Murder in the Monastery

Book 11: A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Female Sleuths; Thrillers

Synopsis

The eleventh book in the Libby Sarjeant series of British murder mysteries which features a retired actress as the female sleuth and is based in the picturesque village of Steeple Martin. Libby Sarjeant is invited to look into the provenance of a jewelled Anglo-Saxon reliquary which has appeared on a website. The nuns at St Eldreda's Abbey are curious, as it apparently contains a relic of St Eldreda herself. Libby's friend Peter obtains permission to mount a play based on St Eldreda's story in the ruins of the original monastery called, naturally, Murder in the Monastery. And then, inevitably, a real body is discovered, and Libby and her friend Fran find out that this is not the first.

Release date: January 3, 2013

Publisher: Audible Studios

Print pages: 317

Sample

Chapter One

‘How’s  the  self-catering business going?’ The ReverendPatti Pearson kicked her way through last autumn’s leaves that still lay at the side of the path.

Libby Sarjeant frowned. ‘Not brilliantly. Steeple Farm’s got a six month let at the moment, but the Hoppers’ Huts don’t seem to have taken. I think they’re too small for self-catering.’

‘And still no thoughts of any more writing or painting weekends at the Manor?’

Libby shuddered. ‘No. Put us right off, that last one did.’

‘So you haven’t got much on at the moment?’

Libby turned and looked at her friend suspiciously. ‘Why?’

Patti laughed. ‘I was just hoping to save you from being bored.’

‘You’re not going to rope me into another church thing, are you?’ Libby had helped devise a nativity pageant for Patti’s church, St Aldeberge’s, last December.

‘Not exactly.’ Patti stopped by a stile and leant her elbows on the top. ‘What a lovely view.’

Libby surveyed the wooded valley before her. ‘Yes, it is. I forget how pretty our part of the world is, sometimes.’

‘I wish Anne could get up here.’ Anne Douglas, who lived in Steeple Martin, Libby’s home village, was confined to a wheelchair.

‘Aren’t there any country walks suitable for her chair?’ said Libby.

‘A few, but they’re all rather sanitised and landscaped.’

‘Yes, I suppose they would be.’ Libby turned to face Patti. ‘Come on then, what did you want me to do?’

‘It isn’t exactly important,’ said Patti. ‘It’s out of interest, really. Have you heard of the Tredega Relic?’

‘No. Is it Cornish?’

‘The name’s Welsh,’ said Patti, ‘because that’s where Saint Eldreda came from. At least, they think so. Have you heard of her?’

‘No.’ Libby shook her head. ‘You talk in riddles, woman. Let’s get back to the car and head for a pub.’

It was a Wednesday afternoon, Patti’s regular day off, when she joined Anne for dinner and stayed overnight. However, Anne, working for a library in Canterbury, didn’t get home from work until later, so Patti had taken to coming and spending time with Libby first, after finishing her stint in the St Aldeberge community shop.

‘St Eldreda,’ Patti continued in the car, ‘was an obscure saint who came from Mercia on what is now the Welsh borders. As far as anybody can tell. I don’t suppose she was actually anywhere near Tredegar, but that’s what it’s become known as.’

‘What has?’

‘The relic. St Eldreda married a nobleman who brought her to Kent and after he was killed, Egbert, who was King of Kent, gave her some land and she set up a house of prayer. He did the same for Domneva of Minster.’

‘Who?’

Patti sighed. ‘Sorry, I’ll keep it simple. Well, St Eldreda’s monastery became quite famous after her death because miracle cures began occurring after pilgrims had visited her tomb. But then the first chapel was destroyed by fire, it being made of wood, we assume. So St Eldreda’s relics were removed for safe keeping.’

‘Ewww! Do you mean her skeleton?’

‘Yes. Now this bit is where things get complicated. It appears her family wished her bones returned to Mercia, but somehow a compromise was reached and they were only given a finger. Which is now known as the Tredega Relic.’

‘Ah, got it. So what’s the mystery?’

Patti shot her a quick look. ‘Who said it was a mystery?’

‘You wouldn’t have mentioned it to me if it wasn’t.’ Libby beamed smugly and turned her gaze to the passenger window. ‘Look there’s a pub. Shall we stop?’

‘Libby, I can’t have a drink at four thirty in the afternoon! Let’s go back and you can make me a nice cup of tea.’

‘Oh, all right. But it looked a nice pub,’ said Libby wistfully.

‘You can get Ben to bring you here one evening. If you’re not rehearsing anything, of course.’

‘You know we’re not at the moment,’ said Libby. ‘Go on then, about these bones?’

‘The Tredega Relic was housed in an abbey church in Mercia, but when dear old Henry tore everything down, it appears the Relic was lost.’

‘Dissolute Henry’s dissolution. What about the remaining relics in Kent?’

‘They’re still here. Somehow, the Augustines, who were good at that sort of thing, got them moved to Canterbury Cathedral, and they were left intact. When, centuries later, the nuns returned to their site, which of course was practically ruined, they, or their mother house, managed to raise enough funds to build a small house. It’s now St Eldreda’s Abbey, and,’ said Patti, pulling into the side of the road, ‘it’s over there.’

At first, all Libby could see were rather typical stone ruins. Then she made out other buildings, including what looked like a modern church.

‘They incorporated a farmhouse that had been built on the land by a previous owner, and subsequently they’ve built a marvellous new chapel.’

‘So that’s why you wanted to come out here today. To show me this. But I still don’t know what the mystery is. And anyway, you’re an Anglican, not a Catholic.’

‘They are now Anglican Benedictines,’ said Patti, ‘and one of them is an old friend, Sister Catherine. And the mystery is that the Tredega Relic has turned up.’

‘Turned up? How?’

‘In an auction catalogue. Bold as brass, apparently. And the girls want to find out what’s going on. They’ve applied to the auction house who can’t, or won’t, tell them anything about the supposed seller.

‘The girls?’

‘The nuns,’ giggled Patti. ‘They’re a jolly bunch.’

‘I always thought,’ said Libby, ‘that nuns would be totally against female priests.’

‘Well, Catherine isn’t. Would you like to meet her?’

‘Now?’ Libby looked nervous.

‘Actually no, not now. They have visiting hours which stop at four. We could make an appointment.’

‘We’ll see. Come on, I want that tea now. And you can tell me what delights you have in store for me.’

‘The nuns want to find out more about the seller of this supposed relic,’ said Patti, settled in front of Libby’s fireplace later.

‘I expect they would,’ said Libby, busying herself with wood and firelighters. ‘Still cold for April, isn’t it?’

‘Look, Libby, are you interested or not? It doesn’t matter if you aren’t.’

Libby sat back on her heels and grinned up at her friend. ‘Of course I’m interested. You – and they – want me to find out who the seller is and what the provenance is for this relic. I haven’t got a clue how I’ll go about it, but it sounds just what I need at the moment.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, Patti. You were right. I’m bored.’ She got up and made for the kitchen. ‘Just going to make the tea.’

She came back with two mugs to find Sidney the silver tabby happily purring on Patti’s lap.

‘He is a tart, that cat,’ she said, handing over one of the mugs. ‘Come on, then, how do I start with this business? I know next to nothing about convents, nuns, relics or saints. Or auctions, come to that. And how come just a bone is in an auction?’

‘It’s in what’s called a reliquary that was made for it when it went back to Mercia. It’s a gold and jewelled box, very rare. They were usually pieces of jewellery, pendants and so on, that could be worn. They are also far more common, if that’s the word, in the eastern forms of Christianity, and more even than that in the eastern religions. Anyway, presumably because it was so precious, someone hid it away very carefully when it went back to Mercia and even the Cromwells didn’t manage to get hold of it.’

‘And now it’s appeared?’

‘Someone browsing the online site of a very respectable auction house spotted it and looked it up. The whole story was there, but not how it had come into the possession of the seller. This person then looked up the Abbey and sent them an email asking if they were the sellers.’

‘And they weren’t, of course,’ said Libby.

‘No, and the auction house won’t tell them who the seller is.’

‘Well, there’s nothing to say it’s illegal,’ said Libby. ‘Whoever hid it back whenever it was could have kept it in the family and it could have become an heirloom. The Abbey wouldn’t necessarily have a claim on it, would they?’

Patti frowned. ‘I suppose not. But they are interested in where it’s been. After all, it could have been stolen all those years ago, not hidden by one of the nuns or monks.’

‘So you just want me to look into its provenance? They don’t want to get it back?’

‘I’m not sure, but it is a bit idolatrous in my opinion. I think they just want to know.’

Libby stared into the fire. ‘I don’t see what I can do apart from ask the auction house, and maybe have a look back at the history of the old abbey in Mercia. It might be interesting.’

‘You haven’t got the constraints of living as a nun,’ said Patti. ‘They’ve got computers, of course, but they are bound by the routines of their days and haven’t got the freedom to travel.’

‘Hmm. I don’t see me travelling to Wales to find things out, you know.’

Patti put her head on one side and grinned. ‘You’re thinking it might not be what you want to do after all, aren’t you?’

‘I am, a bit,’ said Libby with a shamefaced grin. ‘But I’ll do a bit of background research and see if I get anywhere.’

‘Right.’ Patti stood up. ‘I’m off to Anne’s. Coming for a drink later?’

‘Of course. Are you eating at Harry’s?’

‘Of course. My weekly treat, The Pink Geranium.’

‘See you later, then,’ said Libby.

The Pink Geranium, the mainly vegetarian restaurant in Steeple Martin, was owned by Harry Price, who lived with Peter Parker, cousin to Ben Wilde, Libby’s significant other. Libby’s son Adam lived in the flat above the restaurant when he wasn’t staying with Sophie Wolfe, step-daughter to Libby’s best friend Fran, in the seaside resort of Nethergate. Peter, Ben and Libby had fallen into the habit of meeting Patti and Anne in the pub on Wednesday evenings, and Harry would join them if the restaurant permitted.

This evening, before Patti and Anne arrived, someone else appeared at their table.

‘May I join you?’ asked Dominic Butcher.

Libby allowed herself an inward sigh. Dominic Butcher had recently been cast in an Oast House Theatre production, and as a former professional actor, thrown his weight around until stopped by the director. He also had the temerity to have the same name as Libby’s eldest son.

‘Of course.’ Peter politely shuffled his chair closer to Ben’s.

‘Dominic.’ Ben nodded and turned back to Libby. ‘So what exactly do these nuns want you to do?’

‘Find out the provenance of this relic – sorry, reliquary. I don’t see how I’m going to do it.’

‘St Eldreda’s Abbey,’ said Peter dreamily. ‘Lovely place. Very atmospheric.’

‘Oh, you know it?’ Libby said in surprise. ‘I’d never heard of it.’

‘They allow occasional drama performances there,’ said Peter. ‘Even Murder in the Cathedral. I wonder …’

‘What?’ asked Ben and Libby together, somewhat nervously. Peter’s projects had occasionally been known to lead to as much off-stage drama as on.

‘Murder in the Cathedral,’ said Dominic, obviously not liking to be left out of the conversation. ‘I was in that myself, you know, a few years ago –’

‘I could write a play about St Eldreda, couldn’t I?’ Peter turned bright blue eyes on his cousin. ‘And if we could find anything out about this relic –’

‘Reliquary. Who’s this “we”?’ asked Libby.

‘If the nuns gave me permission, I’d naturally help you.’ Peter gave her his most charming smile.

‘I suppose we could ask Patti what she thinks,’ said Libby.

‘What do I think?’ Patti pushed Anne’s wheelchair up to the table. ‘Evening all.’

‘I was just telling them about St Eldreda and the reliquary,’ said Libby.

‘And I thought it would make a great play to put on in the Abbey ruins,’ said Peter.

‘Oh.’ Patti looked surprised. ‘I suppose it would. Tell me more.’

Ben pulled out a chair and introduced Dominic. ‘And I’ll go and get your drinks,’ he said, ‘while Peter persuades you to use your good offices in his cause.’

By the time Ben got back with a tray of drinks, Peter had finished.

‘I think it’s rather a nice idea,’ said Anne. ‘Can we talk to Catherine about it?’

‘She’s a friend of yours as well?’ said Peter.

Anne and Patti looked at each other and smiled.

‘Of course,’ said Patti. ‘I’ll ring her tomorrow. She’ll want to talk to Libby, anyway.’

Libby opened her mouth and shut it again.

‘Well, I’m happy to offer my services if it comes off,’ said Dominic. ‘I’ve done a bit of directing you know, as well as the telly.’

Anne looked at him curiously. ‘Were you on television?’

Dominic smiled deprecatingly. ‘I was Alf in Limehouse Blues.’

Anne looked blank.

‘It’s a TV soap,’ Patti explained. ‘Anne doesn’t watch much television.’

‘Ah. Well, I’m actually thinking of going back to my former profession now, anyway,’ said Dominic, glad to be in the forefront of the conversation at last.

‘Oh.’ Patti gave it the downward tone to convey lack of interest, but Dominic carried on.

‘I was a Senior House Officer,’ he said.

Libby shuddered to think of a patient under the alcoholically shaking knife of Dr Butcher.

‘If it gets off the ground, Dominic, I shall direct it myself,’ said Peter. ‘And Libby’s an ex-professional too, you know. She’ll be on hand.’

‘And we just hope,’ said Ben, ‘that the combination of you two doesn’t lead to any more murders.’

Chapter Two

Apart  from  a  little  desultory  internet  research on reliquaries, St Eldreda and auction houses, none of which revealed anything of great use, Libby did nothing much on Thursday. She was working on a series of small paintings for Guy Wolfe’s gallery-cum-gift shop, most of which she had done before, but visitors seemed to love them. Nethergate was a very old-fashioned British seaside resort that had changed little since the nineteen fifties, and many of the tourists it attracted preferred genuine paintings of the area to more normal holiday mementoes.

But on Friday Peter phoned.

‘I’ve got the go-ahead,’ he said.

‘For what?’

‘Murder in the Monastery.’

‘What?’

‘The play. In the Abbey ruins.’

‘Oh!’ Libby sat down on the stairs. ‘You really meant it?’

‘Oh, yes. I could do with having a chat about it, if you’re free.’

‘What, now?’

‘Harry’s open for lunch. I’ll treat you, if you like. How can you refuse?’

‘In that case, I shall go and put a face on,’ said Libby, standing up.

Fifteen minutes later she joined Peter at the big pine table in one of the windows of The Pink Geranium. In front of him he had a notebook, a laptop and an open bottle of red wine.

‘I shouldn’t drink at lunchtime,’ said Libby, eyeing the bottle.

‘Yes, you should, dear heart.’ Peter poured her a glass. ‘Cheers. Here’s to the new project.’

Libby drank obediently. ‘Go on then, tell me all about it.’

‘St Eldreda was granted land to build a monastery, and it is the remains of that you can still see. At least, some of it. Some of it was rebuilt after the Norman Conquest.’

‘Thus Murder in the Monastery. So how did you get permission? Did Patti ask her mate?’

‘No, I did. I called yesterday and spoke to the lady. She asked me to put a proposal into an email for her, which I did, and she called me this morning and said it had been approved, as long as they get to see the script before it’s performed.’

‘That was quick.’

‘It just happened that the timing was right. It’s the thirteen hundredth anniversary of Eldreda’s death in 712 so they felt it was appropriate.’

‘But what’s it going to be about? She wasn’t murdered, was she?’

‘There actually was a suggestion that she was. And then the chapel burnt down –’

‘Patti mentioned that.’

‘And it was thought to be a deliberate act to destroy the relics.’

‘Good job they were moved, then. So who dunnit?’

‘That was never proved. I’ve undertaken to provide some alternative theories for the sisters and they can decide which is most –’ Peter frowned and drummed his fingers on the table.

‘Seemly?’ suggested Libby. ‘Well. It all sounds terribly complicated. What about the reliquary?’

‘That will come into it. I may even be able to work it that Eldreda’s Welsh family had something to do with the burning of the chapel in order to steal the relics.’

‘You can’t malign people like that!’ Libby was shocked. ‘You’ll have to invent someone.’

‘That’s why I’ve got to put it before the sisters, in case I’ve stepped on someone’s toes.’ Peter grinned and lifted his wine glass.

Harry appeared with two plates of soup.

‘No Donna?’ asked Libby.

Harry pulled a face. ‘She’s gone part-time.’

‘Well, she is seven months pregnant,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t suppose the standing does her much good.’

‘She’s doing the books and admin at home though,’ said Peter. ‘Just as you suggested.’

‘So all you need is a new waitress? Shouldn’t be too difficult. Have you still got that lad you bullied?’

‘He bullies them all. Likes to pretend he’s a chef off the telly,’ said Peter.

‘Jacob?’ said Harry. ‘Yes, but he’s part-time, too, and can’t work during the week. He’s good at prepping in the kitchen at weekends, though. I think he prefers that.’

‘He used to look terrified out here,’ said Libby. ‘Poor child.’

‘So,’ she continued, when Harry had gone back to the kitchen, ‘what did you want my help on?’

Peter looked surprised. ‘Well, everything. The script, the characters, the story …’

‘Oh.’ Libby looked alarmed. ‘But I don’t want to get into research. I’m supposed to be looking into this reliquary thingy.’

‘But that will help, won’t it?’ said Peter. ‘Can’t you get in touch with the sale rooms and ask if you can see it, and if they have any information on its background for the play in the actual place it came from? I bet they’d let you see it, and they might part with a bit more info than they would to the nuns.’

‘Maybe …’ Libby thought for a moment, sipping her soup. ‘Perhaps I could. I’ll have to ask Patti which sale rooms it is. What else?’

‘I don’t know whether to use St Eldreda as a character or if the sisters would see that as – oh, I don’t know – blasphemous in some way.’

‘You could set it immediately after her death and concentrate on the investigation,’ suggested Libby.

‘That’s what I thought. So it becomes a proper murder mystery.’

Libby looked at him sharply. ‘Don’t forget what happened last time you recreated a real-life murder.’

‘I know, I know, but the murder wasn’t even connected in the end, was it?’

‘Everybody connects the two,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, go on.’

When they’d finished their soup, Harry brought them cheese and joined them while they thrashed out a few more points on the story.

‘When do you want to perform it?’ he asked.

‘It will have to be in the summer because of the weather,’ said Peter.

‘That doesn’t give you long, it’s April now,’ said Libby. ‘You’ve got to write it, get it passed by the sisters, cast and rehearse it.’

‘Three months if we aim for July,’ said Peter. ‘Should be able to do it.’

‘After all,’ said Harry, standing up, ‘it only took God a week to create the world.’

Peter frowned at his departing back. ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit him.’

‘It’s true, though, Pete. And think of all the early medieval research you’re going to have to do.’ Libby shook her head. ‘If you want to do it, why don’t you find an easier subject?’

‘I can’t write about Murder in the Monastery unless there is one, can I?’ said Peter reasonably.

‘What about the current problem? Or something in the more recent history?’

Peter sighed. ‘I’ll ask Sister Catherine. I’m going to see her to get some background tomorrow. They have a sort of open house between eleven and twelve.’

‘In that case,’ said Libby, ‘I shall wait until you report back before doing anything further.’

It wasn’t until quite late on Saturday afternoon that Peter sent Libby a text.

‘On my way home. Can I call in?’

He knocked on the door ten minutes later bearing a large folder.

‘Lots of info,’ he said, ‘and very interesting.’

‘Do you want tea?’ asked Libby. ‘The kettle’s on and Ben will be back in a minute.’

‘I’d love a cup. I had a very small cup of coffee when I first arrived at the Abbey and that was it.’

‘Have you been there all this time?’ Libby’s eyebrows shot up.

‘Not quite.’ Peter threw himself languidly on to the cane sofa, which creaked alarmingly. ‘But I was there for a good time. They let me look through some of their books. Fascinating. Especially the story of the re-establishment of the order.’

‘Oh?’

‘Go and make that tea, dear trout, and I’ll tell you.’

Libby made the tea, brought it back into the sitting room and turfed Sidney out of the armchair.

‘Tell all,’ she said.

‘Well,’ said Peter, sitting upright and sipping his tea, ‘in the first place the auction site that the reliquary was found on isn’t quite that. It’s a specialist antiquities dealer’s website. I’m sorry to say I didn’t even know such things existed. I thought items such as Anglo-Saxon brooches and Viking swords would be Crown property.’

‘No,’ said Libby, with a wealth of knowledge derived from watching archaeology programmes on television, ‘sometimes an item found on someone’s land is returned to him and he can sell it. Although I’d be surprised in this instance. All items like that must be reported to the coroner within fourteen days and he decides if it’s officially treasure which can then be claimed by the Crown. There’s something about percentages of gold and silver and age, but I don’t know the exact details.’

‘Well, this website states quite categorically that it has authenticated the reliquary and has the provenance. Apparently it was in the hands of a private collector from the eighteenth or nineteenth century.’

‘But it won’t say who?’

‘They wouldn’t be able answer any questions, would they?’

‘No, but who was the collection left to?’

‘The person selling the reliquary, I suppose.’ Peter sighed. ‘Now listen, before you get any more hot under the collar about that, I must tell you about the re-establishment of the order, which you suggested I should. . .