Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series Page 9

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it. I expect she’s starting senile dementia or something. Thanks for listening.’

  For the rest of the day, Libby worried and wondered alternately about James and Flo Carpenter. On James’s behalf, she felt outraged fury. Peter and Ben had obviously been right about Paula, who, in turn, had read James so accurately. Trapped in a scenario that belonged in the fifties, James would no more abandon her than he would his mother. To be fair, Libby acknowledged, he had to take responsibility for the pregnancy. Whatever happened to safe sex, she wondered.

  Flo Carpenter, on the other hand, might be a source of information that both she and Peter had ignored for the play and, by inference, for the two sabotage attempts. Still wondering whether she wasn’t making proverbial mountains out of irrelevant molehills, at about four-thirty Libby lifted the phone and dialled the number James had given her.

  ‘Mrs Carpenter?’

  ‘Yes?’ The voice was obviously elderly, but by no means infirm.

  ‘My name’s Libby Sarjeant –’

  ‘Oh, the one that’s doing Peter’s play?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’ Libby grinned, pleased at this ready recognition.

  ‘I’m coming to see it, you know.’

  ‘Yes, so James tells me. I hope you won’t think we’ve taken liberties with you all.’

  ‘Oh, no, dear. Hetty showed me the book – what do you call it?’

  ‘The script.’

  ‘That’s right. Well, I read it – bit difficult to read – not like a real book – but it seemed fine to me. And that young Paula’s playing me, isn’t she? What can I do for you?’

  ‘I wondered if I could come and talk to you some time? You know, get some of your impressions of those days. It would help me enormously.’ Libby crossed her fingers at this bending of the truth.

  ‘Of course, dear, but I don’t see how I can help,’ came the doubtful reply. ‘I mean, Peter got it all from Hetty, and you’ve talked to her as well, haven’t you?’

  ‘Not a lot, actually. She keeps herself to herself, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. Well, come any time you like, dear. I’m always glad of company. Have you had your tea?’

  ‘Er – no –’ Libby replied, visions of cucumber sandwiches floating before her eyes.

  ‘Come down here and have it with me, then. You’re not far, are you?’

  ‘No – Allhallow’s Lane,’ confirmed Libby, ‘but I don’t want to impose –’

  ‘Don’t be silly, girl. You’ve got to eat. Now I’ve got a nice steak and kidney pudding in the saucepan, how about that? Plenty for two, with some potatoes and a bit of cabbage.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Libby doubtfully.

  ‘Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t, would I? I’ll see you in about half an hour – all right?’

  Libby agreed that it was and put the phone down, lifting it almost immediately to ring The Pink Geranium.

  ‘Harry, is Peter home today?’

  ‘Yes, dear heart, he’s right here getting in my way. I’ll pass you over.’

  ‘Hallo, you old trout. Got over Sunday’s shenanigans?’

  ‘I have – how about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine. TLC from Harry all evening – and didn’t I lay it on – and all ill-effects had gone. Is that all you called about, my welfare?’

  ‘Well no, not entirely. I’ve just been invited to supper with Flo Carpenter – or tea, as she called it.’

  ‘Good heavens. There’s an honour. Good cook, Auntie Flo, if you’re not a veggie, of course.’

  ‘You never told me she was still alive and living here.’

  ‘Well, don’t make it sound like an accusation, dearie. I never thought about it. After all, in our little entertainment she’s not exactly germane, is she?’

  ‘I suppose not. Do you happen to know if she likes wine? I’d like to take something with me.’

  ‘She’ll have plenty – had a good cellar, old Carpenter. But she likes a drop of stout, so you could take her a bottle or two of that. Oh – and you’ll be in good company, she smokes like a trooper.’

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ said Libby wryly. ‘I don’t know where I’d be without you pandering to my ego.’

  ‘You’d get above yourself, that’s what. Listen, Flo likes to go to bed early, so when she chucks you out come over to us for a nightcap. Harry’s closed this evening.’

  Libby wrapped herself in her cape after tidying herself up and trying to do something with her hair, and set off for the eight-till-late to buy stout and cigarettes.

  Maltby Close led off the High Street and consisted of a converted barn and several other buildings constructed in the same style. Flo lived in the original barn and opened the door immediately to Libby’s knock.

  ‘Come in, ducks, come in.’ She stood aside for Libby to enter. ‘Bit warm in here, so I’ll take your coat straight away.’

  Gratefully, Libby peeled off her cape, juggling with basket and carrier bag at the same time. It was indeed a bit warm and she felt perspiration break out in all the expected places and some unexpected ones.

  ‘Oh, ta, dear,’ said Flo, accepting the carrier bag, ‘just what I like. I opened a bottle of the nice claret for you – I hope you like red?’

  Libby assured her she did and was led to a modern sitting-room furnished with enough antiques to stock a couple of shops. Two overstuffed chairs stood either side of an electric fire and Flo waved her to the one on the right.

  ‘Glass of wine, now, or would you prefer something else?’

  ‘Wine would be lovely.’ Libby subsided into the armchair amid a billowing of scarves and unwound one from her neck, while accepting a large glass of red wine from her hostess.

  ‘So, what was it you wanted to ask me?’ Flo sat down in the armchair opposite and poured stout carefully into a tall glass, giving Libby the opportunity to study her. Shorter than Hetty, she was wiry and bird-like, her plentiful grey hair twisted neatly on top of her head. Huge red spectacles dangled on a jewelled chain over an obviously expensive cashmere jumper. She put the glass down after an appreciative sip and lit a cigarette.

  ‘What you remember of the season when the play is set, really. What was Hetty like, and Gregory – and Joe Warburton, of course.’

  Flo regarded her, head on one side like the bird she resembled.

  ‘Depends whether you want the before or after version.’

  ‘Before what? Do you mean the murder?’

  ‘No – before she started going with Greg. That was when she changed.’

  ‘Did she? In what way?’

  Flo settled back in her chair and took another sip of stout. ‘She was always a quiet, shy sort of a girl – very helpful to her mum – good with Millie, did as she was told, you know. Me, now, I was a different kettle of fish. A bold piece, my gran used to call me, but then I’d been spoilt. I was the only one and Mum was a dressmaker, so she always had work. There were no men in our house, either, so I was used to women doing what they wanted, while poor old Het and her mum lived under Ted’s thumb – or fist. Cor! – knocked old Lillian about, he did.’

  ‘So what happened when Hetty met Greg?’ prompted Libby, when Flo seemed to go off in a trance.

  ‘Well, we’d seen him the year before, see. He was a pole-puller in his holidays.’

  ‘Pole-puller?’

  ‘They walked about on stilts unhooking the bines from the strings strung across the poles.’

  ‘Bines?’

  Flo frowned at her. ‘Bines is the hop vines. Means a climbing shoot,’ she added surprisingly, ‘like, you know, columbine. Anyway, when we come down this year, Frank – that’s my Frank, see, he introduced us. Mr Gregory, he called him. Well, you should’ve seen it. One look between those two and it was like firework night. And then, Hetty, she got bolder. Used to go off to meet Greg almost every afternoon when we’d finished picking, before dinner, and sometimes afterwards. She never told me where, but I’d cover for her if I could,
although I was going off to see Frank, by then. ’Course my mum and gran didn’t approve of me meeting Frank – said he was too old, but he was lovely and I didn’t care. He treated me different from those boys in London – all hands, they was. Frank treated me like a lady. And he had a bit put by, and a reserved occupation, of course. When we got married he brought Mum and Gran down here as well. He was a good man.’

  Libby let her gaze into the electric fire for a while before asking gently, ‘And Hetty? What happened?’

  ‘She got careless. There was this tallyman – Warburton. Oh, you know about him, don’t you? Well, she wouldn’t have none of him and he started putting in the needle. Found out about her and Greg and told Ted. You know all this, though, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby lit a cigarette and watched the smoke spiral up to join Flo’s. ‘It’s a bit difficult, really. You see – Lenny came down for a few days–’

  ‘Yes, he came to see me.’ Flo leered. ‘I don’t encourage him.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby was startled.

  ‘Oh, he always fancied me. Then I married Frank and he went off and became a wide boy. He tries to see me whenever he comes down – not that it’s very often.’

  ‘Did he say anything about the play?’

  ‘No, I didn’t give him a chance. I was going to whist. If he don’t phone first, I can’t be staying in, can I?’ Flo looked triumphant and Libby smiled.

  ‘No, of course not. It was just that a couple of things have happened over the last week – accidents, you know, and it worried Lenny.’ She didn’t add that it had worried everybody else as well. When you took the incidents out and gave them a good hard look, they didn’t amount to much really.

  ‘Worried him? How?’ Flo sat forward, frowning.

  ‘He thought at least one of the accidents had been set up for him.’

  ‘What? To hurt him, you mean?’ Libby realised that she had shocked Flo and felt guilty.

  ‘Yes – but I think he was wrong.’ Inspiration hit her. ‘That’s what I wanted to ask, you see. I would like to reassure him, but he wouldn’t say why he thought someone would want to harm him, so I thought you’d be sure to know.’

  Flo thought for a moment before stubbing out her cigarette. ‘You mean it’s something from them days?’

  ‘He thought so.’

  Flo shook her head. ‘Can’t be. Everyone knew what happened – that Warburton was found dead and Ted disappeared. Clear as daylight, weren’t it? Nobody blamed the Fishers – although Lillian took them all back to London straightaway. Wouldn’t even stay another night. ’Course, they didn’t know Hetty was expecting Susan, then.’

  ‘Did Lenny come back when Lillian and Hetty did?’

  ‘No, ’cause of the war, see? No reason for him to. Then when he married That Woman –’ Flo spoke in capital letters ‘– Lillian and Millie came back again. You know all that, too, don’t you?’

  Libby nodded. ‘So is there anybody here who Lenny might have – oh, I don’t know –upset? Annoyed?’

  ‘No. Lenny was quite a mild chap in those days. He was always more worried about Ted doing something stupid. And quite right too, as it turned out.’

  ‘What about Warburton? Did he have any family who might have – well, wanted revenge or something?’

  ‘He had a mother. But she was a bit doolally even then. She wouldn’t have known what was going on.’ Flo pushed herself to her feet. ‘That pudding’ll be ready now. Come and sit down.’

  The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Flo was, as Peter had said, an extremely good cook and was interested in all aspects of the play, particularly Paula who was playing Lizzie – the part of Flo herself.

  ‘Blonde, she ought to be. I was blonde.’ Flo was clearing plates in to the tiny kitchen.

  ‘Well, she’s not exactly blonde,’ said Libby doubtfully.

  ‘As long as she’s pretty,’ said Flo firmly. ‘I was.’

  ‘Oh, she’s pretty, all right,’ said Libby. ‘A bit too old, though.’

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ said Flo obliquely. ‘I remember when she come ’ere with her mum.’

  ‘Paula? I thought she’d lived here for ever.’

  ‘Nah. They come about the time young James was born. She’d be about six, then. Same age as Peter.’

  ‘He thought she was younger. Didn’t they go to school together?’

  ‘Pete didn’t go to the village school. Everyone wondered about ’em. Her mum was Mrs Wentworth, but I don’t reckon she was married. They used to live over the butcher’s shop in the High Street.’ Flo wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Then they got the cottage in Lendle Lane. Don’t know how they afforded that. She didn’t work.’

  ‘Who? Paula’s mum?’

  ‘Delicate, she was. Died just before Paula went to London.’

  Libby thought she might have found out why Paula was so keen to settle down. And surely she didn’t want to end up as a single parent like her mother.

  She took her leave at about half past nine.

  ‘I’ve heard as you’re seeing our Ben?’ said Flo as she saw her out.

  Libby blushed in the darkness. ‘I wouldn’t say seeing, exactly. He’s been helping a bit with the play, and he designed the theatre, so I’ve seen a bit of him, naturally.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Flo squinted at her. ‘Well, do you both good, if you ask me. He’s done enough running around with these young birds. Needs a good solid woman of his own age.’

  Refusing to be insulted by this unflattering description, Libby pulled her scarf tighter and bade Flo goodnight.

  Peter and Harry were wearing matching towelling robes in navy blue and white. Libby told them they looked like a shot for a mail-order catalogue. Peter poured her a large whisky and she sat in her usual subsiding chair by the fire.

  ‘Nice din-dins?’ Peter flopped back into his corner of the sofa and Harry began to massage his feet.

  ‘Lovely, thanks. And the wine was good. Oh, and thanks for the tip about the stout. She loved it.’

  ‘So, did you get what you wanted?’ Harry swivelled his eyes sideways at her.

  ‘Er – yes. Corroborative detail – that sort of thing.’ Libby felt herself colouring up and bent down for her whisky glass.

  ‘Come on. What is it you’re after really?’ Peter swung his legs down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  Libby tried to think of something to say while avoiding both pairs of eyes trained on her like sniper guns.

  ‘Look, if you’re trying to get to the bottom of these accidents, you might as well give up.’ Peter’s voice held a warning note. ‘My dear mama is troubled and has now got my brother worried, and little what’s-er-face who’s playing Becky is behaving like Mariana of the Moated Grange. I don’t know what’s behind it and I don’t want to.’

  Libby’s mouth set in a tight line of embarrassment and stubbornness.

  ‘She doesn’t agree, dear heart.’ Harry smiled lazily through a haze of cigarette smoke.

  Peter sighed, exasperated. ‘Look, Lib, have you discussed this with Ben?’

  ‘Sort of. Last night on the way back from rehearsal. We thought Lenny must have gone back to London before we started asking any more questions.’

  ‘Well, then. Don’t you think the sensible thing to do is stop asking them?’

  It was Libby’s turn to sigh. ‘That’s all very well, but I can’t risk any more accidents. Someone could be really badly hurt. If it really is someone trying to frighten us off, they won’t stop, don’t you see?’

  Peter sat back again, scowling like a Roman emperor.

  ‘So what did you ask Flo?’ Harry stood up and went to fetch Libby an ashtray.

  ‘I asked what Hetty and Greg were like in the old days.’

  ‘And did you get anything useful?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘No. I’d heard it all before. A couple of details that were new – like how Hetty changed when she met Greg, but that was all. Oh, and Warburton had a mother.’

&nbs
p; Harry clapped his hand to his forehead. ‘That’s it, then. It’s a one hundred and twenty-year-old woman seeking revenge.’

  Peter pulled at the back of Harry’s robe, which threatened to fall apart. ‘Sit down, you tart.’

  ‘Well, it could be a family feud, couldn’t it?’ Harry sat down on the sofa.

  ‘Flo said that she was a bit peculiar and wouldn’t have known what was going on, so it can’t be that.’ Libby gazed thoughtfully into the fire. ‘What I can’t get over is how Millie, who was only a toddler at the time, is so bothered by all of this.’

  Peter sighed. ‘Well, she’s going to have something else to worry about now, isn’t she?’

  A small silence fell. Libby glanced furtively at Harry, who shrugged.

  ‘Look, I know he’s told you. What do you think?’ Peter leaned forward again.

  ‘Er – James? Paula?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m furious.’

  Peter leaned back. ‘Good. So are we all. So what do we do about it?’

  ‘We can’t do anything, can we? If James really is this baby’s father then he has to take responsibility for it, but whatever happened to condoms?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Peter triumphantly, ‘that’s where it gets even more interesting. James thought she was still on the pill, and because they were still “in a relationship” as I believe the phrase goes, wasn’t using any other protection. Remember when they went away for that weekend?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘Suppose not. Well, that’s when it was, apparently. He wanted to dump her and she decided he wasn’t going to.’

  ‘Libby’s right, though, Pete,’ said Harry. ‘James is a big boy now, and we can’t do anything. Anyway, your ma will be pleased, won’t she? Means he’ll be around and she’ll have a grandchild.’

  ‘That’s what James said to me,’ agreed Libby. ‘And Flo told me Paula’s mum was a single parent, so she won’t want to end up the same. Where are they now?’

  ‘James is in Canterbury in his flat. He phoned earlier.’