Murder at the Ashmolean Read online

  ‘No. Society expects women to marry and have children,’ Abigail interrupted her. ‘Women have a choice.’

  ‘But how about you? Do you want to marry and have children?’

  Abigail hesitated.

  ‘At the moment it’s not something I’m thinking about,’ she said.

  ‘So you’re putting your career before romance?’

  ‘Would you ask that same question of a man?’ queried Abigail. ‘A politician? A man archaeologist? A male detective?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s different, isn’t it,’ insisted Esther.

  ‘Only because society considers it to be,’ said Abigail. ‘And I would point out that we have a woman on the throne as Queen. And not just Queen, but Empress of the British Empire, which covers a third of the world’s population. Yet it hasn’t stopped her marrying and having children.’

  There’d been something evasive about Abigail Fenton, Esther decided as she left the Randolph. It had happened when Esther had asked about romance. From her experience, most women she’d interviewed had either waxed lyrical about their other half or laughed and said they were just waiting for Mr Right to appear. Abigail Fenton had done neither. So – was there a romance in her life? If so, who? Could it be this Daniel Wilson? She certainly seemed to have formed some kind of partnership with him. And as far as she’d been able to find out, Daniel Wilson was a single man. That made them ideal for a coupling. Even though their social backgrounds were so different.

  Or was Abigail Fenton being defensive because there was something else happening romantically, something less orthodox? Esther thought of some of the women she’d met who’d been at university and had thrown themselves into a society of brilliant – and single – women, often to the exclusion of men. Quite a few of them had been quite masculine in their attitudes, although not all of them in appearance. There had been quite a few who were very attractive, but who seemed to reserve their favours for their own sex. Was that what Abigail Fenton was hiding, that her thoughts of romance were for other women, not for men?

  But Esther had to admit that if that was so, there’d been no hint of it during their conversation. No lingering looks from her. Instead, Fenton had been … careful. Secretive. What was she hiding? Whatever it was, it would certainly add spice to the story she was planning. The sudden death of a prominent executive of the Ashmolean, alleged to be suicide, although there seemed to be no reason why he would take his own life. She smiled to herself. More secrets to be uncovered. This could be the story that finally saw her throw off the ‘women’s page’ tag.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Abigail was crossing the street from the Randolph to the Ashmolean when she saw Daniel approaching from the other direction.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Did you get thrown out of the police station?’

  ‘No,’ Daniel told her. ‘In fact, Inspector Pitt was very welcoming. And he also gave me some information which confirms Mr Marriott’s suspicions about Gavin Everett’s death.’

  ‘It was murder?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘Definitely,’ said Daniel.

  Briefly, he filled her in on what Pitt had told him, then said, ‘So now we take this to Mr Marriott. Though we wait to see whether he’ll be pleased at the revelation that his suspicions were correct, or more worried as a result.’

  They headed up the stairs to Marriott’s office, where Daniel made his report.

  ‘It now transpires that the police still believe that Mr Everett was murdered, and his death made to look like suicide.’

  ‘But they told me that they were viewing it as suicide, and the case was closed,’ said Marriott.

  ‘Because they were instructed to do so by certain political powers in government.’

  Marriott stared at them. ‘The police told you this?’

  ‘In confidence,’ said Daniel. ‘The information is not to be revealed. In fact, they were reluctant to admit it to me and only did so because of certain contacts I still have inside Scotland Yard. But they have insisted it must remain a secret. As far as the public are concerned, and everyone here, Gavin Everett committed suicide. So, officially, Miss Fenton and I will be looking for reasons why he took such an action. But in reality, that will mean us trying to find out who murdered him, and why. Providing you agree to us continuing with our investigation, of course.’

  ‘Most certainly!’ said Marriott. ‘My concern is that what happened to Everett could happen to any one of us here at the Ashmolean.’

  ‘Depending on the motive,’ said Daniel. ‘We may find his death was nothing to do with the museum, but for more personal reasons.’ He frowned, and added thoughtfully, ‘Although, from what I picked up from the police – and this is in the strictest confidence and mustn’t be repeated outside this room …’

  ‘I understand,’ said Marriott.

  ‘The fact that the investigation was halted due to intervention by a senior government official in London suggests there may well be a political motive.’

  ‘But Everett wasn’t involved in politics!’ burst out Marriott.

  ‘So, we are investigating a murder which may have political associations,’ said Abigail as they left Marriott’s office.

  ‘It may indeed,’ said Daniel. ‘Although, according to Marriott, that seems unlikely. For my part, it seems a great coincidence that he’s killed while supposedly having this meeting to talk about this piece by Shakespeare.’

  ‘Alleged piece by Shakespeare,’ Abigail corrected him. ‘If such a work does exist, and if the story about it being in this mysterious titled woman’s family is true, then if her husband found out that she planned to sell it, one way to stop that would be to kill Everett.’

  ‘Simpler, surely, to kill his wife,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Yes, true,’ admitted Abigail. ‘Perhaps he already has. Perhaps some aristocratic establishment in Oxford is currently holding a wake for the recently deceased lady of the house.’

  ‘The whole thing could be a dead end,’ said Daniel. ‘The story may be true, someone may have offered it for sale to Everett, but it may be nothing to do with his death. And the only way we can decide is by finding out who the titled lady is, and the identity of her husband, and then dig into that situation.’

  ‘That’s not going to be easy,’ said Abigail. ‘The aristocracy can be very protective of their reputations; most of them have had long experience in hiding unpleasant family secrets.’

  ‘So, the weak link here is the intermediary who Everett was dealing with. If we can find out who that was, that’s our way in. Which means our first thought about finding out who Everett was known to be associated with, either through business dealings, or socially, was the right one. Because, as you rightly pointed out, if someone really had a genuine Shakespeare piece to sell, they’d take it to the Bodleian. Or, if not the Bodleian, to one of the very many literary scholars in Oxford. If they brought it to Everett, it’s because they knew him personally.’

  ‘So, it’s back to finding out who Everett was particularly friendly with,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Which is why we are going to talk to Hugh Thomas and see what he can tell us,’ said Daniel.

  Unfortunately for them, the head steward wasn’t able to offer any clues as to who Everett’s close friends had been, either inside the museum or outside.

  ‘He was always very friendly, not stuck-up or patronising at all, not like some people would be in his position. Always a good word for everybody. But as for forming any particular friendships, I must admit I can’t think of any.’

  They received the same response from everyone else they spoke to at the museum; everyone liked him, but no one was particularly close to him. No one socialised with him outside of work, and no one knew of any social circle he might have been involved with.

  ‘In short,’ summed up Daniel as they carried their luggage to the nearby Wilton Hotel, ‘we have a good-natured chap who, despite being very friendly to everyone, actually keeps himself to himself. Frankly, a bit of an enigma.’ r />
  ‘A mystery to unravel,’ agreed Abigail.

  At the hotel, they were shown to their adjoining rooms, and once the porter had left, they both went into Abigail’s room.

  ‘This will do for us,’ announced Abigail. ‘It has a better view. But the idea that we have to have separate rooms at all is ridiculous!’

  ‘We’re not married,’ said Daniel. ‘The hotel has a reputation to maintain.’

  ‘That’s nonsense!’ said Abigail. ‘I bet there are many men staying here with women who aren’t their wives, and the hotel knows it but turns a blind eye.’

  ‘That may well be true, but our stay here is being paid for by the Ashmolean, and they have booked us a room each, because we are two single people, a man and a woman. They haven’t asked about our living arrangements, and we haven’t told them we live together. We can confront the issue and tell everyone – the Ashmolean, the hotel – that we are a couple and insist on sharing a room, but if we do that, I’m sure that certain people will raise the question of morality with the Ashmolean, the hotel, and potential future clients of ours. Or we can do what everyone else does, play out the charade of having two rooms while we only use the one, and rumple the bedclothes of the one in the room we’re not using to pretend we’re occupying both.’

  ‘It’s so hypocritical!’ groaned Abigail.

  ‘I agree,’ said Daniel. ‘We could always get married, of course. You said you’d marry me.’

  ‘And I will. When the time is right.’

  ‘When I’m old and grey?’ asked Daniel with a smile.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Next morning, their first call was to Everett’s lodgings.

  ‘Hopefully we’ll find out from his landlady the names of his friends outside of work,’ said Daniel. ‘Or at least what sort of social life he led.’

  Mrs Persimmons was a tall, austere-looking woman, who regarded them with suspicion until they explained the reason for their call.

  ‘We’re here on behalf of the Ashmolean,’ Daniel explained. ‘We’re trying to find out why your lodger, Mr Everett, tragically did what he did, and to that extent it would help us enormously if we could find out as much as we can about his life outside of the museum.’

  ‘He was a lovely man! An absolute gentleman!’ Mrs Persimmons told them.

  ‘So we have been told, but in order to understand what happened we need to find out what was going on in his life. Did he express to you any worries he may have had, for example?’

  She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. In fact, he was the perfect tenant. He kept himself to himself, never interfered with the rest of the house, and was always prompt with his rent.’

  ‘Do you have any other lodgers?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘No, Mr Everett was the only one,’ said Mrs Persimmons. ‘One’s enough for me. I can only hope the tenant I get to replace him will be as considerate.’

  ‘What sort of people did he socialise with?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘That’s difficult to say, sir. He didn’t socialise with them here. He knew how careful I am keeping my house neat and tidy. Mr Everett was no problem at all, but some young gentlemen I’ve had before have been known to have untidy habits, especially when drink’s been taken.’

  ‘Was Mr Everett a great drinker?’

  ‘Good heavens, no! In fact, I never saw him touch a drop. I thought at one time he might be temperance, or one of them sort, but I never heard of him attending any sort of meetings like that.’

  ‘What about women friends?’ asked Abigail.

  Mrs Persimmons looked at her, shocked.

  ‘There was nothing of that sort!’ she said firmly. ‘I run a decent house!’

  ‘I meant women – or men – he may have seen relatively frequently. Not necessarily here, but …’

  ‘In which case I wouldn’t know anything about it,’ said Mrs Persimmons curtly. ‘I don’t pry into people’s private affairs. And neither should other people, either.’

  ‘But Mr Everett has died by his own hand …’ insisted Abigail.

  ‘And in my opinion, he should be left to rest in peace,’ said Mrs Persimmons, looking more indignant. ‘I’ve said what I had to say. He was a decent man who never gave me a moment’s trouble and I’m sorry to lose him. And now, I’ll thank you to let me get on.’

  With that she closed the door.

  ‘I don’t think I have your skill in charming people,’ sighed Abigail as they walked away.

  ‘I think we learnt enough to know that whatever kind of life Mr Everett lived, it wasn’t at Mrs Persimmons’ house,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Nor, by all accounts, did it include anyone at the Ashmolean,’ said Abigail. ‘Don’t you find that strange?’ She looked questioningly at Daniel. ‘Where to now?’

  ‘I think,’ said Daniel, ‘it’s time you made the acquaintance of Inspector Pitt.’

  Inspector Pitt’s face broke into a welcoming smile as Daniel ushered Abigail into his small office.

  ‘Miss Fenton!’ he said, coming from behind his desk and holding out his hand to shake hers. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you! Especially after I’ve heard such good things about you.’

  Abigail shot an amused glance towards Daniel.

  ‘You don’t need to believe everything that Mr Wilson tells you,’ she said.

  ‘Not Mr Wilson, Inspector Feather at Scotland Yard. I met him at a conference recently, and your names came up about the recent case at the British Museum. Do I take it that you specialise in cases where murders occur in well-known museums?’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Abigail. ‘It makes me sound like a harbinger of doom, and if word gets around some museums will view my arrival with trepidation and wondering who will die next.’

  ‘Miss Fenton is the historical expert of our team,’ explained Daniel.

  ‘Yes, so John Feather said. He outlined your career as an archaeologist. I must say, it sounds more exciting than detective work.’

  ‘The locations may be less exotic, but the work can be a lot more interesting,’ said Abigail.

  Pitt lifted a pile of papers off a chair and gestured for Abigail to sit.

  ‘I’m afraid my office is rather cramped,’ he apologised. ‘This may be the main police station for Oxford, but space is at a premium.’

  ‘We’ve come because we’re trying to get an idea of Everett’s friends,’ said Daniel. ‘People he associated with outside work.’

  ‘Looking for a personal motive?’ asked Pitt.

  ‘Possibly. At the moment we’re hitting blank walls. He didn’t seem to have any close friends among the staff at the Ashmolean, no one he socialised with outside of work, anyway. And his landlady wasn’t very helpful.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t when I spoke to her,’ agreed Pitt. ‘She seemed more intent on letting me know how clean her house was, and what a delight it was to have such a tidy man as Everett lodging there. I got the impression I was a bit too shabby for her taste.’

  ‘Did you find anyone he associated with? Friends? Romantic involvements?’

  Pitt shook his head. ‘We didn’t have the time. We’d barely begun before we got told to back off. Not that we found much to begin with. He worked at the Ashmolean, he lodged at Mrs Persimmons’ house. That was it. We might have discovered more if we hadn’t been told the investigation was over.’ He regarded them quizzically. ‘Have you got any ideas yet?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Daniel. ‘As you said, it’s early days yet, and at the moment Mr Everett seems to be an enigma. We have had a report that he might have been negotiating to buy an alleged Shakespeare play.’

  ‘From Mr Marriott.’ Pitt nodded. ‘Yes, he told me the same. If we’d been allowed to continue, I’d have tried to find out who the person was he was supposed to meet at the Ashmolean to do the deal, because it certainly seems to me that’s the person we’re looking for. But once we were ordered to stop, that was it.’

  ‘When you heard about the play, you didn’t have any ideas as to who might be selling it?’ br />
  Pitt shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t move in those exalted circles involving titled families, nor where literary types mix. But if you get any ideas, and you think I can help, you’re welcome to call in at any time and I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘What a nice man,’ commented Abigail as they walked away from the police station heading back towards the museum.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Daniel. ‘It makes such a difference not to be obstructed by the local police force. I’m glad he’s on our side.’ He thought for a moment, then said, ‘I think I’m going to ask Mr Marriott if we can use Everett’s office, as long as he hasn’t got plans to use it himself. That way we have a base to work from and where people can contact us.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Abigail. ‘I can’t see that Marriott will need the office for himself. At least, not immediately. Assuming they replace Everett, it will take a week or so for them to find a suitable person.’

  ‘Tell me about the Ashmolean,’ said Daniel.

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ said Abigail. ‘It’s the oldest university museum in the world, but I’ve already told you that.’

  ‘Where does it get its name from?’

  ‘From Elias Ashmole. He was an astrologer and alchemist, but with a variety of other interests. He gave the museum his own collection of antique coins, books, engravings, along with geological and zoological specimens gathered from across the world.’

  ‘So, he was also an explorer?’

  ‘No, he got most of the specimens from a father-and-son team of collectors, John Tradescant and his son, also called John. They were gardeners and one of their major interests was in bringing seeds back from America, such as the magnolia and aster plants to create gardens for the rich in England. In fact, both father and son were head gardener to Charles I. But they also brought back from America various other items, such as the ceremonial cloak of Chief Powhatan. By some means which is still not entirely clear, Ashmole inherited the Tradescant collection, and that became the basis for the museum.’ She gestured towards the large white building which they were almost at. ‘So, by rights, it should really be called the Tradescant Museum.’