Murder in Midwinter (11 page)

‘The funny thing was,’ she said, tucking her feet up under her on the creaky sofa, ‘that he didn’t look out of place in his pink shirt and leather trousers and jacket.’

‘Like some latter day Regency hero,’ said Ben.

‘Oh, he’d love that,’ laughed Libby. ‘But seriously, Ben, he’s very worried about Millie.’

‘Ah.’ Ben sat forward in his seat and looked into the fire. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, ah, yes, what? Harry thinks Pete wants her there, which is natural, but he’s afraid she’ll cause trouble.’

‘She will,’ nodded Ben. ‘Think what she was like when she was normal.’

‘Has she ever been normal?’ asked Libby dubiously. ‘I just remember her talking about Peter’s “friend”, and trying to treat Pete and me as a couple.’

‘There you are. She didn’t understand then and she won’t understand now. It could be really embarrassing.’

‘That’s what Harry’s worried about. Makes you go cold inside, doesn’t it?’

‘So what’s going to happen, then?’

‘Well, Harry thought perhaps you could talk to Pete,’ said Libby.

‘Me? Why would he listen to me?’

‘Because he respects you? And you’re his older cousin.’

‘What about James? He’s his brother, the obvious person, surely.’

‘Perhaps Harry thinks James is too young.’

Ben laughed. ‘James is older than Harry!’

‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ said Libby, ruffled. ‘Anyway, there it is, I’ve told you. Oh, and it’s official, I am to be Best Person, with James, I think.’

‘Swank.’ Ben leant over and patted her hand. ‘Do I get to be chief bridesmaid, then?’

Ben had managed to get a table for nine o’clock, although by the time the previous diners had vacated it, it was nearer half past.

‘Sorry,’ said Donna. ‘You’d think Christmas was just an excuse to eat a lot and get drunk, wouldn’t you?’

‘I thought it was,’ said Ben, pushing Libby’s chair in for her. Donna, a staunch member of the local chapel, looked affronted and handed them menus in a marked manner.

Later, while they were drinking their coffee, Harry emerged from the kitchen faintly pink and damp and carrying a bottle of brandy. Sitting himself in one of the empty chairs at their table, he waved at some of the other customers and poured three brandies.

‘Here you are, loves,’ he said, ‘on the house.’

‘Heavy night?’ said Libby, raising her glass to him.

‘Always bloody is, these days.’ He looked at Ben. ‘She tell you, then?’

‘About what?’ said Ben, looking cautious.

‘Oh, Ben. Yes, of course I did,’ said Libby. ‘He agrees that it would be a problem.’

‘So, are you going to talk to Pete, then?’ asked Harry.

‘I don’t see how I can,’ said Ben. ‘It’s not any of my business, strictly speaking, and I don’t want to mess up my relationship with my favourite cousin. I’ll volunteer to take charge if her, if you like, and hustle her out if it looks as if she’s going to cause trouble.’

‘Better than nothing, I suppose,’ muttered Harry. ‘Who would he take notice of, do you think?’

‘You’d know better than we would,’ said Libby.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Harry petulantly. ‘He goes all upper class and looks down his nose at me if I try and say anything.’

Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘Considering his Ma is working class London and his Dad wasn’t exactly top drawer I don’t know how he manages that.’

‘Oh, you know what he’s like,’ said Harry, and Libby, picturing Peter’s patrician nose and floppy fair hair, did know.

‘We’ll do what we can,’ said Libby, ‘but we might have to fall back on Ben’s suggestion.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Harry, ‘small price to pay, I suppose.’

‘
My
small price,’ said Ben, ‘thank you.’

Harry grinned at him. ‘You’ll get your reward, darling,’ he said. ‘And just think, after this we’ll actually be related.’

Ben cast his eyes up to the ceiling and Libby sniggered. ‘Not sure it works that way,’ she said.

‘In my book it does.’ Harry leant over and poured more brandy. ‘Drink up, cousin-in-law.’

‘So,’ said Ben, as they strolled home a little later, ‘what happened this morning with Fran and the theatrical lady?’

‘Goodness,’ said Libby, ‘I’d forgotten all about that. I think Fran came up with something, but she hasn’t wanted to share it. We’re going Christmas shopping tomorrow, so she’ll probably tell me then.’

‘She’s still scared of them, isn’t she?’

‘Her moments? Yes, she is.’ They turned the corner into Allhallow’s Lane. ‘She’s better at focusing them, now, and she did ask for something to take away, so that she could concentrate on it. That’s what the proper psychics do, isn’t it?’

‘Fran being an improper psychic, eh?’ Ben squeezed her arm. ‘I wonder how Goodall and Smythe bill her? “Our resident psychic”? “Our investigative medium”?’

‘I don’t suppose they do,’ said Libby, getting out her key. ‘I expect they simply tell clients they’ll get somebody to look into the property. They must be the very expensive ones, mustn’t they?’

‘Usually, yes, but occasionally she’s had to go to an ordinary street which has a reputation, and on one occasion to a house where it was thought a murder had taken place. She said it hadn’t.’

‘Was she telling the truth?’ asked Libby, opening the door and switching on the light.

‘As far as I know.’ Ben followed her in. ‘And now are we going to talk about something apart from murders and other people’s weddings?’

Chapter Six

B
ELLA RANG FRAN THE
following morning.

‘I’m going to see Aunt Maria’s grave,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come with me?’

As an invitation it left a lot to be desired.

‘You know where she’s buried, then?’

‘Not buried, exactly. I went and asked George at the pub last night, and he said she was cremated, and her ashes had been scattered in the garden at the crematorium.’

‘So why do you want to go?’ asked Fran, who had no patience with a morbid desire to seek out the remains of human flesh and worship at the graveside. If the spirit was alive, fair enough, but there certainly wasn’t anything left in a grave, or ashes.

‘I thought I should,’ said Bella. ‘Don’t you think I should?’

‘I don’t see why,’ said Fran, and explained her own feelings. ‘Mind you,’ she concluded, ‘I know mine isn’t the popular take.’

‘I see what you mean,’ said Bella. ‘But we’ve been every year to Andrew’s mother’s grave, and to look at the tree I planted for my mother and father. It seemed the thing to do.’

‘Up to you,’ said Fran, ‘but I wouldn’t get anything from the visit if that’s what you were hoping.’

‘Well, I was rather,’ said Bella, with a nervous laugh.

‘I’m still thinking about what we found yesterday,’ said Fran. ‘Have you had a look through any of those files yet?’

‘Yes, but not many. I managed to open the file for the 1920s again, and the one that said “Up to 1920”. I didn’t know what would be in that one, because Maria wasn’t born until 1914, but there were a couple of things listed, so I found the box file.’

‘And what was in it?’

‘Oh, it was terribly sad. There was a little notebook that I could hardly read with some names and amounts of money beside them, a few leaflets and postcards for The Silver Serenaders and The Alexandrians and a letter from Peter Prince that must have arrived after he died.’

‘Oh? May I see them?’

‘Of course. Do you want to come here, or shall I come to you?’

‘How would you get here?’ asked Fran, thinking that although it should be up to Bella to come to her, it wouldn’t be the most practical solution.

‘Is there a bus?’

‘Only into Canterbury, then you have to come out again. I’ll tell you what, I’ll ask Libby if I can borrow her car, and come to you. I’ll have to ring you and let you know when, because we’re going Christmas shopping today.’

‘Oh, all right, but I have to go home tomorrow. George from the pub is coming in this afternoon to fit a cat flap for me, and the lady next door will carry on feeding Balzac. I hope he learns to use it.’

‘All right,’ said Fran, ‘I’ll see if I can come later on today. Otherwise it will have to wait until you come down again.’

‘Or I could give you the keys,’ suggested Bella. ‘If you wanted, of course. I thought you mind find … well, you might–’

‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ said Fran. ‘As long as you don’t mind me fossicking around on my own. How will you get the keys to me?’

‘I could leave them at the pub? George and his wife were really fond of Aunt Maria, and they seem to want to take care of me, now.’ Fran heard a sigh. ‘It’s quite a novelty, someone wanting to look after me.’

Another black mark for the unknown Andrew, thought Fran.

‘Good idea,’ said Fran, ‘but I’ll still try and get over today. Are you ringing from your mobile?’

Having agreed to ring Bella if she managed to find a way of getting to Heronsbourne, Fran switched off the phone and sat down to think. Her eyes went to the photograph propped up on the table.

March Cottage had been a surprise. There was a certain warmth about it, although, as she had said at the time, the upstairs felt as if it had been disinfected. But the outbuilding had been different. Not in itself, but in its contents. Fran had felt all sorts of things swirling around her, so much of it that it was difficult to sort out. She knew without a doubt that the woman in the photograph was Dorinda, she also knew that it hadn’t been taken in Nethergate or Heronsbourne. From what Bella had told them of Maria’s letter, Dorinda would have been in her late twenties in 1914, so in the photograph she must have been in her late thirties or early forties, judging by the clothes. Where would she have been then? Travelling in South Africa, while Maria and Bertram stayed at home?

Fran stood up with an exclamation of frustration. She could get nothing. The only thing she was going to be able to do was to immerse herself in the contents of that outbuilding.

She phoned Guy and explained the situation.

‘I’m really looking forward to spending some time in there, but getting there and back is going to be a problem. I need to get a car. But I’m wary of buying one on my own. I’ve never done that before.’

‘What – never bought a car?’ Guy sounded flabbergasted.

‘No. When I was married my husband always bought them, and since I’ve been on my own I haven’t been able to afford one. And as far as I can work out from female friends, car salesmen see women coming.’

‘That’s rather sexist,’ laughed Guy.

‘But true,’ said Fran. ‘Especially when it’s a woman of my age.’

‘So what you’re asking is for me to come with you?’

‘Would you mind? I can ask all the right questions myself, but I’ll be paying cash – blimey, cash! – and I gather you can haggle a bit. I wouldn’t be good at that.’

‘Of course I’ll come with you. When?’

‘Not today. Libby and I are going Christmas shopping. Although Bella did want to see me today. Can’t see how I could get over there, though, and she’s going back tomorrow.’

‘How about when I come and pick you up tonight we go there first?’ suggested Guy. ‘Then I’d be there to give you an excuse to get away.’

‘Good idea.’ Fran brightened. ‘Although I really don’t know why I’m putting myself out for her.’

‘Neither do I. She isn’t paying you, is she?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Fran. ‘All I needed to do was talk to her once, I suppose, because Inspector Connell suggested it. And I haven’t felt anything that might have helped him with his murder.’

‘So it’s just interest,’ said Guy.

‘Suppose so,’ agreed Fran. ‘I’ll have to think about it. And now I’ve got to go, or Libby will be here and I won’t be ready.’

As Libby drove into Canterbury, Fran told her about her conversations with Bella and Guy.

‘Good idea about the car,’ said Libby. ‘Do you know what you want?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Fran, ‘I’ve known for some time. I’ve been buying all the car magazines for weeks.’

‘You dark horse you,’ laughed Libby. ‘So no help needed there, then. But what about Bella’s stuff? Do you want me to come with you?’

‘I might. And Guy’s got me wondering about why I’m doing it, so I might need a detached bystander.’

‘It’s got you interested,’ said Libby. ‘You’re beginning to tap into those moments of yours a lot better now, aren’t you?’

‘I think so,’ said Fran. ‘I need to concentrate on picking things up from people or objects.’

‘Or places. You said you got rather a reaction at the old Alexandria yesterday.’

‘Mm, but I think it was from some
one
rather than some
thing
.’

‘The body!’ said Libby triumphantly.

‘The body wasn’t there.’

‘But it
had
been.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘Let’s change the subject.’

By lunchtime they were both exhausted and made for their favourite little back street pub, where the sparkling barman asked after Harry.

‘He’s fine,’ said Libby. ‘Getting married.’

‘Married?’ squeaked the barman.

‘Well, Civil Partnership, then. I’m Best Woman.’

‘Hmph,’ said the barman and slammed her change on the bar.

‘That went down well,’ said Fran, as they slid onto a bench and stuffed their parcels under the table.

‘Known for my tact,’ nodded Libby, taking a sip of her alcohol-free lager. ‘Yuck. That’s awful.’

‘You should have had an orange juice or something,’ said Fran, taking a large mouthful of white wine.

‘You wait until you’re the driver,’ said Libby grumpily.

‘That’s just it, I
can’t
wait,’ said Fran. ‘I shall be able to go where I want when I want.’

‘Meanwhile, you can borrow Romeo if necessary. But you said Guy’s going to take you to see Bella this evening?’

‘Yes, because she’s going home tomorrow. To Orrible Andrew.’

‘Why do you call him that?’ Libby looked interested.

‘Because he is. We felt it before, didn’t we? But I know now. It comes off her in waves. He doesn’t like the idea of her having any sort of life of her own, and it’s real rebellion, her coming down here, and especially if she refuses to sell. I just hope she stands up to him.’