Lost Lad (16 page)

Apart from having mislaid a friend, they were worried about the problem of getting home before dark since they had no means to pay for a further night.  These considerations weighed most heavily on Simeon Hogg.  Mindful that he was 'up' before two senior police officers, it would only be a matter of time before the lights on his bicycle may be checked and found wanting - that is, wanting new batteries.  In such circumstances, he was disposed to take 'the bull by the horns' and blurted out their difficulties before the official interrogation began.  Derek Russell (a father of two boys himself) soon took the measure of his interviewees, decided they were 'nice lads' and put them at ease.

           
"Don't worry about lights and money.  We know all about that plus the fact that you've not eaten since lunch time at Tideswell.  Yvonne is cooking all of us a meal and, when we've had our chat, you lot, bikes and all, will be safely delivered back to your homes well before dark in a police van."

At this point Scott, Simeon and Danny were asked to stay with the Detective Inspector.  Tom and Rex were taken into the dining room with the Detective Sergeant.

           
"Nothing sinister!"
said the senior man.
"We just need to get all the facts straight and make sure they agree.  That's the way we solve serious problems."
 

Every detail was wheedled out.  Winter noted that Brian Forrester had 'wandered off' before breakfast.  Was he a wanderer by nature?  Russell noted that the absentee had expressed a desire to explore Eldon Hole.  Would he be there?  It must be searched.  Brian was given to jokes and teasing which in turn gave hope that he might have gone off somewhere, got lost and would eventually turn up. 

            Little useful information came to light about the fast descent down the steep hill.  Scott and Rex were hurtling ahead through the crashing wind in maximum concentration, hardly aware of each other let alone the others.  At the hair-pin bend, Rex recalled going slow enough to catch sight of Danny, behind him, heading
'too fast'
into the corner.  It seemed highly probable that Brian had taken the wrong, precipitous and dangerous right fork when he had fallen behind Danny: at great speed, an easy mistake to make.  At a more leisurely pace, Tom and Simeon saw only themselves.

Not only a boy but a bicycle had strayed, which, unfortunately, could not be described.  Not one of the cyclists could describe the colour or make of Brian Forrester's bicycle.  As a test they were asked to describe details of their own bikes safely deposited in the Peirsons' garage.  The results were not encouraging.  Simeon knew that (under the dirt) his was a red Triumph Palm Beach, three speed Sturmey-Archer.  None of them could give a single fact about the machines of any of their pals with the notable exception of Scott's, dropped handlebars, splendid BSA Golden Wings, ten speed derailleur gears.  The policemen gathered that half the pupils of William Howitt Secondary Modern School could probably give an enthusiastic account of that gleaming blue and silver racer.  With the exception of the BSA, the other cycles were all second, third or fourth hand, dark and very dirty.

It was during dinner when Danny, now more relaxed at the conclusion of the 'official inquiry', thought that Brian's bike was a deep maroon colour.  Better still, he spoke of a recent 'transfer' which Brian had recently applied to his cross-bar.  A transfer was a design or picture made to be moistened and pressed off onto another surface - very popular with boys in the 1950's. 

           
"It were a mounted knight in armour, we a lance an shield, we a red cross on.  Just a little n, but a think it said 'Champion' oonderneath."

           
"Well done!  That's what we need - detail,"
said Derek, but did not mention his fear that Sir Knight could easily be removed.

Later that evening at the humble Forrester home, alarm was tempered by hope: hope that
'silly bugger'
Brian would soon be bicycling back into Heanor.  His parents put on a brave face and hid deep concern.  They took comfort from the negative result of the initial police search in the Cressbrook area and reassured themselves that Brian would be, somewhere, mounted and moving.

           
"Once 'e finds a main road we signs, 'e'll be back wantin' 'is tea.  'E'll turn up, you see,"
said Mr Forrester optimistically.     

Detective Inspector Russell explained that taking a copy of their son's fingerprints from personal objects was
'merely routine'
, as was the loan of the best recent photograph - and a poor best at that.  Had Brian been on the school football team, like his more sporty brother; a professional clear image would have been available such as the photograph proudly displayed on the sideboard.  The fuzzy, badly focused picture of a skinny little youth sticking his tongue out at Uncle Jack (who took the 'snap' on his Brownie 127) was far from satisfactory.  This was a tiny black and white print of the family group on a day trip to Mablethorpe in 1957.  Brian, an already young looking 15 year old, was no more than a child in this dated picture.

Twelve hours later at 10.00am on Monday, July 25th,  Brian Forrester had still not 'turned up'.  Russell and Winter were coasting down the winding drive leading to Cressbrook Hall.  The car pulled to a stop at a point which gave on to an overall view of the Hardman mansion through the beech trees. 

           
"I'm not at all happy with the thoroughness of yesterdays operation.  Parker said he had only seven men and they were beaten by bad light.  He's back this morning with three more to give it the full day. They'll have a good look along Water-cum-Jolly Dale as well as up in the Cressbrook hills," 
said the senior man.
  "Any ideas, John?"

           
"I was thinking about that old bloke last year, sir.  Do you remember?  His wife died and ten minutes later his little granddaughter complained that 'Granddad's been rude'."

           
"Repressed behaviour triggered by grief?  It's possible.  Is that the path of your mind - has Algernon Hardman been 'rude' with our missing Brian?"

           
"Hardman sees Brian staggering past the french windows dazed and injured, offers help, takes advantage and tries it on.  Brian's not having any, threatens him with The Law, so, Hardman shuts his mouth - permanently."

           
"Very neat, John!" 
The Detective Inspector thoughtfully added,
"All the same, indecent assault
is
regarded a black sin - punished savagely.  Not only do we send them down for a good few years, but turn a blind eye when certain other prisoners, sadistic thugs, give 'em the works.  Hardman is an intelligent man.  He's well informed.  He knows all about that sort of thing.  It might be as you say."

           
"We just need a body, sir!"

           
"Not as bad as that - yet - I hope.  Those lads have made it all so water-tight.  Our lost lad never reached the bottom of the hill, three good witnesses all say so.  Two equally reliable boys say he was in front of them.  The only inhabited buildings in between are Cressbrook Hall and The Lodge.  There were only three people in between: Hardman, his son and his manservant.  The gardener at The Lodge claims he was out in his motorcar."

"Lost Lad," 
mused Detective Sergeant John Winter.
  "It seems familiar!  Isn't there a place somewhere up here called Lost Lad?"

           
"You're thinking of the legend about the boy who went on to the top of Bleaklow Moor one winter.  There was deep snow, but he had to get the sheep down.  It must be ... oh, about a dozen miles north of here: a vast moorland.  The weather changed and fresh heavy snowfall covered all the familiar landmarks.  There was yet more snow which obliterated everything; a blizzard - high winds and drifting."   

Derek stared out over the endless expanse of the high hills above the chimneys of Cressbrook Hall.  Hilltops which would have been painted white just three months before.  He shook his head -

           
"Poor sod was cold, exhausted and disorientated.  He and the dog took shelter underneath a rock near Black Tor.  He drifted into a frozen sleep - the big sleep, the long sleep.  My old teacher, Miss Calder taught us a heartbreaking poem about his mother waiting anxiously down in the old village of Derwent." 

           
"Is that the drowned village now at the bottom of Ladybower Reservoir?"

           
"That's right.  It went something like -

'He comes not still!' she said, 'tis dark, no moon!

Oh! woe betide me, if he comes not soon.'

Can't remember anymore.  Three months later, in early spring ... they found his remains.  He'd scratched the words 'Lost Lad' on to a rock. 

In reverence, it's an established tradition that every shepherd who passes that tragic place puts a stone on the site.  There's a large cairn there now." 

Clearly effected by emotion, Derek Russell, took a deep breath, rolled down the window and sat more upright in his seat.  He turned to face his junior officer and forced a smile -

"It's all in John Merrill's book, 'Legends of Derbyshire'."

Chapter 15

Acetous, Aloof, Cold and Haughty

At the conclusion of this conference, an officer approached the car and handed Detective Inspector Derek Russell a typewritten note.  After a brief perusal he said -

           
"Well that seems to be OK.  Albanian authorities confirm two fatalities in a head-on collision last Saturday.  Nasty.  Two 'right-offs'.  I expect Hardman and his son are pretty well shook up."

           
"How did he get back so quick?"

           
"Chartered a plane,"
he looked down to study the print.
  " .. and came from Manchester by taxi ...  which delivered him here yesterday at about noon.  The driver seems to be fairly confident about the time."

           
"It'll be interesting to see if he claims he didn't arrive home until after ... What time did our boy disappear?"

           
"As near as we can get it - 12.45 - give or take half an hour."
  He added with an engaging grin -   

           
"Anyway, John, you're in for a big surprise!"

The car completed the short distance down the drive up to the front door.  Derek enjoyed his mischievous reward when the front door opened to reveal an odd little fellow, head on one side, wearing an inquisitive enigmatic smile and whose legs somehow appeared to perform a half pirouette during the opening process.  Detective Sergeant John Winter had exactly the same experience some eleven years earlier when he met Simon Tonks for the first time.  On that occasion he was opening the front door of Bridge House School in Belper.

The two policemen had worked together, and nicely complemented each other for over twelve years.  With his good looks and natural easy charm, Detective Inspector Derek Russell approached his work with a degree of gentle sophistication and measured compassion.  In contrast Detective Sergeant John Winter, slightly inclined to plumpness, not quite so cordial, polite or patient, was more typical of the officious type of police officer.  Since Simon Tonks had attracted considerable comment and no small amount of mirth back in 1949, his sudden re-appearance up here in the High Peak precipitated a shriek of laughter which delighted the servant.  For a few moments formalities were put aside to exchange reminiscences of the Calder sisters and general pleasantries which created an agreeable chemistry.  Simon had that rare beguiling quality which made him everybody's friend - even a friend to the police engaged on a serious investigation.

They were led through a Tudor arch into a substantial and comfortable oak-panelled morning room which, in fact, was the grand and resplendent study of the Master of Cressbrook Hall  -

           
"Dr 'ardman 'll be with ya presently,"
said Simon with a little camp bow before he gave a quick twirl and minced off to attend to his duties.