Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘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.’

The mood up on Mispickel Scar reminded Hannah of a school trip. She’d aimed to keep numbers down, with a group of specialists and a helicopter on stand-by in case they found something, but there were still a dozen men and women at the search site, plus a couple of uniformed bobbies policing a cordon whose job was to turn away walkers who fancied sightseeing. With so many outside agencies involved, there were several people she’d not worked with before and although their demeanour was fiercely professional, she sensed excitement fizzing beneath the surface. This was something out of the ordinary, and anticipation sweetened the air. It wasn’t often that you had the chance to work with a crime scene team in a place so wild and remote, hunting for a hidden body. Nothing to do with disrespect for the dead, everything to do with being passionate about what you did. They were ready for a long day out in the cold and had packed their kit and brought along drinks and sandwiches. If nothing turned up, there was bound to be disappointment; it was only human nature.