by Heron Carvic
“Don’t move,” she said. “Stay here and keep quite still. I’ll go for help.” She picked up her umbrella, turned and ran.
• • •
Training and organization told. The police line was making headway. Foxon had joined them; Stan Bloomer, seeing their intent, had rounded up some other men to help extend the line which had formed at the end of the Street before Miss Seeton’s cottage. Delphick and Foxon had taken the centre, supported by the locals; Potter and Sergeant Ranger held the flanks. Step by step the line was making progress; slowly the few were pushing back the many.
Heedless of what was going on about her, intent upon her mission, Miss Seeton ran into the Street. The first man she saw was P.C. Potter.
“Oh, Mr. Potter,” she exclaimed, “please come at once. There’s been an accident.”
Potter turned his head; a stone hit it and he subsided at her feet. Shorn of one wing support the locals wavered, the police line broke. Miss Seeton stared about her in dismay. The lights from the houses showed little from a distance but a jostling, cursing throng. But Mr. Potter . . . He might be trodded on. She knelt, took Potter’s head upon her lap. More stones came winging. This was outrageous. Didn’t they realize someone might get hurt? She put up her umbrella.
A switch was pressed: twin searchlights flared suddenly from behind the villagers, cutting a swath through the maelstrom, dazzling the attackers. A pistol shot. Another. And again. The chatter of machine-gun fire. The home team parted ranks to allow passage for their commander in chief and the huge car roared forward in low gear with Sir George, his left hand on the wheel, his right protruding from the driver’s window, firing blanks from his starter’s pistol, Lady Colveden at his side producing short bursts on a wooden rattle.
The Ashford Chopper gang was disconcerted. It is enjoyable to fight anonymously in the dark with weapons and with numbers on your side. It is not enjoyable, nor is it fair, to fight when bathed in light nor to find that your opponent has called on unknown reinforcements equipped with better weapons than your own. Knives, knuckledusters, blackjacks, and any honored form of thuggery is permissible. Armed retaliation, by the other side, is out of bounds.
Some hesitated, at a loss; gave ground. Some went for their bikes. The flight became a rout, then consternation, when they found they could not flee. Down the Street in orderly array, one leading, the others two abreast, came five police cars. Men spilled out of them to man the sidewalks and to block escape. The attitude of the invaders changed. They stood morose and silent, waiting. They’d leave it, as they always did, for counsel to explain in court: how they were misunderstood and put upon and never did a thing except to defend themselves and try to stop the fight when others went for them and for no sort of reason they could see.
Only one incident marred the Law’s arrival. Miss Wicks, marking more cars coming from the Ashford Road and not noticing the blue lamps flashing till too late, fired with enthusiasm. Blinded by hose spray on his windshield, the driver of the leading car collided with Sir George’s. Brinton got out enraged.
He and Delphick organized the mopping up: an ambulance was coming and a van to collect the “bag.” The local casualties were to be sent to Knight’s nursing home for treatment: with Sir George—three generals at the end of a campaign—they paced the battlefield, assessing damage.
A light rain was falling. Lady Colveden glanced up; she frowned and looked around, then left the car and crossed the Street. She took the hose from Miss Wicks’s unresisting hand, turned off the nozzle tap and gave it back. The light rain stopped.
Foxon came to Brinton and reported.
“I’ve located the Quints’ kid brother, sir. He’s in Miss Seeton’s garden at the back. She’s dropped her garden roller on him to hold him there. Looks in a bad way. I think his leg’s a goner.”
“Right, then we’ll pick him up.” Brinton scanned his subordinate: the half of one trouser leg was gone, the other torn; his bare torso was decorated with a necklace of tattered strips of leather, purple silk and pink. “Who told you you could come here and dance starkers in the Street?” he growled. Foxon’s lips parted, a tooth was missing. “So all right.” Brinton called a police driver. He pointed to Foxon. “Take these bits and pieces to the hospital and see if they can mend ’em. And all right,” he called after him, “so you’ll need new clothes. If you must have ’em fancy, have ’em fancy, just don’t let me see ’em, and I’ll sign the chit.” Gap-toothed and grinning Foxon was led away. Brinton felt vindicated. So he’d been wrong about the Choppers, but still, all right, they’d turned up in the end. And this little excursion coming pat with the Quints’ last throw at burglary was too much to swallow as coincidence. Swallow? He wouldn’t try. He’d have a go at them and at the Quints until he’d proved connection, and then for once the Choppers’d be up on a charge they couldn’t wriggle out of. Mouthpiece or no mouthpiece the magistrate would have to take some notice, get ’em sent to Assize, and the Force could look forward to a few months’ rest from ’em. Brinton turned to Delphick; noted the bleeding gash. “You look like you could do with sewing up.”
Delphick laughed. “I’ll get myself stitched at Dr. Knight’s. At least, Chris, all the rest’s sewn up. We’ve got the killer, got the raiders, and you’ve got your cashier. One way and another our Miss Seeton’s bagged the lot for us.”
Brinton snuffed. “Chummies are chummies the world over—they never learn. Four things in life you shouldn’t try to buck. All right, fate’s one of ’em. She’s the other three.”
* * *
From the Daily Negative—April 1
THE PEACE OF THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE
by our correspondent from the front
*
Piece 4. The Battle of Plummergen
In the placid, peaceful depths of this tranquil corner of Old England the slumberous monotony of our rustic existence flows on at reckless pace . . .
. . . that it was a station wagon, but I was there and can only describe it as it seemed to me at the time: a monster tank, a dreadnought, a very battleship on wheels, guns blazing from every port. Sir George Colveden was at the helm, his gallant wife standing to her guns, as they came to the relief of the beleaguered inhabitants.
But bravely as we fought in the Battle of Plummergen, though many of us fell, fell over, some wounded; though the enemy was routed, to be rounded up and removed by the police, the main issue of all that we fought for was decided in a quiet garden behind an Old World cottage. There, in the darkness of the lawn, the only illumination the gleam of a flashlight, a small elderly lady came face to face with the seventeen-year-old youth who is alleged to have terrorized the whole country; the youth now in the hands of the police under arrest on a charge of murdering six children. Bravely she faced him undaunted, but not alone. As he leaped to the attack, her intrepid Brolly, working spoke-in-wheel with her garden roller, moved to her defense. With a lightning stroke the Brolly tripped him and brought him low and her guardian roller, with perfect timing, executed the coup de grâce and pinned him to the ground.
This tiny village gives the lead to the whole nation. For who shall say this country now is finished, this island of ours, this England, where such spirit still prevails, where garden rollers still stand sentinel, umbrellas still abound?
Amelita Forby
Knight’s Nursing Home, Brettenden Road
Plummergen, Kent
(No flowers by request. We’re a little overcrowded here at the moment.)
Note from the Publisher
While he was alive, Heron Carvic had tremendous fun creating Emily Seeton and the cast of Plummergen residents who make the series what it is. We hope you enjoyed reading the novel as much.
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 head . . .”
You can n
ow 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
Also, one of the joys of humorous fiction—and Miss Seeton is definitely at the light end of the mystery genre—is sharing the reaction of others. Did Miss Seeton drive you up the wall? Or drive you to tears of laughter? If you enjoyed the story, we would be thrilled if you could leave a short review. Getting feedback from readers makes all the difference and can help persuade others to pick up the series for the first time.
Thank you for reading, and here’s to the Battling Brolly …
Also Available
OUT NOW
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.”
Buy here
Preview
COMING SOON
A Most Bewitching Murder . . .
A sudden interest in the occult swept through the English village of Plummergen, with Ouija Boards replacing the best china in many a cozy cottage. It might be quite the thing for maiden ladies and persnickity aunts, but it wasn’t Miss Seeton’s cup of tea . . . until Scotland Yard requested she go undercover to investigate some sinister shenanigans in the Kentish countryside. A flim-flam was afoot in the local witches coven . . . and magic could be a prelude to murder most foul.
Can’t wait? Buy it here now!
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.
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!
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 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 antique 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
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 a 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. The Miss Seeton series was continued after his death by Roy Peter Martin writing as Hampton Charles, and subsequently by Sarah J. Mason under the pseudonym Hamilton Crane.
This edition published in 2016
by Farrago, an imprint of Prelude Books Ltd
13 Carrington Road, Richmond, TW10 5AA, United Kingdom
www.farragobooks.com
First published by Geoffrey Bles in 1969
Copyright © The Beneficiaries of the Literary Estate of Heron Carvic 2016
The right of Heron Carvic to be identified as the author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9935763-1-7
Version 1.5
Cover design by Patrick Knowles