Murder at Mallowan Manor Page 4

  ‘Whoops,’ whispered Libby, ‘that just slipped out.’

  ‘Probably for the best,’ said Fran, as they started to climb the stairs. ‘Now they know you know her better than they thought.’

  ‘I still find it an odd family, though,’ said Libby, panting slightly as they reached the first floor. ‘They aren’t in the least like her, are they?’

  ‘No. In fact, I’ve been wondering if they might not be adopted.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby stopped dead. ‘Dorian and Clemency?’

  ‘They aren’t like each other, are they?’

  ‘So, adopted separately? What about Gerry?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Fran, resuming the climb, ‘I would think he’s probably a real nephew.’

  Libby thought about this until they reached the bedroom floor. ‘That might make him resentful, then. If he’s the only blood relative, and the estate’s to be divided between Dorian and Clemency.’

  Fran opened the door to her room. ‘It’s all speculation, as usual. And the family are on their guard now that Dame Amanda’s told them we’re investigators.’

  ‘And she’s never going to find out who’s behind any of it.’

  Fran sat down on her bed. ‘Or if any of them are.’

  ‘What?’ Libby came into the room and perched on a chair. ‘Of course they are! Who else would be?’

  Fran was frowning at the wall. ‘I don’t know, but there’s something in that drawing room, you know.’

  Libby was taken aback. ‘You don’t mean to say you actually believe it’s really a ghost?’

  Fran’s eyes came back into focus. ‘Not the rumours, obviously.’

  ‘But the noises? Surely that has to be Gerry. He’s the only one who’s been here all the time. And he looks suspicious.’

  ‘And you’ll never get him to admit it,’ said Fran. ‘There’s something behind it all. And I don’t mean a mythical treasure.’

  ‘Do you think Dorian will talk to Guy and Ben when they get here?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I doubt it. I expect they’re going to have a rotten time. What time did they say they’d get here?’

  ‘Well, Guy’s got to get to Steeple Martin so they can come on in Ben’s car, so an hour after he’s able to get away from the shop, I suppose.’

  Fran stood up and wandered to the window.

  ‘Dark out there. I wonder how close we are to other houses?’

  ‘We didn’t see any on the way here, did we? I suppose the nearest would be the village in the other direction. Perhaps we should ask Coolidge in the morning. We could go for a drink at the pub.’

  Fran pulled the curtains closed. ‘And we’d get nothing from the locals. Coolidge got virtually nothing, and he lives here.’

  ‘But he’s from The Big House,’ said Libby. ‘They might not talk to him.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Libby. That sort of class prejudice doesn’t exist any more. And they wouldn’t talk to us because we’re strangers. Anyway, I can’t believe they know anything. This rumour has been started recently for some particular reason.’

  Libby’s phone rang.

  ‘Libby? It’s Andrew. I’ve just turned something up – or rather, an acquaintance of mine has. It’s fairly astonishing.’

  Libby looked up at Fran, who leant over and switched the phone on to loudspeaker.

  ‘Go on, then, Andrew. What?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of John Thurloe?’

  Libby frowned and Fran shook her head.

  ‘No, neither of us have.’

  ‘You don’t watch a lot of television, then?’

  ‘Oh, he’s on there? What is he?’

  ‘A character in a historical series,’ laughed Andrew.

  ‘Oh, stop it, Andrew. We want real stuff.’ Libby was disgusted.

  ‘No, seriously. He’s been used as a recurring character in a series, but he was a real person. He was Cromwell’s spymaster.’

  ‘Cromwell’s … Really?’

  ‘Really. And my colleague has just turned up the fact that he was after Charles Mallowan.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Libby? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby cleared her throat. ‘That sounds serious. Where did he dig that up, your friend?’

  ‘In some documents he has which are fairly sensitive even now. He was asked to look into it a few years ago. He’s known about it for ages, and wanted to make sure I was who I said I was and that this wouldn’t go any further.’

  Libby’s heart was beating uncomfortably fast, and Fran looked equally thunderstruck.

  ‘Who – who asked him?’ said Libby eventually.

  ‘All I can tell you is that it is to do with Charles the First.’

  ‘Lawks.’ Libby looked at Fran. ‘Did he hide him here?’

  ‘No. It was Charles the Second who got hidden all over the place. No. Think about it, and think about the rumours you’ve heard. And the fact that they have been taken seriously in the past. Also, the place disappears from records in about 1940 and doesn’t re-appear until your Dame Amanda buys it.’

  ‘Military …’ muttered Fran.

  ‘Who did she buy it from?’ asked Libby.

  ‘It was obviously a third party,’ said the professor. ‘Acting for someone else. Or acting for an official body, which is much more likely.’

  ‘This gets murkier and murkier,’ said Libby. ‘Andrew, you’ve been an incredible help. We’d never have found anything like this without you. And it certainly looks as though it isn’t anything to do with the family after all.’

  ‘The rumours? No, I agree. Although someone could be feeding them with the rumours,’ said Andrew. ‘Now, I must go. I’ve got someone coming for supper.’

  ‘What about that then?’ Libby ended the call and sat back on the bed. ‘What do we do now?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I think Andrew may be right. Someone’s been feeding the family rumours, and whoever that someone is, he or she – or even they – are also the ones who’ve started the online rumours.’

  ‘But who? The same people who asked Andrew’s friend to look into the John Thurloe business. And who was that, do you suppose?’

  ‘The government on behalf of the royals, wouldn’t you say?’ Fran raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds as though perhaps Charles Mallowan hid treasure for his king, either to aid a possible escape or to fund his son on his return.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Libby shook her head. ‘This is all a bit beyond me.’

  ‘And then there’s the disappearance of all records after 1940. That means it was used as a top secret military base of some kind.’

  ‘Like Bletchley Park?’

  ‘Something like that, I suppose. We must ask Dame Amanda who she bought it from.’

  ‘The Dickensian solicitor will know,’ said Libby.

  ‘Or have been told not to tell,’ said Fran.

  ‘Oh, heavens.’ Libby stood up. ‘I’m going to have a lie down in a darkened room. Shout if anything happens.’

  Ben and Guy arrived in a flurry of snow at six thirty. The house looked like a Christmas card, Ben commented to Guy as they ascended the steps to the front door.

  ‘A rather old-fashioned one,’ said Guy as the front door swung open to reveal Coolidge.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said with a bow, ‘the ladies are in the library, I believe.’

  But the ladies pre-empted him and appeared at the rear of the hall.

  ‘Come on,’ said Libby, after affectionate greetings had been exchanged, ‘we’ll show you our rooms. Is that all right, Coolidge?’

  ‘Shall I bring the luggage, madam?’

  ‘No, we’ll take it up. Do we have to be downstairs by a certain time?’

  ‘Dame Amanda will be in the drawing room at seven thirty, madam.’ Coolidge bowed again and vanished.

  ‘Is he for real?’ asked Ben in a low voice as they went towards the grand staircase.

  ‘Mostly,’ said Libby with a giggle. ‘It’s Dame Amanda’s sense o
f theatre. Oh, and wait until you hear who she is! I finally remembered, she’s Abby Knight. I told you about her, didn’t I?’

  Up on the second floor, they congregated in Libby and Ben’s room and between them, Fran and Libby recounted the events of the day.

  Guy looked worried. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said. ‘It sounds as if the government might be involved on both counts. You don’t want to get anywhere near them.’

  Fran’s face set into stone Madonna mode, which Libby recognised as her friend’s stubborn, never-to-be-moved look.

  ‘There’s a mystery to be solved here,’ she said. ‘There’s something wrong with the house for a start, and if we don’t find out what it is Dame Amanda will never sell it.’

  ‘She started out by wanting to find out who was behind the rumours and whether the family had anything to do with it. I think she still wants that, but what we’ve found out so far will make her want to get out whatever happens,’ said Libby. ‘And I don’t want someone else to profit by that.’

  ‘Do you want us to do anything?’ asked Ben warily.

  ‘Yes, please. Could you get Dorian and Gerry talking? They weren’t exactly receptive to us earlier. And John English, if you can.’

  ‘He’s the solicitor?’ said Ben. ‘I suppose I could talk about the house from the architectural point of view to him.’

  ‘And I’d like an architect’s point of view on the drawing room, please Ben,’ said Fran. ‘I’m sure there’s something wrong with the fireplace.’

  ‘Well, I expect it’s been altered over the years …’

  ‘It’s Georgian,’ said Libby. ‘A lot later than the house. You know, with the little shelves either side of the firebasket.’

  ‘And the room’s painted panelling,’ said Fran.

  ‘So what’s wrong with it?’ asked Ben, frowning.

  ‘I don’t know. But something is.’

  At half past seven Libby led her little party down the back staircase to the drawing room. The surprise on the faces of the assembled guests told her this wasn’t the usual entrance, and she felt obscurely glad that she’d caught them on the wrong foot.

  After introductions had been made, Dame Amanda waved a hand at a drinks trolley set up in an alcove beside the fireplace. Ben looked at it with interest.

  ‘So, Libby, your entrance disconcerted my little family.’ Dame Amanda cocked an amused eye at her old friend. ‘And when you called me Abby earlier –’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry about that,’ said Libby, abashed. ‘It just slipped out.’

  ‘No, I was delighted. Just shows them that they don’t know me as well as they thought.’

  ‘That’s what Fran said.’ Libby studied her hostess thoughtfully. ‘In fact …’ She trailed off as Ben presented her with a large scotch.

  ‘Sit down here, child, if you can get down that far.’ Dame Amanda indicated a footstool by her chair. ‘There. Now, I can guess what Fran wondered. She’s a very perceptive person, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby was wary.

  ‘And she wondered if my son and daughter were adopted?’

  Libby cleared her throat. ‘Er – yes.’

  ‘She’s right, of course.’ Dame Amanda’s eyes slid across to Dorian. ‘Not one of my best decisions.’

  ‘No?’ Libby was shocked, but Dame Amanda smiled down at her. ‘A nasty little story, really. Dorian’s mother ran away with Clemency’s father. They were both appearing in a play with me, and the two children had spent a lot of time at the theatre.’ She shrugged. ‘And there we are.’

  ‘But what about Dorian’s father and Clemency’s mother?’

  ‘Dorian’s father had never taken any notice of Dorian and didn’t want anything to do with him. No one has heard of him since. He just disappeared. I had to try and find him because of the formal adoption, but he’d vanished. And the worst part of the whole sordid episode was that Clemency’s mother committed suicide.’

  ‘Oh, how dreadful!’ Libby’s hand had flown to her mouth.

  ‘So you felt responsible for them?’ said Ben. ‘But why?’

  ‘I had been instrumental in casting both of them in the play, and the children had seen more stability at the theatre than anywhere else.’ She shrugged. ‘I just took them both home with me.’

  ‘And Dorian resents you,’ said Libby shrewdly.

  ‘Oh, yes. He’s blamed me ever since. He was a very grown-up child, perfectly well able to see what was going on. And now I’m wrecking what he sees as his heritage. Clemency, as you’ll have realised, is a different type entirely. She’s very like her mother.’

  ‘She’s grateful and Dorian isn’t,’ suggested Ben. ‘Not a comfortable position.’

  ‘Especially as Dorian’s wife married him thinking he would come in to a lot more than he will,’ said Dame Amanda. ‘Well, too late now. I also wish I hadn’t re-named them both.’

  ‘Those weren’t their original names?’ said Libby.

  ‘No, child. There was a bit of a scandal at the time, as you can imagine, and I didn’t want them to go through life with it hanging over them.’

  ‘We did wonder about the names,’ smiled Libby. ‘Dorian was after Dorian Gray?’

  ‘Indeed. Didn’t work, did it?’ Dame Amanda laughed aloud, causing heads to turn towards them.

  ‘And where does Clemency come from?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Clemency, the General’s daughter. Betjeman. I met him, you know.’

  ‘Did you?’ Libby was enthralled. ‘I love him!’

  Dame Amanda nodded across to Fran. ‘I think she’s looking stressed, Libby.’

  ‘Yes. She’s very worried about this room.’

  ‘Yes.’ Dame Amanda was still looking at Fran and Guy in conversation with Dorian and Lana. ‘Does she know why?’

  ‘No, but …’ Libby looked up at Ben, who nodded. ‘We have found out some things about the house from our professor friend, but we have been more or less sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘Really?’ Dame Amanda raised expressive eyebrows. ‘That bad?’

  ‘Well … we’ll obviously have to tell you, but I think we ought to do that in private. I believe your solicitor might know more than he’s told you, too.’

  ‘John? I’ve known him for years. Will we tell him what you’ve found out?’

  ‘After we’ve told you,’ said Libby. ‘Now we’d better circulate.’

  Ben pulled her to her feet and smiled down at Dame Amanda. ‘Thank you for inviting us.’

  ‘My pleasure, child. Now go and work your magic.’

  ‘I hope we can,’ muttered Libby, as they crossed to Fran and Guy, who were now talking to Clemency and Gerry.

  ‘I know it would be difficult for you after living here,’ Clemency was saying, ‘but you’ll have to go eventually.’

  ‘Why?’ Gerry was leaning against the mantelpiece, his eyes on his glass. ‘If the old lady dies she’ll leave it to Dorian –’

  ‘And me,’ said Clemency sharply.

  ‘All right.’ Gerry slid his eyes towards her briefly. ‘But Dorian won’t sell.’

  ‘He’ll have to buy me out then. And why do you think he’d let you stay?’

  ‘Aha!’ Gerry tapped the side of his nose with an unsteady finger.

  ‘You’re hopeless,’ said Clemency in a disgusted voice. ‘I’m sorry about my family,’ she said to the other four. ‘The manners are appalling.’

  ‘Hey!’ Gerry pushed himself upright and tottered. Ben and Guy both steadied him. ‘Thanks,’ he grunted. ‘Not appalling. And not family.’ He moved towards the drinks trolley.

  Libby looked at Clemency, who had gone bright red. ‘As I was saying,’ she said brightly, ‘no manners!’

  ‘Well!’ said Libby, as Clemency drifted towards her mother. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘And bears out what I was thinking earlier,’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes.’ Libby nodded. ‘In fact, Dame Amanda has just told us the story, and you were right.’ Libby repeated the sorry tale of Dorian and Clemen
cy.

  ‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ said Fran, ‘but Gerry’s obviously resentful, probably because he’s a blood relation and they aren’t.’

  ‘I don’t see what any of that has to do with the rumours,’ said Guy.

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Libby frankly. ‘But it does mean Gerry’s got an axe to grind.’

  ‘So he’s the obvious suspect. The only one living here when the hauntings occurred. But why scare Dame Amanda when he wants to stay here?’ said Guy.

  ‘It’s becoming a bit clearer,’ said Ben, frowning. ‘He wants to scare her because he wants to search the place, but not to sell it, or whatever’s here will pass out of his reach.’

  ‘That’s true of all of them,’ said Fran.

  Ben looked across to where John English stood by Dame Amanda’s chair. ‘I think I’ll go and have a little chat with our solicitor,’ he murmured, and wandered over. Libby, Fran, and Guy watched as the two men turned away from the rest of the guests and went over to the long windows, now heavily curtained against the December night. Dame Amanda raised her eyebrows at Libby.

  ‘Is that your husband?’

  Libby turned round to find Lana behind her, scarlet talons clutching a cocktail glass.

  ‘Over there?’

  Lana nodded. ‘With John English.’

  ‘My partner,’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh, not married, then?’ Lana’s face took on a distinctly predatory expression and Libby became alarmed.

  ‘As good as,’ cut in Fran, who looked amused. ‘Partners in life and business.’

  Libby opened her mouth to ask what business, but caught Guy’s warning look in time.

  ‘What do you do, Lana?’ she asked instead.

  ‘Work, do you mean?’ Lana looked startled. ‘Oh – this and that. I help Dorian.’

  ‘And what does Dorian do?’ asked Guy.

  ‘He’s a – he’s a –’ Lana was obviously struggling for words. ‘A historian!’ she finished triumphantly.

  ‘A historian?’ her listeners repeated disbelievingly.

  ‘Oh, come off it, Lana.’ Dorian appeared beside them. ‘I dabble a bit in antiques. I take an interest in the history of an item sometimes.’

  ‘But you have to know quite a bit about history if you deal in antiques – or collect them – don’t you?’ said Libby.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Dorian was now looking uncomfortable.