Titles by Gladys Mitchell
Speedy Death (1929)
The Mystery of a Butcher’s Shop (1929)
The Longer Bodies (1930)
The Saltmarsh Murders (1932)
Death at the Opera (1934)
The Devil at Saxon Wall (1935)
Dead Men’s Morris (1936)
Come Away, Death (1937)
St. Peter’s Finger (1938)
Printer’s Error (1939)
Brazen Tongue (1940)
Hangman’s Curfew (1941)
When Last I Died (1941)
Laurels Are Poison (1942)
Sunset Over Soho (1943)
The Worsted Viper (1943)
My Father Sleeps (1944)
The Rising of the Moon (1945)
Here Comes a Chopper (1946)
Death and the Maiden (1947)
The Dancing Druids (1948)
Tom Brown’s Body (1949)
Groaning Spinney (1950)
The Devil’s Elbow (1951)
The Echoing Strangers (1952)
Merlin’s Furlong (1953)
Faintley Speaking (1954)
On Your Marks (1954)
Watson’s Choice (1955)
Twelve Horses and the Hangman’s Noose (1956)
The Twenty-Third Man (1957)
Spotted Hemlock (1958)
The Man Who Grew Tomatoes (1959)
Say It with Flowers (1960)
The Nodding Canaries (1961)
My Bones Will Keep (1962)
Adders on the Heath (1963)
Death of a Delft Blue (1964)
Pageant of Murder (1965)
The Croaking Raven (1966)
Skeleton Island (1967)
Three Quick and Five Dead (1968)
Dance to Your Daddy (1969)
Gory Dew (1970)
Lament for Leto (1971)
A Hearse on May-Day (1972)
The Murder of Busy Lizzie (1973)
A Javelin for Jonah (1974)
Winking at the Brim (1974)
Convent on Styx (1975)
Late, Late in the Evening (1976)
Noonday and Night (1977)
Fault in the Structure (1977)
Wraiths and Changelings (1978)
Mingled With Venom (1978)
Nest of Vipers (1979)
The Mudflats of the Dead (1979)
Uncoffin’d Clay (1980)
The Whispering Knights (1980)
The Death-Cap Dancers (1981)
Lovers Make Moan (1981)
Here Lies Gloria Mundy (1982)
Death of a Burrowing Mole (1982)
The Greenstone Griffins (1983)
Cold, Lone and Still (1983)
No Winding Sheet (1984)
The Crozier Pharaohs (1984)
Gladys Mitchell writing as Malcolm Torrie
Heavy as Lead (1966)
Late and Cold (1967)
Your Secret Friend (1968)
Shades of Darkness (1970)
Bismarck Herrings (1971)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © The Executors of the Estate of Gladys Mitchell 1981.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle, 2014
www.apub.com
First published in Great Britain in 1981 by Michael Joseph.
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
E-ISBN: 9781477869291
A Note about This E-Book
The text of this book has been preserved from the original British edition and includes British vocabulary, grammar, style, and punctuation, some of which may differ from modern publishing practices. Every care has been taken to preserve the author’s tone and meaning, with only minimal changes to punctuation and wording to ensure a fluent experience for modern readers.
To the long life and happiness of ADRIAN STEWART SHERATON, born on St. George’s Day, 1979
“. . . for thou art much too fair
To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.”
William Shakespeare
Sonnet VI
Contents
1 WOOD PIMPERNEL
2 WOOD SAGE
3 LOUSEWORT
4 DODDER
5 BLOODSTAINED BRACKET
6 SELF-HEAL
7 WILD THYME (1)
8 MAIDEN PINK
9 ACRID LOBELIA
10 WILD THYME (2)
11 BLOOD-CAP
12 YELLOW ARCHANGEL
13 ELDER
14 TWAYBLADE
15 TROMPETTE DES MORTS
16 WITCHES’ FINGERS
17 DESTROYING ANGEL
About the Author
— 1 —
WOOD PIMPERNEL
Hermione Lestrange—Hermy One to her intimates—stopped the car, got out, and surveyed her surroundings. For the last two or three miles she had been uneasily aware that in taking what she had hoped would be a short cut as well as serving to take her off the main road for twenty miles or so, she must have misread the map and was now in a wilderness of cotton-grass, peat-bogs, and heather.
She was on an unfenced moorland track which rose and dipped with the undulations of the landscape, bending away in a direction which she was certain could not be the one she wanted.
She had pulled up at a solitary signpost which to her slightly disordered mind represented nothing so much as a gibbet. It had only one arm and this pointed along an even narrower road than the one she was on and read, tersely and unhelpfully, Wayland Only.
“Thanks a lot,” said Hermione aloud. All round her were the Yorkshire moors on their high plateau. In the far distance she could make out a line of blue hills. The autumn evening was coming on and there were pockets of mist in the dips and hollows. The road she was travelling seemed to go on for ever, losing itself on the downward slopes and appearing again on the rising ground beyond them.
She had two chances, as she saw the situation. One was to push on in the hope of striking the main road after all; the other was to reverse the car, return to the little town of Gledge End on whose outskirts she had turned off on to the moors and begin again from there.
Whatever she did she was unlikely to reach her destination until after dark. She was an adventurous soul, but the thought of being benighted on the moors was enough to daunt the stoutest hearted, so she was about to take the sensible course and reverse the car when she was aware of three women emerging from a dip in the moor. Two of them were giving the third a “bandy-chair.”
When they saw Hermione and the car the two supporters dumped their burden in the heather and one of them remained beside her while the other ran forward waving her arms. With sinking heart Hermione realised that she was going to be asked to give the three women a lift and she knew that in such a place and at such a time of day there was no way in which her conscience could allow her to refuse such a request.
It was an uphill run to where Hermione was standing and the woman was panting as she came near. She was wearing a yellow woollen cap surmounted by a pom-pom, jeans, a sweater, and an anorak and appeared to be about thirty years old.
“Oh, I say, you’ve got a car,” she said. “If there’s anything of the Good Samaritan about yo
u, would you—could you—give us a lift? My idiot sister has wrenched her ankle and I don’t think we can possibly carry her home.”
“I’ve got to do another eighty miles or so, and I’ve lost my way,” said Hermione. “I was just going to turn the car and go back to Gledge End. I could take you that far if it would be any good.”
The woman looked back at the other two. The one in the heather was being hauled to her feet. Clutching her companion, she hobbled a step or two and then sank down again.
“Gledge End would be better than nothing,” said the woman to Hermione. “I daresay we could hire a car from there. Actually where we are staying would be on your way, give or take half a mile or so. Look, we really are in a bit of a spot. Couldn’t you stretch a point for once? Honestly, it would hardly take you out of your way at all, and we really would be damned grateful.”
Mist in the hollows of the moor was rising higher and thickening. There was a dank smell of autumn in the air, the smell of damp, dead bracken and dying heather. A wind had got up and the darkening evening was chilly.
“Get in,” said Hermione. “The back seat, perhaps, and then the injured ankle can slide in beside me when we pick her up. I’ll run you home and book in at Gledge End. I shall never get to my aunt’s tonight. What do I do when we’ve picked up the other two?”
“Reverse and then take that turning to Wayland. We’ve got a cabin in Wayland Forest. Only took it over this morning and now this has to happen.”
The woman who had remained with the unfortunate casualty appeared to be of about the same age as the one who had waylaid Hermione. The victim was younger and Hermione surmised that she was a contemporary of her own.
The Wayland turning began to leave the moors behind. The first indication that they were entering the forest was that the wayside verges had become wide stretches of rough grass instead of heather. Beyond them, on the right, was a plantation of young conifers and on the left a thick, densely populated wood of mature trees. The car was on the outskirts of Forestry Commission property.
“Did you say you might stay in Gledge End for the night?” asked the woman who had asked for a lift. “Do you know somebody there?”
“No, but there are hotels. They won’t be full at this time of year.”
“Oh, but why bother with hotels? We can put you up for the night if you don’t mind a bunk bed and a continental quilt to cover you.”
“I shall have to telephone my aunt.”
“Nothing easier. There’s a call-box at the warden’s office and a carpark where it’s perfectly safe to leave the car.”
“I can’t wish myself on you like that.”
“Why on earth not? We seem to have wished ourselves on to you and your car all right. There are just the three of us and the cabin sleeps six. Do stay. We’d love to have you. I’m Isobel Lindsay and the lunatic cripple beside you is my sister Tamsin. The silent member of the party is Erica Lyndhurst, with whom I was at school.”
“I’m not so silent that I can’t say thank you,” said Erica Lyndhurst. “We’re very grateful, I can tell you, and we’ll be delighted to put you up after you’ve telephoned your folks.”
“Do you have a name?” asked Hermione’s seat-mate, the girl with the wrenched ankle. “I hardly dare open my mouth to ask because I’m well and truly in the doghouse, but I couldn’t help twisting my ankle. A grouse got up almost under my feet and I was so startled that I stepped back and my foot went into a hole.”
“I’m Hermione Lestrange.”
“Benenden, Roedean, or Cheltenham Ladies’ College?” enquired Isobel, who seemed to be the liveliest of the three.
“Remand home, approved school and Holloway Gaol, if you must know,” said Hermione, who was feeling more cheerful.
“Our kind of woman, in fact,” said Isobel. “But let us sort out the subordinate clauses. The name Lestrange rings a warning bell, although I expect I’m on the wrong platform. I attended a lecture given by an eminent psychiatrist called Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley and was much impressed. She was speaking about the problems of the one-parent family and when it came to question time I was determined to get in on the act, so I said that in my experience—I’m a schoolmistress, as you may have deduced—many of the children who came from one-parent families (mostly when the parent was a widow) were, I had to admit, far better behaved than those from many of the families where there were two parents. I asked her to explain this.”
“But it’s not always true,” said Tamsin.
“I never said it was. I said it was true of many families.”
“What was her answer?” asked Hermione.
“She said that enlightened mums’ expected good conduct, and therefore stood a good chance of getting it. She asked whether that didn’t apply to classroom discipline, too, and, of course, it does. She then referred me to the famous speech made by Gussie Fink-Nottle to the boys of Market Snodsbury Grammar School in which, quoting, no doubt, from a higher authority, he had assured the lads that education was a drawing-out, not a putting-in. She then reminded me that Mr. Fink-Nottle was strongly under the influence of alcohol at the time, and hoped that she had answered my question to my satisfaction.”
“It sounds typical of my great-aunt. The Delphic Oracle could have taken her correspondence course. I often think she ought to have gone in for politics. Personally I am the complete dumb-cluck of the family. I help my father on his pig-farm.”
“I’m a painter of pot-boilers,” said Tamsin, “and I hope this ankle isn’t going to be a perishing nuisance because I want to spend the next fortnight painting the forest and the moors.”
“Well, you haven’t broken it, anyway,” said Erica. “I’ll strap it up for you when we get back. I’m always dealing with minor accidents on the site.”
“Erica’s father is a builder and surveyor,” said Isobel, “and she’s stinking rich. She only bothers to know us because I was at school with her.”
“I act as my father’s accounts clerk and general dogsbody,” explained Erica, “and now he’s made me a partner. Our work slackens from now until the spring, so I thought I’d take a couple of weeks off. These two girls make a change, I must say, from a world of rough, hearty, booze-swilling workmen, much as I love ’em.”
“Tamsin can get away any time she wants,” said Isobel, “on the pretence of finding something to paint.”
“Christmas and birthday-card subjects and, on commission, people’s dogs and horses,” said Tamsin. “Any chance your father would commission a picture of his pet pig?”
“Whereas I,” continued Isobel, “am tied to school holidays. This time they’ve extended the usual half-term break from a week to a fortnight to conserve the winter fuel, so that accounts for my stabilising presence among you all.”
“I suppose the four of us make a pretty good cross-section,” said Erica. “We represent the land, commerce, education, and the arts.”
“Pigs, houses, school, and daubs,” said Tamsin. “You three have your uses, I suppose, but what about me?”
“At least you found a means to get us a lift home,” said her sister, “and for that I am truly thankful. We went much further than we intended,” she added, speaking to Hermione, “so her wretched ankle actually came in useful.”
The car began a long gradual descent and picked up a sandy road bordered by deciduous trees with a group here and there of Scots pines. Soon Hermione obtained a glimpse of wooden cabins half-hidden among the trees. Occasionally the car, which was now doing only about twenty miles an hour, passed little groups of walkers.
Under Tamsin’s directions, Hermione at last pulled up in a large gravelled carpark not far from a complex of buildings which included a public call-box.
“Have you change for the phone?” asked Erica, whom Hermione was soon to recognise as the unofficial mother to the party.
“Oh, yes, thanks. I won’t be long.” The result of the telephone call was unexpected. One of her aunts answered it and there was evident relief at
that end of the line.
“Thank goodness you phoned! We’ve been on to Stanton St. John, but, of course, you had left. My dear, of all things, the maid has got mumps, so, of course, you mustn’t come anywhere near us at present. Your mother says you haven’t had it and it can be serious at your age. So glad you’ve found somewhere to stay the night. We must fix up your visit for another time. So glad you are able to ring.’
“O.K.?” asked Isobel, when Hermione returned to the car. “We really ought to walk to our cabin from here, but the ankle had better be taken up to the door. We’ll get Tamsin indoors, then perhaps you’ll bring me back here where you have to leave the car, and you and I can then walk back together.”
“What are all these buildings?”
“The warden’s office and flat, a big lounge for the cabin people if they want a get-together, a television room, a playroom for the kids if the weather turns wet, a shop where we get our milk and newspapers and any oddments we run short of, a badminton court, a billiards room—you name it, it’s here.”
Hermione backed the car and, again directed by Tamsin, drove to the cabin which the three women had rented.
“We’re rather on the outskirts, in a way,” said Isobel, “although not far from the carpark, thank goodness. There is only one other cabin opposite ours, and even that you can only see through the trees. We don’t know what the people are like. We only came down today. Oh, well, here we are. Our home sweet home for a fortnight.”
Wooden steps led up to the front door of the cabin, and the structure itself seemed to be completely made of wood. Leaving Tamsin standing on one leg with Isobel supporting her, Erica unlocked the door and the three of them disappeared inside. Hermione unlocked the boot of the car and took out her own two suitcases which she put down at the foot of the steps. Erica came out again with Isobel and they picked up the suitcases and took them inside. Isobel rejoined Hermione and they drove to the carpark, left the car, and then walked back among the trees.
It was not yet dark, but the number of leaves still on the trees made it shadowy in the woods. There were fallen leaves and pine-needles on the ground and miry patches in places along the walk. The air was fresh but not cold, and as they walked the few hundred yards which separated the carpark from the cabin, Hermione began to wish that she were staying.
The Death-Cap Dancers (Mrs. Bradley) Page 1
