Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-five 1964

Stunned silence.

‘Wyghtham?’ Libby croaked finally.

‘Yup.’ The barman slid two glasses of wine and two brandies across the counter. ‘Always swore it had been her family home.’

‘Who exactly was she?’ asked Fran, the first to recover properly. ‘Was she Lady Middleton? Who was her husband?’

The barman looked up with a chuckle. ‘Want to know a lot, don’t you?’

The four of them looked at each other.

‘Well, yes,’ said Libby. ‘We’re – ah – involved in the investigation, you see.’

‘You’re not police.’

‘No, we’re …’ Libby stopped, not sure precisely what they were.

‘We know Mrs Watson,’ said Fran. ‘We were called in to help her as she didn’t have any local support.’

‘No, she wouldn’t.’ The barman turned and put Ben’s money in the till. ‘Not much for being part of the village. Course,’ he continued with a shrug, ‘she weren’t here mostly, and the old Middleton place isn’t hardly in the village. More Keeper’s Cob, to my way of thinking.’

‘So,’ said Libby, leaning cosily on the bar. ‘This Lady Middleton. She owned the place?’

‘Her old man did. Got his title back in the eighties. He got the house when his older brother died.’

‘Is he still alive?’ asked Ben.

‘Nah. Died in the nineties. She stayed there until the last minute. Went into hospital kicking up a dust and died later the same day.’

‘When was this?’ asked Fran.

‘Just before them Watsons bought it. They reckoned she’d been talking to him before she died.’

‘Who do?’ said Guy.

‘Who do what?’

‘Who reckon she’d been talking to Roland Watson?’ elaborated Libby.

‘Oh, everyone. “They” y’know?’

‘Villagers,’ said Fran.

‘Yeah – just people. She weren’t popular, see. Always had stuff delivered.’

‘Didn’t buy in the village,’ said Libby.

‘Even when we had a shop. Everything delivered. And only that Marilyn to help in the house.’

‘Marilyn?’ Libby and Fran both leant closer.

‘Yeah.’ The barman looked surprised. ‘You know her?’

‘Marilyn Fairbrass?

‘Kevin’s ma. Yeah.’

‘Does she live on the farm with Kevin?’ asked Fran.

Now the barman narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘You don’t know her.’

‘Only as Adelaide Watson’s housekeeper,’ said Libby. ‘So she stayed with the house.’

‘You could say that.’

‘So, Lady Middleton. She was a Wyghtham.’

‘From over Cherry Ashton way. The Wyghthams been around here for ever.’

Edward appeared behind them.

‘Wyghthams?’ he repeated.

‘We’ll tell you outside,’ said Libby. ‘Are you going to have a drink?’

‘No, I’m driving us back to Steeple Martin, aren’t I?’

‘How was Carl?’ asked Fran.

‘Subdued.’ Edward glanced at the barman, who was looking interested.

‘That Doctor Oxenford?’ he asked. ‘Poor bugger. Only been here five minutes and goes and loses his wife. Mind, none of us know him, really.’

‘Isn’t he your doctor?’ asked Guy.

‘Well, no. Everyone goes to the Health Centre over in Steeple Mount. Always have. Haven’t had a practice in the village since – before I were born, anyhow.’

‘Did you know his wife?’ asked Fran.

‘Only saw her once. She were another one who never joined in. Never saw her about the place. Had things delivered.’ He looked up at Edward. ‘Sorry, mate, if she was a friend of yours.’

Edward shook his head with a slight smile.

‘Come on, then,’ said Libby, sliding off her bar stool. ‘Time we were going.’ She turned to the barman. ‘Thanks for all the information. Let’s hope it all gets cleared up soon, eh?’

She led a small company simmering with questions and tensions out of the bar and into the car park.

‘What the –?’

‘Wyghtham?’

‘Middleton?’

‘Cherry Ashton –?’

‘No patients?’

Libby sat on the low wall that bordered the road. ‘Do you realise we learnt more from that bloke than we’ve learnt in days. Well done for spotting that ad, Fran.’

‘I wonder why the first barman was hostile?’ mused Ben.

‘I don’t think he was hostile. He was just like those three blokes I saw the first time I came here. Wary.’

‘Well Sammy the Second Barman certainly wasn’t,’ said Guy. ‘I don’t think I understood half the references you did.’

‘And I haven’t even heard them,’ said Edward.

Libby rummaged in her bag and fished out a rather battered packet of cigarettes. ‘I know I hardly ever have one of these now, but I feel the need,’ she said. ‘So don’t anyone lecture me.’ She lit the cigarette and proceeded to recount the barman’s information, with frequent interruptions from Fran, Ben and Guy.

Edward looked positively lit-up. ‘So there could be something there!’

‘Not if old Lady Middleton-Wyghtham had been living there for twenty years or more. I wonder if she only married Mr Middleton to get back into the house?’

‘They couldn’t have had any children,’ said Fran, ‘or it would have been them who sold the house to Roland.’

‘We just have to talk to Adelaide, now,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder if the police know this?’

‘I don’t suppose they’d think it was relevant,’ said Ben.

‘What about Carl?’ asked Fran.

‘He was just – subdued, as I said.’ Edward frowned, leaning back against his car, his arms folded. ‘He didn’t say much.’

‘In view of what the barman said, I wonder if he’ll stay here,’ said Guy,

‘I don’t understand it.’ Edward shook his head. ‘Why come here and start up a practice if there were going to be no patients?’

‘He probably thought there would be, as there isn’t a doctor in the village,’ said Libby. ‘How do you set up a practice? I thought there already had to be one you bought in to?’

‘Quite a lot to look into,’ said Fran. ‘Go on, go home. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

‘And then,’ said Libby, once they were in the car, ‘there’s Marilyn Fairbrass. We couldn’t find a number for her, and it sounds as though we
really
need to talk to her. I wonder if the police have?’

‘Of course they have,’ said Ben. ‘You know that.’

‘But have they talked to her about
this
? About having been with Lady Middleton until the end?’

‘I don’t suppose they would even have thought about it,’ said Ben.

‘But she must know something,’ said Edward.

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Libby, ‘but someone needs to talk to her.’

‘I really don’t think the police are going to be interested, Libby.’ Ben swivelled round from the front passenger seat. ‘They only indulged you all about the treasure hunt while they were casting around for something else.’

‘You think this is involved with the treasure, then,’ said Edward. ‘This Lady Wyghtham – ’

‘Middleton,’ said Libby.

‘Lady Middleton knew about it … that’s why she married?’

‘I hope she wasn’t quite that cynical,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll see if Adelaide knows anything, and talk to Marilyn Fairbrass. At least we know her son’s name now.’

‘How will you find her?’ asked Ben.

‘Ask Adelaide,’ said Libby.

But the next morning, Adelaide wasn’t answering her phone.

While Libby was doing her Friday shop at the supermarket, her mobile rang.

‘Can’t hear you properly,’ she said to the burbling voice. ‘I’m in the supermarket.’

‘Go to the door then,’ came Ian’s voice, and Libby, startled, did so.

‘What’s up?’ She stood near enough to the doors to hear without setting off the alarms.

‘Have you been in touch with Adelaide Watson since you saw her the day before yesterday?’

‘No. I tried to ring her this morning but there was no reply.’

‘Why? Why did you ring her?’

‘To see how she was – if she’d got home all right.’ Libby prevaricated. ‘Why?’

‘We can’t get hold of her either. We sent Robertson up there yesterday, and according to the neighbours, no one’s seen her.’

‘What about Julian Watson?’

‘Robertson tracked him down at work. According to him, he didn’t even know his mother was coming back to London.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘Apart from having had an affair with Ramani Oxenford while she was in London, he doesn’t seem implicated in any way.’

‘Oh, he’s admitted that, has he?’

‘Yes. He says he wasn’t the only one.’

‘Hmm. Ian, we learnt something else interesting yesterday. At least, we thought it was interesting.’

DCI Connell sighed heavily. ‘OK. What now?’

‘Do you want to talk about it now? I’m in the middle of Sainsbury’s and my frozen food’s melting.’

‘How urgent is it?’

‘Not to say urgent, exactly.’

‘I’ll meet your at your place in – what? Half an hour?’

‘OK,’ said Libby meekly. She ended the call and phoned Fran.

‘Can you meet me there, too?’

‘I’m supposed to be shop-sitting, I can’t really.’

‘Oh, bugger,’ said Libby, earning herself a dirty look from a passing grandmother with a toddler.

‘You can call me while he’s there if you need to,’ said Fran. ‘Go on, get a move on.’

Even though she hurried, Ian was still there before her, leaning on the bonnet of his long dark saloon looking Celtic and forbidding. He unbent enough to take her shopping bags while she opened the door, avoiding Sidney as he shot out of the door between their legs.

‘Now, what’s this all about,’ he asked, as Libby began putting the frozen food away.

‘Put the kettle on, will you?’ said Libby. ‘We can talk just as well with a cup of tea.’

Ian filled the electric kettle and switched it on. ‘I don’t trust your Rayburn. Now, go on.’

Libby told him everything they’d learnt the previous day, even her suspicions about the arts and antiquities racket.

‘So you see, I really wanted to talk to Marilyn Fairbrass,’ she finished, ‘only we haven’t got a number for her or her Kevin.’

Ian took his mug into the sitting room and sat in the armchair by the fireplace. ‘To find out what?’

Libby sat opposite him. ‘About old Lady Middleton. Did you know about her?’

‘We knew Watson bought Dark House from the estate after probate, yes.’

‘Who was her beneficiary?’

Ian raised his eyebrows. ‘Her beneficiary? Why should we need to know that?’

‘Ian!’ Libby was shocked. ‘Think about it. Someone might have been cross about the sale.’

‘No, Libby. It would have been her beneficiary who authorised the sale.’

‘Oh.’ Libby deflated. ‘Oh yes. Anyway, I’d still like to know. They might have found something out about the house after they’d sold it.’

‘Why kill Ramani?’

‘I don’t know. I’m still thinking about this. It’s a new theory. Anyway, what about Marilyn?’

‘It’s true we didn’t know she was also with the previous owner. I suppose that bears further investigation.’

‘Can’t we talk to her?’

‘If you can find her, I can’t stop you,’ said Ian with a sly smile.

‘So you aren’t going to tell me where she is?’

‘No. But I will tell you the name of her son’s farm.’

‘Kevin. Does she live with him?

‘The farm is Cob Farm. At the other end of Dark Lane.’

‘Oh, lord,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘I hate that road. And what about Carl Oxenford and his ghost practice?’

‘Just unlucky? From what we’ve heard over the last couple of weeks, his sole idea was to keep his wife away from temptation. I’ll get on to the local Health Trust, see what I can find out.’

‘You know,’ said Libby, ‘Adelaide was the one who told us Carl was their doctor. But was he NHS? Couldn’t he have been private?’

‘He could. That might make a difference.’

‘Edward told us Carl was in practice in Leicester. Have you looked that up?’

‘Libby,’ said Ian, exasperated, ‘we’re the police. I am a Chief Detective Inspector. Of course we have!’

‘And was that private?’

‘No, although some of the doctors had private patients. Believe it or not, Carl Oxenford is still a partner of that practice, and personally owns the freehold of the property.’

‘Blimey!’ said Libby.

Chapter Twenty-six

Ian went away, promising to let Libby know if he heard anything about Adelaide. Libby rang Fran and told her what Ian had said.

‘I want to see Marilyn Fairbrass,’ she said. ‘She’s got to know something.’

‘Did Ian say you could?’

‘He said I could if I could find her. He also said she bears investigating.’

‘When will you go?’

‘I thought now. This afternoon. Before it gets dark.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to wait until tomorrow morning? It gets dark so early in December.’

‘But I want to speak to her as soon as possible!’

‘Libby,’ said Fran, with a patient sigh, ‘suppose something happens? You get lost, or stuck in the mud or something?’

‘Like Kevin turning out to be a mad axeman?’

‘And it’s dark. And you’ve got to get home again. You know what those lanes are like. They frightened you the first time you went there.’

‘Oh, all right,’ Libby grumbled. ‘Will you be able to come with me tomorrow?’

‘No, I’m still working in the shop. You ladies of leisure might be able to do what you like, but us workers can’t.’

‘You’ve got pots more money than I have!’ said Libby indignantly.

‘I also have a husband who won’t take a penny of it and needs to make his business pay.’

‘OK, OK. If Ben lets me, of course.’

‘I thought he was off on his annual Christmas visit to the children tomorrow?’

Ben’s grown-up children were now scattered over the country, but came together in London in order to see their father every Christmas. It wasn’t an occasion either side relished.

‘Oh, so he is. Bum. And it isn’t Monday, so Harry can’t come with me.’

‘You’ve said you don’t want Harry to come with you any more.’

‘I could ask Pete.’

‘You could ask Edward. He’d be game.’

‘No.’ Libby was firm. ‘Much as I like him, I still don’t quite trust him. He’s got his own agenda. Pete hasn’t got any agenda.’

‘Ask him, then. But let me know when you leave, and text me every so often so I know where you are.’

Slightly unnerved by Fran’s concern, Libby rang Peter.

‘I’m sorry, me old trout,’ he said, ‘I’m off up Lunnon to do Christmas shopping and then go to a press dinner. I’m not coming home until Sunday.’

‘Oh,’ said Libby. ‘Are you travelling up with Ben?’

‘We are. And back on Sunday. We’re even staying in the same hotel.’

‘Why didn’t I know any of this?’

‘Because you don’t listen, dear heart. Now, I shall tell Hal that you’ll be in for supper on your own tomorrow night, shall I?’

‘All right, thanks, Pete. Have a lovely time.’

Feeling forlorn, Libby wandered into the conservatory and peered out at the wintry garden. Low mist hung beyond the fence at the bottom, and the bare cherry tree dripped onto the dead leaves below. Libby sighed.

Christmas shopping, she pondered. Oh dear. She hadn’t given it a thought. All she’d done was drag Ben off to get the tree. And now it was only two weeks until Christmas Day and a bit risky to rely on online shopping. However, if she made a start now, and paid for first class delivery, she supposed …

She went into the kitchen put a pan of soup on to heat and went to light the fire in the sitting room. Ten minutes later, she was at the little table in the window, a bowl of steaming soup and the open laptop in front of her.

Half an hour later, her mobile ringing startled the life out of her.

‘Is that Libby Sarjeant?’ asked a strange masculine voice.

‘Yes. Who’s that? And how did you get my number?’

‘It’s Julian Watson here. Remember, we met in Canterbury?’

‘Oh, yes. What can I do for you? I was actually trying to get hold of your mother this morning to see if she got back safely.’

‘So were the police.’ Julian sounded strained, and Libby decided not to tell him she knew that. ‘So does that mean you don’t know, either?’

‘I’m afraid not. When did you last see her?’

‘Last week in Canterbury, after she moved hotels. When did you see her?’

‘The day before yesterday. She called me on Tuesday and asked me to go to Dark House with her to help her pack, as she didn’t want to go on her own. So I went on Wednesday morning. When she left she said she was driving straight to London.’

‘Well, she didn’t. None of her neighbours have seen her and I went with the police to the flat. There’s no sign that she’s been there.’ Libby heard him take a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Where can she be?’

‘Julian, think. What do you know about your mother’s private life? I’m not talking about the life she shared with your father.’

‘That’s just as well, because there wasn’t much. He was hardly ever in the country.’ Julian’s voice was hard now. ‘She wasn’t happy, you know.’

‘No. She changed a lot after he died, even in just a week.’

‘Yes …’ Julian trailed off.

‘Was there something else? Something you’ve just thought of?’

‘She was angry. I don’t know what about, but it was as though she was expecting something to happen and it didn’t.’

‘Julian, I don’t want to offend you, but – ’ Libby stopped, trying to work out exactly how to put her query.

He sighed heavily. ‘I think I know what you’re going to say. Was she having an affair.’

‘Actually, yes. I was.’

‘The truth is, I don’t know. God knows, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d had a dozen affairs, the way he treated her, but I truly don’t know.’

‘Even though you both lived in London most of the time? Didn’t you see her then?’

‘Sometimes, but we didn’t move in the same circles. We’d have lunch or dinner together every now and then.’

‘Do you think there’s a possibility that she’s gone to a lover? Sorry to put it like that.’

‘If she has, why didn’t she let me know?’ Julian’s voice was breaking, now. ‘She didn’t even tell me she was leaving the hotel.’

‘What about your brother?’

‘He hasn’t heard anything either.’ Julian took another deep breath. ‘I know she wasn’t everyone’s idea of a good mother, but she was good to us.’

‘Can I do anything to help?’ asked Libby. ‘Is there anyone down here you’d like me to go and see? Talk to? I’m going to see Marilyn Fairbrass tomorrow. Do you think she might know something?’

‘I suppose so.’ Now Julian sounded deflated. ‘And that doctor, too. Ramani’s husband.’

‘Carl Oxenford.’

‘Yes.’ For a moment Libby thought she heard some other emotion in his voice. ‘I’m pretty sure Mum knew him better than she let on.’

‘I’ll see them both,’ promised Libby. ‘What’s your number? I’m no good at finding the numbers people are calling from.’

Julian reeled off two numbers, and also said he would let Libby know if he heard anything.

‘Fran.’ Libby took the phone with her into the kitchen, where she moved the big kettle on to the Rayburn hotplate.

‘Has something happened?’

‘Well, yes.’ Libby recounted her conversation with Julian. ‘Oh, and Pete’s going up to London tomorrow with Ben, so I’ll have to go to Cob Farm on my own. And I’ve promised Julian I’ll see Carl Oxenford.’

‘On your own?’ Fran sounded doubtful. ‘Is that wise?’

‘I can’t see Carl as a mad axe-wielding murderer, can you?’’

‘There’s something not right about him, though,’ said Fran. ‘All the business of having no patients.’

‘I’ll risk it. It’ll be broad daylight, and I’ll ring you when I’m on his doorstep. So what do you think has happened to Adelaide?’

Fran was silent for a moment. ‘I’m not feeling anything awful,’ she said eventually. ‘I wish we had something of hers, though.’

‘Julian sounds frantic, poor boy.’

‘I thought you’d stigmatised him as a money-grabbing ex-public-school trader?’

‘I had. But he’s still her son.’

Ben, as predicted, was dubious about the proposed expedition.

‘But I’ve got to see if anyone knows where Adelaide might be,’ argued Libby. ‘Her son’s worried stiff.’

‘Shame he wasn’t in touch with her more often, then,’ said Ben with a scowl.

‘He said they met in London, but when his father was home he wouldn’t have wanted to come down here. And this wasn’t their childhood home.’

‘That isn’t the only reason you’re going, though, is it?’

‘Well, no. I want to know about old Lady Middleton and the Wyghthams.’

‘Can’t you just ring up?’

‘Neither of the Fairbrasses are listed in the directory. They must be mobile only.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Ben sighed. ‘But promise me you’ll keep in touch, at least by text.’

‘I will. I told Fran the same thing.’

Peter collected Ben on Saturday morning, and, with many dire warnings, they drove off towards Canterbury. Libby, having a sudden brainwave, went once again for the phone book and looked up Cob Farm. Sure enough it was there – under business listings. She took a deep breath and pushed the right buttons.

‘Cob Farm,’ said a female voice. ‘How may I help you?’

‘I’m awfully sorry to bother you,’ said Libby, clearing her throat, ‘but I’m trying to get in touch with Marilyn Fairbrass –’

‘That’s me,’ broke in the voice. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘My name’s Libby Sarjeant,’ said Libby, wishing she’d thought this through.

‘Oh, are you young Adam’s mother?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby in surprise. ‘He didn’t say he knew you.’

‘Well, he doesn’t, not really,’ said Marilyn Fairbrass with a chuckle, ‘but I know him. Johnny Templeton told me their names. The gardeners.’

‘Oh, right. Well, I was actually wondering if I could talk to you at some point – ’

‘What about?’

‘Adelaide Watson. She’s disappeared.’ Libby wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have let this out, but too late now.

‘Disappeared? Oh. Bloody hell.’

‘Exactly. Julian’s really worried about her.’

‘Julian? That the eldest boy? But he was hardly ever here. Mind, neither was she, much. Anyway, how can I help? I haven’t seen her since before – before –’

‘No, I realise that, but there were one or two things … You see, she asked my friend and me to help her after – well, after her husband …’

‘Oh, hang on. Now I know who you are. That psychic woman.’ Marilyn Fairbrass’s voice changed.

‘No, that’s my friend, Fran. No, please don’t hang up. You see, we know you worked for old Lady Middleton before the Watsons bought Dark House, and – and – well, we think something she knew was why the murders – er – happened.’ Libby fanned herself with her hand and sat down abruptly on the stairs.

There was a short silence.

‘All right,’ said Marilyn Fairbrass eventually. ‘Come along here – you know where we are? I usually have a cup of coffee about twelve, that do you?’

Libby ended the call with a sigh of relief and sent a text to both Fran and Ben telling them where she was going and when. She decided against fore-warning Carl Oxenford of her visit in the afternoon, just in case, as she was almost certain, Adelaide had gone into hiding with him, although she couldn’t imagine why.

Dark Lane was as miserable as ever. Beyond Dark House, the trees closed in even more, until the lane bent round and on to an open area, almost obscured in the ever-present mist. However, on her left, she could just make out a metal sign announcing Cob Farm, and thankfully turned into the gateway.

A long, low metal building stood in front of her, with a light coming from behind a door at the far right end. She parked the car and went towards the door. As she approached, it was thrown open and a woman stood there.

‘Saw you coming,’ she said.

Marilyn Fairbrass was a surprise. Tall and broad-shouldered, she resembled nothing more than a seasoned county point-to-pointer. Her navy sweater had leather patches on the elbows, and her serviceable cord trousers were pushed into the top of rubber boots. Her iron grey hair was cut in a no-nonsense bob.

‘Libby Sarjeant.’ Libby held out her hand, which was taken in a firm, calloused grip.

‘Come in. Kettle’s on.’

The office, if that’s what it was, smelt faintly of dog and horse. Marilyn Fairbrass indicated a chair on one side of the large desk while she went to a small area which held a sink, a kettle and a microwave oven.

‘So what’s all this about then?’ She came back with two mugs of strong-looking coffee.

‘No one knew you’d worked for Lady Middleton before you worked for the Watsons,’ said Libby bluntly. ‘And as it looks as though there may be a reason connected with the house that has a bearing on the deaths of Mrs Oxenford and Mr Watson, it seemed that you were the most likely person to know about it.’

‘Oh?’

‘Have the police been in touch with you today?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘And did they say the same thing?’

‘I didn’t speak to them. I was away. My son spoke to them.’

‘Ah.’ Libby looked down at the dark brown liquid and wondered if she dared drink it.

Marilyn Fairbrass sighed. ‘I suppose it can do no harm.’

Libby looked up.

‘Lady Middleton had a daughter, Olive. Back when Olive and I were young, we were friends.’ Marilyn leant back in her chair. ‘We rode together, you know, Pony Club, local gymkhanas.’

‘Was this when the Middletons were at Cherry Ashton?’

‘She wasn’t Middleton then. Cherry Ashton was where the Wyghthams lived. Rachel Wyghtham married Tim Middleton and went to live at Dark House later. Olive, you see, was illegitimate.’

‘Oh.’ Libby was sympathetic. Illegitimacy was the worst blight on a young person’s life in the fifties, when she supposed it would have been.

‘Rachel used to talk to Olive and me about Dark House in the old days. Except she swore it should be called Wyghtham Hall.’

‘She was right. What did she have to say about it?’

‘Oh, she said her ancestor had left treasure behind, and it belonged to the Wyghtham family. It all sounded like a fairy story to me, but Olive believed it.’ Marilyn shook her head. ‘And then Rachel met Tim Middleton. She was a good-looking woman, and still young, of course. I don’t know what went on, but within a year, she and Olive had moved to Dark House and she was Mrs Middleton. The Lady came later.’

‘Is Olive still alive?’ asked Libby, thinking maybe here was someone with a grudge against the Watsons.