Darius Bell and the Crystal Bees (9 page)

Mr Heberden frowned. Everyone in the room was staring at him, and no one seemed to disagree. Even Mr Rose, the note-taker, was looking at him disapprovingly.

‘Well, they wouldn't want to do it anyway,' muttered Mr Heberden. ‘No one's going to send their hives for a few backyard plots of tomatoes or a fruit tree in a garden here or there.'

‘That's true,' said Mr Cuthbert. ‘They'll do it for a serious orchard or field. They'll do it if they know the kind of flowers they're going to get and if the quality is . . .' Cuthbert paused. He glanced at the Deavers, then back at Darius. ‘What did you say your name was?'

‘Darius Bell,' said Darius.

‘From the Bell estate?'

Darius nodded.

Mr Cuthbert smiled. ‘They'd do it for the Bell flowers,' he said. ‘They'd do it for the Bell honey!'

‘They'd do it for the Bell honey,'
said Mr Heberden sarcastically. ‘No they wouldn't. They'd be too scared their own bees were going to die.'

‘They might, they might not. If ours are already dead, they might not catch the disease.'

‘They won't take the chance!'

‘Won't they? You never know what they'll do for the Bell honey.' Cuthbert turned back to Darius. ‘Let me make some inquiries. Where can I find you?'

‘At Bell House,' said Darius.

Mr Cuthbert smiled. ‘Of course. Give me a couple of days.'

‘Will you really make some inquiries?'

‘Certainly. I've said it and I will.'

Darius grinned. Suddenly, there seemed to be a solution in sight. Bring in beehives from somewhere else! Why not? Darius thought of all the honey the Deavers normally made each year, each variety so highly sought after. For an apiarist, the flowers on the Bell estate were a goldmine. No, he thought, even better, a
honey
mine! Who
wouldn't
want their bees to use them?

Darius glanced triumphantly at the Deavers. They were staring at him with a kind of frozen look on their faces.

Darius turned back to the silver-haired apiarist. ‘Thank you, Mr Cuthbert. This has been very useful.'

‘Glad to hear it,' said Mr Cuthbert. ‘I'll see you in a couple of days.'

Darius got up. He could hardly believe what had happened – he had come to this meeting looking for a solution, and he had found one!

He went to the door. Oliver and Paul went with him. Paul lingered a moment. ‘Thanks for letting us in, Mr Heberden,' he said, and scampered out.

They headed back to the lobby. Darius couldn't keep the grin off his face.

‘Amazing,' said Oliver.

Darius nodded.

‘You know what they say,' said Paul. ‘If you don't ask, you'll never know.'

Darius laughed. He had asked – and look what had happened!

‘That was perfect,' he said as they turned into the lobby. ‘Just what we need. If we can just get some hives brought in, Mr Fisher's fruits will—'

He stopped. Directly in front of him, on his way out of another corridor, was the mayor, George Podcock, wearing his blue ceremonial robe and gold ceremonial chain of office, surrounded by a huddle of officials.

The mayor stopped in the middle of whatever he had been saying and stared at him. ‘Darius Bell! What are you doing here?'

Darius didn't speak. Partly because he froze at the sight of the mayor – and partly because he didn't see why he needed to say what he was doing just because the mayor asked him. It was a free country, after all.

‘I said, what are you doing here?' demanded Mr Podcock again.

‘It's the Town Hall,' said Darius. ‘Anyone can come here.'

‘Can they?' said Mr Podcock with a sneer. ‘I'm going to ask you one more time, and I advise you to answer. What are you doing here?'

Darius didn't reply – he didn't need to. The usher in the lobby answered for him. ‘He was at the apiarists' meeting, Your Worship.'

‘Was he just?' said Mr Podcock, without taking his eyes off Darius.

‘He was,' said the official. ‘Him and his two friends.'

‘And where was this apiarists' meeting taking place?' demanded the mayor.

‘In the Round Room, Your Worship. I believe it's still under way.'

‘Is it?' The mayor threw a glance at Darius. ‘I might just go and see these apiarists myself.'

He marched on, surrounded by his officials, and turned into the corridor Darius had just come out of.

Darius shook his head, smiling at the mayor's pomposity. Mr Cuthbert had already come up with a solution to the problem. Did George Podcock think he was going to be able to come up with something better? What did he think he was going to do? Bring back the bees with a shake of his golden chain?

The more Darius thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. Bring in hives!

The people with the hives would get their honey, Mr Fisher would get his fruits pollinated – and everyone would be happy. Even the Deavers might benefit. Perhaps the hive-keepers would leave some of their bees in exchange for being allowed to use the estate, enabling the Deavers to repopulate their hives for next year.

The Deavers . . . Darius lay awake that night, thinking about them. Why hadn't
they
thought of asking people to bring in hives? Surely they must know about that possibility. Any apiarist would. Or maybe not. Maybe that was only something apiarists did in Canada, which was why Mr Cuthbert knew about it. But then he remembered that it wasn't actually Mr Cuthbert who had first mentioned the possibility, was it? It was Mr Heberden. If Mr Heberden knew about it, surely the Deavers would have known as well.

They couldn't purposely have avoided telling Mr Fisher about the possibility of bringing in hives, could they? Why would they? What would they have to lose? No, it wasn't possible. They were such nice people, like two rosy, wizened apples. It would be an insult even to ask them. There had to be another explanation. They just hadn't known it could be done. They couldn't have.

But really?
Wouldn't
they have known?

Darius put the question out of his mind. It didn't matter now, did it? Thanks to Mr Cuthbert, he had a plan, and that was all that mattered.

He thought about it, too excited to sleep. It was perfect. It
had
to work. There was still the chance that the beekeepers wouldn't want to bring their hives for fear that their bees would catch the disease. That was what Heberden said. But he was just a spiteful, selfish man who obviously didn't want anyone else's problems to be solved if his own problems weren't. How could you compare his problem – the death of the bees in his two hobby hives – to the problems faced by Mr Fisher? No, the beekeepers would bring their hives. Wasn't that what Mr Cuthbert had said? Now that all the bees in the city were dead, their bees might not catch the disease. They'd take the chance for the Bell honey. Of course they would, thought Darius. How could they resist?

He tried to imagine how he would tell Mr Fisher. Perhaps he would go up to him tomorrow and announce that he had found a solution to the problem, just like that. What a look the gardener would have on his face! Or perhaps he would wait until Mr Cuthbert had given him a list of people with hives who would help. Perhaps it would be better not to get Mr Fisher's hopes up until he definitely knew the plan would work. Then he would hand the list of beekeepers to Mr Fisher and tell him to call them. What a surprise Mr Fisher would get when they offered their hives!

In the end, Darius didn't quite manage to do it like that. When he saw the gardener the next day, Mr Fisher told him he had been offered a job.

‘I'm very lucky,' Mr Fisher said, although there was nothing in his tone of voice to suggest that he was happy about it. ‘It was someone who knew me who recommended me. They've got a gardener's lodge that's big enough for the whole family and they want me to start straight away.'

‘Are you going to take the job?' asked Darius.

‘What choice do I have?'

‘Have you told them yet?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Don't. I mean, don't tell them yet. Just wait, Mr Fisher.'

Mr Fisher looked at him quizzically. ‘They want an answer, Darius.'

‘Just wait a few days.'

‘Why?'

‘I'm . . . working on something.'

‘What is it?'

Darius hesitated. He didn't know for sure that the plan was going to work. He wouldn't know that until Mr Cuthbert told him the outcome of his inquiries.

‘They want an answer, Darius.' Mr Fisher watched him. ‘Darius?'

Darius hesitated a moment longer. Then he told Mr Fisher about Mr Cuthbert and the plan they had come up with.

‘Where did you meet this Mr Cuthbert?'

‘At an apiarists' meeting.'

Mr Fisher looked at Darius in amazement. ‘You went to an apiarists' meeting? For me?'

Darius nodded.

‘I don't know what to say.'

‘You don't have to say anything, Mr Fisher.'

The gardener gazed at him for a moment, as if unable to speak.

‘I only had to go to the Town Hall!'

Mr Fisher laughed. ‘Do you really think Mr Cuthbert will find some people?'

‘He seemed to think he would. He said they'll do anything for Bell honey.'

‘And he thinks they'll take the chance of their bees catching the disease?'

Darius nodded, although Mr Cuthbert hadn't been as certain as that. ‘Don't say yes to the job yet, Mr Fisher. Please, wait a bit longer.'

‘Well, I did tell them I'd need to think about it. They said they definitely need to know by the end of this week, so I suppose I can wait a few days.'

Darius smiled. ‘That's
more
than you'll need!'

Later, when he saw Marguerite, Darius told her about the plan as well.

‘How long will it take?' demanded Marguerite excitedly. ‘Did my father tell you? He's already found a job.'

‘I know. It's all right. He told them he needs a few days to think about it.'

‘How quickly can they get the hives here? We don't have much time before we need the bees. The strawberry flowers are already—'

‘If they want the honey, they'll have to get here in time. How long can it take to move a few hives?'

Marguerite looked at Darius seriously. ‘And do you really think they will? Tell me honestly, Darius Bell.'

Darius nodded. ‘I really think they will.'

Marguerite was silent for a moment. Then she threw her arms around him. ‘Thank you, Darius!'

Darius went red. ‘It's all right, Marguerite.'

Marguerite took her arms from around him, blushing a little as well. ‘I mean it. Thank you, Darius. Thank you for doing that.'

Darius shrugged. ‘I don't want you to have to go.'

Marguerite nodded.

There was silence.

‘So it will be a couple of days until Mr Cuthbert tells you?' said Marguerite eventually.

‘That's what he said.'

‘Will you let me know when he comes?'

‘Of course I will.'

Now all Darius could do was wait and hope that Mr Cuthbert made his inquiries as he said he would. And that the beekeepers he spoke to would take the chance with their bees. Darius realised that even though he hadn't wanted to get Mr Fisher's hopes up until he definitely knew the plan would work, he had made it seem that Mr Cuthbert was sure the beekeepers would risk their bees for the Bell honey. And Mr Cuthbert hadn't been sure. He hadn't said they would – he had said they might.

And Darius knew that he hadn't got only Mr Fisher's hopes up – he had got Marguerite's hopes up too.

A couple of days, Mr Cuthbert had said. That had been on Saturday.

When Darius came home from school on Monday afternoon, he saw a green car parked beside the old yellow car that belonged to his parents. His father met him in the entrance hall inside. ‘Darius,' he said. ‘There's someone here to see you.'

Mr Cuthbert was sitting beside Darius's mother on the sofa in the yellow sitting room. Relatively few of the springs in the sofa were broken and it was possible to sit quite comfortably on it. There were a number of mustard-coloured armchairs in the room as well but you had to know what you were doing to find a comfortable perch on those. Guests were never asked to sit on them – unless they were the kind of guests nobody wanted to stay.

Mr Cuthbert and Darius's parents had been having tea. One of Mrs Simpson's ginger cakes was on the table and a number of slices had already been eaten. They had apparently been having a very amicable conversation before Darius arrived. Hector Bell sat on one of the armchairs. Darius sat on another.

‘Mr Cuthbert has been telling us that he keeps bees,' said Darius's father.

‘I know he does,' said Darius.

‘Apparently he met you at the Society of Apiarists. I didn't realise you were a member.'

‘I'm not,' said Darius.

‘Are your meetings open to non-members, Mr Cuthbert?' inquired Darius's mother.

‘Not as a rule,' said Mr Cuthbert. ‘But we're always looking for people to join us. If you'd like to, you'd be very welcome.'

‘I know nothing about bees,' said Darius's father. ‘Nor do you, Micheline, do you, my love?'

‘Very little,' replied Micheline.

‘Nor do half the people in the society, I sometimes think!' said Mr Cuthbert.

Hector laughed. ‘Well, there's nothing wrong with a Bell being an apiarist, is there, Micheline? A gentleman apiarist, of course. A hobby apiarist, one might say.'

‘I'm a hobby apiarist myself,' said Mr Cuthbert. ‘A handful of hives, that's all I have.'

‘And your bees have died as well?' asked Micheline.

‘Indeed. Which brings us back to your son.'

At last, thought Darius. He was desperate to know what Mr Cuthbert had done and was getting sick of this smalltalk. ‘What's happened, Mr Cuthbert? Have you made your inquiries?'

‘I have.'

‘And . . . ?' Darius waited anxiously for the answer. Would any beekeepers take the chance? Would they bring their hives for the Bell honey?

‘They're willing to come. I have seven names.'

‘Excellent!' Darius looked excitedly at his parents. ‘This will save Mr Fisher's crops. Mr Cuthbert has found people who are willing to bring their hives here. Once the bees have collected their nectar, the hive keepers can take them away again and extract the honey. The flowers will have been pollinated. Mr Fisher will be able to grow his fruit!'

‘Excellent!' cried Hector, although he still didn't really understand what problem the absence of bees created in the first place. But he understood the last part, about Mr Fisher being able to grow his fruit.

‘We need to get as many of them as we can, Mr Cuthbert,' continued Darius. ‘There's every kind of flower here – pumpkin, peach, walnut, almond, cherry, strawberry, tomato, cucumber . . . What else? What else, Mama?'

‘Bean?' said Micheline. ‘Apple? Pear?'

‘Those too!' cried Darius. ‘Whatever kind of honey they want to make, there's whatever they want. They just have to—'

‘Darius,' said Mr Cuthbert, ‘there's a problem.'

Darius stopped.

‘There's a concern about . . . well, remember I said that there's a chance their bees will catch the disease as well?'

‘But you said the beekeepers were willing to bring their hives.'

Mr Cuthbert nodded.

‘Did you tell them what's happened?'

‘Of course.'

‘And then they said they didn't want to?'

‘No, they did want to. One or two were concerned, but most took the view that if all the bees in the area are already dead, then the new bees might not catch whatever disease it was that killed them. They wouldn't take the risk for just any old honey, but to get the kind of honey that comes from the Bell estate they were prepared to take the chance.'

Hector Bell beamed. ‘Nothing comes from the Bell estate that isn't first-class in quality, isn't that so, Micheline?'

‘Yes, dear,' said Darius's mother.

But Darius wasn't beaming. ‘I don't understand the problem. Do they want to bring their hives or don't they?'

‘They do – but they're not going to be allowed to. The council has decided that no new bee colonies are to be brought within the city limits until after the winter. They say that's needed to make sure the disease is fully eradicated.'

‘But the bees are already dead.'

‘We don't know if
all
the bees are dead.'

‘But the new beekeepers said they'd be willing to take the chance. Isn't that what you said? It's their choice. No one's forcing them. If their bees die too, it makes no difference to the council.'

‘That's true.'

Darius glanced at his parents, then back at the apiarist. ‘I don't understand!'

Mr Cuthbert took a deep breath. ‘Darius, did you say anything to the mayor?'

‘To the mayor? Why would I say anything to the mayor?'

‘Just after you left on Saturday, he came marching into the Round Room. He and his officials. He demanded to know what you had been doing there. He demanded to know what we had decided.'

‘Darius,' said his father, ‘
did
you say anything to the mayor?'

‘No, Papa. The meeting was in the Town Hall and I bumped into him on the way out. I didn't tell him what I'd been doing, but one of his officials knew where I'd been. The mayor said he was going to go to the meeting himself. I didn't tell him anything.'

‘Well, he came storming into the room,' said Mr Cuthbert, ‘demanding to know what had happened, especially what you had been doing – he mentioned you by name – saying he had the right to see the notes of any meeting that had taken place on council property. Personally, I very much doubt that's true, but he didn't need the notes anyway – Mr Heberden told him straight away. He's a nasty piece of work, Heberden. Never liked him. No one does. Thinks that being president of the society makes him some kind of god. He only got elected because no one else could be bothered to stand. He only got one vote and that was his own. Well, anyway, Heberden told him. The mayor vowed there and then that it wouldn't happen. No hives would be allowed in. I didn't think anything of it at the time. The mayor can say what he likes, I thought, but what can he do about it? Well, it turns out that the mayor and Dr Ingliss are quite friendly. Apparently their children both go to the same school. The mayor took Dr Ingliss back to his office and an hour later she had provided a written scientific opinion that no new bee colonies should be allowed into the town until after the winter. Well, I thought, that's just an opinion. None of the beekeepers I contacted seemed to care – not when Bell honey was at stake. Just between ourselves, Darius, Hortensia Ingliss knows something about earwigs but she's a second-rate authority on bees and nothing she says would be likely to stop a beekeeper who knows his honey.'

Darius stared at Mr Cuthbert, waiting for the next part of the story.

‘I was wrong,' said Mr Cuthbert.

‘The beekeepers did care what she said?' asked Hector, mesmerised by the story.

‘No, there
was
something more the mayor could do.'

‘What?' whispered Darius, barely daring to ask.

‘He could get the council to pass a resolution based on Dr Ingliss's scientific advice, preventing the importation of new bee colonies within the city limits until after the winter.'

‘And if someone does it anyway?'

‘The hives will be removed and destroyed.'

‘In other words,' said Micheline, ‘no one will take the chance?'

Mr Cuthbert nodded.

‘We must stop this resolution!' cried Hector Bell. ‘Do you hear me, Darius? We will stop it! We will block it! We will halt it! We will chop it!'

But Darius guessed what was coming next.

‘It's too late,' said Mr Cuthbert. ‘The mayor called a special meeting of the council last night. You know what they're like – none of them dare to stand up to the mayor.' Mr Cuthbert looked helplessly at Darius. ‘They passed the resolution. I only found out today.'

‘And the beekeepers?' asked Darius.

‘As your mother just suggested, Darius, that's a risk they can't take. It's not even a risk – it's a certainty. Their hives would be destroyed. I spoke to them again after I found out. They won't do it. Personally, I can't blame them.'

There was silence.

‘What I don't understand,' said Mr Cuthbert, ‘is why the mayor cares. He's never shown any interest in bees before. And from a scientific perspective, whatever Dr Ingliss says, it makes no sense. As you said, Darius, anyone who brings his hives is doing so at their own risk. As long as we explain the situation honestly, it's their choice. If the disease really is still here, if a few more colonies come in and are killed by it over the next few weeks – which is by no means certain to happen – that still leaves more than enough time for it to die away over the winter. It simply makes no sense.'

‘Perhaps not from a scientific perspective,' said Hector Bell. ‘I know nothing about science, Mr Cuthbert. I'm a literary man, with literary sensibilities, and am easily bamboozled by scientific matters. But it requires no scientific sensibility to explain the mayor's behaviour. The sense it makes is altogether different. The mayor hates the Bells, Mr Cuthbert, it's as simple as that. He's a vain, jealous, mean-spirited man, who would do anything to hurt us.'

‘Is that true?' asked Mr Cuthbert, who after only half an hour with Hector Bell understood that he was prone to exaggeration.

‘I'm afraid it is, Mr Cuthbert,' replied Darius's mother.

‘Then that explains it,' said Mr Cuthbert. ‘There's no other reason.'

Darius glanced at his parents and nodded. That was the only reason he could think of.

‘Hector,' said Darius's mother, ‘we can't let this pass. We simply can't let this happen. The mayor is abusing his power for no other reason than the fact that he doesn't like us, but the people who will really suffer are the Fishers.'

Darius's father frowned.

‘Hector, we have to do something. It's unjust.'

‘Papa,' said Darius, ‘we can't wait. We need the bees now. If we don't have them soon, there'll be no pollination.'

‘I hate that word,' muttered Hector Bell. ‘I don't even understand it, and I hate it. It's the root of all our troubles!'

‘Papa, it's the root of all our fruit!'

Hector glanced at Micheline. ‘That was nicely put, don't you think? A neat little rhyme. The boy has a literary spark, I've always said so.'

‘Papa! Don't you see? We're back to square one. If we can't do anything about this, it's over. There won't be any fruit. There won't be any vegetables. Nothing. The Fishers will have to leave.'

‘Leave?' cried Hector Bell. ‘Is that what they're saying? They're going to leave?'

‘Papa, I told you that already,' said Darius in exasperation. ‘Mr Fisher has already been offered a job. They're waiting for his answer. He told them he needs to think about it but he can't wait much longer.'

‘Hector,' said Micheline, ‘it's unjust.'

Hector Bell was silent.

‘It's unjust, Hector,' said Micheline again.

Suddenly Hector stood up. He put his shoulders back, his chest out, one hand on his hip, turned his head and jutted his jaw in the pose that could be seen in so many portraits of his illustrious Bell ancestors that hung all over the House. ‘We'll see what the mayor is made of! George Podcock has picked a fight with Hector Bell one time too many.'

‘What are you going to do, Papa?' asked Darius excitedly.

‘I'm going to see him.'

‘When?'

‘Now.'

Darius jumped up. ‘I'm coming too.'