‘Yes, we all know about the sanatorium.’ He looked serious. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t know if that building was ever used. Here in the village we all assume it is just a derelict building.’
‘And you don’t know if it forms part of the White Lodge estate?’ Might as well go the whole hog, now.
‘I’m afraid not.’ He nodded towards the solid looking undergrowth. ‘As you can see, no one would be prepared to try and get near it.’
Libby clambered down to stand closer to him. ‘Doesn’t anyone know anything about it? In my village there’s always someone who knows. Always a gossipy old lady who was born there.’
‘Ah. Yes. There are people who remember the sanatorium. The Princess Beatrice.’
‘But not this building.’ Libby sighed. ‘Oh, well. I expect we’ll find out on the estate plans.’
‘We?’ The man raised an interrogative eyebrow. Libby cursed herself.
‘For the sale,’ she improvised hurriedly. ‘White Lodge is being sold.’
‘Ah, of course. Although who would want to buy it with that history?’
‘What history? As a workhouse? Or a sanatorium? I understand several people died there. Children.’
He nodded. ‘Many. There are those who say it is haunted.’
‘Yes,’ said Libby, ‘but that’s only a rumour. Nobody believes it really.’
‘Really.’ The man frowned. ‘I thought many local people believed it.’
‘You’re obviously local. Do you believe it?’
The man smiled. ‘Yes, I’m local. I live in Ashton Terrace, there.’ He indicated the row of cottages. ‘And I don’t know if I believe it or not. I have long accepted it as fact.’
‘Have you lived here long?’ Libby asked before she could think better of it.
He laughed. ‘Longer than you would think. I have restaurants. In Canterbury and Nethergate. My sons run them now.’
‘Oh, goodness. The Golden Spice?’
‘Yes. You know them?’
‘My friends and I go to the Nethergate one regularly.’ Libby held out her hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’
‘Aakarsh Vindari.’ He bowed over her hand.
‘I’m Libby Sarjeant, Mr Vindari. And thank you for your help.’
Vindari shrugged. ‘I think you knew everything I could tell you.’
‘Well, it was nice to have it confirmed.’ Libby smiled. ‘And although I know of it, I’ve never been to Cherry Ashton before. I didn’t know it was so small.’
‘That is how we like it. Of course, just down the road we have the caravan park, but that keeps other people away.’
‘Caravan Park?’
‘They call it “The Roses”.’ There was an unmistakeable sneer in Vindari’s voice.
‘Oh, that! That’s near here?’
‘If you had turned right at the crossroads instead of coming straight on, you would have seen it.’
So, thought Libby, he knew which direction I came from. But then, it’s so quiet here they probably all looked out of their windows when they saw an unfamiliar car.
‘Well, perhaps I’m glad I didn’t, then,’ she said aloud. ‘And now I’d better be going. Thank you again, Mr Vindari.’
‘A pleasure, Mrs Sarjeant,’ he said, bowing again. ‘And please, next time you visit of my restaurants, mention my name.’
‘Thank you,’ said Libby, resolving to go as soon as she possibly could.
He watched as she climbed into the car, turned it round and drove carefully back down the lane. When she got to the crossroads she wanted to turn left and go and have a look at “The Roses”, a holiday park much maligned in the area, but which she had never seen. With Aakarsh Vindari watching from the top of the lane, she didn’t dare. However, she did turn right, wondering if this road might bring her out on the main Creekmarsh road.
And that was odd, she thought. The map had indicated that the lane she followed and the Creekmarsh road both led to Cherry Ashton, but the Creekmarsh road didn’t. Unless there was yet another spur not marked on the map. However, when she finally emerged from the tunnel-like lane she found herself at a T-junction with the Creekmarsh road, and opposite her a small, old black-and-white sign pointing back the way she had come to Cherry Ashton. She must have missed it both times she had been here with Fran.
On impulse, she turned right and drove up to White Lodge, surprised to find police tape still across the gateway, although with no noticeable police presence. She parked the car on the verge opposite and crossed the road. Without going in through the gate and crossing the police tape, she walked along the boundary hedge until she came to the end. The high wall that surrounded the garden led away across an open field. Cautiously, Libby, with a glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t observed, began to follow it.
Chapter Fourteen
AFTER A FEW HUNDRED yards, the wall turned slightly to the left and appeared to lead straight into a copse. Libby stopped. Could it be the woodland that surrounded the building at Cherry Ashton? She continued towards it, until she realised that around the edges was a barbed wire fence. Stepping slightly away from the wall into the field, she tried to peer past the wooded area to see if she could see the village, but she could see nothing except a slight rise topped by more trees.
Disappointed, she turned back the way she’d come. It certainly looked a possibility that the derelict building was part of the White Lodge estate, although what significance that had she had no idea. Except that maybe, somehow, it was connected to the music? Hidden away? But if so, she chided herself, it would need very sophisticated wiring in order to play music through speakers in the main house. And no one could be seen approaching from there, either.
She reached the edge of the wall and found Ian Connell leaning against it.
‘Exploring?’ he said.
Libby felt heat rising into her face once more. ‘Yes.’
‘And why, exactly?’
‘Am I trespassing?’
‘Don’t avoid the question, Libby.’
‘I was just interested. I wondered how far the estate stretched.’
‘Quite a way, according to the plans we’ve found.’
‘Oh?’ said Libby eagerly. ‘You’ve found plans?’
‘Yes.’ Ian grinned at her, and taking her arm, led her back to her car. ‘Andrew’s been very helpful, and found two or three maps which show the position of the house and the other buildings.’
‘And what about ownership?’
‘Nothing after the sanatorium, but then, we shall hear about that on Monday. A Home Office order does wonders.’
‘Why do you need that? I thought it wasn’t a murder enquiry any longer?’
‘We have to make sure the graves here are legal.’ Libby thought Ian was being evasive.
‘But they were buried years ago. Would it matter now?’
‘There are all sorts of issues, Libby. Now get off home and stop -’ he paused.
‘Interfering, I know.’ Libby unlocked the car. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I didn’t until I arrived to check on something. Your car tends to be a giveaway.’ He held the door for her to climb in. ‘Go on. I’ll see you soon.’
‘Will you let us know anything you’re able to?’ Libby poked her head out of the window.
‘As much as I can.’ He patted her cheek. ‘Now, go!’
OK, thought Libby, he’s still working on it. That means there’s still something to be found out. Which, of course, was obvious. Something or someone was playing the recordings of Debussy, which was suspicious, if not illegal.
She drove home slowly, past Creekmarsh and on a whim, turned off towards Heronsbourne. She hadn’t seen
