A Cure for All Diseases

by Reginald Hill

  "Doctor's orders," I said. "But he's letting me off the hook today so I'll be down there shortly, you can bet on it."

  Pet came with a glass of fizz which I drank right off.

  "Best get me another, luv," I said. "In fact, why not bring a bottle over here so's to save you getting in a sweat running between me and the bar? "

  She gave me a glower but she went off again.

  I said to Hollis, "Left your missus looking after the pub then?"

  He said, "I'm not married, Mr. Dalziel. But I've got good staff. Just as well with the hog roast on Sunday."

  I've noticed this before - folk out in the sticks always talk like everything happening locally's so important, complete strangers should know about it!

  I said, "What's that?"

  "Don't you know?" he said, surprised. "Lady Denhams big do at Sandytown Hall. Everyone will be there, everyone important, that is. Sort of thank you from the consortium to everyone who's helped in putting the town on the map. I'll be organizing the drinks, so the pub will have to look after itself."

  I thought, When buffalo woman snorts, every bugger jumps!

  Pet came back with a bottle. I took it from her and filled all the glasses. Mine fullest 'cos I were catching up.

  I said, "Lady Denham sounds real important. She'll be in this meeting then?"

  Pet and Hollis looked at each other, then Hollis said, "No, I don't think so."

  I said, sort of poking around, "Oh? Didn't strike me as the kind of lass you could keep away, her and Dr. Feldenhammer being such good mates."

  Pet gave a kind of snort, and Hollis looked at the ground, and even young Heywood grinned. But before I could probe harder, the door opened and the folk from the meeting poured in. I saw Franny Roote in his chair. He gave me a wave, I gave him a glower. Then I spotted Parker, so I excused myself, and went to pay my debts.

  He were talking to a bearded guy in baggy pants and one of them fleecy jackets hikers wear. Either a tramp who'd strayed in off the road or an eccentric millionaire patient, I decided.

  "How do, Mr. Parker," I said. "Here's that twenty quid you were kind enough to loan me. Many thanks."

  He recognized me straight off, or mebbe Festerwhanger had warned him.

  "Delighted I was able to help, Mr. Dalziel," he said, beaming at me. "And how nice to meet you again."

  He sounded like he meant it too and not just because of the money.

  "May I introduce you to Gordon Godley?" he said. "Gordon, this is Mr. Dalziel who's convalescing here at Avalon. Mr. Godley's a healer whom I have persuaded to bring his ministry to Sandytown."

  Wrong twice. Neither a tramp nor a patient but one of the weirdos Roote had been talking about!

  I stuck my hand out. Godley didn't seem mad keen on taking it, and when he did it were barely a touch before he let go. Mebbe he were scared I were convalescing from summat contagious.

  "Healer, eh?" I said. "What's that about then? Charming warts in a moonlit churchyard or sticking lepers' noses back on?"

  I were just being friendly, but I wished I'd not said it when he looked at me with his big gray eyes like a spaniel told he's not going walkies today. I were just going to pour a bit of oil when a voice behind me said, "I'm sure Mr. Godley could help you with your warts if they're bothering you, Mr. Dalziel. Which part of your anatomy are they affecting?"

  It were the Heywood lass, giving me the kind of look her dad used to give before clattering your goolies in a line-out. Godley, who was looking more confused and unhappy than ever, mumbled something and moved off.

  Heywood looked at me angrily and said, "Now see what you've done. Tell me, were you always a bully or did you do a course on it at Hendon?"

  I had to laugh. These kids. Know everything, understand nowt. But I liked her style.

  Parker didn't seem to have noticed she were in a tizz.

  Still smiling he said, "I'm so glad Gordon decided to come to the meeting, Charlotte. He'll be such a valuable acquisition. All the other therapies are based on physical interactions. He provides a purely spiritual dimension. Charlotte, why don't you introduce Mr. Dalziel to some of the others while I have a quiet word with Dr. Feldenhammer?"

  "Meeting must have gone well," I said as he moved off. "He seems happy."

  "Tom is always happy," she said. "He believes everything is for the best in the best of possible worlds. Pretty well the opposite of your world- view, I'd guess, Mr. Dalziel. Now, who'd you like to be rude to next?"

  I got myself another drink, or rather, another bottle as the first seemed to have emptied itself. Then Charley whipped me round some of the others - a chunky Chink lass who stuck needles into people; an herbalist you could have sprayed green and sold as a pixie in a garden centre; and a woman who looked like she'd been invited to a Halloween party and got her dates mixed. Didn't catch what she did, 'cos while we were shaking hands, I was hoping her black nails weren't painted with owt toxic. I began to wonder how come old Fester had got mixed up with this bunch of oddballs. If I'd found them setting up camp on my patch, I'd have escorted 'em politely to the Lancs border and pushed them across. They're more used to loonies over there.

  When Charley finally introduced me to a woman she said was Parker's sister, I thought, Thank Christ I'm back with the sane buggers. Some hope! Took all of ten seconds to realize she were dotty as a Frenchman's jock strap. Woman with her seemed okay, but. Name of Sandy something. Gave me an odd stare when Charley introduced us - or mebbe that's just how she always looks at big sexy men. I wish!

  I'd got one thing right, though. Suddenly the door burst open and buffalo woman charged in.

  "Lester," she declaimed. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

  Parker and Festerwhanger were in close confab over by the drinks table. I saw them look at each other, just a glance lasting a split second, but I'd put money on it each on 'em were thinking, You didn't tell me you'd invited her!

  But Parker being a cockeyed optimist and Festerwhanger being a smarmy Yank, neither of 'em had any bother turning on the full beam and coming forward to greet her.

  "Lady D! Now we're complete!" declared Parker.

  "Welcome, dear Daphne," oozed Festerwhanger, offering one of them air kisses, but she moved her head at the last moment and caught him full on the lips so hard it probably bruised his gums.

  The bodywork might be a bit rusty but the old internal combustion was still pounding away!

  She weren't slow at lapping up the fizz either, I noted, getting through a couple of glasses at a rate of knots that made me feel like a Methodist and hitting the nibbles like she'd not et since Shrove Tuesday.

  "Bet the mean old cow's brought a doggy bag," muttered young Heywood.

  I said, "Being rudes okay behind people's backs then?"

  "Just stating the facts," she said pertly. "Looks like maybe you're on the menu too."

  Didn't get her drift till I looked back to Lady D and there was the old bird wiggling her glass at me and giving me a turnip-lantern smile.

  What the fuck had I done to turn me from loony patient to dear old chum?

  Mebbe it were friendship hour here in Sandytown, for suddenly the young guy I recalled whistling "The Indian Maid" in the pub appeared and gave Heywood a smacking kiss. Opposite effect here. He was definitely aiming at the mouth but a nifty bit of head work diverted him to the cheekbone.

  "Charley, here you are," he said. "What a joy to see you again."

  He sounded like an old-fashioned actor doing sincere. Good-looking young bloke, and he knew it. No harm in that. If you've got it, flaunt it, that's always been my motto.

  Didn't look like it cut much ice with Heywood, but. She said, very accusing, "You told your aunt about the meeting then?"

  "Of course," he said. "But only in the fervent hope that she'd insist on coming, thus giving me another chance of seeing you."

  The lass rolled her eyes a bit, but I could tell she were pleased too. This young cock had learned what all successful young cocks soon work out, that you
don't need to worry about laying on the lard too thick with most women. Seeing what you're at makes them feel cleverer than you, which is what they all like to feel. But it takes a very clever one indeed not to let some of the lard stick!

  She said, "Mr. Dalziel, this is Teddy Denham. Sir Edward, if you like titles."

  "Love 'em," I said. "Detective Superintendent Andy Dalziel."

  That froze his smile a second as we shook hands.

  There d been two others in the grand lady's train, a pair of lasses, one I didn't recognize and t'other the willowy niece, Clara, I'd met in the pub. Didn't surprise me to see Roote bearing down on her like the wolf on the fold. He came to a stop in front of her, reached out, grabbed a chair and pretty well forced her to sit down so's she were at his level. Didn't notice or mebbe didn't care that he were blocking the passage of t'other lass, who looked like she'd lunched on a radish salad and wished she hadn't. She couldve walked round him but she didn't. She just got hold of the back of the wheelchair and twisted it out of her way, then wandered off to the window at the far end of the room, leaving Roote looking at the wall. Clara looked a bit pissed with the sour-faced woman but I could see Roote grinning as he manoeuvred himself back into position. Nowt I could teach that bugger about milking sympathy!

  Alongside me, Teddy Denham was still laying it on with a trowel too, this time showing young Heywood how well read he were.

  Looking round the room, he declared, "This is precisely the kind of gathering Austen would have described so brilliantly, don't you think, Charley? Or perhaps you prefer the darker gaze of George Eliot?"

  "I'm not sure," she said.

  "What about you, Mr. Dalziel? Aimez-vous George Eliot?"

  It was put-down-the-fat-plod time.

  I said, "Eh?"

  "Do you like George Eliot?" he translated very slowly.

  "Oh aye," I said. "He were my grans favourite. Used to play 'By the Silvery Moon all the time. Excuse me."

  I gave Heywood a grin afore I moved off and she grinned back and gave me a big wink. Interesting lass. Not daft, just young. And won't be bad looking either when she lets herself grow into her body. Reminds me a bit of Cap.

  In my experience buggers who want to be alone are either thinking of topping themselves or stealing the silver, so I joined the sour-faced woman by the window to find out which. She was staring across to the convalescent home. From this angle you couldn't see how it had been extended. Looking out to sea, with its tall chimneys and all that green ivy clinging to mellow red brick, it would have made a grand cover for an English Heritage magazine.

  "Must have been a lovely place to live when it were a private house," I said.

  "Yes, it was," she said softly. "Very lovely. It used to belong to my family.

  A sort of dower house. My grandmother lived there. I always used to love staying with her . . ."

  I could see her face in the pane and her expression were sort of dreamy. Nice-looking lass. Then she clocked my reflection and suddenly it were back to radish time.

  She turned to face me.

  I said, "Andy Dalziel," and stuck out my hand.

  Her handshake were like one of them air kisses. Made the healer's feel like an arm-wrestling session.

  "Esther Denham," she said.

  "Oh aye. You related to Lady Denham then?"

  Her face screwed up like she'd bit on a lettuce leaf and found a slug.

  "By marriage," she said, making it sound like an operation without anesthetic.

  Then Lady D's voice boomed, "Esther, my dear, there you are. Come and keep me company. You too, Edward."

  It were like watching a kid who's just been told she can't have a sweetie realizing it's because she's being offered a tutti-frutti instead. As she turned from me, her face lit up like someone had triggered a security light.

  "Coming!" she called gaily.

  And she set off toward buffalo woman like a lost lamb to her ewe.

  I saw Sir Teddy had abandoned young Heywood just as quick and I went back to join her.

  "The way yon pair jump, the old lass must really know where the bodies are buried," I said.

  "I think it's more where the money is banked," she replied.

  "Oh aye ? Thought it ud be summat like that. They're brother and sister, right? And set on getting their share of the family fortune when auntie dies? "

  "She's only an aunt by marriage, so I suppose it's understandable they feel they've got to work at it," she said.

  "Sounds like you're on their side," I said. "Or is it just hunky Teddy's side? "

  "No. I am being objective and analytical. I'm a psychologist."

  I had to laugh. Seen nowt, done nowt, and she were a psychologist!

  "What's so funny?" she demanded, getting angry again.

  I knew better than to tell her, so I said, "I were just thinking, I bet old Stompy were chuffed to buggery when he found out he'd sired one of them."

  She gave me an old-fashioned look, then grinned.

  "I see you knew my father quite well, Mr. Dalziel," she said.

  "Well enough. How come Teddy's so hard up he needs to suck up to auntie ?" I asked. "His sister were saying the old house, and presumably all this land, used to belong to her family. Must have made a fortune when they sold it on to Avalon."

  "It did, but not for the Denhams, alas," said a familiar voice.

  I looked down to see Roote smiling up at me. The skinny lass had been sucked back into her aunt's orbit, or mebbe the sight of the young Denhams dancing attendance had made her decide she'd better keep her end up.

  "Oh aye? Who then?" I said to him.

  He smiled and lowered his voice so that I had to lower my head to hear him. The lass too. I got the impression she didn't want to miss owt.

  "As I understand it," he murmured, "the story is that one result of the unfortunate if appropriate demise of Hog Hollis was a rapprochement between his widow and Sir Harry Denham, who had not been on the best of terms for some years. He held her responsible for sending the sweet odour of pigs wafting through his drawing room window whenever he took afternoon tea."

  "This going to be a long tale'?" I asked. "If it is, I thought mebbe I'd go off somewhere quiet to read War and Peace, then come back for the climax."

  "Forgive me," he said. "I have fallen into rustic ways. Let me cut to the chase. Sir Harry, now close to insolvency, devised a cunning plan to solve both his financial and his olfactory problems at a stroke. He proposed to her. He was personable, reputedly virile - an important consideration for the dear lady - and of course he had what only money could buy, a title. This, I believe, was the clincher. She accepted."

  "Brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?" said young Heywood.

  I gave her a look. Don't care for cynicism in the young. If they don't have romantic delusions, what are old farts like me going to kick out of them?

  Roote went rambling on. Cut to the chase, he'd said. More like verbal runs! Wieldy would have had it all spelt out, typed up, and on my desk half an hour back!

  "As the wedding approached, he suggested that all that lacked to make them both happy was an odour-free threshold for him to carry her over. Now that Denham Park was to be her stately home too, perhaps the time had come to relocate the pig farm. She appeared to agree, only objecting that she would have to find a suitable site first. There was some spare capacity on the land belonging to Millstone Farm, the old Hollis farm, but she was reluctant to use that . . ."

  "Knowing that if she snuffed it before her brother-in-law, the farm and everything on it would fall to Hen," chipped in young Heywood.

  Roote smiled appreciatively.

  "Clearly psychology really is the listening profession," he said. "Yes, dear Lady D did not care for the thought of Hen benefiting more than he had to in the event of her death. She is, I believe, a very good hater. The upshot was, she proposed to Sir Harry that this parcel of Denham land here on South Cliff would make an ideal site, well away from Denham Park, and too high above the town fo
r any nuisance to be caused there. The old house could be adapted as an excellent administrative centre for the business."

  "If this is quick, I'm Speedy Gonzales," I said.

  "I've heard the rumours," said Roote. "Be patient, the end is near. Sir Harry was delighted, and even more so when she insisted on a proper business transaction, with Holliss Ham Limited formally purchasing the land. The deal was made, both deals, with the marriage given top billing in all the Yorkshire glossies. They went on a leisurely Caribbean cruise for their honeymoon, financed, local tradition says, by the money Holliss Ham had paid for the South Cliff property. That must have made Sir Harry smile. His wife's money paying for their honeymoon, setting what he hoped would be the pattern for many years to come. Imagine his dismay when they returned some months later to discover the bulldozers had moved in here and with a true American swiftness the Avalon Clinic was already beginning to rise."

  "You mean she'd got all this sorted afore they went off on honeymoon? " I said.

  "Clearly so," said Roote admiringly. "Of course, after his initial shock, he must have consoled himself with the thought of the large profit made in the transaction. But I gather he was disappointed in this too. Victorian marital property laws had long since been repealed. The land had been signed over to Hollis's Ham, his wife's company, and all that he was going to get of her money was what she cared to allow him. He huffed and puffed but soon learned the lesson that huffing and puffing meant going to bed without any supper. No longer master in his own house, he was at least still master of the hunt until the government banned hunting with dogs. He is said to have roared, 'Over my dead body!' On the first day of the season, he went out with the hounds and when they started a fox, he set out after them at a mad gallop, clipped the top of a wall, and ended in a ditch with a broken neck. He was, if nothing else, a man of his word."

  "And she walked away from the funeral with a title on her letterhead and the Avalon money in her purse," said Heywood.

  "So all this land and the old house used to belong to the Denhams," I said. "No wonder that poor lass Esther looks so pissed off."

  That got me a surprised glance from Heywood, who said, "Oh, she always looks like that, except when she's sucking up to Lady D."