“If we’re lucky,” said Bob, as they trod up the path of Miss Seeton’s cottage, “there’ll be a cup of tea and a slice of Martha’s fruit cake on offer. I’m starving, after all that excitement.”
“We are here simply to report to Miss Seeton,” Delphick reminded his sergeant primly, “the success of her sketches in the capturing of not one, but two, criminal gangs. And to tell her the story of an exchange of identity discs, and a life spent on the fringes of London’s underworld . . . which will, I grant you, be a long tale to tell, and thirsty work, on a warm evening like this.” He grinned as he rang the doorbell. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup myself, if I’m honest—but we’ll wait for her to offer, Bob. No heavy hints from you, adopted nephew or not.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” Bob grinned in his turn. “I wouldn’t need to—she’ll offer at once, you see.”
Delphick frowned. “What I see right now, Bob, is nobody coming—and Dennis Manuden did mutter something about Miss Seeton before he remembered to shut up and ask for a brief. I hope everything’s all right.” He rang the bell again and hardly waited for an answer before trying the door.
It opened.
“No alarm,” he said, urgency in his tone. “Something’s wrong, Bob,” and there was a brief skirmish on the step as they worked out who was going to enter first.
Bob, being bigger, won, and stood listening in the hall for only a few seconds before pointing towards the kitchen. “That’s too heavy for Miss Seeton, sir,” he hissed, and in a sudden rush flung open the door and threw himself upon the man inside.
Who uttered a yell of surprise and dropped the tea caddy he’d just picked up. The lid burst off, and little dark brown leaves flew everywhere as Bob wrestled him to the floor. “What the hell—!” he exclaimed through mouthfuls of dried tannin.
“Get off his head, Sergeant,” commanded Delphick, trying not to laugh. “I think there’s been a mistake. Suspicious this character may be, but not that suspicious.”
“Thrudd!” cried Bob, releasing his captive at his superintendent’s command, and recognising Thrudd Banner, world-famous freelance reporter and friend of Miss Seeton. “I’m sorry, but I thought—Miss Seeton, we were worried . . .”
As Bob babbled, Thrudd clambered to his feet and dusted the tea leaves from his person. “Hope she’s got another packet somewhere,” he said, “or we’ll have to go without, and Mel’s sure to blame me.”
“Mel?” exclaimed Delphick, who had a warm regard for Thrudd Banner’s liberated ladylove, Daily Negative reporter Amelita Forby. “Is she here, too? Is this some kind of journalists’ jamboree?”
Thrudd had finished tidying himself and was shaking Bob Ranger by the hand. “No hard feelings, Bob. Guess you were rushing to the rescue, so I don’t blame you. Pity Mel and I arrived half an hour ago and beat you to it, though.”
“The rescue? Miss Seeton—there was something wrong, then. Is she all right?” All other considerations vanished from Delphick’s mind. “What happened?”
“We’ve been abroad for a couple of weeks, first holiday I’ve had in years,” Thrudd said. “Mel nagged me into taking a cruise, says you can’t beat it.” Delphick nodded understandingly. “No newspapers on board, she said, and a proper chance to relax—which is why we’d got no idea there’d been all this highway robbery stunt right near where MissEss just happens to live. Odds on, we told each other once we got back home and caught up with the news, that there’s a Seeton connection in it somewhere. The geographical coincidence’d be too much, knowing what she’s like.”
“I believe,” said Delphick, as Thrudd paused and fixed him with a quizzical eye, “that Superintendent Brinton of the Ashford police would agree with you there.”
Thrudd grinned. “Good man, Oracle—I knew you wouldn’t let us down! I’ll get Mel to twist your arm for the details—no use telling me by myself, or she’ll never forgive me. Besides, you want to hear what we’ve been getting up to.”
“At a guess, you called on Miss Seeton to learn what you could, found her tied up or otherwise rendered helpless, and rescued her.” Thrudd grinned and nodded.
“Heard muffled sort of yodels coming from upstairs when we rang the bell,” he said, “so in we went, and Mel charged to the rescue while I was still catching my breath. What a woman,” he added in admiration. It was not clear whether he referred to Mel Forby or to Miss Seeton.
“What a woman, indeed,” agreed Delphick, while Bob asked for further details of Miss Seeton’s pillowcase predicament and demanded to know where she was.
“Mel’s taken her to your father-in-law for a checkup,” said Thrudd, “not that she needed one, from what I could see. She bounces back every time, our MissEss does. But Mel started fussing, so to keep the peace Miss Seeton said she’d go along—and they left me,” he concluded, “to make the tea ready for when they get back.” He looked down at the floor and shrugged. “Lost in a good cause, I suppose.”
“I thought—well, I’m not sure what I thought, but I’m glad I was wrong,” said Bob. “So long as you’re sure she’s all right—”
“See for yourself,” suggested Thrudd, as the sound of female voices was heard in the hall. “Mel’s going to kill me for lounging about in the garden instead of doing what I was told and making the tea, so I’d be grateful if you’d do a bit of fire-drawing and ask her to tell you the whole tale without letting on you’ve heard it from me.”
“We’d certainly be interested in Miss Forby’s opinions,” Delphick said, smiling as the subject of their conversation entered the kitchen, with Miss Seeton close behind. “Hello, Mel. You have a story to impart, we’re told.”
But Mel was staring at the little brown specks on the kitchen floor. “Guess we’ve suddenly been overrun by large families of mice,” she murmured. Miss Seeton gasped.
“Mice? Oh dear, Martha will be so upset, though living in the country one expects these little incursions from time to time. Good gracious.” She stood beside Mel and stared at the tea-littered floor, too surprised even to greet Bob, who was blushing, and Delphick. “Good gracious—surely no mice could have done all this!”
“One large rat, actually,” Thrudd told her. “Very large—I believe you know him?”
And everyone began to speak to everyone else, delighted at the reunion.
When she learned what had happened, Mel took it upon herself to order Thrudd and Bob down The Street to the post office to buy a fresh packet of tea, and they returned with a fair selection of cakes in addition. Everyone else was by this time sitting in the garden of Sweetbriars enjoying the evening sunshine, and Delphick had complimented Miss Seeton on her recovery from bondage as well as her sketching skill. Thrudd and Bob, the married man, brewed tea in the kitchen and carried out laden trays to the table, which Delphick and Mel had carried into the flickering shade of an apple tree; and for Thrudd’s benefit, Delphick went over both cases once more. Miss Seeton smiled and looked pleased, while Thrudd took notes and Mel watched him fondly; Bob drank tea and ate quantities of gingerbread; Delphick talked and recounted in full all the police had managed to learn about the Sherry Gang and the Dick Turpin highway robbers.
And at the end of the second telling, Delphick regarded Miss Seeton kindly. “There’ll be a cheque in the post just as soon as I can stir the Accounts people into action,” he said, “and well deserved, too, every penny of it.”
“An entire Seeton adventure,” mourned Mel, “and neither of us anywhere near. That’s the last time I take a holiday, Banner, and don’t try to change my mind. Cruises, yet!”
“Everyone needs a little relaxation, my dear,” said Miss Seeton. “All work and no play—I’m sure that the saying is true. Do you not feel refreshed after your fortnight away?”
“Refreshed,” said Mel, “in spirit if not body,” and she winked at Thrudd before adding hastily, “and ready for your next excursion, Miss S., so spill the beans. When is it, and where, and what? In Plummergen, or somewhere else? What’s going to happen?
”
“Why, nothing out of the ordinary,” Miss Seeton assured her. “Village life will continue just as it has always done. The Summer Fete (for the Church Roof Fund) and the Flower Festival—and of course the Best Kept Village competition, which is a new interest this year, and seems likely to bring many visitors to enjoy the area. Which is as it should be. Sharing our privileges with those less fortunate, you see.”
“I see,” said Mel. “Carloads of complete strangers all over the place, and neighbouring villages trying to do the dirty on Plummergen so’s they can win the cup, or whatever, and squabbles about who arranges what flowers where . . .
“I think,” she announced, “that I’ll change my mind about not taking another holiday—but I’m not going abroad. I’ll be staying right here in England—because I’ve got a feeling things will fairly start to hum once the summer has properly come along . . .”
Only Miss Seeton had no inkling of what she meant.
Note from the Publisher
While he was alive, series creator Heron Carvic had tremendous fun imagining Emily Seeton and the supporting cast of characters.
In an enjoyable 1977 essay Carvic recalled how, after having first used her in a short story, “Miss Seeton upped and demanded a book”—and that if “she wanted to satirize detective novels in general and elderly lady detectives in particular, he would let her have her lead . . .”
You can now read Heron Carvic’s essay about the genesis of Miss Seeton, in full, as well as receive updates on further releases in the series, by signing up at http://eepurl.com/b2GCqr
Preview
COMING SOON
Miss Seeton Paints the Town . . .
Miss Seeton was in the act of topping up the teacups, and at the sound of the doorbell started slightly. A few drops of tea splattered on the table. She had been concentrating too hard on what dear Mel had to tell her about Miss Hawke—such a very interesting project—and not enough on what she was doing—but how fortunate that, with the chairs, she had bought a matching table in heavy white plastic. No more need to carry furniture in and out of the house whenever it looked like rain: plastic, though ugly and strictly practical, was certainly waterproof.
“Oh, thank you,” said Miss Seeton, as Mel rummaged in her bag and produced a wodge of clean paper handkerchiefs. “Would you be so kind as to answer the door while I mop up this little spillage? And, while you are gone, in case it is anyone coming for tea, I will top up the pot with more hot water. So embarrassing to feel one is intruding, and that arrangements have to be made.” She smiled at Mel. “And we can always have another cup ourselves, can we not? So nothing will be wasted.”
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The Fox Among the Chickens . . .
The squawking from the hen-houses continued unabated. Miss Seeton arrived at the runs. She beat the wire door with her umbrella.
“Stop that,” she called. “Stop that at once, do you hear me?”
“Sure, lady. I hear you.”
She gasped. A shadow moved forward, reached through the wire and unhooked the door. With the moon behind him Miss Seeton could see little but a dark shape muffled in a coat, a hat pulled low. But the moon shone on the barrel of the pistol he held.
“Now, just take it nice and easy, lady. Back to the house and no noise, see.”
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About the Miss Seeton series
Retired art teacher Miss Seeton steps in where Scotland Yard stumbles. Armed with only her sketch pad and umbrella, she is every inch an eccentric English spinster and at every turn the most lovable and unlikely master of detection.
Reviews of the Miss Seeton series:
“Miss Seeton gets into wild drama with fine touches of farce . . . This is a lovely mixture of the funny and the exciting.”
San Francisco Chronicle
“A most beguiling protagonist!”
New York Times
“This is not so much black comedy as black-currant comedy . . . You can't stop reading. Or laughing.”
The Sun
“She’s a joy!”
Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Not since Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple has there been a more lovable female dabbler in crime and suspense.”
Amarillo News
“Depth of description and lively characters bring this English village to life.”
Publishers Weekly
Further titles in the series:
Picture Miss Seeton
A night at the opera strikes a chord of danger when Miss Seeton witnesses a murder . . . and paints a portrait of the killer.
Miss Seeton Draws the Line
Miss Seeton is enlisted by Scotland Yard when her paintings of a little girl turn the young subject into a model for murder.
Witch Miss Seeton
Double, double, toil and trouble sweep through the village when Miss Seeton goes undercover . . . to investigate a local witches’ coven!
Miss Seeton Sings
Miss Seeton boards the wrong plane and lands amidst a gang of European counterfeiters. One false note, and her new destination is deadly indeed.
Odds on Miss Seeton
Miss Seeton in diamonds and furs at the roulette table? It’s all a clever disguise for the high-rolling spinster . . . but the game of money and murder is all too real.
Advantage, Miss Seeton
Miss Seeton’s summer outing to a tennis match serves up more than expected when Britain’s up-and-coming female tennis star is hounded by mysterious death threats.
Miss Seeton at the Helm
Miss Seeton takes a whirlwind cruise to the Mediterranean—bound for disaster. A murder on board leads the seafaring sleuth into some very stormy waters.
Miss Seeton, By Appointment
Miss Seeton is off to Buckingham Palace on a secret mission—but to foil a jewel heist, she must risk losing the Queen’s head . . . and her own neck!
Miss Seeton Cracks the Case
It’s highway robbery for the innocent passengers of a motor coach tour. When Miss Seeton sketches the roadside bandits, she becomes a moving target herself.
Miss Seeton Paints the Town
The Best Kept Village Competition inspires Miss Seeton’s most unusual artwork—a burning cottage—and clears the smoke of suspicion in a series of local fires.
Hands Up, Miss Seeton
The gentle Miss Seeton? A thief? A preposterous notion—until she’s accused of helping a pickpocket . . . and stumbles into a nest of crime.
Miss Seeton by Moonlight
Scotland Yard borrows one of Miss Seeton’s paintings to bait an art thief . . . when suddenly a second thief strikes.
Miss Seeton Rocks the Cradle
It takes all of Miss Seeton’s best instincts—maternal and otherwise—to solve a crime that’s hardly child’s play.
Miss Seeton Goes to Bat
Miss Seeton’s in on the action when a cricket game leads to mayhem in the village of Plummergen . . . and gives her a shot at smashing Britain’s most baffling burglary ring.
Miss Seeton Plants Suspicion
Miss Seeton was tending her garden when a local youth was arrested for murder. Now she has to find out who’s really at the root of the crime.
Starring Miss Seeton
Miss Seeton’s playing a backstage role in the village’s annual Christmas pageant. But the real drama is behind the scenes . . . when the next act turns out to be murder!
Miss Seeton Undercover
The village is abuzz, as a TV crew searches for a rare apple, the Plummergen Peculier—while police hunt a murderous thief . . . and with Miss Seeton at the centre of it all.
Miss Seeton Rules
Royalty comes to Plummergen, and the villagers are plotting a grand impression. But when Princess Georgina goes missing, Miss Seeton herself has questions to answer.
Sold to Miss Seeton
Miss Seeton accidentally buys a mysterious antiq
ue box at auction . . . and finds herself crossing paths with some very dangerous characters!
Sweet Miss Seeton
Miss Seeton is stalked by a confectionary sculptor, just as a spate of suspicious deaths among the village’s elderly residents calls for her attention.
Bonjour, Miss Seeton
After a trip to explore the French countryside, a case of murder awaits Miss Seeton back in the village . . . and a shocking revelation.
Miss Seeton’s Finest Hour
War-time England, and a young Miss Emily Seeton’s suspicious sketches call her loyalty into question—until she is recruited to uncover a case of sabotage.
About Heron Carvic and Hamilton Crane
The Miss Seeton series was created by Heron Carvic; and continued after his death first by Peter Martin writing as Hampton Charles, and later by Sarah J. Mason under the pseudonym Hamilton Crane.
Heron Carvic was an actor and writer, most recognisable today for his voice portrayal of the character Gandalf in the first BBC Radio broadcast version of The Hobbit, and appearances in several television productions, including early series of The Avengers and Dr Who.
Born Geoffrey Richard William Harris in 1913, he held several early jobs including as an interior designer and florist, before developing a successful dramatic career and his public persona of Heron Carvic. He only started writing the Miss Seeton novels in the 1960s, after using her in a short story.
Heron Carvic died in a car accident in Kent in 1980.
Miss Seeton Cracks the Case (A Miss Seeton Mystery Book 9) Page 22