Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) by Lesley Cookman

original abbey or whatever it was?’
    ‘There are more than one sets of archaeological remains there, aren’t there,’ said Ben, putting three gin and tonics on the table. ‘I think it’s safe to say that was where she was taken. Or rather, the reliquary was. And transferred to the newer one before the dissolution.’
    ‘So did we actually find anything out?’ said Peter. ‘Only who the reliquary was sold to three hundred years ago.’
    ‘We really needed to know how those documents were stolen, and where from,’ said Libby. ‘Then we could find out who took them.’
    ‘And when,’ said Ben. ‘If they were forged back then, perhaps when one of the Beaumonts pinched the reliquary, it wouldn’t help.’
    ‘But Alastair said it had been stolen before it was sold. And we don’t know exactly when those documents were dated.’ Libby took a sip of her drink. ‘Oh, dear, this is most confusing.’
    ‘Actually, I don’t think there’s much more we can learn here,’ said Peter. ‘I suppose we could talk to the archaeologists, but they won’t be able to tell us about anything.’
    ‘Wasted journey, then?’ said Ben.
    ‘No, because we know about jolly Bartholomew Tollybar,’ said Libby. ‘That’s a good starting point for finding out where it went after that.’
    ‘It’s a long shot,’ said Ben.
    ‘I wish we’d been able to take a copy of that family tree,’ said Libby thoughtfully. ‘If we could trace perhaps a rogue line …’
    ‘How would that help?’ said Peter. ‘All we’d get is a lot of names we don’t know.’
    ‘Yes.’ Libby sighed heavily. ‘Oh, well, at least we can report back to Ian that we haven’t done anything he wouldn’t like.’ She looked round the bar. ‘Are we eating here?’
    The food was good, basic British cooking, made from ingredients from the estate shop.
    ‘Is this place owned by the Beaumont estate?’ asked Libby, when their plump, smiling host brought coffee to their table.
    ‘We lease it from them,’ he said. ‘No restrictions except that we use estate produce. Which we’re happy to do anyway.’
    ‘And what’s it like living here? It’s almost feudal, isn’t it, with the estate owning whole villages?’
    He laughed. ‘It sounds like it, doesn’t it? But actually, there are privately owned properties, apart from the leased ones. And ex-estate workers who have their properties for life.’
    ‘So he’s a benevolent despot, Alastair Beaumont?’ said Ben.
    ‘Indeed he is.’
    ‘You’re a benevolent despot, too, aren’t you, darling?’ said Libby, patting Ben’s arm as the manager left them.
    ‘I only have a couple of tenant farmers,’ said Ben. ‘And I leave them alone as much as I can.’
    ‘You seem to have a lot of work to do in the estate office,’ said Peter.
    ‘We’ve still got the woodyard and the staff who look after our own bit of ground that isn’t leased out,’ said Ben.’
    ‘Do any of them have tied cottages?’
    ‘Why the sudden interest?’ asked Ben, amused. ‘You’ve never asked before.’
    ‘I’ve never thought about it before,’ said Peter. ‘Have they?’
    ‘No, we don’t own any property except the two farms, and they only revert to us if none of the family want to continue in the business.’
    ‘So the farms are more or less theirs for ever?’
    ‘That’s it. If either of the families decided to leave, which they may well do, seeing that farming’s going through such a bad time, especially dairy, we’d have to sell up.’
    ‘Where would they go?’ asked Libby. ‘If they left?’
    ‘Both families have bought property away from the farm,’ said Ben. ‘They’re sensible.’
    After dinner they took a stroll round the village, which impressed them with its neatness and prettiness.
    ‘It’s like a village in a story book,’ said Libby. ‘Very chocolate-boxy.’
    ‘Not untidy and slapdash like our village?’ said Ben with a smile.
    ‘I like us as we are,’ said Libby. ‘This all looks a