They found themselves in the final doorway of a long corridor, gazing into apparent chaos. It was such a cluttered room. Every inch of floor space seemed to be crammed with furniture, and every available surface covered in ornaments and trinkets of no discernible use. How would you live in a room like this? He would hardly dare to move.
‘You can’t be serious about this threat?’ said Burns.
‘We do have good reason to be concerned. You should step up your security as much as possible, both in the abbey and around the park. We’ll have officers here to advise on additional security measures you can take. Also a dog unit will be arriving, in case there are already explosives on the premises.’
‘Our visitors aren’t going to like that,’ said Burns.
‘Visitors? Didn’t we say? We’re recommending that you close the abbey to the public for the time being, until we’re sure the threat has passed.’
‘That’s ludicrous. Have you any idea how much revenue we would lose? All our Christmas bookings would be cancelled, for a start. Walter would never agree to it.’
‘Could we speak to the earl himself perhaps and explain the situation?’
‘I don’t think so, Sergeant,’ said Burns stiffly. ‘Perhaps a more senior officer…’
Cooper nodded. He didn’t feel offended. Well, not as offended as Fry looked, anyway.
‘I’ll have a word with my superintendent,’ he said.
‘Yes, do that.’
Fry was staring with baffled revulsion at a huge glass cabinet full of stuffed birds. And it was full. There had been no half measures for this particularly fervent collector among the Manbys. Against a painted background of a seashore, he’d crammed in a heron, a couple of bitterns, a whole flock of curlews, turnstones and lapwings who crowded against each other in the foreground. A shelduck and a trio of plovers dangled from the top of the case in simulated flight. There was hardly an inch to spare between one set of feathers and the next.
And it was just one of many cases full of birds in this room. They were stacked right up to the ceiling on every wall. Some former earl must have been going for a complete collection of British bird species, thought Cooper, as he surveyed the room. Well, except for that pelican, resplendent in a case of its own, just about to swallow an equally stuffed fish.
‘What is your energy supply here?’ asked Cooper.
‘There’s a wood pellet-fuelled biomass heating system installed in a former agricultural building. It was one of Walter’s first projects when he inherited the estate. The system is fully automated and provides heating to various properties on the estate.’
‘Underground piping?’
‘Of course. About five hundred metres of it.’
‘Very vulnerable.’
‘Well, oil and electric storage heaters were the wrong sort of system to be using on such a big house, so investing in a green energy system seemed to be important. It lowers fuel costs and significantly reduces the estate’s carbon footprint. It even produces a financial payback through the government’s incentive scheme.’
‘One of his lordship’s most productive ideas, then.’
‘Precisely.’
They examined the main entrance with its wide steps and pillars, and a smaller side door where visitors paid their entrance fee. The locks were adequate, the alarm system modern. The earl would never have been able to get insurance for his historic mansion without those precautions.
‘I’ve been told the burial ground will be tarmacked over and become a car park for the holiday accommodation,’ said Cooper.
Burns shook her head. ‘That’s nonsense. We would never be allowed to do that, even if we wanted to. Most of it will remain an area of open space, with a bit of landscaping.’
‘I can’t emphasise enough how important it is to step up your security measures. There’s a good private security company based in Buxton. You should contact them.’
‘I’ll note your advice.’
Outside the main entrance, Cooper heard voices above him and looked up in astonishment.
‘Who are those people on the roof?’ he asked.
‘Oh, they’re a group of historic house enthusiasts,’ said Burns.
‘Members of the public?’
‘They paid twenty-five pounds each for a behind-the-scenes tour of the abbey today.’
The party had been led up a flight of narrow stairs from the top floor, through the attic, and out on to the roof, where they were able to gaze over the stone parapets at a mist-shrouded view of the Dove Valley. Directly below them was the crumbling Lady Chapel. They would have a good view of the missing tiles and the cracks in the walls. They would probably glimpse the corroded face of a stone angel. Or, if they were really lucky, they might witness an entire section shearing off the façade, like a calving glacier.
Cooper shook his head. Was there any point in wasting his breath urging extra security precautions when there was a crowd of complete strangers being allowed on to the roof?
They arranged to leave the park through the north entrance, taking a winding route through sheep pastures on the lower slopes of the hill, backed by more woodland. A member of outdoor staff was on hand to unlock the barrier and let them through.
Outside the north gate they were forced to slow to a crawl. A group of about twenty people were milling around with placards. Cooper stopped to speak to one of the two uniformed officers keeping a discreet eye on the demonstration.
‘What are those people doing?’ he asked.
‘Oh, them? They’re environmentalists. They’re protesting against the quarry plan.’
‘Quarry plan?’
The officer gestured to the hillside behind Knowle Abbey. The white scar of the limestone face was visible above the trees of the parkland.
‘For Alderhill,’ she said. ‘There’s a plan to bring it back into operation.’
‘And that looks like the earl himself talking to them.’
‘Yes, it is.’
Walter Manby was an ordinary-looking man in many ways. Yet somehow he gave off an aura of money, a peculiar glow that made him stand out from those around him. He stood casually among the protestors, chatting amiably to their dreadlocked leaders, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, yet unable to resist the occasional supercilious smile.
Cooper tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of the car as they drove back towards Edendale.
‘Who did we ask to look into Eden Valley Mineral Products?’ he said out loud.
‘We?’ said Fry.
He’d almost forgotten she was there. She was becoming his conscience, haunting him like all the guilt he’d ever felt, all the uncomfortable doubts over his own competence.
‘Me, then,’ he said. ‘I asked somebody to look into Eden Valley Mineral Products.’
‘Luke Irvine,’ said Fry. ‘I believe he was tasked with following that up.’
And she was right, as usual. Cooper got hold of Irvine as they were climbing the hill on the other side of the valley.
‘Yes,’ said Irvine. ‘Did you know that Deeplow Quarry is owned by Eden Valley Mineral Products?’
‘The company where George Redfearn was a director?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Well, it’s a link,’ said Cooper.
‘Of a kind. But what does it mean?’
‘I have no idea. Anything else we should know about the company?’
‘They’ve been doing okay. In fact, they’re planning to expand into a new site soon. They won a bidding war to get the contract. It’s a big deal.’
‘Where is the new site?’
‘Alderhill Quarry,’ said Irvine. ‘Have you ever heard of it?’
Cooper turned and gazed towards Knowle Abbey, sitting down there by the river in its parkland — a perfect picture, but for the white scar on the hillside behind it.
‘Alderhill Quarry?’ he said. ‘I’m looking at it right now.’