Mr Campion's Fault by Mike Ripley Read Free Book Online

it: the collieries known as Shuttle Eye and Caphouse.
    The Victorian builders of the Grange had deliberately sited the house so that the winding towers and slag heaps of the pits which paid their bills were effectively hidden from polite society, or at least the society which congregated around the Grange. The third colliery, Grange Ash, which formed the apex of the industrial ‘black triangle’ of Denby Ash, was more problematic for the delicate sensibilities of the inhabitants of the new house as it lay to the south of the site chosen, across the Huddersfield road and even in the 1860s its pyramidal spoil heap was rising to heights which would have impressed a pharaoh. To disrupt, if not completely mask, this unsightly sightline, Victorian landscapers planted a phalanx of yew trees to guard the twisted driveway by which the Grange was approached. For almost forty years this man-made extension to Denby Wood protected the owners and staff of Ash Grange from the dirty and noisy reminders that their luxury was provided by the sweat of men, often naked, working in cramped, dark and dangerous conditions underground, and of women and children pushing and pulling tubs of black gold at the pit head. Yet with the introduction of motor lorries to transport that solid harvest around the turn of the century, Grange Ash colliery and the very coal which was being ripped from it began to take revenge on the Big House. Not even the thick, disciplined ranks of yew trees could cushion the incessant rumble of heavily-laden coal trucks bound for the mills and railway sidings in Huddersfield or the dusty rattle of their return journey to the pit. Gradually the yew trees became discoloured from the constant powdering of coal dust as fine as icing sugar, which reached as far as the Grange itself, darkening the windows. Moreover, the procession of trucks on the Huddersfield road produced a seismic disruption producing potholes and cracks not only in the main artery through the village but along the length of the mazey driveway, resulting in many a twisted ankle and broken carriage wheel, especially in winter. More than one skittish and superstitious scullery maid would maintain that such disturbance in the very fabric of their surroundings was divine retribution for greedy pit owners digging too deep.
    Now the pit owners were gone; politically thanks to nationalization in 1947 and in reality thanks to generous compensation payments by the government to the owning family, which, in the words of their accountant, had made them ‘terminally well-off’ and prompted a move to the island of Guernsey.
    A well-founded fear of punitive death duties and a fifty-two per cent rate of surtax, and the less accurate predictions of a lifetime of socialist election victories ensured that the sale of Ash Grange went through smoothly and the energetic and idealistic Brigham Armitage, assisted by his wife, Celia, quickly began to convert the house into a school.
    Having left the motorway, the young Campions had approached Denby Ash from the direction of Barnsley which necessitated driving the length of the village to reach Ash Grange. Perdita slowed to within the regulation thirty mph limit in order to familiarize herself with the local geography, and the first landmark they encountered after passing the official white metal sign which confirmed they were entering Denby Ash was, to Rupert’s delight, a pub.
    A large wooden sign in red lettering across its side wall announced proudly that it sold Barnsley Bitter; a smaller, traditional inn sign hanging from a corner iron bracket identified it as the Green Dragon. It was a big, detached brick building strategically placed in the ‘v’ of a fork where, according to a modest fingerpost sign, the Barnsley road met the Wakefield road. A large white plastic banner hung across the frontage of the pub, proclaiming without modesty in large red print that the establishment was ‘Famous For Basket Meals’.
    ‘That looks