us?’ Libby asked warily.

&nbs
p; ‘Nothing. Except this feeling that there’s something between you and Ben.’

  ‘It’s not just me being transparent?’ Libby looked down at her hands.

  ‘No.’ Fran sounded surprised. ‘Just something in my head. I got the same from Ben when he was first telling me about it. He didn’t actually say anything.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby looked into the fire. ‘Then I’m not behaving like a …’

  ‘Teenager?’ Fran finished for her. ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t seen enough of you to know. And everyone’s bound to be behaving a little strangely under the circumstances, aren’t they?’

  Libby was silent for a moment. Then she looked at Fran.

  ‘Does it occur to you that this is an extraordinarily intimate conversation for two people who’ve only just met to be having?’

  ‘Does that worry you?’

  ‘No,’ said Libby, surprised. ‘I don’t know why, though. I don’t normally talk to anyone about what I feel.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Except Pete and Harry, I suppose.’

  ‘Why them?’

  ‘No idea. I’ve known Pete for years, long before he took up with Harry. Pete became a sort of confidant, and by extension so did Harry. And they’ve always confided in me, at least I thought so. Until now.’

  ‘But Harry did confide in you. About Paula.’

  ‘Yes, but he and I are both outsiders, you’ve just said. And he obviously wanted to talk to somebody.’

  ‘Do you think he might be more worried on Peter’s behalf than his own?’ asked Fran.

  ‘You mean he might think Pete murdered Paula?’ Libby gasped. ‘Oh, no, I’m sure not.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure he didn’t do it, so there must be a reason he’s more bothered than the rest of you.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Libby said uncomfortably. ‘It just sounds so far-fetched.’

  ‘I expect murder always seems far-fetched to the people involved,’ said Fran. ‘You always read of murderers being the last one their friends and family suspect, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, God, don’t say that,’ said Libby, standing up and picking up the empty cups. ‘I thought we weren’t looking into that, anyway?’

  Fran smiled. ‘We’re not, don’t worry. But it’s bound to come up, isn’t it?’

  Libby took a deep breath. ‘Let’s have some more tea,’ she said.

  They didn’t return to the subject for the rest of the afternoon, but filled one another in on the trivia of their lives. Libby was astonished at how relaxed she felt with Fran, as though she’d known her for years. She still had female friends from her former life, but none with whom she exchanged confidences any more. She saved those for Peter and Harry, but there were some things she couldn’t talk about even to them. She wondered if Fran’s uncertain psychic abilities were at the root of this, making her somehow ultra-sympathetic.

  She half expected Peter to ring before the evening’s rehearsal, but the phone remained silent until they left at half past seven.

  ‘I want to be there early,’ said Libby, as they walked through the High Street. ‘I only hope I can get in.’

  ‘Should you have rung Ben and asked what time he was going to be there?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But you didn’t want to.’

  ‘No.’

  As they walked up the drive, however, they could see lights on in the theatre, and as Libby pushed open the doors they saw Ben and Peter by the newly installed bar, deep in conversation. They both looked up, identical expressions of shock on their faces. For the first time, Libby saw a family resemblance.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I forgot I hadn’t told you Fran was coming.’

  Ben was the first to recover.

  ‘Fran, lovely to see you again,’ he said, coming forward to kiss her cheek. ‘You didn’t say, Libby.’

  ‘No,’ said Libby, looking at Peter, whose face was now perfectly blank.

  Fran was blushing. ‘I’m just here for the weekend, really,’ she said. ‘Libby said I could come to rehearsal. I hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘That’s up to the director, isn’t it, Libby?’ said Peter. ‘Nothing to do with us.’

  ‘Well, it is in a way,’ said Libby, annoyed that she hadn’t thought this through. ‘I just thought …’

  Ben patted her arm. ‘It’s fine, Lib. Of course Fran’s welcome.’

  ‘So, Pete, what have you said to everybody, and how did they react?’ Libby took off her cape and tried to look efficient.

  Apparently recovering his normal sangfroid, Peter told her what he’d said to the cast and crew, what their reactions had been, and whom he thought could replace Paula.

  ‘Emma was the only one who threw a bit of a wobbly,’ he said, ‘but I convinced her we couldn’t carry on without her, and we would need her to help Paula’s replacement.’

  By this time, members of the company were drifting in. Most of them came up to Ben, or Peter and Libby, to ask questions, and although the atmosphere was subdued, there was a feeling of underground excitement, which faintly disgusted Libby, and made her feel guilty for wanting to carry on. Stephen arrived with other members of the back-stage crew, and immediately made a beeline for her.

  ‘Why didn’t you phone me?’

  ‘Pete said he’d do it,’ said Libby, uncomfortably aware that she should have phoned him as she was responsible for him being involved. ‘I’m sorry. I was entirely in their hands –’

  ‘Whose hands?’

  ‘Pete’s and Ben’s. It was up to them whether we carried on or not. I don’t think they wanted to, but now they seem to have changed their minds.’

  Stephen’s expression told her what he thought of Peter and Ben. ‘And who’s this?’

  ‘Fran. She’s a – a work associate of Ben’s, and a friend of mine. Down for the weekend.’

  Stephen looked marginally more cheerful at this, and went off to his workshop, presumably to make the first cup of tea of the evening.

  They all went into the auditorium, where first Peter and then Libby had a brief chat to explain the situation, and Peter offered Paula’s part to one of the young hop-pickers, who was blushingly grateful.

  ‘It means we’ve got to work hard over the next few days, and we’ll have to put in time over the weekend,’ said Libby, ‘but I feel sure we can do it, and we’ve all put in so much work so far we don’t want to waste it. And,’ she said, invoking the phrase that would carry them through the next few days, ‘I’m sure it’s what Paula would have wanted.’

  There was a murmur of assent from the company.

  ‘And there won’t be any more incidents,’ said Peter, voicing the fear that Libby could almost hear rustling through the auditorium. ‘Whatever, or whoever, was responsible won’t try anything else. It would just be too tacky.’

  A bubble of nervous laughter broke out and was quickly suppressed. Peter grinned round at them all. ‘And now, let’s get on with it. No mournful faces,’ (there weren’t many) ‘it will be the best memorial Paula could have.’

  Libby slid off the stage and organised her troops into setting the first scene and reassuring Paula’s replacement that she was going to be fine.

  ‘Tell me you’re not still investigating, you old trout.’

  Peter’s voice in her ear made Libby jump.

  ‘No.’ Libby turned to face him.

  ‘No, you’re not? Or no, you won’t tell me?’

  ‘No, I won’t tell you. Fran invited herself down, and if she picks up any vibes or whatever, I’ll be glad if she tells me.’ Libby looked up defiantly. ‘And so should you be. She’s absolutely convinced Harry had nothing to do with Paula, no matter what the police think.’

  Peter frowned, looking anything but mollified. ‘They don’t think he did it. Any more than they think I did. They’re just casting about. I’m more worried about James.’

  ‘But why would he do it? She was going to have his baby. They were moving in together.’

  ‘Good enough reason, if you ask me. We all
know he’d been trapped, don’t we?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘This isn’t the time to discuss it,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I’m not interested in the murder, only the accidents. Well,’ she added, ‘I don’t mean I’m not interested, exactly …’

  ‘I know what you meant,’ said Peter, giving her a sudden hug. ‘Now go and be a hotshot director.’

  Surprisingly, the rehearsal began well. The girl now playing Flo’s character had obviously been paying attention over the last couple of months, and knew the moves and even some of the lines. Libby had to acknowledge that Peter’s choice had been the right one. During a scene change Libby went back to where Fran was sitting unobtrusively at the back of the auditorium.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Good.’ Fran nodded. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but better than I expected.’

  ‘Thank you. They’re all trying very hard.’ Libby fiddled with a scarf. ‘No – er – thoughts?’

  Fran smiled. ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  The play moved on to the difficult seduction scene, and Libby found herself holding her breath. This, after all, was the crux of the whole story, the event which set in train the tragedy to follow. She just hoped she’d got it right.

  Chapter Eighteen – 1943

  THE MIST STILL shrouded the gardens as they walked across the common. Flo carried Millie on her hip and Hetty clenched her hands inside the pockets of her old coat to try and warm them up.

  Lillian pushed the hopping box with the billies and the thick doorsteps of bread for their lunch. Hetty was already aware of the slight tightness round her waist brought on by eating so much bread and so many potatoes over the last week and a half. And although they worked in the fresh air all day, she no longer walked two or three miles a day to and from work, the farm being comparatively small. Still, she knew she looked healthier, and a pink flush to her cheeks had replaced the East End pallor.

  Lillian led the way to the middle of the row where they had finished yesterday and they spent the next few minutes establishing themselves for the day. Flo was working with her mother next to them, and in order that the two families stayed close together, Hetty used to help her from time to time, or the tally would have been too small for them to move on when Lillian had finished her row. The call came to start picking and Hetty looked up, a tingling feeling of anticipation spreading through her to her fingers and toes as she saw the tall outline of the pole puller on his stilts moving towards them.