Death of a Delft Blue

‘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!’