Reginald Hill: A Cure for All Diseases

A Dalziel and Pascoe novel

in six volumes

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Harper An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2008

Copyright © Reginald Hill 2008

Reginald Hill asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780007252695

Ebook edition © JULY 2015 ISBN: 9780007292738

Version: 2018-06-27

To Janeites everywhere

and in particular to those who ten years ago in San Francisco made me so very welcome at the Jane Austen Society of North America’s AGM, of which the theme was Sanditon – a new direction? , and during which the seeds of this present novel were sown. I hope that my fellow Janeites will approve the direction in which I have moved her unfinished story; or, if they hesitate approval, that they will perhaps recall the advice printed on a sweat shirt presented to me (with what pertinence I never quite grasped) after my talk to the AGM

– run mad as often as you chuse, but do not faint –

and at least agree that though in places I may have run a little mad, so far I have not fainted!

The Sea air & Sea Bathing together were nearly infallible, one or the other of them being a match for every Disorder, of the Stomach, the Lungs or the Blood; They were anti-spasmodic, anti-pulmonary, anti-sceptic, anti-bilious & anti-rheumatic. Nobody could catch cold by the Sea, Nobody wanted appetite by the Sea, Nobody wanted Spirits, Nobody wanted strength. – They were healing, softening, relaxing – fortifying & bracing – seemingly just as was wanted – sometimes one, sometimes the other.

Jane Austen, Sanditon

Then Sir Bedivere cried: Ah my lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now ye go from me and leave me here alone among mine enemies? Comfort thyself, said the king, and do as well as thou mayst, for in me is no trust to trust in; for I will into the vale of Avilion to heal me of my grievous wound: and if thou hear never more of me, pray for my soul.

Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur

We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.

Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Volume the First

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Volume the Second

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Volume the Third

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Volume the Fourth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Volume the Fifth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Volume the Sixth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Every Neighbourhood should have a great Lady.

Hi Cass!

How’s things in darkest Africa? Wierd & wonderful – I bet – but not so w&w as what weve got here at Willingden Farm. Go on – guess! OK – give up?

House-guests!

& I dont mean awful Uncle Ernie on one of his famous surprise visits. These are strangers!

What happened – at last after our awful wet summer Augusts turned hot – not African hot but pretty steamy by Yorkshire standards. Dad & George were working up in Mill Meadow. Mum asked if Id take them a jug of lemon barley – said it would please dad if I showed willing. Weve been in armed truce since I made it clear my plans hadnt changed – ie do a postgrad thesis instead of getting a paid job – or better still – a wellpaid husband – & settling down! But no reason not to show willing – plus it gave me an excuse to drive the quad – so off I went.

Forgot the mugs – but dad didnt say anything – just drank straight out of the jug like he preferred it – so maybe mum was right & he was pleased. In fact we were having a pleasant chat when suddenly old Fang let out a growl. Lost half his teeth & cant keep up with the sheep any more – but still manages a grand growl. Dad looked round to see what had woken him – & his face went into Headbanger configuration.

– whats yon daft bugger playing at? – he demanded.

Youll recall that in dads demography anyone living outside Willingden parish is a daft bugger till proved innocent. In this case I half agreed with him.

The DB in question was driving his car fast up the lane alongside Mill Meadow. How he got through the gate I dont know. The HB had to take his chain & lock off after the Ramblers took him to court last year – but hes fixed a catch like one of them old metal puzzles we used to play with as kids. Maybe the DB just got lucky – he thought!

He was driving one of these new hybrid 4×4s – you know – conscience without inconvenience! – & when he saw how good the surface was – (tractor tyres dont grow on trees! – remember?) – he mustve thought – great! – now for a bit of safe off-roading.

What he didnt reckon on was what George calls dads tank trap – the drainage ditch where the lane bends beyond the top gate & steepens up to the mill ruin.

New tourist map came out last year – with water mill marked – no mention of ruin. Result – a lot of DBs decided this meant Heritage Centre – guided tours & cream teas! After losing out to the Ramblers – dad was forced to accept ‘bearded wierdies’ trekking across his empire – but the sight of cars crawling up his lane drove him crazy. So one day he got to work with the digger – & when hed finished – the drainage ditch extended across the lane – a muddy hollow a hippo could wallow in – the tank trap!