Death of a Delft Blue (Mrs. Bradley)

by Gladys Mitchell

  Dame Beatrice made a reference to Mr. P. G. Wodehouse’s Madeleine Bassett, who contended that the stars were God’s daisy-chain, and Binnen broke into slightly throaty laughter. “Daisies, to me, are not as attractive as asphodel,” she said. “But I am to tell you about the visit of Florian to us. Well, there is so little to say. He comes, he gives the rest of the sittings, then, at my request, the sculptor agrees to paint his hand holding that hyacinth which we call, for your English trade, the Delft Blue, a lovely colour and a fine inflorescence. The sculptor dabbles also only a little in painting, and the hand with the flower is done quickly, but I shall like it. It will be, I think, very good. When it is completed Florian tells us that he goes to continue his study of caves. We say goodbye, but he says, ‘Not goodbye. With permission, I leave my suitcase and return after I have been in Maastricht, Valkenburg and so on.’ I ask, ‘What about money?’ He says he has money for hotel bills and Opal tells me later that she has lent him money for his fare. I do not believe her. Where would she get money to lend? I keep both my girls entirely dependent on me.”

  “So you fully expected Mr. Florian to come back because he had left his suitcase with you?”

  “Indeed, so. But he did not return and then we had this news of my brother, so ill, so like to die. We come here, over to Norfolk, and still no word of Florian. What is to be done? He could not have money to last all this time. What may have happened? He is lost, one thinks, in a cave. He was so much devoted to caves.”

  “Did you make any enquiries?”

  “Many enquiries, but with no result. Perhaps you will fare better. How much I hope! He is a strange boy. Find him for us, that is what I ask. He comes to us, he goes away, and there is no news. He knows, maybe, that my brother has taken away his inheritance and has given it to Bernardo. It is a mistake sometimes, these inheritances. Bad things are done because of them. First one young man to inherit and then another. Much riches. Much disappointment. Who knows what may happen?”

  “And that is all you can tell me,” said Dame Beatrice. She said it in a tone of finality which did not brook any disclaimer. She felt certain that Binnen had told her everything she could.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Maastricht and Valkenburg Revisited

  “In a cavern, in a canyon,

  Excavating for a mine,

  Dwelt a miner, forty-niner.

  And his daughter Clementine.”

  Percy Montrose

  Opal and Ruby, questioned separately by Dame Beatrice, (Laura cut off each sister in turn from the other by a pre-arrangement), added nothing to their mother’s report. Ruby was certain that Florian was lost in one of the labyrinths at Maastricht or Valkenburg, Opal stated the opinion that he had gone to the Dolomites and was not lost at all. She had lent him enough money for the journey, she declared, and it was known that a young man could live very cheaply among peasants.

  “Maastricht and Valkenburg first, then, as we had planned,” said Dame Beatrice to Laura on their return journey to London and the tall house in Kensington. “You had better get on to the travel agents and arrange for hotel bookings.”

  “For how long?”

  “Three days in Maastricht and a week in Valkenburg should give us ample time to find out that Florian is in neither.”

  “Oh, you think that, do you? Why?

  “I think Opal knows where he went, and I do not think it was to the Dolomites.”

  “Then why on earth can’t she say so, and put an end to the family’s anxiety—not to mention the waste of our time! But what makes you think she knows?—and that it isn’t the Dolomites?”

  “Her demeanour indicates that she knows. While nearly everybody else—to a greater or a lesser degree—is concerned for the young man’s safety, Opal, who, according to her mother, (and this is confirmed by my own observation of her), is besotted about the young man, remains serenely confident that he is not lost, but is exploring limestone caverns in the Dolomites. If that were so, why was she his only confidante? It seems unlikely, to say the least. Why not have told Binnen and Ruby? There is nothing to be ashamed of in going to the Dolomites.”

  It had been agreed that Derde, whether he was in England or Holland, would send Dame Beatrice the news if Florian turned up or his whereabouts became known, so when Laura had arranged for the hotel bookings at Maastricht and Valkenburg, the addresses and dates were transmitted to Leyden Hall and acknowledged by the professor. As soon as this was done, Dame Beatrice and her secretary embarked at Harwich for the Hook of Holland. It would have been much quicker to have flown from London Airport to the Schiphol Airport of Amsterdam, but Laura had a passion for the sea and regarded the eight-hour crossing as pleasure added to the trip.

  They spent a night in Scheveningen and on the following day booked in at the hotel in Maastricht and began their enquiries. At Maastricht they were told for the second time the doleful story of the four monks who had become lost among the miles of limestone quarries. Dame Beatrice affected great interest in this gruesome twice-told tale, but was kindly assured by the guide that such a thing could never happen at the present day. He repeated that heads were counted and no one was permitted to lose touch with the party.

  Dame Beatrice waited until the pilgrimage was over before she gave the guide a description of Florian and asked whether he had recently visited the labyrinth. As it was late in the season for tourists and the parties had been small, the guide remembered him perfectly.

  “In fact,” he said, “I remember him all the better since it was not his first visit, any more than yours. He had been to the halls and galleries before—twice before, he told me—and had particularly noted the wall-paintings and marvelled at the numbers of the bats—tens of thousands of bats, Madame, as I told you—and he said that he was most interested in all the old workings, particularly in those begun by the Romans. He asked me whether a special expedition could not be arranged to see more of the hundred thousand corridors and the eleven hundred and more cross-roads in the excavations, but I told him I had no authority to let anyone see more than is shown on the conducted tour. He offered me money, but I told him that only a small gratuity was permissible and that no large sum would tempt me to lose my position as guide. Believe me, I kept a very watchful eye on him that he did not take matters into his own hands and slip away by himself to explore where it is not safe for tourists to go.”

  Dame Beatrice said that her young friend was hotheaded and reckless, and that she was relieved to know that he had been kept in order.

  “This third visit,” she added, “would have been only a short time ago, I think.”

  “I do not remember which day of the week, but it was fairly recently,” said the guide, “that he came.”

  “Well, we’ve established one thing, at any rate,” said Laura, when they were clear of the caverns and on their way back to the hotel. “He certainly came here when he said he would. Grandmother Binnen was right enough there, and the inference is that as he failed to get an extended tour here, he went on to Valkenburg and tried there. And then, of course, he might have gone on to the Dolomites, I suppose. Well, there’s quite a bit of time to spare if we’re going to put in three days at our hotel. What do you propose we should do?”

  “I should like to find out where Florian stayed when he was here—or, indeed, if he stayed anywhere at all.”

  “A bit of a tall order, isn’t it?”

  “We can reduce its height, I think. Our plan will be to apply to the Netherlands National Tourist Office in Parkstraat 38, The Hague, and, if they cannot give us direct help, they can tell us the address of our nearest V.V.V. information office. There is certain to be at least one in the province of Limburg.”

  “Well, that will certainly use up a day, I should think. Do we hunt in couples, or do you wish us to pursue separate ends?”

  “We will go together,” said Dame Beatrice, “and it will use up two days—one at The Hague and the other at the local information office.
”

  “And after that?”

  “Our movements will depend upon what information we get.”

  “Which will probably be damn-all, you know.”

  “I realise that, of course, but, to employ your favourite metaphors, we must leave no stone unturned and we ought to explore all avenues.”

  “You don’t think—talking of exploring avenues—that Florian managed, after all, to elude the guide and went cruising off on his own and got himself lost, do you?”

  “I am sure he did not elude that particular guide, child, but, of course, there may be a rota. In fact, I think there would, since the caverns are open for several hours each day. Nevertheless, I shall not trouble to check that point unless we obtain no satisfaction in Valkenburg. I am most anxious not to arouse any suspicion that our enquiries about Florian are anything but merely cursory. Later on, if Professor Derde agrees, we may have to approach the police for help, but that is a step I wish to avoid as long as possible for the sake of the family.”

  “If it’s got to come to that, Gavin could do the enquiries through Interpol, couldn’t he? Save us a lot of bother.”

  “A brilliant thought, my dear Laura, and one which, I confess, would not have come to me so soon, if, indeed, it had come to me at all.”

  Laura squinted modestly down her nose and waved a large and shapely hand.

  “Oh, I don’t know, you know,” she said. “Still, there it is. After all, Florian is mostly English, so it’s our lot’s job to find him if he’s disappeared abroad. If there’s any difficulty, Gavin can always say that he’s wanted for embezzlement or something.”

  “I imagine that the Netherlands police would be quite willing to try to trace an innocent missing holiday-maker, but our dear Robert will know all about that.”

  “I don’t think a policeman ought to be called Robert,” said Laura. “It’s tautology. That’s one reason why I always call him Gavin. By the way, I don’t know whether I’m sickening for something, but I’ve had another bright thought. Look here, when Florian came over here, he stayed with Binnen and the aunts while Albion finished the two spots of art—the bust and the hand. Right?”

  “Undoubtedly, unless Mrs. Colwyn-Welch and her daughters are in a conspiracy to deceive us.”

  “I can imagine anything of Opal and Ruby, but I can’t see Binnen joining in a conspiracy, unless it might be the Resistance during the war.”

  “I agree. But, come! Your inspiration.”

  “Well, if Florian was staying with them in Amsterdam, wouldn’t he have been quite likely to apply to the Amsterdam V.V.V. for information about where to stay in Maastricht and Valkenburg? What’s more, I know where the Amsterdam offices are. We passed them more than once. They’re in more or less the city centre, Rodkin 5. I got a street-map from there, if you remember, when we were here before.”

  Enquiries at the V.V.V. office in Amsterdam, made by Laura, elicited the information that a mijnheer answering to Laura’s graphic description had indeed called and had asked for advice upon where to stay in Valkenburg. He had been furnished with a list and had marked off three pensions—one in Kerkstraat, another in Oud Valkenburgerweg and the third in Dwingelweg.

  “All pensions?”

  “All pensions. The young man explained that he was a student and could not afford to stay in hotels.”

  “Did he also ask about Maastricht?”

  “About Maastricht? Valkenburg is more picturesque, to some minds, than Maastricht, but these are matters of personal preference.”

  Armed with this limited amount of information, Laura conveyed it to Dame Beatrice.

  “Queer that he didn’t ask about accommodation in Maastricht, don’t you think?” she enquired.

  “Not necessarily,” Dame Beatrice replied. “The two towns are about seven and a half miles apart. He need only have visited Maastricht for the sake of exploring the grotto for the third time and then gone on to Valkenburg to stay.”

  “That third time seems a bit odd to me. I mean, I can understand doing it twice—I quite enjoyed our own second visit—but a third go at it seems to me excessive. What’s your opinion?”

  “It coincides with yours, child, but, of course, others may think differently and probably do. There is one point which we may bear in mind, however. Florian may have had reason to impress upon somebody’s consciousness that he had been in the neighbourhood at that particular time. This he appears to have done, for the custodian remembered him perfectly well. Moreover, he kept a watchful eye on him.”

  “So we press on to Valkenburg and dig out where he went from there—unless he’s still there, of course.”

  “I am not convinced that he went on to Valkenburg, child, but we shall see—or, rather, I shall see. You may amuse yourself as you will. There is no point in both of us making these enquiries.”

  “You mean they’re going to be tedious, don’t you? Well, let me do them while you go along and amuse yourself. It’s about time you did.”

  “I disagree. Apart from amusing yourself, you can be very useful, if you will.”

  “Oh?”

  “You can return here to Amsterdam tomorrow and find out more about the barrel-organ which has recorded The Flowers of the Forest.”

  Laura looked at her suspiciously.

  “Oh, yes?” she said. Dame Beatrice regarded her with deep solemnity.

  “I mean it seriously,” she said. “Track it down. Obtain speech with its operators. Find out where Binnie first heard the barrel organ playing that particular tune.”

  A room was booked for Laura in the hotel at which they had stayed previously.

  “Lucky to get in,” commented Laura. “I thought the city was always full.”

  “Oh, I have had the rooms—both yours and mine—reserved indefinitely since our last visit. I felt certain that we should be coming here again.”

  “All that money! All these weeks!” exclaimed the horrified Laura. “My Scottish blood cries out upon such extravagance!”

  However, she remained, as directed, in Amsterdam, spent a restful night, and then set out to track down the barrel-organ—one of a number, she presumed. It might take some time, she thought.

  Dame Beatrice, from Maastricht, made contact with Derde van Zestien before she went on to Valkenburg, indicating that Florian should be appealed to by the Netherlands broadcasting system to declare his whereabouts and return to Norfolk, where his great-uncle was ill. Not at all to her surprise, Derde declined to act upon this advice. Nothing would worry and upset his father more, he averred, then to hear a radio appeal to Florian to come forward.

  Dame Beatrice asked whether Bernard was likely to listen to the Netherlands radio, and was told that, in any case, he was kept in touch with news by a correspondent in Amsterdam and that there were Dutch newspapers on sale in England. She replied that she had thought it might have been worth trying, and then she moved on to Valkenburg and visited the official tourist office in Stationstraat, near the centre of the town.

  There was no information to be obtained there. No young man answering either to the name or the description of Florian had asked for advice and help, certainly not within the past four weeks or so. She went on to the Town Hall in Grotestraat but, in Laura’s expression, drew another blank. There remained the caves, with their well-known matters of interest. Here, again, there was no information to be obtained. The custodian asked whether he had not seen her there before “in company with a young English lady, large and beautiful,” which showed, Dame Beatrice thought, that he would probably have remembered the much more beautiful youth.

  It was clear that the streets in which the pensions were situated would have to be compassed about, albeit with only one witness and not with the clouds of these required by Holy Writ. Dame Beatrice was almost certain that hers would be a waste of effort, and, in any case, a task far more suited to the police than to herself. Nevertheless, she had promised to attempt to trace Florian and she was determined to do her best.

  She began
her researches in Kerkstraat. To her astonishment, the very first house at which she called had news of Florian. A young Englishman of hyacinth eyes and hair like gold? Certainly he had called, and he had slept, and had promised to return. What was more, he had left his luggage. Not a great deal of luggage, it was true. A little bag to contain nightwear and for shaving. “Mevrouw is his grandmother? And where staying? At the Hotel Prinses Juliana? Is een goed hotel. Alleen voor een nacht?”

  Dame Beatrice, with a horrid leer which did not cause the keeper of the pension the slightest disquiet, insisted upon discharging Florian’s one-night debt and then said that she was staying not for one night, but for the rest of the week. She begged that, if her grandson turned up during that time, she might be informed immediately so that he might show her the sights of the town. She was speeded on her way back to the Hotel Prinses Juliana with a cordial, “Tot ziens!” They exchanged smiles and compliments.

  She would have liked to ask to see the “little bag” which Florian had left at the pension, but she thought that such a request might have had a deleterious effect upon the good relations existing, so far, between her and mevrouw of the pension. Besides, she had a feeling that Florian had left the “not great deal of luggage” in lieu of rent for the room. She had a strong suspicion that the canny Dutch landlady had come to the same conclusion. It was clear that she had investigated the contents of the bag and was satisfied with the bargain. Sheer silk pyjamas and an electric razor, Dame Beatrice supposed.