Death of a Delft Blue

CHAPTER TWELVE

Towards Kinderscout

‘Delay is kind,

And we too soon shall find

That which we seek, yet fear to know.’

Thomas Stanley

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Laura made haste to contact Dame Beatrice, who told her to stay in Amsterdam where she would join her on the following day.

‘I think Sweyn knows something,’ said Laura, when they met. ‘All that guff about Saxon crosses in Derbyshire is so much mashed potato, you know.’

‘You surmise that these Saxon crosses do not exist?’

‘Oh, I’m quite sure they do, but why should he be so anxious to refer to them and to advise me so strongly to go and see them?’

‘You have led him to believe that you are interested in rune-stones.’

‘Yes, but Saxon crosses don’t bear much resemblance to rune-stones, except that lots of rune-stones have a religious bias, and can be found in churchyards. No, he was giving me a broad hint. I want to know why.’

‘We could go to Derbyshire and find out, child.’

‘I hoped you’d say that. Of course, my hunch may be quite wrong. I may be taking you on a wild-goose chase.’

‘I have great faith in your hunches. Purchase steamer tickets. By tomorrow night, at the latest, we can be back in London. There you shall hie you to a public library and read all about Derbyshire, a county of great charm and with some delightful natural scenery, and one with which I have only the most superficial acquaintance. Indeed, except for a tea once in Glossop and a lunch, on another occasion, in Matlock Bath, I know nothing about it at all.’

‘Read up all I can find about Derbyshire? A job after my own heart,’ said Laura. ‘You shall know the county from A to Z by the time I’ve finished.’

What she came up with at the end of her researches was of significant interest. Dame Beatrice listened as, after dinner, Laura read her notes aloud.

‘Most interesting stuff,’ she said, before she began her recital, ‘and, if Florian was really keen on caves and holes and things, definitely germane to the issue.’

She proceeded to describe deep fissures, eerie caverns, abandoned lead mines, underground lakes, stalactites and mysterious streams.

‘You will enjoy yourself,’ said Dame Beatrice, at the end of the recital.

‘You’re not thinking of coming with me, then?’

‘No, I have decided that my work lies in North Norfolk, and that, in any case, you will be happier without me. I should be very much obliged, though, if you would take a companion. Can you think of anyone who might like to go?’

‘Most people, I suppose, are otherwise engaged at this time of year. Old Kitty wouldn’t be any good at pot-holing, and it’s the wrong time of year for Alice — bang between her summer holiday and the break at half-term.’

‘Suppose I could arrange for our dear Robert to accompany you, would you like that?’

‘Gavin?’ said Laura, referring to her husband, as usual, by his surname. ‘Could you really wangle it?’

‘I could try.’

As Dame Beatrice’s infrequent but powerful representations to the Home Office or to New Scotland Yard invariably received respectful attention, Laura had little doubt of the result of this one. Her confidence in her employer was justified. Detective Chief-Inspector Robert Gavin presented himself at Dame Beatrice’s Kensington house and reported for special duty.

‘And what’s it in aid of, Dame B.?’ he enquired, after giving her an affectionate kiss. ‘They didn’t seem too sure what you wanted me for, when they told me you’d asked for me. Something to do with those Dutch people you and Laura have been seeing so much of lately?’

‘Possibly. I want you and Laura to go to Derbyshire.’

‘That sounds within our scope. What do we do when we get there?’

‘Laura will brief you. I don’t know how long you will need to stay, but, at any rate, you have been lent to me for at least a week, so Laura will arrange hotel accommodation for a week and then you can see how you get on. I want to write up some case notes, so I’ll leave you together to make your plans.’

‘Where shall I try to book us in?’ asked Laura, when Dame Beatrice had gone.

‘Don’t know. What have you found out so far? Is it a murder hunt? Dame B. seems to have hinted as much to the Assistant Commissioner.’

‘Well, it’s a common or garden disappearance, on the face of it, but some of the relatives don’t seem too happy about it, and Mrs Croc. has been asked to trace the missing youth. We went over to Holland, as that’s where he was last heard of, but there I was given what I regarded as a tip-off that he might be in Derbyshire.’

‘Who tipped you off?’

‘The younger uncle, Professor Sweyn van Zestien.’

‘Oh, the chap who collects rune-stones. You mentioned him and his brother in your letters. What’s he like?’

‘If you mean to ask whether he’s engaged in any funny business, I can only say that, in my opinion, nothing is less likely. He’s got his suspicions, though, and so has Professor Derde van Zestien, his elder brother. I’m bound to admit that it’s all rather odd and, to my mind, very hole and corner. This missing boy’s grandmother and his two maiden aunts had set their hearts on having a bronze bust of him and a painting of his lilywhite paw clutching a blue hyacinth, the hyacinth (according to them) being the same colour as his eyes.’

‘Good Lord! Spare us from our female relatives! What revolting ideas women have! Colour of his eyes, indeed!’

‘Less of that! What about men getting a kick out of strip-tease?’

‘That’s understandable and natural. Male mauleys gripping blue hyacinths are not!’

‘Very well, if you say so. Anyway, the sittings for the bust were given in Amsterdam and the hand and flower (sounds like a pub) was painted in the artist’s other studio at a farm near Hoorn. The farm has Frisian cattle and milkmaids and he likes it there much better than his place in Amsterdam, but, of course, it’s in Amsterdam that he gets his commissions, I’m told. I went to Hoorn to see him, and he seemed pretty certain that Florian…’

‘Who?’

‘Florian.’

‘Good God!’

‘Well, his mother’s name’s Flora, so I expect that explains it.’

‘It explains the pansy-like fistful of bluebells, too! Well, well! Go on.’

‘He thought Florian had gone back to England.’

‘Gone back to England?’

‘Yes. He lives in Norfolk with his sister and his grand-uncle. The granduncle is head of the family of van Zestien and apparently stinkingly wealthy. He’s a diamond merchant.’

‘Is he, by Jove!’

‘There couldn’t be any connection between that and Florian’s disappearance.’

‘Why not?’

‘When Florian walked out on him and went to the grandmother and the aunts in Amsterdam, old Bernard disinherited him, so it couldn’t be to anybody’s advantage to do Florian in, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Who’s the present heir?’

‘A rather decent Jew-boy named Bernardo Rose. The Rose family are also in diamonds. I don’t think he’ll get the lot, of course, but even half would be a pretty hefty chunk of dough.’

‘Does this young fellow Rose know he’s going to inherit that much of the kitty?’

‘Oh, yes, of course he does. Actually, I believe it’s merely a restitution of original rights. I think the old man cut Bernardo out and substituted Florian when there was a row and the engagement between Bernardo and Florian’s sister Binnie sprang a leak. Bernardo, you see, handed Florian a punch in the ribs and Binnie took a dim view and slung back the ring. But it’s all right now. Mrs Croc. worked it so that they kissed and made friends.’

‘Who? Bernardo and Florian?’

‘No, Bernardo and Binnie, chump!’

‘Well, if nobody had a reason for sending Florian to heaven, why does anybody think he’s been murdered?’

‘Well, they probably only think he’s ordinarily dead, and I suppose it’s conceivable also that he’s lost his memory and wandered off, but he hadn’t lost it when he went over to Amsterdam this last time. He sat for the sculpture — it’s in plaster painted over in gold, incidentally. It was supposed to be done in bronze, but the price was too high. Well, he told his grandmother and his aunts that he was going to explore caves, grottoes and abandoned mines in Maastricht and Valkenburg. The older aunt, however, said he had also told her that he would be going on to explore similar spots in the Dolomites. She claims she lent or gave him the money to go, but her mother avers that she did not have any money, and, having met old Binden, I bet she’s right. Her daughters are entirely dependent on her and, from my observation of her, I should hardly class her as a willing spender. I suppose she’s afraid they’d leave home if she allowed them enough money to live on.’

‘I see. Did this — er — Florian realise that he would be offending his granduncle by prancing over to Amsterdam like that?’

‘I shouldn’t think he could have done, but he’s very cocky, and cocky people are apt to be obtuse where other people’s feelings are concerned.’

‘Very true. One other thing strikes me. These two professors — didn’t I get the impression from one of your letters that they are the old man’s sons?’

‘That’s right. But there’s a daughter named Maarte, who married Bernardo’s papa and so kept diamonds in the family, whereas the two sons had no such idea, but, instead, went into the lecture-room-and-church-mouse business, to the ire and irritation, doubtless, of their sire. They’re fond of him, but at one time I believe he cut them off with a solitary Dutch guilder and, from what I gather of their characters, nobody cared less than they did. They’re quite unworldly and live only for their work.’

‘Research can be expensive. Didn’t you tell me one of them goes to Mexico for his?’

‘I don’t suppose he spends much, except for his fare, and I dare say he goes with a party and they charter a plane. Anyhow, if you’re thinking of them as possible criminals, well, they just aren’t, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘You’re not often wrong about people, so I accept that as a working hypothesis. What about the rest of the family?’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past Auntie Opal. I’m sure she’s nasty, but I can’t see what she could gain by putting Florian out of the way. The old man would never leave her his money. I’m pretty certain of that!’

‘But what about her mother? The old boy’s sister, isn’t she? Could she have expectations?’

‘I should hardly think so, but, of course, I don’t know. Anyway, she dotes on Florian, so does Opal. I don’t know about Ruby, the other aunt, but she’s such a rabbit that she wouldn’t put anybody out of the way, no matter what she might hope to gain by it.’

‘Crippen was a rabbit, remember — or so it was thought. Ever been bitten by a rabbit?’

‘Not so far as my memory serves me, but I take your point. My point is that Ruby wouldn’t stand to gain anything by Florian’s death, any more than Opal would.’

‘I suppose Florian’s dad is named Sapphire!’

‘He answers to the perfectly ordinary name of Frank. He and his wife live in Scotland and own some hotels there.’

‘Well, parents don’t often sacrifice their offspring, except for ritual purposes, so I think we can rule them out. Who else is there?’

‘Simply nobody who could gain anything from Florian’s death, so far as I can see.’

‘Revenge?’

‘On Florian? He’s cocky, as I said, and a bit of a poop, I admit, but I can’t see why anybody would want to be revenged on him.’

‘Could the Jewish element be involved in any way? Anti-Semitism on his part?’

‘Good gracious, no! Bernardo socked him once, as I told you, but that was simply man-to-man. The only people left — and neither of them fits the picture of a murderer — are the rather terrible grandmother Rebekah Rose and her incredibly quiet and beautifully dressed daughter Petra. You’d adore old Rebekah. She offered to buy Mrs Croc.’s emerald ring at a tenth of its value. Haggling over money is her only interest. She’s utterly outrageous and the most gorgeous fun, but, apart from doing it down over a monetary transaction, she wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Oh, well, I’ll take your word for it. How does she get on with her grandson?’

‘Bernardo? They fight with one another all the time, but Mrs Croc. is certain that really they love each other dearly.’

‘You can’t imagine old Rebekah trying to clear the way for Bernardo by removing Florian? I mean, if money is her god…’

‘No, I can’t imagine it, but that doesn’t make it out of the question, I suppose. Anyway, Bernardo is definitely in the will.’

‘One other point occurs to me. When was the broken engagement mended and Bernardo reinstated as part heir presumptive — before or after there was this hue and cry after Florian?’

‘Oh, Lord!’ said Laura, dismayed. ‘Yes, there is that, isn’t there?’ Then she brightened up again. ‘Oh, it doesn’t make any difference, though,’ she added. ‘It was Florian’s walking out on his granduncle, and not the mended engagement, that got him disinherited.’

‘It doesn’t seem a strong enough reason for disinheriting him,’ said Gavin, frowning. ‘What’s old van Zestien like? — crusty, irascible, autocratic?’

‘Well, he takes his position as head of the family quite seriously, of course, but, actually, although on the non-talkative side, he’s an old pet.’

‘Did he know where Florian was going when he left his house?’

‘Oh, I think so. There wasn’t any secret about it, so far as I gathered.’

‘Then I think the old gentleman had some other reason for cutting him out of his testamentary depositions.’

‘There was no other reason given, and nothing more sinister suggested or even hinted at.’

‘Families don’t like washing their dirty linen in public, Laura. Anyway, I may be wrong. Where do you suggest we stay in Derbyshire?’

‘I bought an Ordnance map to check with my notes. I’ll get it.’

It proved to be the one-inch Tourist Map of the Peak District, showing the boundary of the National Park. It was a magnificent sheet, mounted on cloth and measuring roughly forty-two by thirty-two inches over all. It included bits of Oldham, Manchester, Stockport, Macclesfield and Stoke-on-Trent to the west, and a sizeable chunk of Sheffield to the east.

‘Excellent value for nine bob,’ said Gavin. ‘I do appreciate the thought that we might like to go to Oldham! Well, now, where do we start?’

Laura’s itinerary, compiled from her notes, included Buxton, Castleton and (since she supposed she had better tell Sweyn that she had seen his Saxon cross with the knot-work panels) the village of Hope. The other village she intended to visit was Peak Forest, a mile from whose boundaries lay the Eldon Hole. She had decided to leave it to the last because at Poole’s Cavern on the slope of Grin Low, and at Castleton, there were guides to be interrogated. Eldon Hole, however, was fenced in and no guide was available to help in the exploration of its awesome depths.

She and Gavin made their headquarters in Buxton and ‘did’ Poole’s Cavern on the first morning of their stay. It was one of a series of natural limestone caves in which the dripping water had formed stalactites and had worn the rocks into various incredible and fantastic shapes. It was bitterly cold in the cave, a fact which Gavin, always prearmed, had established in conversation with the hotel porter. He had compelled the reluctant Laura, therefore, to wrap up warmly and had added a second pullover to his own outfit.

In the cave, a ruminating stream dolefully chanted its thoughts. The guide went ahead to light the way. So late in the season there were not many tourists. There was plenty of chance to detain him in conversation at the end of the trip. He did not remember having seen Florian.

‘Well, that’s one knocked off the record, anyway,’ said

Gavin cheerfully at lunch. ‘What’s the programme for this afternoon? Do you desire to take the waters?’

‘I don’t want any more caves, anyway.’

‘Then what about your Saxon cross or crosses? We could use the car to visit those.’

The first church was beside the River Noe. They went to it by way of the Glossop road, turned off at Chapel-en-le-Frith and went on, amid hilly scenery and some extraordinary bends in the road, to Castleton and Hope.

‘Well, at least we know how to get to Castleton now,’ said Laura. ‘You know, if we have time, we ought to do some walking while we’re in these parts.’

The church itself held little that was of interest, but the Saxon cross was indisputable. They gave it solemn attention and then Gavin said:

‘You know, it hasn’t taken us all that time to come here. Why not do Castleton while we’re more or less on the spot? Then we could do some other cave tomorrow.’

‘I think there’s too much to see. We need a whole day. There are four places and we’d need to see them all. There’s the Peak Cavern, the Speedwell Mine, (which involves a boat on an underground lake), the Blue John Mine and the Treak Cliff cavern. It would be silly to do a bit of all that, and still have to come back and do the rest at another time.’

‘How right you are. Well, then, let’s have a look at the church and that square-faced Norman keep on the top of the hill.’

The keep was Peak Castle, stone-built on the site of an earlier wooden structure, and was a grim little fortress on a hill which overlooked the village it had once both threatened and guarded. The view from the courtyard was extensive and very fine, and Laura became more determined than before to walk such a glorious, hilly countryside. They drove into Glossop for tea and the next morning set out again for Castleton.