Death of a Delft Blue (Mrs. Bradley)

by Gladys Mitchell

“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.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Eldon Hole

  “It is a very hazardous place, for is a man or beast too near the Edge of the bank and trip, they fall in without retrieve.”

  Celia Fiennes

  The excursion on the following day proved interesting, but, from the point of view of Laura’s mission, unfruitful.

  “Trippery, but quite good exercise,” was her comment as, after a Stygian boat-ride on an underground lake in the Speedwell Mine, she and her husband had climbed more than a hundred steps back to daylight.

  “Rather nice, though, that passage between the rocks, and the Aladdin’s cave place with the candle-light,” said Gavin.

  “A sort of Dutch effect,” commented Laura. “One of those dimly-lit interiors where so much is suggested and so little revealed. A pretty good waterfall, too, in that enormous cavern where we disembarked. I must say I relish the sound of a roaring cascade.”

  The guide had no information to give them about Florian.

  “We get so many,” he said. “I wouldn’t notice anyone in particular unless they misbehaved themselves, or were foreigners, or something of that.”

  “Well, we’ve done the Peak Cavern and the Speedwell Mine,” said Laura, as she and Gavin, after a restaurant lunch, made for the Blue John mine on the road to Mam Tor, “and I don’t suppose this next one will yield any-thing, either.” She was right. The Blue John was interesting, beautiful and historically important, but again yielded no information of the kind which they sought.

  “Well, personally, I’ve had enough of climbing steps,” said Gavin, as they emerged on to the road. “Let’s see. We did a hundred and six, at the very least, this morning, and a hundred and seventy-seven this afternoon. I’m gittin’ fair wore out, as the gentleman said. Do we have to do this last cave?”

  “Well, it’s modern and electrically lighted and everything made easy, so I don’t suppose it would have interested Florian much, but I’d better leave no stone unturned. It’s just along here.”

  “Still no luck,” said Gavin, when they had admired the stalactites and stalagmites, the blue fluor spar in the rock formations, the anemolites and the general effect of the modern lighting. “But you didn’t think he would have come here. Remains to do—what and when?”

  “The Eldon Hole. Tomorrow afternoon. It’s by far the likeliest place for him to have tried, so long as he had a good head for heights and could climb a bit. We’ll go there after an early lunch. I’ll tell you what else we’ll do. We’ll take the car as far as Chapel-en-le-Frith and walk the rest. It will be perfectly simple, so long as we take the map with us, and I’d love a hike over those hills.”

  From Chapel-en-le-Frith, with its panoramic view from the churchyard, a secondary road, which led them uphill and then dropped to meet the main road to Peak Forest, brought them, on the following day and at the village crossroads, to a narrow way past Dam Hall and Old Dam. Here the map indicated a turn to the left and this took them on to an uphill, northerly bridle-path which soon degenerated into a footpath which led them to the Hole.

  This was on the slope of Eldon Hill and proved to be an awe-inspiring place, an immense yawn in the landscape, as though one of the giants of Scandinavian mythology had changed himself by his magic into a hillside, but had been unable to disguise his vast and partly-open mouth.

  “Quite something,” said Gavin, gazing over the fence at the apparently bottomless hole. “And where do we go from here?”

  “Down it, of course,” said Laura briskly. “Why do you suppose I’m wearing slacks?”

  “Down it? Not on your life, my girl!”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s only two hundred feet deep.”

  “And do you happen to notice (a) that it’s fenced in, (b) that it has a sheer drop on three sides, (c) that the bushes which cling to it would hardly serve to sustain us if we fell, and (d) that even if we did find Florian’s corpse down there, we couldn�
�t get it up by ourselves?”

  “The fence is there to be climbed. The fourth side isn’t all that difficult. People have been down there before and climbed out quite all right. The bushes are fine. If we find Florian’s body, we have only to tell the local gendarmes and leave them to produce block and tackle or whatever it may be,” said Laura firmly. “Besides, who said anything about ‘we’? Obviously you must stay up top in case you have to run for assistance. According to the map, there are a number of farms not so very far away, and these upland farmers are good at giving help. Not to worry—I shan’t break my neck. I’m much too fond of it’

  “You are not going to climb down there,” said Gavin. “It needs at least four people and some rope and so on. I don’t intend to be left a widower at my age.”

  They eyed one another.

  “I’m going to do it,” said Laura. “It’s been done before, and, if others can do it, so can I.”

  “What about a compromise, then?”

  This reasonable suggestion surprised her by its very reasonableness.

  “Such as?” she enquired militantly.

  “Well, you’ve just pointed out that there are a number of farms around. I can’t spot any of them from here, but—let’s sit down and spread out the map.”

  Laura did not attempt to veto this suggestion. She took two plastic squares from the pockets of her anorak, shook them out and spread them on the grass.

  “Turf may be a bit damp at this time of year,” she remarked. They seated themselves and spread out the map. “Here we are,” she said. “These three farms seem to be well within reach. What about it?”

  “Just this. Somebody at one of the farms may have spotted Florian or even may have spoken to him. That’s if he has been here, of course. I suggest that we go the rounds and make a few enquiries. If it seems likely that he did climb down this gosh-awful hole, I don’t mind if you go down after him, provided that the farm people or the police or the nearest fire-brigade or someone will come up here to see fair play and haul you out if you find (as I shrewdly suspect) that climbing down, with or without the help of the bushes, is one thing, but climbing up again is quite another. How about it, eh?”

  Laura got up, went to the fence and looked over. Gavin knew better than to say any more. Slowly she turned and came back to him.

  “Don’t you really want me to go down?” she asked. Gavin knew that he had won.

  “I just think it would be damn silly and do no real good,” he said. “And, besides, a nice fool I should look, going to the fire brigade and saying, ‘Look here, sorry to trouble you and all that, but my wife’s got herself into a hole and I can’t get her out.’ ”

  Laura laughed.

  “All right,” she said. “It seems a pity, though. I’d been looking forward to it. Still, if it’s going to worry you . . .”

  “Into my grave, darling girl.”

  They were lucky at the first farm. A young man, answering to Laura’s description of Florian, had called there “a week or two back” to ask for directions. He wanted to see the Eldon Hole and had asked whether it was possible to explore it. Told that it was a very dangerous place and had a bad reputation and that, in any case, nobody should ever attempt to go into it alone, he had remarked that “we shan’t bother, then,” and had expressed thanks. A nice-mannered young chap and did ought to have been a film star with them looks.

  Gavin exchanged glances with Laura. She nodded. Gavin said to the farmer’s wife,

  “We thought our friend was alone. Did he—are you sure he said ‘we’?”

  The farmer’s wife was perfectly sure.

  “Then, did you see the others?”

  There had been one other, a girl. In the opinion of the farmer’s wife, she ought to have known better than to encourage a young lad to think of climbing down the Eldon Hole. Everybody knew what a dangerous place that could be. Anyway, she had asked the couple whether they would like a cup of tea and they had come into the kitchen and had had one, and a slice of jam-tart, and then the young man had fished out a box of chocolates and had offered it round, but when she had noticed that they were liqueur chocolates, “and foreign, at that,” the farmer’s wife had refused them and they had been put away again.

  “Foreign? Any idea which country?” Gavin asked. The farmer’s wife could not say with any certainty, but the name reminded her of gin or cherry brandy, she thought, or it might have been that drink with eggs in it. She invited them in for a cup of tea. To Laura’s surprise, Gavin accepted with alacrity and gratitude. He was adept at employing delaying tactics when Laura had formulated any plan of which he did not approve. She always was suspicious of his ruses, but, as in the present instance, it was not easy to catch him out.

  Over the strong tea and sponge sandwich provided by the farmer’s wife, he asked whether she knew where the girl had come from. She was a local girl, and was either from the village of Hayfield or possibly from Glossop itself, the farmer’s wife surmised. She had not asked any questions of her guests, but those were the places mentioned.

  Gavin passed on—by what conversational alchemy Laura could not decide—to talk about upland farming, Cattle, he supposed, were its mainstay. Yes, they had Frisians. Her husband thought they were the best, but Mr. Manns, he thought well of Herefords and was trying a cross with the Highland breed. Of course, there were sheep, too, but no lambing until March, although December would be better for prices. It was the weather made it March.

  Gavin passed on to sheep and then, as the sun began to set, he looked at his watch and decided that it was time to make a move. Even Laura, he thought, would not contemplate a descent of Eldon Hole after dark.

  At dinner in the hotel, she said:

  “Taking it by and large, I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

  “As how?” Gavin cautiously enquired.

  “About there being something more to it than merely the granduncle’s displeasure about Florian’s popping over to Amsterdam to sit for the bust, and all that. And I don’t believe he’s fallen down that Hole. If he was with a girl, surely she’d have raised hell if he’d met with an accident or couldn’t climb up again. Do you think he’s deliberately gone into hiding?”

  “He’s obviously taken himself out of the bosom of the family, if only temporarily.”

  “I’m glad, of course, if it’s proved that he hasn’t been murdered, but it’s a bit of a let-down, isn’t it? Let’s go to Hayfield tomorrow and tear the place apart to find this girl. If we can’t flush her in Hayfield, we’ll try Glossop. I’m not going home without something to report. What say you?”

  “I’m with you all the way,” said Gavin cordially. Laura scowled at him.

  “Yes, you got your own way about the Eldon Hole, didn’t you?” she said.

  “No, you very nobly gave it me,” said Gavin. He refilled her glass. “Here’s to another kind love!”

  “Polygamous brute!” said Laura. They set out, after a late breakfast on the following day, for Hayfield and called in, at Gavin’s suggestion, for a drink at a public house.

  “If the girl does live in Hayfield, the chances are that Florian has entertained her here,” he said. “Let’s occupy stools, put our feet on the brass rail, and obtain speech with the barmaid. I’m glad it’s a barmaid. Barmen, unless they’re the landlord, always seem to have such nasty, suspicious minds, whereas barmaids are little friends of all the world (so long as you don’t get fresh with them). When I give you the O.K., come out with your classic description of Florian’s loveliness, will you?”

  The barmaid recognised the description.

  “Why, he’s been in here several times,” she said. “He works at the garage. Do you know him, then? He speaks very nice and his manners is nice and he’s that handsome you don’t know where to look. Is he a relation of yours?”

  “No, not a relation,” said Gavin. “He’s quarrelled with his family and taken himself off, and, as my wife here knows him, we’ve said we’ll try to find him. His people ar
e very well off and he really isn’t trained to earn his own living, so they’re rather worried about him.”

  “Oh, he may not be trained, but he knows about cars all right. He’ll come to no harm without some woman gets her hooks on him. He looks too good for this world. Just like an angel, he is. What a film star he’d make! It isn’t right he should dirty they beautiful hands in a garage.”

  Laura thought of the effeminate and beautiful hand she had seen in the picture at Hoorn, and shuddered.

  “I don’t suppose he’ll stay there long,” she said. “Actually, he’s writing a book about caves. We were rather afraid that he might have attempted to climb down Eldon Hole.”

  “Ah, that’s a dangerous place. Mind you, it has been done, but the last lot as tried nearly had a serious accident with their ropes and pulleys and things, so I was told. Ah, it’s a nasty place, that is. I wouldn’t wonder but what it might be haunted. They say there’s a dreadful great cave down there at the bottom. Fair gives me the shivers to think about it, that it do.”

  “When he comes here, does he come alone?” Gavin enquired.

  Sometimes, and sometimes not. Sometimes he had brought Gertie Summers, but he hadn’t treated her. That was to say, she did the first round and he did the second, and never anything but beer, and two half-pints each was all they had.

  There seemed to Laura no point in seeking out Gertie. It was going to prove a very simple matter to find Florian, after all. They obtained directions from the barmaid and set out for the garage.

  Florian was servicing a car. Laura recognised the back of his blond head and spoke to him. He turned round, his beauty not in the least marred by a smear of black grease across one temple. Not unnaturally, he was greatly surprised to see Laura.

  “Oh, hullo, Mrs. Gavin,” he said, with the wolfish smile which distorted and marred his countenance. “What brings you to these parts?”

  “Curiosity, your aunt Opal and your uncle Sweyn,” Laura replied. “Gavin, this is Mr. Florian Colwyn-Welch.”

  “Granted your curiosity, what has my aunt to do with it?” asked Florian, acknowledging the introduction with a mere nod of the head.