Murder and the Glovemaker's Son Page 4

  When they were settled at the table and Libby had introduced them all to each other, Andrew began.

  ‘As you know, I’ve looked into several things for you over the last few years, but I don’t think anything was quite as interesting as this. I had heard of Quinton St Martin, of course I had, any historian worth his salt would know of notable houses and buildings in this area. But I don’t think anything of particular interest about it had come up. Until I spoke to Gilbert today. And he told me about Titus Watt – who, of course, I had heard of.’

  ‘Not sure there’s any of course about it,’ said Libby. ‘We hadn’t.’

  ‘Well, no, maybe not – but you had all heard of John Dee, hadn’t you?’

  Heads nodded all round the table.

  ‘And Elizabeth the First’s spy network?’

  More head-nodding.

  ‘There you are then. Titus Watt was a pupil of Dr Dee, and the house, Quinton St Martin, belonged to his father, Henry Watt. He came back to live here at some time during the 1570s on his father’s death. He was, as far as we could find out today, part of the circle which included Dudley and Walsingham. And there is actually documentary proof that Shakespeare’s company stayed here during the tour of 1597. In the household accounts there is a record of “Mr Shakespeare’s Company.” Spelt “Shaks-pere”. It looks as though they may have played outside on the forecourt. Of course it would have been an open courtyard then, without the high street beyond, or even the oast house. That wasn’t built then – neither were the barns.’

  Libby and Fran were wide-eyed and Guy looked amused. Ben was frowning.

  ‘This is all certain?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Gilbert. ‘We were able to check several sources, not just the county archives. Andrew has many resources at home. And tomorrow we’ll go to the archives in Maidstone and have a look at the physical documents.’

  ‘So the letter could have been genuine?’ said Fran.

  ‘It could, but we’re pretty sure it wasn’t,’ said Andrew. ‘There were various indications, including the spelling of Shakespeare. As I said, it is shown in the letter as Shakspere, hyphenated. Now while this was a variant spelling it wasn’t used during this period of his life. And while the event it refers to did take place, it was supposed to be private correspondence, which is unlikely.’

  ‘But clever,’ said Gilbert. ‘Because the visit here isn’t well-documented until you go hunting for it.’

  ‘So,’ said Ben slowly, ‘whoever forged it had access to some of the material you discovered. So someone known to my family?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Andrew looked at him curiously. ‘What are you thinking?’

  Ben sighed. ‘I’m just wondering how the original owner got hold of it, and if we knew him. My parents, anyway.’

  ‘We don’t know how old he was, do we?’ said Libby. ‘Or how old the nephew is.’

  ‘You could ask whatsisname,’ said Fran. ‘From National Shakespeare.’

  ‘Tristan Scott,’ said Gilbert. ‘That’s an idea.’

  ‘I think I assumed he was fairly young,’ said Libby. ‘Forties, maybe.’

  ‘It depends what you call young,’ said Fran. ‘Most people wouldn’t call forties young.’

  ‘I don’t even know the name,’ said Libby. ‘Tristan was very cagey about the whole thing. Worse now, of course.’

  ‘The name,’ said Gilbert, fishing in a waistcoat pocket. ‘I’ve got that here – the original owner’s name, anyway.’ He rummaged through what looked like bus and train tickets until he came up with a small blue piece of paper. ‘Here we are. Nathan Vine. The nephew was – let me think. He wasn’t a Vine, so I assume he was a sister’s son. Oh, it’ll come to me. And Tristan’s sure to know anyway.’

  ‘If he decides to tell us,’ said Libby.

  ‘Why shouldn’t he?’ asked Gilbert.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘Just because the whole thing has been so hedged about with secrecy. I shall, frankly, be glad when they’ve all gone.’

  Everyone stared at her in surprise.

  ‘But it’s Shakespeare!’ said Andrew. ‘You love Shakespeare.’

  Libby sighed. ‘I know. But not Shakespeare surrounded by mystery. I’d just like to see Twelfth Night played on our stage, and then wave them all off after the run.’

  ‘But you got involved,’ said Ben.

  ‘You always do,’ said Fran accusingly.

  ‘Didn’t have much choice,’ said Libby. ‘I was worried about the reputation of the theatre.’

  ‘Do you think that would have been harmed?’ asked Guy. ‘After all, it wasn’t your production or company, was it? You were only the venue.’

  ‘And when people remember it, it will be, “Oh, that show that was cancelled at The Oast.” Hmm.’ Libby took a sip of lager.

  ‘She’s right,’ said Ben.

  ‘Well, are we doing anything to help?’ asked Fran. ‘I’m confused now.’

  ‘The whole reason I got in touch with young Tristan,’ said Gilbert, slapping his hands palm downward on the table, ‘was because I was worried about the reputation of National Shakespeare. The provenance of the fake letter would have been put under the spotlight the minute it was revealed and their reputation would have been shot to pieces. So yes, I agree with Libby, and I think she didn’t have a choice.’

  ‘And by clearing up as much as possible and uncovering a genuine link to him, we’re protecting both the company and the theatre,’ said Andrew.

  Ben smiled at Libby and patted her hand. ‘There. Happier now?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Libby grinned round at her friends. ‘How many times have I done this? Said I don’t want to be involved and that I never will be again?’

  ‘There could be a problem, though,’ said Ben, looking thoughtful. ‘As I said to Libby earlier, if National Shakespeare decide to publicise the link with Shakespeare and Titus Watt, will we get a horde of people wanting to go over the Manor?’

  ‘Surely they could make it very clear in the publicity that it’s not open to the public?’ said Guy.

  ‘They could try,’ said Gilbert doubtfully, ‘but you know what marketing departments are like. I’ve dealt with them before. They might want to push that angle.’

  ‘Well, they can’t,’ said Ben. ‘Besides, there isn’t anything to see. The interior is entirely Edwardian and Victorian.’

  ‘There’s the panelling in the small sitting room,’ said Libby.

  ‘I doubt if that’s earlier than eighteenth century,’ said Andrew, who’d seen it. ‘But would you let Gilbert and me come and have a look after we’ve been to the archives? Just for interest’s sake?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Ben. ‘Hetty would like to see you again.’

  After Libby had left a message for Tristan asking the name of Nathan Vine’s nephew, the conversation became general, until Andrew regretfully got up to go.

  ‘I’ll collect you just after ten, Gilbert, and don’t forget you’re going to come and stay with me from tomorrow onwards.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gilbert, when Andrew had gone, ‘I decided to spend a few days down here. I can see the play and have a look at some of the other places Andrew’s investigated over the years.’

  ‘We know some of them,’ said Fran.

  ‘I know, he told me.’ Gilbert beamed at them. ‘The civil wars story was particularly fascinating.’

  Libby wasn’t altogether surprised when Tristan didn’t return her call, but decided the following morning to go in search of him. She tried Steeple Farm first, but there was no reply at either the front or back doors, so she went on to the Manor. Some of the actors were lounging around the large sitting room, which Libby viewed today with a slightly more critical eye, and the remainder of the company appeared to be in the theatre. There was no sign of Tristan nor the rest of his committee, so Libby moved on to the church hall, where, at last, she tracked him down.

  ‘Should have come here first,’ Tristan said morosely. ‘Where else would I
be?’

  ‘Haven’t they come up with a strategy yet, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘They think Titus Watt isn’t sufficiently interesting to compensate for a genuine letter from Shakespeare.’

  ‘Bloody ridiculous! You know we can now prove that Shakespeare was actually here?’

  ‘You can?’ Tristan’s face changed.

  ‘Yes. It’s in the archives at Maidstone. Gilbert and Andrew are collecting evidence today. And did you get my text last night?’

  ‘Er – yes.’ Tristan looked furtive.

  ‘And why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I – um – I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, tell me now. Nathan Vine was the uncle, who was the nephew?’

  ‘Duncan Lucas,’ muttered Tristan.

  ‘There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?’

  He sighed. ‘Oh, well, I suppose you’ll find out eventually.’ He stared into spaced for a moment.

  ‘Find out WHAT?’ Libby almost yelled after what seemed an interminable wait.

  ‘The police got on to me.’ He took a deep breath. ‘He’s dead.’

  Libby just gaped. ‘Dead?’ she whispered eventually. ‘Do – they – know?’

  Tristan nodded miserably. ‘Had to tell them. We’re going to be questioned.’

  ‘Questioned?’ She frowned. ‘It wasn’t a natural death, then?’

  ‘No. They wouldn’t tell me anything else, though.’

  Libby guided him to a chair. ‘How did they get on to you?’

  ‘I called him again and they answered.’

  ‘Mobile or landline?’

  Tristan looked surprised. ‘Mobile. Why?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. What did they say?’

  ‘When did I last see him or speak to him, what was our business together. That sort of thing.’

  ‘I hope you were honest with them.’

  Tristan bridled. ‘Of course I was.’

  ‘You told them about the letter?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tristan wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘I did.’ He made a face. ‘Just not all of it.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to,’ said Libby. ‘Either Gilbert or I will, anyway. Why didn’t you want to tell them?’

  ‘I didn’t want to be associated with it. If it was murder.’

  ‘Of course it was murder!’ Libby was scornful. ‘So you don’t know where he was found? Or how? We don’t know which force is investigating?’

  ‘Good God – no!’ Tristan looked horrified. ‘Why would I? And what does it matter?’

  ‘If he was somewhere nearby, we’ll be more involved. Where was his landline number?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Tristan was now bewildered. ‘It began with 02, I’m pretty sure.’

  ‘London, then. Well, let’s hope it happened up there.’

  ‘I wish it had, too, Mrs Sarjeant,’ said a familiar voice behind her and she turned sharply.

  ‘Oh, bloody hell, Ian. It had to be you!’

  Chapter Six

  DCI Ian Connell regarded Libby sourly. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby nervously. ‘Why aren’t you?’

  ‘Even without the location, the mere mention of theatre and murder in the same breath would be enough to indicate your involvement.’

  Tristan was now staring at Libby wide eyed.

  ‘Oh – er, Ian. This is Tristan Scott from National Shakespeare. Is it him you want to see? Tristan, this is Detective Chief Inspector Connell.’

  ‘Mr Scott.’ Ian inclined his head but did not offer a hand, then turned back to Libby. ‘How far are you involved in this business?’

  ‘You know perfectly well we’ve let the theatre to National Shakespeare as part of their tour. You’re coming to see it yourself.’

  ‘And what about Duncan Lucas?’

  ‘That’s Tristan’s part of the story.’ Libby nodded to Tristan, stepped back and pulled herself up a chair.

  ‘Mr Scott?’ Ian turned back to Tristan.

  ‘Well...’ Tristan looked from Ian to Libby and finally to the uniformed officer standing stoically behind Ian.

  ‘Tell you what, Ian,’ said Libby reasonably, ‘why don’t you tell us what you know and what you want from us? Then we’ll know where we’re going.’

  ‘That’s irregular. Mr Scott rang the mobile phone of a recently discovered murder victim. It was quite natural for us to wish to question him.’

  ‘Then you know the identity of the victim and the cause of death?’

  ‘Libby!’ Ian used his warning voice. ‘Mr Scott, please tell me all you know about Duncan Lucas.’

  Hesitantly, Tristan began the story of the fake letter. Occasionally, Ian interrupted when Tristan’s narrative became too muddled to be understandable, and Libby would step in to clarify. Eventually Libby took over most of the explanation.

  ‘And this Gilbert – Harrison? The expert?’ Ian asked when she wound down.

  ‘Yes. He and Andrew are at the archives this morning.’

  ‘That’s Professor Wylie? And they’re looking for -?’

  ‘Well, they found the evidence online, but they need to see the original documents at the archive.’

  Ian ignored her and turned back to Tristan. ‘Can you tell me when you were approached by Lucas? And how?’

  ‘Last year,’ said Tristan. ‘We were in discussion about this tour – which is a booth stage tour -’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A booth stage. We take this replica stage, like a sort of marquee, around and play in it wherever it’s erected.’

  Ian looked at Libby. ‘I understood the production was going to be on your normal stage?’

  ‘It is. The booth will be erected on it.’ Libby grinned at him.

  Ian grunted and nodded at Tristan.

  ‘And I received an email from Lucas. Well, I say me, actually it was sent to the marketing department and I was a junior so opened all the unknown emails. Anyway, when I told the company, they said go and investigate but it sounds like a hoax. So I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He convinced me. He said it was undergoing tests at the V&A and that was good enough, so I went back to the company.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve told you the rest.’

  ‘And Harrison? When did he get in touch?’

  ‘Not long ago,’ said Tristan. ‘And by that time Lucas had disappeared, taking the letter with him.’

  ‘Which argues that he knew it was fake,’ said Libby.

  ‘And Lucas apparently inherited it from his uncle? What was his name?’

  Tristan shook his head.

  ‘Nathan Vine. He was the first person to submit the letter to the V&A,’ said Libby. ‘That’s why Gilbert Harrison was worried. I told you that.’

  ‘There was a lot of information in that first explanation,’ said Ian with a lift of the eyebrow. ‘So Lucas wasn’t the forger.’

  ‘No – couldn’t have been,’ said Tristan.

  ‘But the uncle could,’ said Libby.

  ‘Did he know Ben’s family?’ asked Ian.

  Libby and Tristan both sat back in shock.

  ‘Oh, hang on,’ said Libby slowly. ‘That’s what Ben said. He wondered how the original owner had got hold of it, or the faker knew about the archive material. He wondered if his parents had known him.’

  ‘And has he asked his mother?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Right.’ Ian got to his feet. ‘I’ll have to ask to see all correspondence you had with Lucas, Mr Scott, and we’ll have to talk to the rest of the company.’

  Tristan looked horrified again. ‘But they never met him!’

  ‘I shall still want to talk to them,’ said Ian. ‘Libby, you can go now, but I’d like to talk to Ben and possibly Hetty later. And Harrison and Wylie when they get back.’

  The uniformed officer and Tristan were both looking at Ian and Libby curiously. Libby grinned at them.

  ‘We’re old frie
nds,’ she explained. ‘Family and all.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Ian dryly. ‘See you later, Libby.’

  Libby nodded to Tristan and left the hall. As soon as she was out of earshot, she pulled out her mobile.

  ‘Ben – we need a council of war,’ she said.

  ‘Why? What’s happened now?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I see you. I’ll come up to the Manor. Is Hetty there?’

  ‘If she hasn’t taken Jeff-dog out, yes.’

  ‘OK. See you in a bit.’

  Walking down Maltby Close, she dialled Andrew’s number. He answered quickly.

  ‘Libby? What’s up? We’re just about to come back home.’

  ‘Can you come back here instead?’ asked Libby. ‘The police are here, and they want to speak to you.’

  ‘The police? What on earth for?’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated,’ hedged Libby, ‘but I said I’d tell you. Ben and I will be up at the Manor with Hetty. Can you come there?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Gilbert would like to see the Manor, anyway. We’ll be about half an hour, I should think.’

  When she arrived at the Manor, she found Ben and Hetty in the kitchen. Jeff-dog stood up and very politely came to greet her.

  ‘I’ve had quite a morning,’ she said, subsiding into a chair.

  ‘Tea?’ asked Hetty gruffly.

  ‘Yes, please. Andrew and Gilbert will be here soon, and they might prefer coffee...’

  ‘I’m quite sure Mum can run to both,’ said Ben. ‘Come on. Tell us. You’re obviously rattled.’

  Libby took a deep breath and accepted a mug from Hetty. ‘Well, the first thing that happened was I found Tristan at the hall and he told me that the errant nephew was dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ echoed Ben and Hetty together.

  ‘Yes. The police had been on to him, but he didn’t know where from or anything else. He hadn’t been very forthcoming, as far as I could tell, but it didn’t matter, because almost straight away, the police arrived. Well, I say the police -’

  ‘But what you really mean is Ian,’ said Ben. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Ian?’ said Hetty, frowning. ‘Why?’

  ‘I would guess that the murder must have taken place in the vicinity,’ said Ben. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘I don’t know. All he really did was ask Tristan questions.’ She grimaced. ‘Most of which I answered. That boy is so dumb.’