The Death-Cap Dancers

perturbed, or you would not have telephoned.’

‘She phoned me just a few minutes ago to say she has been invited to stay at this shack in the forest at a place called Wayland. She thought at first that it was only for one night, but now it seems just possible that she may put in a fortnight with these people at their express invitation.’

‘Well, Hermione is a sensible girl. I do not suppose there is anything to worry about.’

‘I’m not exactly worried. The thing is that I can’t get in touch with her over the telephone unless she rings me first. There is only a public call-box where she is. I have written to her to ask her to keep in contact with us, but no post goes out from here until tomorrow morning and goodness knows whether letters ever get to this wooden hut of hers, anyway.’

‘Wayland? A wooden hut? Oh, it will be on Forestry Commission property, and perfectly respectable. It is a holiday centre.’

‘What, at this time of year?’

‘Mellow autumn, “close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.” Autumn is a worthy season for holidays and immortal verse.’

‘Keats was thinking about September, not October. He says the swallows were gathering; that means they hadn’t migrated. I wish the starlings would migrate instead of being joined by hordes of their relations who do migrate from further north, and sometimes I think the whole lot of them descend on this farm. They even chivvy the cats if I put food out, and one really doesn’t want the stable cats indoors. Look, Aunt dear, I’d go myself if Hermione didn’t get so resentful when she thinks I’m coming the old hen over her young life, but I really would like to know what’s going on in this holiday place.’

‘Very well. I’ll get Laura to call on her if that will ease your mind.’

‘Well, it all sounds so bizarre. Why should she pick these women up on the moor? It’s so Wuthering Heights of her! Will you really send Laura? I would be rather relieved. Hermione certainly won’t resent her, and I don’t want to seem to be making a fuss.’

‘The excursion will combine very nicely with another assignment which Laura has in prospect. She is going to spend a week with her brother in Scotland. She can call on Hermione, stay the night at the hotel in York which she has already booked — it means going back on her tracks a bit, but she won’t mind that — and from York she will telephone me and I will pass her report on to you.’

Laura, apprised of the commission, expressed pleasure. She and Dame Beatrice breakfasted early so that Laura could start in good time, and by half-past eight she was on her way northwards. Maps had located the village of Wayland and an enquiry at the post office there, when she reached it, took her to the two-mile drive which led to the reception centre and the warden’s office. Here she was directed to the cabin, for Hermione had mentioned Erica’s name in her telephone message to her mother and Jenny had passed it on to Dame Beatrice. When Laura found the cabin it was half-past five and all the occupants were at home, for Erica and Tamsin had returned from their excursion with John Trent while Hermione and Isobel, content with their morning walk under the guidance of the forester, had remained in the cabin as they had planned to do.

Erica answered Laura’s knock on the door, but as soon as she heard Laura’s voice Hermione flew out to the vestibule.

‘You’re in time for tea, ’ she said, when she had embraced her. ‘What on earth are you doing in these parts?’

‘Thank goodness for a cuppa. I am on my way to Scotland. Dame B. is at home. Your mother told us you were here, so, as it was more or less on my way, I thought I would look you up.’

Introductions were made, Laura had tea with the party and later from her hotel made her report over the telephone to Dame Beatrice.

‘I’ve had a good journey. Located the log hut. Very civilised and all mod con, tell Jenny. Hermione came to the rescue on the moors because one of the girls had sprained her ankle. There are three of them. One is a teacher, the sprained ankle is a painter of Christmas and birthday cards and pet animals, the oldest one is an accounts clerk to a builder who happens to be her father, and the whole set-up could not be more innocuous and respectable. All they are going to do is drive about the neighbourhood looking at the scenery and visiting places of interest and “unspoiled natural beauty”, as the conservationists put it. They propose also to breathe the fresh (and it is fresh!) moorland air and follow well-trodden tracks through the woods noting the fauna and flora.’

‘I wonder whether a fortnight of such idyllic existence will be too much for Hermione,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Will the others make interesting companions?’

‘I think so. Two of the women are in their thirties. One is sardonic and quite bracing, the other (the builder’s daughter) very motherly and kind, and the painter is about Hermione’s age and a bit of a sensitive plant, apart from her ankle, but they seem quite a good lot and very pleasant. So far there don’t seem to be any men involved, although the young one and the motherly one did go out in a neighbour’s car this afternoon to learn the local geography and (I gather) to be given a botany lesson on trees, plants and toadstools from a young fellow who seems knowledgeable in such matters. Anyway, Hermione is in good hands and the woods are glorious. I could wish I were staying in the cabin myself, except that we have the New Forest on our own doorstep. Reassure Jenny. There is nothing to worry about — and those are not famous last words. I hope not, anyway.’

Chapter 3: LOUSEWORT

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‘I’m getting restless and peevish,’ said Tamsin after lunch next day. ‘It’s lovely weather and I want to go out and find something to paint. I can’t walk much because of this damned ankle, but if one of you would take me out on to the moors, I’m sure I could hirple my way well enough to get down to that beck I saw yesterday when Erica and I were out with John.’

‘So long as you go easy you’ll be all right,’ said Erica. ‘That strapping I’ve put on should hold the ankle. Isobel wants to see Long Cove Bay, so I’ll take her in my car if Hermione doesn’t mind taking you in hers.’

Hermione brought her car round and was relieved to note that Tamsin required very little assistance to get down the steps and cross the five yards of rough grass to the car. In no time they were passing the warden’s office and were out on the trail Hermione had followed with the forester and Tamsin with John Trent.

They came out by the Wayland signpost and were soon crossing the moor in the long slant which Hermione had seen ahead of her when she had realised she was lost. That Saturday evening seemed now to be a very long way behind her.

‘There should be a track over to the left just before we get to a bridge,’ said Tamsin. ‘We could turn off there, perhaps. I’m sure there ought to be something good. I want a dip in the moor with the beck going through it.’

‘Right. I’ll go slowly. Tell me when to stop and then I’ll do a scramble and come back and tell you what’s down in the dip. No point in putting that foot to the ground any more often than you need.’

The little stone bridge came into sight and the moorland track which Tamsin remembered from the day before ran out into a limitless expanse of heather. It was narrow and bumpy and Hermione drove slowly. It led suddenly and steeply downhill and then wound away upwards across a shoulder of the moor before it dipped down again to the beck.

Tamsin called a halt and said that, if Hermione was prepared to explore, this was a likely spot.

Hermione pulled up. A tiny path went off to the right and before she got very far she could hear the splashing sound of the beck. Soon she could see it not very far below her. It was bubbling over flat boulders and smaller stones and on the further side of it was a low hill with a rounded summit. The foot of the hill was strewn with more boulders and a rough path of varying width ran beside the stream and led on the right to a more distant and higher hill. A narrow stone bridge without copings, possibly a pack-horse bridge, lay across the stream and there was another and a rougher path on the other side of the water.

Hermione picked out the flattest bit of the path on her own side and went back to the car for the camp stool and folding chair they had put in the boot.

‘You don’t seem to have brought paints and things,’ she said on her return, when she had set up the stool and chair.