The Arsenic Labyrinth

CHAPTER NINE

‘Not much of a labyrinth,’ Les sniffed.

He was wearing a greatcoat and Cossack hat that made him look like an extra from Dr Zhivago. Hannah, Maggie and Giselle Feeney were standing close to him on a long ledge of rock at Mispickel Scar, surveying the hollow that a glacier had scooped out between the fells. Snow had fallen during the night and ice underfoot had made the climb slow and treacherous. For the last half hour Les had lagged behind the three younger women, puffing and grunting and making it plain that he wished he was back home with his feet up in front of the fire. He’d sneezed once or twice and mumbled that he was starting with a cold.

‘This was never going to be Hampton Court Maze.’ Hannah rubbed her gloved hands together, as much to keep warm as to engender enthusiasm. ‘So what exactly do we have here?’

The random scattering of stones was a bleak monument to Mispickel Scar’s industrial heritage, but Giselle contemplated the scene as lovingly as if it were a personal Eden.

‘Mispickel is another name for arsenopyrite. A silvery-white sulphide of iron and arsenic. I suppose when the works were built, George Inchmore expected it would make him more money than copper had made for his father. But the vein was poor. The cost of digging into the Scar far exceeded the value of what he extracted. His mistake was not to throw in the towel more quickly. He must have had an obstinate streak. The works kept going for six or seven years.’

Maggie opened out a photocopy of an old plan Bob Swindell had found, and jerked a thumb towards a heap of rubble forty yards away.

‘So the chimney was over there?’

Giselle nodded. ‘It had to be out in the open, far enough away from the face of the fells, so they could get a good draught. Picture plumes of mucky sulphur belching out in the middle of the Lake District. Not very green.’

‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’ Les grumbled.

Giselle winked at Hannah. ‘Next to the stack was a cube-shaped building, designed on a square plan. Two storeys, hipped roof with a ventilator set in. Ore was fed into a big hopper on the top floor and from there it was spread down on top of a pan that rotated slowly inside a small chamber below. The chamber was heated by two coal-fired furnaces to a thousand degrees Fahrenheit, a temperature high enough to draw off the arsenic. It was sucked down a flue attached to the chimney stack. Although the flue was a thousand feet long, it folded back on itself every ten yards or so. That’s why it was called an arsenic labyrinth.’

Les stamped his feet. ‘Blot on the bleeding landscape if you ask me. No wonder they say it’s cursed.’

‘Is the lack of vegetation an after-effect of the poison?’ Hannah asked.

Maggie nodded. ‘I spoke to health and safety and they don’t regard the arsenical traces as a serious risk to our people. Everyone will have protective clothing and it’ll be incinerated once we’re done.’

Les blew his nose loudly and said, ‘You can’t do better than have a damn good shower.’

Maggie frowned at him and Hannah recalled their conversation in the car. ‘The challenge will be shifting all that stone so we can look for a body.’

‘Point out the shafts for us, will you?’ Hannah asked.

‘The whole area is a honeycomb,’ Giselle said. ‘Don’t forget, the Old Man of Coniston is nicknamed the Hollow Mountain. George saw an opportunity to exploit land that was otherwise useless. There were two main shafts here, according to the records. See that large boulder? One of them is underneath it. The stone looks suspiciously like the Sword of Damocles. You see it in old photographs. Until nine or ten years ago the Sword was a pinnacle balancing up on that ridge of rock. Very dangerous, it deterred all but the rashest fell-walkers.’

‘So it might have fallen after Emma disappeared?’

Silence fell as they digested what this might mean.

Maggie consulted her plan. ‘According to the records, there should be another way down into the mines closer to the slope of the fell, but a landslip has covered that up as well. The tunnels were connected. Shall we clear both entrances?’

‘I think so,’ Hannah said. ‘There may have been collapses underground as well. Let’s make sure we have good access. Di Venuto’s caller didn’t give details and we don’t want the whole team hanging around here longer than necessary.’

‘Too bloody right,’ Les said. ‘They’ll catch their death if it gets any colder.’

‘Let’s not attract too much attention too soon. Apart from Di Venuto we don’t have the Press on our backs, and he’s forced to keep his cards close to his chest, for fear he’ll lose his exclusive. We’re not being mithered by grieving relatives, but if we do find a body, all hell will break loose. Let’s make progress before the world and his wife come rubber-necking.’

‘Hey, no bugger in his right mind will tramp out to this God-forsaken spot.’

‘You’d be surprised. Mispickel may not be as popular as the Old Man or Levens Water, and the warning signs will scare off most people. But even in the depths of winter, a few hardy souls venture out. The minute we start work, the rumour mill down in the village will go into overdrive. We can’t hang around.’

‘How long are you going to give it?’

‘As long as it takes to find out whether Emma is buried here.’

‘Wherever she is, she must be warmer than me.’

‘So a camera survey is the first step?’ Maggie said hastily.

Hannah nodded. ‘Before we send the CSIs shinning down ropes, let’s shine a light into the shafts. See what we’ve got.’

Sarah proposed Sunday lunch at a pub she knew near Troutbeck. ‘My treat,’ she insisted, to Guy’s relief. He’d not made a penny since taking the money from Megan’s purse.

She drove a rusty old Citroen, painted an embarrassing orange. When, after five minutes of fiddling with the ignition key, she finally got it to start, it hissed and clanked and he wasn’t convinced they would make the round trip without breaking down. The heating didn’t work and she had the radio tuned to a brass band concert. At the traffic lights in Ambleside he asked how often she changed cars.

‘Don bought this little sweetie for me after the divorce. It wasn’t new then, of course. But he said it would be fine for my needs.’ She did something with the gear lever that sounded chaotic. ‘I don’t like driving much, I never travel far.’

Just as well. ‘How about asking him to replace it?’

‘He wouldn’t,’ she said with flat certainty.

‘He has obligations.’ Guy was hazy about divorce law, but he’d gained the impression from lads’ magazines that it favoured women at the expense of their former husbands. ‘Get him to put his hand in his pocket.’

‘He has a family to look after.’

‘You mustn’t let him off the hook. Honestly, if you want to give him a call, I can advise you about what to say.’

‘Oh, Rob, I couldn’t do that. I mean, I’m not proud or anything, but no woman likes to beg.’

He winced as they bounced over a speed bump. ‘It’s not begging. Simply a matter of making sure you get what is due.’

‘Really, I couldn’t. We agreed some time ago, we each had to make our own way in the world.’

‘But he deserted you after you’d given him the best years of your life.’

She glanced at him. ‘Not all the best years, I hope.’

Taking her eye off the road was a mistake. A lorry driver sounded his horn long and hard as the Citroen took a bend at speed and finished up on the other side of the road for twenty yards.

He said urgently, ‘You’re a woman on your own. Don should pick up more of the bills, it’s only right.’

‘I think he’s hoping I won’t be on my own for ever.’

Her complacency bothered him. How likely was it that she’d find a man who offered her a meal ticket for life? She didn’t even have much luck recruiting guests for the Glimpse. His concern was unselfish — what would happen to her after he moved on? It was as well that he’d been careful not to make any rash promises. Apart from a few whispered platitudes at moments of greatest intimacy, which obviously didn’t count, he’d said not a word to suggest that this was more than a fleeting romance. He didn’t want her to get any ideas about a long-term relationship. That wasn’t his kind of thing at all.

Miranda was back. Her face shone with excitement when he collected her from the station at Oxenholme. Ethan wanted to appoint her as an associate editor of the magazine and she wanted to know whether Daniel thought she should accept. Whether the new job title involved anything more than an increase in pay wasn’t clear, but she left him in no doubt what he was meant to say. Of course he said it.

‘Bite his hand off,’ he said as they left the grey limestone of Kendal behind. He was glad to see her happy and, besides, what else could he say?

‘Even though I’ll need to spend more time in London?’

‘Doesn’t have to be that way. With email and video conferencing, you can work remotely.’

She puffed out her cheeks. ‘In theory, fine. But I’m not sure that’s what happens in the real world.’

‘Give it a go. If you don’t enjoy it, you can always take a step down.’

‘Ethan wouldn’t take kindly to that. The last thing he said to me before I left the office was to think over the offer. If I say yes, I’m making a long-term commitment. He’s giving me the chance to put my own imprint on the magazine. But if I mess up, he’ll bring in someone else. That’s the way he operates, he’s a hard-nosed businessman. There will be no going back to the status quo.’

‘If you turn him down, you’ll regret it.’

‘But I want you to be happy with whatever I choose to do.’

As they reached the open road, he put his foot down. ‘I’m happy if you’re happy.’

She considered this. ‘That’s a cop-out, darling. I don’t want you to be miserable, stuck up here while I’m gadding about in the capital.’

‘I can come down and stay with you.’

‘Well, yes. But I will be busy most of the time. Don’t think I can just sit in the flat and entertain you. The editorial people are busy networking most nights. I’ll be able to wangle you an invitation to come to some events. But you once told me you didn’t care if you never attended another cocktail party or book launch in the rest of your life.’

‘I didn’t even enjoy my own book launch,’ he said. ‘Follow your instinct.’

‘You don’t want me to do it!’

‘I never said that.’

‘It’s what you meant!’

All of a sudden, she was spoiling for a fight. Not out of malice, but because she craved the buzz of quarrelling. A row energised her as much as it exhausted him. Time to draw a line.

‘Darling, I’ve already said go for it. What more can I add?’

She thrust out her lower lip. ‘All right. I’ll tell Ethan I’m on board. With your blessing.’

‘So tell me about yourself, Rob Stevenson.’

He was tempted to say: they call me Tusitala, the teller of tales. But it would sound too much like taking the piss. He caught the eye of a waitress and ordered another glass of wine. Sarah asked for an orange juice because she was driving and he didn’t press her to change her mind. The journey here had been hair-raising when she was sober.

‘Not much to tell.’

‘Now that I don’t believe!’ She wagged a finger. ‘You know, ever since we met, I’ve talked non-stop about myself. It’s time I found out a bit more about you.’

Didn’t she understand the deal? She chattered and he listened. It was for the best. There were things in his life she really wouldn’t want to know.

‘I’d much rather talk about you.’

‘You’ve never mentioned any family. Are your parents alive? Do you have brothers and sisters?’

Funny question. Even funnier, the honest answer was that he didn’t know. He’d been put in the Home as a baby and nobody had ever come back to claim him. In his early days this provided endless scope for harmless fantasies. His favourite was that he was the bastard child of a peer of the realm, or a general or a gentleman farmer who owned a good deal of land. But when he told the other kids, their mockery was merciless. Some of them bullied him, a couple went further and did things that even now he preferred not to remember. As the years drifted by, he learned there was more pleasure and profit in making up stories about his own life, rather than someone else’s.

‘I’m the only one left, I’m afraid.’ The drinks arrived, not a moment too soon. ‘To be honest, it’s something I’d rather not talk about.’

‘Oh, I do understand.’ Her puzzled expression suggested otherwise, but she was a kind woman, unwilling to hurt. This reluctance to inflict pain was something they had in common. ‘Your work, then. Tell me about that.’

‘Well, that’s where I go wrong.’ The wine wasn’t bad. He just hoped to God she hadn’t forgotten her credit card. ‘All work and no play. Makes me a dull boy, I’m afraid.’

As he put down his glass, he felt her hand slide on to his thigh. ‘No, Rob, you may take me for a fool, but I’m not. You have hidden depths, you just don’t want me to explore them yet, that’s all. I mean, I can’t help being curious.’

‘Honestly, I’m not very interesting.’ The modesty of this convenient reply gave him a little jolt of pleasure, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy Sarah.

‘You’re a successful businessman and yet you live out of a single suitcase and never seem to do much work. Put yourself in my position. I can’t help adding two and two together.’

Oh shit. ‘And what answer do you come up with?’

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. She was stroking his leg through the twill of his trousers. A gentle, sympathetic movement.

‘You’ve been made redundant, haven’t you?’

A long silence. Her reply had come out of left field, but no matter. An escape hatch was opening up in front of him. He swallowed rather theatrically. Sometimes he thought he might have made a good living on the stage.

‘It’s … it’s uncanny. How did you guess?’

She blushed. ‘You know when you said you were going out to do some business the other day? Well, I followed you.’

He nearly choked on his steak. ‘What?’

‘You’re cross with me, aren’t you?’

‘No.’ He gulped down a mouthful of water. ‘Just amazed.’

He’d had no idea. Perhaps he should have noticed, but failing to do so was forgivable. Nobody expected their landlady to start shadowing them when they took walks in the country.

‘Oh thank goodness. I’ve worried ever since that day. You didn’t take your laptop with you, not even a mobile as far as I could see. You just walked and walked, as though you were lost in a daze. I tried to stay a safe distance behind, but I’m not that fit and after a mile you were out of sight. Please don’t be cross with me. I only did it because I was curious. And because I care.’

He’d underestimated her; not the first time he’d made such a mistake with a lover. Women caught you unawares sometimes, lulled you into a false sense of security with their silliness and then trapped you into an act of self-destruction.

He slipped his hand under the table and rested it on top of hers. ‘That was very wicked of you. But very sweet. I ought to tell you the full story, but it’s rather painful.’

‘If you’d rather say nothing …’

‘No, no. You deserve better than that.’

He smiled a soulful smile, buying time as his mind raced. She was leaning closer, her sympathy threatening to turn into a simper.

‘The company has put me on gardening leave. It’s very common in the world of high finance. My contract comes to an end next month and then I’ll be out of work. Until then I’m hanging on by my fingertips. It’s a cut-throat game I’m in, you see, and my figures for last quarter weren’t up to target. All because I wouldn’t let clients make investments when the market conditions weren’t right for their portfolios.’

‘Because you had their best interests at heart!’

A self-deprecating shrug. ‘We have a new global chief executive, an American wheeler-dealer. He’s only interested in numbers, not people. Ethics are fine, he says, but they don’t pay the wages. Unless I bring in more business before the end of the notice period, he’ll let me go. A couple of first class investment opportunities have emerged — but he’s already switched my clientele to another broker.’

‘That’s terrible!’

‘It goes with the territory. You won’t hear me complain.’

‘But …’

‘No, let’s change the subject. Please? It’s hard for me to talk about this stuff, after the years I’ve spent at the top of the tree.’

She took a swig of orange juice. ‘I’d like to help.’

Got away with it! His pulse was racing, but he’d not lost his touch. Seriously, this was better than sex.

‘You help me just by being you.’ He touched her hot hand, trying to keep the triumph out of his voice. ‘Thanks for being so understanding. I think you realise — it will take a long time for me to trust someone completely again.’

A light shone in her eyes. He knew she was making up her own happy ending.

At first, Hannah had dismissed Jeremy’s suggestion that she consult Alban Clough about the Arsenic Labyrinth, but on reflection it wasn’t such a bad idea. She headed back to the Museum of Myth and Legend while Les and the CSIs debated the risk assessment for the exploration of Mispickel Scar. She doubted whether the small print of the Health and Safety at Work Act required a Senior Investigating Officer to check the crime scene for curses. But if you never asked, you never found out.

Alban saw her in his daughter’s chilly office, under the watchful eyes of Armstrong and Betty Clough in their gilded frames. What must it be like to belong to a dynasty? Family expectations might be claustrophobic, but inheriting a fortune eased the pressure. Alban didn’t seem to have felt any duty to conform. After the sale of the business, he’d been free to pursue his dream. On the phone, Hannah hadn’t explained why she wanted to see him and when she asked about the Arsenic Labyrinth, his tufted eyebrows rose.

‘Why would a busy police officer investigating a ten-year-old disappearance want to bother her head about a half-forgotten old legend?’

‘I was fascinated by your story about Gawain and the Loathly Lady.’ Tongue in cheek, but she could play games just like this strange old satyr. ‘The labyrinth is associated with the Inchmore family. I thought I should consult the oracle.’

‘You are right, Chief Inspector, to proceed on the basis that flattery will get you — almost everywhere. But what you say is hardly an answer.’

‘I’m afraid that’s as close as it gets.’ She half-rose from her chair. ‘Of course, if you’re not able to help, I will quite understand. Apologies again for intruding on your Sunday.’

‘Please sit down. You must forgive my curiosity.’ He bared his teeth. ‘I am really quite insatiable. But of course I’m willing to offer assistance. It’s a pleasure to see you once more so soon after our last little chat. Which I much enjoyed, by the way. Besides, I don’t want you to arrest me for obstructing you in the course of your duty.’

Hannah gave a tight smile and waited. He breathed in noisily and lifted his head, as if seeking inspiration in the carved ceiling. It occurred to her that he relished having an audience. Was he lonely, this rich man in his castle, despite the presence of his daughter and the vast rooms crammed with displays representing a lifetime’s work?

‘Do you see me as a foolish, fond old man, Chief Inspector?’ His words had a sharp bite. ‘I regard myself as more sinn’d against than sinning.’

To me, you’ll always be King Leer. ‘I’m not so naive as to regard you as foolish, Mr Clough. And I can’t imagine who would dare to sin against you.’

He lifted his head and launched into a speech so fluent that she was sure he’d made it many times before. ‘My enemies, Chief Inspector Scarlett, are the social engineers, the dolts who chide me for not making this place more socially inclusive. How absurd. Why should I pander to the unwashed and uneducated masses? What do they care for the lore of our green and pleasant land? And then there are the faceless bureaucrats. The planning authorities, the safety apparatchiks, the council flunkeys who impose pettifogging rules upon us and Draconian penalties for any failure to comply. This is not the V amp; A, nor even the Abbot Hall, but I am expected to pay out a king’s ransom for building insurance, to say nothing of installing a new sprinkler system. My preference for candle-light rather than punitively priced electricity caused such a disagreement with the chief fire officer that I was forced to ask him to leave my home before I threw him out on his ear. After devoting more than half a century to my collection, I am treated as a pariah because I loathe paperwork and tick-boxes as much as I detest the vogue for interactive gadgets to keep tiny minds amused.’

When he paused for breath, she said, ‘Isn’t paperwork your daughter’s department?’

He nodded. ‘Without her calm efficiency, the museum would have closed years ago. But not even a woman as astute as Alexandra can cope with everything. This museum celebrates the truth that there is a logic in lore and legend more pertinent than anything to be found in the statute book. Yet the absurdities of modern legislation are such that, if we fail to obtain a substantial grant towards the cost of so-called improvements, we will have to close our doors to the public.’

‘You’ve run out of funds?’

Alban Clough glanced over his shoulder at the stern likeness of his father. ‘I was left well provided for after the family business was sold, Chief Inspector, and it has been my proud boast that the museum has made a loss in each year of its existence. Were it otherwise, I would have failed in my duty to educate those who come here to learn something of our magical heritage. We sell neither ice creams nor fridge magnets. As visitor numbers have fallen, I have rejoiced. At least we may concentrate our energies upon those who really care for what we do. The admission fees don’t even cover the utilities bill. I confess that, unlike my forbears, I am no businessman. But it would take a Croesus to cope with the demands of the pen-pushers. If I do not call a halt soon, I shall be bankrupt and my daughter will be left not only without a job but also without a penny to her name. It is a scandal! An outrage!’

He closed his eyes, as if raising his voice had exhausted him. Or perhaps he was simply brooding in silence. Hannah coughed, wanting to get back to the point.

‘The Arsenic Labyrinth?’ she prompted.

‘Perhaps it doesn’t matter,’ he murmured. ‘These tales of the past, handed down through the generations. The sophisticates who live in our towns and cities have no truck with the tales and traditions of the countryside. Why should they, when they have broad minds and broadband? England’s green and pleasant land is an irrelevance, fast being submerged by cheap houses and shopping malls. But it wasn’t always thus, Chief Inspector. Once upon a time, folk recognised the need for balance between progress and preservation of the past. That was what George Inchmore never understood. His folly led to his downfall and that of his family.’

‘Tell me.’

He heaved himself upright in his chair. ‘Many legends are associated with mining in the fells, Chief Inspector. Think of Simon’s Nick, by the Levens Water cascade, named after a Cumbrian Faust who sold his soul for riches in copper. Or the Knockers, little goblins whose tapping was supposed to direct miners towards the profitable ore. They kept quiet at Mispickel Scar, even when a company set up by Quakers dug for copper in the hillside. Different firms tried their luck, until a roof collapsed and killed a couple of men.’

‘Was that when the mines were abandoned?’

He nodded. ‘Succeeding generations spoke of a jinx upon Mispickel Scar and those who ventured there. Clifford Inchmore was a prudent man who kept a safe distance, but his son thought he knew better. My grandfather warned him that he was deluding himself if he thought he would ever be able to compete with the Cornish arsenic traders. George being George, that made him all the more determined to proceed. He persuaded himself that my grandfather was motivated by envy rather than entrepreneurial wisdom.’

‘And George’s failure lent credence to talk of the curse?’

Alban nodded. ‘In the nineteenth century, arsenic was associated in the popular imagination with malice and murder. Rumour had it that the land in the vicinity of the labyrinth was poisoned. When the works closed, George ordered his few remaining employees to raze the buildings to the ground. A cathartic act of destruction, but it availed him naught. His business was declared insolvent a fortnight later. My grandfather was on hand to buy up the surviving equipment for scrap prices.’

He slumped back in the leather chair and breathed out. Telling the story had drained him, but a mischievous smile danced on the old dry lips.

‘One man’s curse, I suppose, is another man’s good fortune.’