‘Guy will think I’ve left home,’ she said standing up and giving her friend’s partner a quick kiss. Libby went to see her off.
‘So what have you been doing?’ Ben was looking at the computer screen.
‘Fascinating, actually,’ said Libby, ‘and I haven’t even thought about dinner.’
Ben leant back against the sink and folded his arms. ‘I sense a mystery.’
‘Well,’ said Libby, looking guilty, ‘it is sort of.’
‘It must be at least six months since you’ve been involved in something, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Tell all.’
Libby smiled in relief. ‘OK. How long is it since we ate in the caff?’
‘About a week.’ Ben grinned. ‘And now we might as well take out a season ticket. We end up eating there every other night when you’re sleuthing.’
‘It’s not normal sleuthing,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, let’s have a drink and I’ll tell you all about it. But first give Harry a ring.’
Over glasses of red wine, Libby filled Ben in on the afternoon’s activities. ‘And then,’ she finished up, ‘we started looking into the Cherry Ashton Workhouse.’
‘And what did you find?’
‘Nothing really. It was there, set up by the Poor Board or something, and there were elected Guardians. So we had a look at workhouses in general. There were some horrible stories, Huddersfield, Andover and Fareham, but no mention of Cherry Ashton. We did wonder, though, because it said in one of the general descriptions that the Master and Matron had apartments in the building. White Lodge is a separate building and it states that the workhouse was demolished 1909.’
‘Perhaps the workhouse was built round it. On land that belonged to it?’
‘Oh, I suppose that could be it. But from what Rosie said and the estate agent’s description it sounded a bit grand for a Master’s lodging.’
‘Well, tomorrow you could call the agents and ask if it’s likely to come on the market again, or if they know anything about who bought it.’
‘Oh, so we could.’ Libby brightened. ‘And we could drive over and see if we can find it. I said we’d look round.’
‘Be careful,’ warned Ben. ‘Don’t go getting yourself into trouble.’
‘As if I would,’ said Libby. Ben sighed.
Later in The Pink Geranium, Donna the waitress brought over the menu.
‘No Adam tonight?’ asked Libby.
‘No, we’re not busy,’ said Donna, ‘and he’s been working hard over at Creekmarsh. Shall I see if he’s in?’
Libby’s son Adam lived in the flat over the restaurant, where once Fran had stayed, and occasionally helped out if Harry was very busy. His proper job was as an assistant to a landscape designer who was currently working on restoring the grounds of a local mansion owned by television personality Lewis Osbourne-Walker.
‘No, don’t worry, Donna.’ Libby suddenly put out her hand to Donna. ‘Is that a ring?’
Donna, unflappable, organised and efficient, blushed. ‘Yes.’
‘Your doctor?’ asked Libby. ‘Oh, congratulations!’ She stood up to hug Donna to the imminent danger of the table.
‘What’s all this?’ said a voice, and Harry appeared, grinning, over Donna’s shoulder. ‘Destroying my restaurant?’
Ben stood to kiss Donna, too. ‘You know what our Libby’s like,’ he said, sitting down again. ‘Hello, Hal. Is Donna allowed champagne on duty?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Donna, flustered. ‘Thank you, but I’ve got to drive to Canterbury when I’ve finished.’ She coloured faintly again. ‘But thank you, all the same.’
‘Her chap’s a doctor at the hospital, isn’t he?’ said Libby, after Donna had gone to fetch a bottle of red wine.
‘Yes. Nice bloke, but very unsociable hours,’ said Harry, sitting down astride a chair. ‘Just hope she’s not going to start breeding and leave me.’
‘Harry!’ Libby slapped his arm. He grinned.
‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Libby forgot to do dinner,’ said Ben.
‘You could have done it,’ said Harry, with a lifted eyebrow.
‘I know, I know, but she suggested we came here.’ Ben made a face at his beloved.
‘Oh, no, you aren’t?’ Harry peered at Libby’s face. ‘Not another investigation?’
‘I don’t know why you should think that,’ said Libby huffily. ‘We eat here all the time.’
‘There’s something about the way Ben said you forgot to do dinner,’ said Harry. ‘Come on. What’s it all about?’
Libby relented and explained.
‘So you see, it isn’t a proper investigation. It’s just to find out something about the house.’
‘Well, it’ll keep you out of mischief,’ said Harry, standing up. ‘I shall now go back to my arduous duties in the kitchen.’
Adam appeared just as they were finishing their meal.
‘Hi, Ma,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘Hi, Ben.’
‘Hello, darling.’ Libby peered round his shoulder. ‘Hello Sophie.’
Fran’s step-daughter Sophie squeezed past Adam to kiss Libby.
‘Hi, Lib. Sorry I’ve been keeping him out till all hours again!’
‘Shocking. Why it’s almost ten o’clock,’ grinned Libby. ‘Will you have a drink with us?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Adam. ‘I’ll go. Red wine? Sophie?’
When they were all settled with fresh drinks, Adam tackled his mother.
‘What’s all this Harry’s telling me about a new investigation?’
‘Oh, for f – goodness’ sake,’ said Libby. ‘Hasn’t anybody got anything better to do than poke their noses into my business?’
Adam and Ben roared with laughter.
‘That’s rich, coming from you,’ said Ben, wiping his eyes.
‘Look, once and for all, it’s simply to find out about a house for Fran’s writing tutor. She hasn’t got time herself and knowing Fran’s – um – intuition – thought she’d be the ideal person to look into it.’
‘With you,’ said Adam.
‘Of course with me. She couldn’t do it without me.’ Libby slid a quick glance at Sophie and saw her grinning.
‘So there we are. That’s it and all about it. So now shut up and, Ad, tell me about Creekmarsh.’
Chapter Three
THE FOLLOWING DAY, LIBBY called the agent on whose books White Lodge had been.
‘That monstrosity,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I hope it’s nothing to do with you, but I’ve never handled a property that was so difficult.’
‘Oh.’ Libby sat back in her chair, surprised. ‘Really? It looked rather a grand place.’
‘Have you seen it?’
‘Well – no, not actually seen,’ said Libby.
‘You’re welcome to go and look at it if you like,’ said the agent, surprisingly. ‘We’ve still got the keys, but I’ll have to trust you to go on your own. I can’t spare anyone to go with you, and frankly, even if I could, no one would.’
‘Really?’ Libby’s metaphorical ears pricked up. This seemed to confirm Rosie’s dream impressions. ‘Why? Is it haunted?’
There was a short silence. ‘I daresay it’s nothing,’ the agent said eventually, sounding uncomfortable, ‘but do
