Cooper could see the old cheese factory down a side lane off the marketplace. The paint was peeling on the doors and window frames, rubbish was scattered outside, and the sheds and loading bays were gradually losing any sense of function or purpose as they lay abandoned.
In a way the history of the Hartington cheese factory reflected the role of large landowners like Earl Manby. Nearly two hundred people were employed here at the height of its production, many of them living in the village of Hartington itself. They depended on the factory, and its closure took away their livelihoods. Some of them were probably forced to move away to find alternative work.
‘Which tea rooms did Sandra Blair work in?’ asked Cooper.
‘Hartdale. It should be close to the square somewhere. Mill Lane.’
‘Over that way,’ said Cooper.
Some enterprising individuals had reopened the Old Cheese Shop in the village and were making their own cheese from a farm nearby. If he got chance, he ought to call in for a chunk of Peakland Blue. His cat was a bit of a cheese connoisseur and blue cheeses were her favourite.
The pub across the road was called the Devonshire Arms. Of course, Hartington was the Duke of Devonshire’s territory. In this part of Derbyshire every second pub was called either the Devonshire Arms or the Cavendish Arms, after the family name of the owners of Chatsworth House. Even some of the larger houses in the villages had stones featuring the stags’ heads from the family’s coat of arms. The Devonshires were much larger landowners than the Manbys, and always had been. So the owners of Knowle Abbey had bigger neighbours — and grander, too. A duke outranked an earl in the order of precedence, the aristocrats’ league table.
Hartdale Tea Rooms were located in a converted farm building, near the corner of Mill Lane. It had no parking of its own, but it was handily placed between the village centre and the overspill car park further up the lane. The proprietor was alone, except for a teenage girl wiping tables and tidying chairs.
The windows were small — probably because they hadn’t been able to change the original exterior of the barn in view of Hartington’s conservation area status. But it created a cosy feeling inside, even at the beginning of November. Cooper could imagine it would be pleasant in here later in the year with snow falling outside, and the smell of coffee and hot crumpets inside.
Florence Grindey was a woman in her sixties. In his mind Cooper felt as though he ought to be thinking of her as a lady, rather than a woman. She had that air about her. A certain confidence and style natural to people who’d grown up that way. She was tall and slim, with greying hair tied back from well-defined cheekbones. In fact, she resembled an ageing actress. If he’d encountered her in different circumstances, he might have wondered if he’d seen her as a leading lady in films from the 1970s. He would have been sifting through his memories trying to place her name, but failing. Even now he couldn’t say who exactly it was she reminded him of.
‘Miss Grindey? I’m Detective Sergeant Cooper from Edendale CID,’ he said, showing his warrant card. ‘This is my colleague, Detective Constable Irvine.’
Miss Grindey looked flustered for a moment. It was often the way, even with the most law-abiding of citizens. People tended to search their memories, or their consciences, for something they’d done wrong. Almost everyone had broken a law at some time. But Miss Grindey’s search didn’t seem to last long. Her expression changed to concern. It must be bad news.
‘Poor Sandra. It’s so dreadful,’ she said, when Cooper broke the news of her employee’s death to her. ‘Do we know what happened?’
‘Not yet, I’m afraid. But obviously, that’s what we’re trying to find out.’
‘Of course.’
It was odd, that use of ‘we’. It was the tone of a nurse addressing an elderly patient or a mother talking to a child. Not so much a paternal manner, as maternal.
‘So what can I tell you, Detective Sergeant?’
‘First of all we need to trace her movements yesterday. Was she working here?’
‘Yes, but only until lunchtime was over. We’re very quiet on a weekday at this time of the year. Some days we don’t open at all in the winter. We rely on the weekend for most of our business.’
‘So what time did Mrs Blair leave?’
‘Oh, about two-thirty.’
‘Do you have any idea what she was planning to do for the rest of the day? Or in the evening?’
‘None at all.’
‘It was Halloween. You’re sure she didn’t mention any plans?’
Miss Grindey shook her head. ‘I’m sure she didn’t.’
‘Did she seem worried about anything? Was there anything unusual about her manner?’
‘No.’
Cooper turned to look at the teenage girl, who had stopped working to listen to the conversation.
‘Kimberley wasn’t here yesterday,’ said Miss Grindey. ‘She only helps us out part-time, mostly at weekends. Though what I’m going to do now without Sandra…’
‘Even so,’ said Cooper. ‘Might my colleague DC Irvine chat to Kimberley for a few minutes?’
‘I suppose so.’
He nodded at Irvine, who managed to lead the girl into the kitchen area without any reluctance on her part. Irvine might not get anything from her, but at least now she was out of earshot.
Cooper found Miss Grindey watching him expectantly. A knowing expression had come into her eyes.
‘I suppose you’re going to ask me about Sandra Blair’s private life now,’ she said.
‘Well-’
‘It’s always what the police are interested in, isn’t it? The prurient details. The victim’s sex life. How did she get on with her husband? Was there a boyfriend involved?’
‘Well, we know her husband has been dead for several years,’ said Cooper calmly.
‘Indeed.’
‘So was there…?’
He waited patiently. Finally, Miss Grindey sighed. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’
Cooper had the feeling she wouldn’t have told him even if she’d known that Sandra Blair had a string of lovers. It was something about the way she’d said the word ‘sex’ in a hushed tone, as if it were a subject never mentioned in a Hartington tea room. He knew that wasn’t the case, of course. When some people got together over a pot of tea, they talked of little else. He was sure that Miss Grindey must be the sort of person who noticed little things about her customers.
‘She never mentioned any friends at all?’ he asked.
‘Not by name,’ said Miss Grindey. ‘She was in a few local organisations, I understand.’
‘Yes. What sort of interests did Mrs Blair have? Did she talk about any of her activities?’
‘Oh, she was interested in all kinds of crafts,’ said Miss Grindey. ‘She brought little things in to show us sometimes. I think it was something she took up after her husband died. Poor dear. You do need something to occupy your time in those circumstances.’
‘Is that why she took the job here too? I mean … no offence, Miss Grindey, but it was hardly launching herself into a new career, was it?’
‘No, you’re right.’ Miss Grindey lowered her voice. ‘Actually, I believe she needed the money.’
‘Oh?’
‘Her husband’s death didn’t leave her very well off, from what I gather. She was able to buy her little cottage at Crowdecote. But even that wasn’t cheap. I’m sure you know what property prices are like in this area.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Cooper.
The unexpected jolt of memory made him gulp. He’d spent many months looking at properties with Liz, when they were planning their future. He could probably have put an accurate asking price on anything on the market below two hundred thousand pounds. And he knew there were many houses to be found at that price.
‘I think it was thanks to a life insurance policy that she was able to do that,’ said Miss Grindey. ‘Otherwise she would have been stuck in rented accommodation.’