Gone West Page 8

  No Alec to warm her feet on, she thought mournfully, wishing she had stayed at home.

  NINE

  “Absolutely not,” said Ruby Birtwhistle. She stopped pouring, with the coffee-pot poised over Daisy’s cup. “Have you looked out of the window this morning, Myra? If you can see through the frost flowers on the glass, the frost is so thick on the grass it looks almost like snow. The roads are bound to be slippery and motor-bicycles are dangerous at the best of times.”

  “You can’t stop me. You’re not my guardian.”

  “Don’t be childish. As long as you’re under-age and you treat Eyrie Farm as your home, I’m responsible for you when you’re here.”

  “But—”

  “Why don’t you come down in the car, Myra,” said Walter Ilkton. “It’s sunny, so by the time we return the frost will have melted and you can ride back on the bike. If Carey chooses to risk his neck going down, that’s his lookout.”

  “No risk on me own. But ’tis true having a tyro aboard is not the best idea.” Carey grinned at Myra’s reproachful look. “Ye’ll not be after knowing how to lean into a curve, Miss Olney?”

  “No,” Myra conceded reluctantly.

  “We’d land in the ditch at the first bend. I’ll teach you, but not on icy roads.”

  “Oh, all right. You win, Aunt Ruby.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Birtwhistle and returned her attention to Daisy’s coffee-cup.

  Daisy was glad to see that Myra accepted defeat gracefully. Rather than glowering and pouting, she chatted cheerfully with Ilkton and Carey. Sybil and Simon were deep in a discussion of some knotty point of grammar. Norman Birtwhistle always breakfasted early and went off to his farms, Daisy had been told. Today he had already left to drive the farm’s lorry to Derby to deliver some lambs to a wholesale butcher.

  Lorna had not yet appeared, but she now came in.

  As she took her place at the table, she announced in her flat voice, “I just took Humphrey his breakfast. He says he’s getting up this morning.”

  “Oh no!” Ruby put her napkin on the table and started to get up, then subsided again with a sigh. “I do wish he wouldn’t. Joining us for dinner last night was almost too much for him. I’m sorry, Mrs. Fletcher, you must be heartily sick of the subject, but it’s always this way and it’s maddening! Whenever he has a good day, he overestimates his strength and overdoes it, then has a relapse. Why are men so obstinate?”

  “They see it as being resolute and determined. It’s never the slightest use arguing.”

  “Don’t I know it! It just makes him more pig-headed.”

  Ruby went on to enumerate various persuasive arguments she had tried without success. Daisy half listened, while being aware that Lorna’s announcement had upset Sybil. Humphrey was certain to disturb her work-day. What if this was the day he decided to kick up a fuss about her writing his stories in her own style? Sybil must be constantly walking on eggshells when he had his good days.

  Daisy refused to believe that Sybil herself was responsible for Humphrey’s uncertain health. She would never have invited Daisy to come and try to find out whether some sinister plot was under way at Eyrie Farm.

  Daisy was more and more inclined to think the only plots in the house were fictional. Why go to all the trouble and risk of putting Humphrey out of action only to let him surface now and then? He might blow the gaff anytime when he was feeling well, so surely his remissions were evidence that his persistent debility was natural.

  With no plot to unravel, today she could enjoy the outing to Matlock without worries. To leave tomorrow would look rather rude, but the day after, without fail, she’d go home.

  “You’ll excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher, if I go and see what Humphrey’s up to. Perhaps just this once he’ll listen to reason.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Daisy murmured.

  “I’ll make sure he realises I shan’t be here to help if … I simply must run some errands. Lorna, I don’t suppose you could stay at home?”

  “I have errands to run, too.”

  “Sybil, do you think you’ll be able to manage…?”

  “Of course. I can get him back to bed if necessary, with the girls to help and Dr. Knox is only a telephone call away.”

  “True. I’ll go and talk to Humphrey.”

  Ruby went off, and Sybil followed a few minutes later, saying to Daisy, “Till lunchtime. I hope you enjoy seeing Matlock.”

  By the time they left for Matlock, the frost that had glittered on the leaves of the sycamores had already melted, though the grass was still white. Myra looked disconsolately after Neil Carey as he zipped off on his green motor-bike, but without complaint she climbed into Ilkton’s luxurious shiny black Packard, with its gleaming brass. Admittedly that was after a spat with Simon over who was to sit in the front seat beside Ilkton.

  “You can sit there on the way home,” she pointed out.

  “Perhaps Mrs. Fletcher would like to be in front,” said Ruby.

  “Not at all,” Daisy disclaimed hastily, “I’ll be very comfortable in the back.”

  “And, with the hood down,” Myra said, “the view will be just as good.”

  Everyone was swathed in warm clothes and hats and scarves. The air was cold but not windy and the sun shone. Glad to get away from the tense atmosphere of Eyrie Farm, Daisy looked forward to seeing what sounded like an attractive little town. She settled on the spacious rear seat with Ruby and Lorna, the former with a wicker shopping basket, the latter with a string bag. Very characteristic of each, Daisy thought. Simon perched on a backward-facing fold-down seat, one of two, on either side of the padlocked toolbox.

  Walter Ilkton was an excellent driver. The heavy car showed no signs of sliding on the slippery slopes, but he drove at a moderate pace, not succumbing to the desire to impress Myra though she exhorted him to try to catch up with Carey.

  Now that Daisy wasn’t anxiously urging her own car upwards through mists to an unknown destination, she could appreciate the marvellous views. The sheer sweep of hills and dales rolling into the distance formed a backdrop for verges still bright with cranesbill, scabious, harebells, and purple thistle.

  The bare hills gave way to a narrow-wooded valley, steep-sided. They came to Matlock Bath. The main street had buildings on one side and the River Derwent running along the other. On the opposite bank rose a sheer limestone cliff with a railway at its foot that disappeared at one point into a tunnel through an outcrop.

  The car slowed, its engine purring softly. Myra knelt backwards on her seat to talk to Daisy. She pointed up the hill behind the buildings, where scattered houses appeared among the trees. “That’s called the Heights of Abraham, that hill. You can walk up and there are two enormous caves you can go into.”

  “They used to be mines,” Ruby explained. “You can see all the different kinds of ore they mined, back to Roman times. It’s quite colourful.”

  “Have we time to go there?” Daisy asked.

  “Not today, I’m afraid. Unless we dropped you off…”

  “I want to show Mrs. Fletcher the view from Smedley’s,” Myra objected, “though the caverns are impressive if you go when they’re not full of trippers. Matlock Bath used to be a genteel spa, Byron and Scott and people like that, but now all sorts of common people come in charabancs from Birmingham and Leeds.” She giggled. “That sounds frightfully snobbish, but you know what I mean. They leave beer bottles and sandwich papers all over the place.”

  “Oh, dear,” was the best Daisy could come up with.

  “Smedley’s Hydro is the place to go now, if you want to drink the water or bathe in it. They use pure spring water off the moor, not the smelly mineral stuff.” She wrinkled her nose. “Walter’s uncle is at Smedley’s. Aunt Ruby, has Uncle Humphrey ever tried the water cure? Perhaps he ought to.”

  “I’ve suggested it, but he isn’t interested. He’s been on the selling side of quack medicines, remember. Besides, Dr. Knox is not a believer in the benefits of min
eral baths, nor of Smedley’s regimen, so he doesn’t support the idea.”

  “A lot of stuff and nonsense,” Lorna muttered.

  “Dr. Knox said the tonic he’s prescribing now is a last resort,” said Daisy. “Perhaps he’ll move on to less scientifically proven remedies.”

  “Perhaps the stuff Uncle Humphrey’s taking now is working,” Myra said buoyantly. “He was quite chipper last night, for a while.”

  “If only he doesn’t try to do too much today! Mr. Ilkton, is your relative benefiting from his stay at the Hydro?”

  “It’s keeping him alive, Mrs. Birtwhistle. As he’s in his nineties, that’s no mean feat. He’s pretty much settled there for good. I don’t think he has much truck with the water cure business, but he likes the Ultra Violet Ray treatment, whatever that may be.”

  “It sounds quite alarming!”

  “Doesn’t it? He seems to enjoy it. He’s very comfortable and they take good care of him. Considering his age, he’s in good shape, though wandering a bit in his mind. He does still recognise me, I’m happy to say, or did when last I visited. He tends to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation. Just a brief cat-nap, but it’s a bit disconcerting.”

  “It’s kind of you to visit him.”

  Ilkton didn’t respond, concentrating on the sharp turn onto the bridge over the Derwent. On the far side, the town spread along the bank and straggled up the hill. Near the top, a massive building stretched across the hillside.

  “Good gracious,” Daisy exclaimed, “is that the Hydro up there? I didn’t realise it was on such a scale.”

  “It’s huge. The military took it over during the War, as you might imagine. No one knows quite what they were doing up there, but they had plenty of room for whatever it was. Mr. Ilkton, I won’t come up with you. Would you mind letting me out in Crown Square?”

  “And me,” said Lorna.

  Ilkton pulled up by the clock-topped tram shelter in front of the Crown Hotel. Approaching down the hill was a double-decker tram. As Myra had said, it looked decidedly precarious as it came clanking and grinding down the steep slope. Daisy decided walking down would definitely be the better part of valour.

  Myra and her aunts made arrangements for meeting later on, then the two older women went about their business. Simon moved across to the rear seat, beside Daisy.

  “I wonder where Neil is?” Myra said.

  “You didn’t arrange a place to meet?” Simon scoffed. “How’s he going to find us?”

  “It’s not a very big town,” Ilkton said soothingly. “He’ll find us. Unless he’s decided to go off about his own affairs. He doesn’t strike me as a particularly reliable type.”

  “He wouldn’t! He promised to take me home on the motor-bike.”

  “He knows we’re going to the Hydro,” Daisy pointed out. “He’s probably waiting for us there.”

  “If he didn’t slide off the road and bash up his machine.” Ilkton started the Packard up the hill. The engine’s purr became a rumble as it carried them smoothly up the incline. They turned left into Smedley Road, whose whole purpose appeared to be to give access to the hotel and spa.

  Close to, the Hydro was even more impressive, a long, five-story stone building topped by a balustrade on one side of the central tower and crenellations on the other. The car stopped at the main entrance. A uniformed attendant came smartly up to it.

  “I’m visiting a resident.” Ilkton got out. “My friends would like to walk on the promenade terrace.”

  As the attendant opened the door for Myra, she said, “We’re expecting to meet a gentleman with a motor-bike. Has he arrived?”

  “I believe so, miss. A person … A gentleman rode up on a green machine a short time ago. I advised him to leave his … er … outer garments in the cloakroom and await his friends in the lobby.”

  Myra giggled. “Outer garments! I suppose you mean his helmet and leggings. You see, Walter, I knew Neil wouldn’t let me down.”

  By this time, Simon had handed Daisy down. They went into the reception area, which boasted arches, an elegant staircase up to a surrounding gallery, and a palm tree on a pedestal in the middle. Myra spotted Neil at once. He was sitting on the bench that surrounded the palm tree, chatting in the friendliest manner with a middle-aged woman and her pretty daughter, presumably strangers. Myra went straight over to him.

  Frowning, Ilkton said to Simon and Daisy, “I can’t very well get away in less than an hour, probably longer. You’d better not wait for me.”

  “We never intended to,” Simon pointed out. “We’re going to walk down.”

  “Mrs. Fletcher, you won’t let Myra ride down that hill on the motor-bike, will you?”

  “I shouldn’t think she’ll want to, considering what she said about the tram, but if there’s any such suggestion I’ll do my best to scotch it.”

  “Myra will do exactly as she pleases, as usual,” her cousin said.

  Seeing Ilkton’s frown deepen, Daisy said lightly, “Are you slighting my powers of persuasion, Simon?”

  “Not at all, but to paraphrase that American hit song, if you knew Myra like I know Myra…”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Ilkton, we’ll cope with her. I hope you’ll find your cousin in good form. We’ll see you down in the square.”

  “All right. I’ll meet you at half past noon, as arranged with Mrs. Birtwhistle.”

  Daisy smiled at him and he went off looking unhappy.

  She thought he ought to look happier, considering Myra had found his rival on excellent terms with another young lady. But when she and Simon joined them, they found that Myra, far from being jealous, had already invited Miss Usher to walk with them on the promenade. Mrs. Usher, her mother, had an appointment for a Diathermy Bath, which sounded to Daisy like some form of mediaeval torture.

  They went out to the terrace. The air felt decidedly chilly after the warmth of the building. The row of chairs was untenanted as yet.

  With an expansive, proprietorial gesture towards the scenery before them, Myra said, “Look! Isn’t it ripping? Some people call it Little Switzerland.”

  Daisy duly admired the view. The small town spread down to the bridge and beyond rose hills and cliffs on either side of the winding river, not quite of Alpine magnificence—or Rocky Mountain, come to that—but with its own rugged appeal. Myra and Simon pointed out High Tor and the Heights of Abraham, and farther south, the Black Rocks, though they disagreed about the names of some of the less noteworthy features of the landscape.

  “What’s that extraordinary castle?” Daisy asked.

  “It’s not a real castle,” Simon said dismissively.

  “Yes it is,” Myra defended the multi-towered monstrosity dominating one of the hills.

  “No it’s not. Real castles are mediaeval, built for defensive purposes. Riber Castle’s Victorian and was never intended as anything other than a grandiose house. It was built by Smedley, the founder of the Hydro, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “It looks like a castle to me,” said Carey, smiling at Myra, “and it’s called ‘Castle,’ so you’re both right. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Usher?”

  “Oh yes!”

  It was virtually the only thing Daisy had heard her say so far. She was a pretty girl, but pale and washed-out in comparison with Myra’s vibrancy.

  Carey and the two girls stepped aside as a bundled-up patient was pushed along the terrace in an invalid carriage.

  “Carey’s trying to make her jealous,” Simon muttered to Daisy. “Waste of time.”

  “Why? You don’t think she’s interested in him?”

  “No idea, but whatever her faults, Myra’s not the jealous sort. She has a superabundance of choice, after all. We’ve had this situation before, what with lovelorn swains ‘dropping in’ and staying for days. Not that I believe Carey’s lovelorn.”

  “No?” Daisy and Simon followed the others down the steps to the promenade gardens.

  “Money’s all he’s interested in, if you ask me. If he knew hers
is all tied up safely so no one can touch the capital…”

  “You don’t rate your cousin’s charms very highly.”

  “She’s all right, and I’m not saying there aren’t plenty who do fall for her. I dare say Neil Carey’s one of ’em, but he wouldn’t stick around if he knew.”

  Daisy had already come to the same conclusion. “Wouldn’t it be kind to drop a hint?” she asked.

  “Why should I be kind to Carey?”

  “I was thinking of Myra.”

  Simon cracked a laugh. “You needn’t suppose she’s living in cloud-cuckoo land. She’s quite shrewd, you know, underneath the fluff. I’d bet all the tea in China she’s taken his measure quite accurately.”

  They reached the bottom of the steps, where the couple under discussion, plus Miss Usher, were waiting for them. Daisy saw that the chair-bound patient was halfway down a ramp a little farther along. The Hydro certainly had every amenity and no doubt charged accordingly. Carey could hardly have failed to draw the conclusion that the Ushers were well-off. His attentions to Miss Usher probably had more than one purpose.

  Ilkton’s aged relative must also be well-to-do, even more so than the Ushers if he could afford to live at the Hydro. On the other hand, by the time he went to his reward he might have spent most of his wealth on hotel bills, which would be hard luck for Ilkton.

  Daisy was inclined to credit Ilkton’s claim that he was not short of funds. However, no one ever complained of having too much money. It was quite possible that he visited the old man in hopes of inheriting whatever was left when he died, yet was entirely without mercenary motives where Myra was concerned. He loved her, Daisy was certain. Whether his love would last if they married … Luckily it wasn’t her problem. Nor did Myra seem likely to make up her mind anytime soon.

  “Miss Usher, you must be freezing,” Myra exclaimed. “You should have fetched an outdoor coat.”

  “I didn’t want to keep you waiting. Perhaps we could walk in the Winter Garden?” she proposed shyly.

  “Yes, do let’s. It’s that building at the end, Mrs. Fletcher, the glass one with a dome, not the church.”