Death of a Delft Blue (Mrs. Bradley) Read online

  “Of course not. But young Mr. Rose does not seem to me to belong to that category. I think he is sincerely fond of your sister (who is, you will agree, immature), and he will make her a very good husband.”

  “I can’t see that. I think Binnie’s making a fool of herself. She is a fool, of course, as you say, but this engagement is going a bit too far. She can’t be fond of that oily, conceited brute!”

  They circumnavigated the lake and came to some broad, rough, shallow steps, which led downhill to the pleasant little river.

  “Well, here we are,” said Florian gloomily. “Do you want to go through the gate and on to the riverside path? It isn’t bad along there.” He produced a key and unlocked the tall iron gate. “Have to keep it fastened,” he explained, “because, otherwise, people could get in. We had a lot of trouble a couple of years ago. It was as bad as Hyde Park in the summer.”

  Dame Beatrice ignored this unlikely comparison, and asked briskly, as they threaded their way in single file along the narrow, ill-defined path which ran deviously along the right bank of the river:

  “Are you enjoying having your portrait executed? Your aunts, the Misses Colwyn-Welch, seem quite excited about it.”

  “Oh, it’s not a painting, of course, but only a bit of plaster. I’ve given a couple of sittings. That chap who calls himself Albion is doing it. Not his real name, I imagine. Anyway, he’s hellishly expensive. The aunts are paupers, of course, but I should have thought that Grandma Binnen was far too sensible to cast her Dutch guilders upon the waters. She knows jolly well that they won’t return to her after many days. In other words, I don’t think Albion’s work is going to be worth a lot in times to come, but, of course, one never knows.”

  “You do not see your grandmother’s gesture as one of affection and pride—a determination to capture a likeness which, by the time you are fifty, will have vanished for ever?”

  “No, I don’t. Oh, she thinks well enough of my youth and my appearance, I dare say, but, in my opinion, she must also be cashing in on the chance that Albion’s work is going to bring in the guilders later on, although she’s wealthy enough not to need them, I should have thought.”

  “What else did you want to talk to me about?” asked Dame Beatrice. The path broadened and they came out upon grass-land drained by dykes.

  “Talk to you about? Oh, I don’t really know. I expect I only needed my hand held about this awful mess of an entanglement that my sister seems to have got herself into. I keep asking myself whether there isn’t some way of getting her out of it, you know.”

  “What real cause have you to object to Mr. Rose as your brother-in-law? He seems to be kindly, spirited, imperturbable and well-mannered. These adjectives cannot be applied to all prospective husbands, I fear.”

  “Oh, I don’t want my sister to marry him, that’s all.”

  “Are you certain that, quite simply, you do not wish your sister to marry?”

  “She’s far too young,” said Florian.

  The rest of the walk was taken in silence. They parted from the little river at a wooden foot-bridge which crossed a dyke and led to a lane. Florian showed the way by taking the lead, his head down and his hands in his trousers’ pockets. Dame Beatrice left him to brood. They were back at the house in time to hear Bernardo and Binnie laughing together in the hall and a certain amount of scuffling going on. Florian tore in through the garden door. Dame Beatrice seated herself upon the terrace and waited, serenely and philosophically, for what she felt certain would ensue.

  She was right. She heard Florian yelling hysterically, then came Bernardo’s deeper tones punctuated by Binnie’s screams. There was a short interval and then Florian rushed out on to the terrace with a hand to his ribs and his hair in disorder. He tore down to the lake. There was a splash.

  Dame Beatrice was prepared to wait. In a matter of seconds, however, she was joined by Binnie and Bernardo, the latter with a handkerchief wrapped around the knuckles of his left hand.

  “Mr. Colwyn-Welch is in the lake,” she said.

  “It’s nowhere more than three feet deep,” said Binnie, who was half-crying now, and looking flushed and angry, “If anybody tries to interfere, Florian probably will drown himself, but if nobody takes any notice he’ll just crawl out and go round by the stables to get back to his room. All the same,” she added, turning suddenly on her swain, “you did hit him and you are bigger than he is. You’d better take back your ring. I don’t like bullies. You know he hurt his head when he slipped on the stairs that time.”

  “Well, well!” exclaimed Bernardo, loosening the handkerchief and gazing at his knuckles. “He comes pelting in here like a maniac, interfering in a perfectly ordinary and, so far as I was concerned, a perfectly sporting and quite proper little jam-session, and then hauls off and takes a fair to middling slam at me! What could a man of spirit do?”

  “Hit somebody his own size!” said Binnie.

  “Not possible, under the circumstances, dear girl. And I did remember his head. That’s why I forebore to slam at it. But he went for me first, for no earthly reason, so, naturally, he copped it. What did you expect?”

  Binnie snatched off her engagement ring and flung it on to the stone floor of the terrace.

  “There!” she said. “That’s what I think of you!” From the library out shot old Rebekah Rose. She pounced upon the ring and snatched it up.

  “Damaged! I offer fifty pounds,” she said briskly. Bernardo laughed and held out his hand for the ring.

  “It will do for Rachel Lomberg, darling,” he said. “When I sell you a ring for fifty pounds it won’t be this one. Give it back, there’s a love. Bernie wants it. What’s more, Binnie will want it later on. You’ll see.”

  Rebekah exclaimed in Yiddish and handed over the ring. Bernardo grinned at Binnie and put it in his pocket. Binnie smacked his face.

  Dame Beatrice left the terrace and strolled towards the lake. There was no sign of Florian. She went round to the stables. They could be reached from the park by a well-screened path which wound its way through a small plantation of larches. There were reassuring marks of wet footprints. She returned to the house to find the terrace denuded of its late occupants. Pensively she went up to her room to get ready for lunch.

  At table she noticed that Florian, dry and changed, although his self-inflicted ducking had darkened his golden brows and flattened his hair, had seated himself next to his sister, whose left hand was still without a ring. Bernardo sat next to his grandfather and engaged the old man charmingly in conversation, completely ignoring the strident remarks of his grandmother, who was telling Binnen, at the other end of the table, how to grow hyacinths. Binnen, with the stolid patience of her race, allowed the stream of useless advice to flow over her while she addressed herself to the business of getting on with her lunch.

  Opal was being squired by Sweyn, who had her sister Ruby on the other side of him. Next to Ruby sat Petra, who should perhaps have been attended to by Bernardo, but, although (or perhaps because) she was one of his closest relatives, he took no notice of her, confining his efforts to making himself extremely agreeable to Bernard except when the old man drew Dame Beatrice (again seated on Bernard’s right) into the conversation. The place of honour, as was only natural, had been left for her by the family.

  Derde was on her right and devoted himself to her except at such times as she was engaged in conversation with Bernard. At these times he talked to Florian’s and Binnie’s mother, who was seated between him and her husband. The hoteliers, Dame Beatrice had already noted, were a most devoted couple and (no doubt glad of a change from the bonhomie expected of them by their clients) kept themselves apart from the rest of the company. They were not, apparently, interested in their children. A joyous reunion, it was abundantly evident, had not taken place. Parents and offspring were strangers to one another.

  There seemed a definite coolness, too, between Sigismund (who was seated next to her) and his loud-voiced mother. He ate in silence, exce
pt for addressing an occasional remark to Opal, an almost unnecessary courtesy, since Sweyn conversed with her most of the time. The only other member of the party was his wife, old Bernard’s daughter. As though in emulation of Binnen, she ate heartily and said not a single word (so far as Dame Beatrice was aware) to anyone.

  When lunch was over, the company mounted the stairs to the magnificent drawing-room for coffee. Petra, to whom Dame Beatrice had scarcely spoken, either in Amsterdam or at Leyden Hall, seated herself beside her on a settee and plunged into speech.

  “Opal and Ruby and I are making a little expedition to the Point. If you would care to join us we could go in your car, perhaps, if you didn’t mind.”

  “And what is the Point?” Dame Beatrice asked.

  Petra mistook her meaning.

  “The point of going by car? Well, it’s too far to walk there if we want to do any walking afterwards,” she said.

  “No, no,” Dame Beatrice explained. “Of course we shall use the car. I meant merely to ask you to tell me about the Point which appears to be our objective.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Yes, I see. Well, we shall need to hire a boat. There is a nice creek, you see, and the Point is at the end of a pebble beach. From it we can reach the bird-sanctuary.”

  “Delightful. At what hour do you wish to set out?”

  Petra looked at her fob-watch, a tiny affair for which, Dame Beatrice felt certain, Petra’s mother (had it belonged to anybody but Petra) would have priced at very much below the obvious value of the rubies with which it was so liberally endowed. She answered quietly:

  “I wondered whether we could leave in about half-an-hour. It’s because of the tide, you see. At low tide you can’t get a boat off the mud. There are salt-marshes and all is very low-lying.”

  The salt-marshes, through which the creek ran, stretched on either side of a built-up causeway. In the village there was only one street. It led downhill to three antiquated quays, a number of moored boats, and a very large church with a lantern-tower. This, in ancient times, had shown a light to guide mariners.

  Dame Beatrice surveyed the scene and approved of it. The street retained its ancient cobble-stones. The houses were of various periods and were built of various materials, from the almost ubiquitous flint of Norfolk to the sinister modern red brick of country police stations. The salt-marshes appeared to stretch for miles.

  “I had better see a man about a boat,” said Ruby. “Shall we all muck in about the sub?”

  “Dame Beatrice ought not to pay,” Petra pointed out. “We came here in her car, and there will be oil, petrol and her chauffeur’s wages.”

  “As for me,” said Opal, “I don’t feel like birds and boats. I shall remain on dry land.”

  “For you?” asked Petra, of Dame Beatrice.

  “I really prefer to remain aloof from birds, but I am completely at the disposal of the rest of you.”

  “Then,” said Petra, “Ruby and I will voyage to the Point and, as you two will not have to help pay for the hire of the boat, you shall treat us to tea at the hotel when we get back. Do you think that would be fair?”

  Opal unwillingly and Dame Beatrice enthusiastically agreed that this would be fair. The two of them wandered off along the causeway (which appeared to have no ending this side of the North Pole), and left the other two to negotiate for the hire of a boat.

  “How long are they likely to be away?” Dame Beatrice enquired.

  “I do not know. I am glad you did not want to go with them. I need advice and counsel, and I think you are the person to supply these. I am half English, as you know. Do you read English poets?”

  “Some of them.”

  “Do you care for ultra-modern verse?”

  “On the whole, no. I stop short at Mr. Cecil Day-Lewis. He, at least, has something to say and says it remarkably clearly. Are you versed in his works?”

  “Myself, I stop short (such a nice way of putting it!) at James Elroy Flecker. Do you know his poetry?”

  “Indeed, yes,” said Dame Beatrice. “Where does this path bring us out?”

  “Oh, nowhere. We just have to go back by the same way as we come. There’s really no choice.”

  “It sounds like one’s life,” said Dame Beatrice. “Or . . . you mentioned James Elroy Flecker a moment ago…’

  “Oh, yes, Hassan, for example.”

  “Very fine, but I was thinking of some of his shorter pieces.”

  “The Old Ships?”

  “Yes, and The Dying Patriot.”

  “Very beautiful, but, you see, as a person of mixed nationalities, I find patriotism difficult to understand.”

  “You are what is known as a good European, no doubt. On the whole, James Elroy Flecker was possibly (in spite of The Dying Patriot) a good European, too, although one doubts whether he was thinking of a European monarch when he wrote The Queen’s Song.”

  “A very slight piece,” said Opal, suddenly stumbling on some unevenness in the path. “I do not care for it. I will return, if I may, to my reason for wishing to take this walk with you. I do not like this engagement between Bernardo and Binnie.”

  “Did you not notice that the engagement had been broken off?”

  “I—no, certainly I did not. Are you sure of this?”

  “I saw the return of the ring. It was most dramatic.”

  “Dramatic?”

  “Miss Colwyn-Welch flung it at Mr. Rose’s feet.”

  “I bet,” said Opal, with venom, “that that upset the Jewish lot!”

  “On the contrary. Mr. Bernardo seemed quite light-hearted about it, and Mrs. Rebekah Rose made a spirited bid for the trinket. She offered fifty pounds.”

  “That old woman is mad! I know for a certainty that Bernardo paid at least a thousand pounds for the ring, and it would have cost him half as much again if he had not negotiated for it through another of his race.”

  “How good it is of the Jews to stick together over these matters.”

  “If only my mother’s brother did not approve of the match, it would never be permitted,” said Opal, ignoring the goodness of the Jews. “Let us sit down on my waterproof coat. I should like a rest.”

  “Mr. Bernard van Zestien? I could not help noticing that, when he and Mr. Bernardo sat next to one another at luncheon, they appeared to be on very friendly terms,” said Dame Beatrice, when they had seated themselves.

  “Oh, Bernardo has that sort of way with him. No doubt it helps him in business matters. I have no doubt, either, that it helped him to ensnare poor little Binnie, and, of course, even if the engagement has been broken off, his charm will be used to get her back again—if he wants her!” They sat for a considerable time in silence. At last Opal said. “Perhaps we had better turn back. Tea at the hotel begins to be served at four o’clock. I see no reason to wait for my sister and Petra to join us. We can give them their tea when they arrive. I still don’t see why we have to help pay for their boat-hire—because that is what it comes to. What do you think of perpetuating Florian’s beauty?”

  “I should like to see the bust when it is finished,” said Dame Beatrice, with truth. She and Opal arrived at the hotel to find that Petra and Ruby had preceded them.

  “The Point is nothing,” said Petra. “Having said pebbles, that is everything one can say. It is cold and bleak, the water was rough, and the birds are not interesting.”

  “I am glad I didn’t go,” said Opal. “You have eaten the best of the cakes.”

  “That doesn’t mean much in a place like this,” said Petra.

  Dame Beatrice was silent during tea. Her chance reference to The Queen’s Song had set her wondering.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Disappearance of an Heir

  “The state of man does change and vary,

  Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary,

  Now dansand mirry, now like to die:

  Timormortis conturbat me,”

  William Dunbar

  “I
think,” said Dame Beatrice, “that before they return to the Netherlands, we should invite the van Zestien brothers and their father to visit us at the Stone House. Do you think dear Robert could join us?”

  “I expect he could come to dinner, anyway. What about the rest of the family?—not that we could put all of them up for the night,” said Laura.

  “I did think we might invite them for lunch, although it seems a long way for them to come just for that.”

  “Yes, it does. Anyhow, the three men are the ones who’ve shown us hospitality, and Mrs. Colwyn-Welch and her daughters have gone back to Holland, haven’t they?”

  “I imagine that they have, and, as we do not know whether the chasm between Bernardo and Binnie has been bridged, it might be embarrassing for the two of them to receive the invitation. We will leave it, then, at the professors and old Mr. van Zestien. That, as you rightly point out, will relieve us of our social obligations.”

  “I wish awful old Rebekah Rose was coming,” said Laura wistfully. “She’s almost too good to be true. Where does she live?”

  “I have no idea. I envisage a London flat, but I have nothing much to go on. In any case, I doubt whether she and her daughter would feel at home in rural Hampshire. Petra Rose did not seem to care for the salt marshes, mud and shingle of North Norfolk.”

  The informally-worded invitations were sent off in due course and were answered promptly. The professors, it appeared, were delighted to accept and thought it very kind indeed of Dame Beatrice to remember them. They looked forward immensely to meeting her in London and visiting her clinic, and then driving with her to her country home. Their father, alas, was a little indisposed and was confined to his room. Again thanking Dame Beatrice and reiterating how much pleasure it would give them to renew their acquaintance with her, they remained hers most sincerely.

  “If they’re leaving Norfolk after lunch and coming by road,” said Laura, “I should think they’d be in London in time for tea.”

  This proved to be the case. The professors came in a hired self-drive car and arrived, by way of the Norwich ring-road, Thetford and Newmarket, at exactly five o’clock. George immediately took charge of the hired car and garaged it, with Dame Beatrice’s own, safely beyond the ken of parking meters and traffic wardens (a service for which the professors were duly grateful), and Laura ushered them in.