Dancing Death
Christopher Bush
Dancing Death
However thorough your search was, I’m convinced the murderer, or the burglar—call him what you will—is still in the house.
Little Levington Hall, the site of the seasonal house party in Dancing Death, is owned by Martin Braishe, inventor of a lethal gas. Unfortunately for Braishe and his houseguests, their fancy-dress ball might more accurately be described as a fancy-death ball. After the formal festivities have taken place place, nine guests remain at the snowbound Hall, along with a retinue of servants. It is at this point that dead bodies most inconveniently begin to turn up at Little Levington Hall, like so many unwanted Christmas presents. It will be up to the eccentric Ludovic Travers, with his companions John Franklin and Superintendent Wharton of Scotland Yard, to solve this most intricate and ingenious of Yuletide mysteries.
Dancing Death was originally published in 1931. This new edition features an introduction by crime fiction historian Curtis Evans.
To
Some other men’s wives;
in other words
MY SISTERS
Every character in this story is utterly fictitious
—with one exception, Ho-Ping
Contents
Cover
Title Page/About the Book
Contents
Introduction by Curtis Evans
Chapter One
Part 1: The Problem
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part II: The Solution
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Author
Titles by Christopher Bush
Dead Man’s Music – Title Page
Dead Man’s Music – Chapter One
Copyright
INTRODUCTION
That once vast and mighty legion of bright young (and youngish) British crime writers who began publishing their ingenious tales of mystery and imagination during what is known as the Golden Age of detective fiction (traditionally dated from 1920 to 1939) had greatly diminished by the iconoclastic decade of the Sixties, many of these writers having become casualties of time. Of the 38 authors who during the Golden Age had belonged to the Detection Club, a London-based group which included within its ranks many of the finest writers of detective fiction then plying the craft in the United Kingdom, just over a third remained among the living by the second half of the 1960s, while merely seven—Agatha Christie, Anthony Gilbert, Gladys Mitchell, Margery Allingham, John Dickson Carr, Nicholas Blake and Christopher Bush—were still penning crime fiction.
In 1966--a year that saw the sad demise, at the too young age of 62, of Margery Allingham--an executive with the English book publishing firm Macdonald reflected on the continued popularity of the author who today is the least well known among this tiny but accomplished crime writing cohort: Christopher Bush (1885-1973), whose first of his three score and three series detective novels, The Plumley Inheritance, had appeared fully four decades earlier, in 1926. “He has a considerable public, a ‘steady Bush public,’ a public that has endured through many years,” the executive boasted of Bush. “He never presents any problem to his publisher, who knows exactly how many copies of a title may be safely printed for the loyal Bush fans; the number is a healthy one too.” Yet in 1968, just a couple of years after the Macdonald editor’s affirmation of Bush’s notable popular duration as a crime writer, the author, now in his 83rd year, bade farewell to mystery fiction with a final detective novel, The Case of the Prodigal Daughter, in which, like in Agatha Christie’s Third Girl (1966), copious references are made, none too favorably, to youthful sex, drugs and rock and roll. Afterwards, outside of the reprinting in the UK in the early 1970s of a scattering of classic Bush titles from the Golden Age, Bush’s books, in contrast with those of Christie, Carr, Allingham and Blake, disappeared from mass circulation in both the UK and the US, becoming fervently sought (and ever more unobtainable) treasures by collectors and connoisseurs of classic crime fiction. Now, in one of the signal developments in vintage mystery publishing, Dean Street Press is reprinting all 63 Christopher Bush detective novels. These will be published over a period of months, beginning with the release of books 1 to 10 in the series.
Few Golden Age British mystery writers had backgrounds as humble yet simultaneously mysterious, dotted with omissions and evasions, as Christopher Bush, who was born Charlie Christmas Bush on the day of the Nativity in 1885 in the Norfolk village of Great Hockham, to Charles Walter Bush and his second wife, Eva Margaret Long. While the father of Christopher Bush’s Detection Club colleague and near exact contemporary Henry Wade (the pseudonym of Henry Lancelot Aubrey-Fletcher) was a baronet who lived in an elegant Georgian mansion and claimed extensive ownership of fertile English fields, Christopher’s father resided in a cramped cottage and toiled in fields as a farm laborer, a term that in the late Victorian and Edwardian era, his son lamented many years afterward, “had in it something of contempt….There was something almost of serfdom about it.”
Charles Walter Bush was a canny though mercurial individual, his only learning, his son recalled, having been “acquired at the Sunday school.” A man of parts, Charles was a tenant farmer of three acres, a thatcher, bricklayer and carpenter (fittingly for the father of a detective novelist, coffins were his specialty), a village radical and a most adept poacher. After a flight from Great Hockham, possibly on account of his poaching activities, Charles, a widower with a baby son whom he had left in the care of his mother, resided in London, where he worked for a firm of spice importers. At a dance in the city, Charles met Christopher’s mother, Eva Long, a lovely and sweet-natured young milliner and bonnet maker, sweeping her off her feet with a combination of “good looks and a certain plausibility.” After their marriage the couple left London to live in a tiny rented cottage in Great Hockham, where Eva over the next eighteen years gave birth to three sons and five daughters and perforce learned the challenging ways of rural domestic economy.
Decades later an octogenarian Christopher Bush, in his memoir Winter Harvest: A Norfolk Boyhood (1967), characterized Great Hockham as a rustic rural redoubt where many of the words that fell from the tongues of the native inhabitants “were those of Shakespeare, Milton and the Authorised Version….Still in general use were words that were standard in Chaucer’s time, but had since lost a certain respectability.” Christopher amusingly recalled as a young boy telling his mother that a respectable neighbor woman had used profanity, explaining that in his hearing she had told her husband, “George, wipe you that shit off that pig’s arse, do you’ll datty your trousers,” to which his mother had responded that although that particular usage of a four-letter word had not really been swearing, he was not to give vent to such language himself.
Great Hockham, which in Christopher Bush’s youth had a population of about four hundred souls, was composed of a score or so of cottages, three public houses, a post-office, five shops, a couple of forges and a pair of churches, All Saint’s and the Primitive Methodist Chapel, where the Bush family rather vocally worshipped. “The village lived by farming, and most of its men were labourers,” Christopher recollected. “Mo
st of the children left school as soon as the law permitted: boys to be absorbed somehow into the land and the girls to go into domestic service.” There were three large farms and four smaller ones, and, in something of an anomaly, not one but two squires--the original squire, dubbed “Finch” by Christopher, having let the shooting rights at Little Hockham Hall to one “Green,” a wealthy international banker, making the latter man a squire by courtesy. Finch owned most of the local houses and farms, in traditional form receiving rents for them personally on Michaelmas; and when Christopher’s father fell out with Green, “a red-faced, pompous, blustering man,” over a political election, he lost all of the banker’s business, much to his mother’s distress. Yet against all odds and adversities, Christopher’s life greatly diverged from settled norms in Great Hockham, incidentally producing one of the most distinguished detective novelists from the Golden Age of detective fiction.
Although Christopher Bush was born in Great Hockham, he spent his earliest years in London living with his mother’s much older sister, Elizabeth, and her husband, a fur dealer by the name of James Streeter, the couple having no children of their own. Almost certainly of illegitimate birth, Eva had been raised by the Long family from her infancy. She once told her youngest daughter how she recalled the Longs being visited, when she was a child, by a “fine lady in a carriage,” whom she believed was her birth mother. Or is it possible that the “fine lady in a carriage” was simply an imaginary figment, like the aristocratic fantasies of Philippa Palfrey in P.D. James’s Innocent Blood (1980), and that Eva’s “sister” Elizabeth was in fact her mother?
The Streeters were a comfortably circumstanced couple at the time they took custody of Christopher. Their household included two maids and a governess for the young boy, whose doting but dutiful “Aunt Lizzie” devoted much of her time to the performance of “good works among the East End poor.” When Christopher was seven years old, however, drastically straightened financial circumstances compelled the Streeters to return the boy to his birth parents in Great Hockham.
Fortunately the cause of the education of Christopher, who was not only a capable village cricketer but a precocious reader and scholar, was taken up both by his determined and devoted mother and an idealistic local elementary school headmaster. In his teens Christopher secured a scholarship to Norfolk’s Thetford Grammar School, one of England’s oldest educational institutions, where Thomas Paine had studied a century-and-a-half earlier. He left Thetford in 1904 to take a position as a junior schoolmaster, missing a chance to go to Cambridge University on yet another scholarship. (Later he proclaimed himself thankful for this turn of events, sardonically speculating that had he received a Cambridge degree he “might have become an exceedingly minor don or something as staid and static and respectable as a publisher.”) Christopher would teach English in schools for the next twenty-seven years, retiring at the age of 46 in 1931, after he had established a successful career as a detective novelist.
Christopher’s romantic relationships proved far rockier than his career path, not to mention every bit as murky as his mother’s familial antecedents. In 1911, when Christopher was teaching in Wood Green School, a co-educational institution in Oxfordshire, he wed county council schoolteacher Ella Maria Pinner, a daughter of a baker neighbor of the Bushes in Great Hockham. The two appear never actually to have lived together, however, and in 1914, when Christopher at the age of 29 headed to war in the 16th (Public Schools) Battalion of the Middlesex Regiment, he falsely claimed in his attestation papers, under penalty of two years’ imprisonment with hard labor, to be unmarried.
After four years of service in the Great War, including a year-long stint in Egypt, Christopher returned in 1919 to his position at Wood Green School, where he became involved in another romantic relationship, from which he soon desired to extricate himself. (A photo of the future author, taken at this time in Egypt, shows a rather dashing, thin-mustached man in uniform and is signed “Chris,” suggesting that he had dispensed with “Charlie” and taken in its place a diminutive drawn from his middle name.) The next year Winifred Chart, a mathematics teacher at Wood Green, gave birth to a son, whom she named Geoffrey Bush. Christopher was the father of Geoffrey, who later in life became a noted English composer, though for reasons best known to himself Christopher never acknowledged his son. (A letter Geoffrey once sent him was returned unopened.) Winifred claimed that she and Christopher had married but separated, but she refused to speak of her purported spouse forever after and she destroyed all of his letters and other mementos, with the exception of a book of poetry that he had written for her during what she termed their engagement.
Christopher’s true mate in life, though with her he had no children, was Florence Marjorie Barclay, the daughter of a draper from Ballymena, Northern Ireland, and, like Ella Pinner and Winifred Chart, a schoolteacher. Christopher and Marjorie likely had become romantically involved by 1929, when Christopher dedicated to her his second detective novel, The Perfect Murder Case; and they lived together as man and wife from the 1930s until her death in 1968 (after which, probably not coincidentally, Christopher stopped publishing novels). Christopher returned with Marjorie to the vicinity of Great Hockham when his writing career took flight, purchasing two adjoining cottages and commissioning his father and a stepbrother to build an extension consisting of a kitchen, two bedrooms and a new staircase. (The now sprawling structure, which Christopher called “Home Cottage,” is now a bed and breakfast grandiloquently dubbed “Home Hall.”) After a falling-out with his father, presumably over the conduct of Christopher’s personal life, he and Marjorie in 1932 moved to Beckley, Sussex, where they purchased Horsepen, a lovely Tudor plaster and timber-framed house. In 1953 the couple settled at their final home, The Great House, a centuries-old structure (now a boutique hotel) in Lavenham, Suffolk.
From these three houses Christopher maintained a lucrative and critically esteemed career as a novelist, publishing both detective novels as Christopher Bush and, commencing in 1933 with the acclaimed book Return (in the UK, God and the Rabbit, 1934), regional novels purposefully drawing on his own life experience, under the pen name Michael Home. (During the 1940s he also published espionage novels under the Michael Home pseudonym.) Although his first detective novel, The Plumley Inheritance, made a limited impact, with his second, The Perfect Murder Case, Christopher struck gold. The latter novel, a big seller in both the UK and the US, was published in the former country by the prestigious Heinemann, soon to become the publisher of the detective novels of Margery Allingham and Carter Dickson (John Dickson Carr), and in the latter country by the Crime Club imprint of Doubleday, Doran, one of the most important publishers of mystery fiction in the United States.
Over the decade of the 1930s Christopher Bush published, in both the UK and the US as well as other countries around the world, some of the finest detective fiction of the Golden Age, prompting the brilliant Thirties crime fiction reviewer, author and Oxford University Press editor Charles Williams to avow: “Mr. Bush writes of as thoroughly enjoyable murders as any I know.” (More recently, mystery genre authority B.A. Pike dubbed these novels by Bush, whom he praised as “one of the most reliable and resourceful of true detective writers”, “Golden Age baroque, rendered remarkable by some extraordinary flights of fancy.”) In 1937 Christopher Bush became, along with Nicholas Blake, E.C.R. Lorac and Newton Gayle (the writing team of Muna Lee and Maurice West Guinness), one of the final authors initiated into the Detection Club before the outbreak of the Second World War and with it the demise of the Golden Age. Afterward he continued publishing a detective novel or more a year, with his final book in 1968 reaching a total of 63, all of them detailing the investigative adventures of lanky and bespectacled gentleman amateur detective Ludovic Travers. Concurring as I do with the encomia of Charles Williams and B.A. Pike, I will end this introduction by thanking Avril MacArthur for providing invaluable biographical information on her great uncle, and simply wishing fans of classic crime fiction
good times as they discover (or rediscover), with this latest splendid series of Dean Street Press classic crime fiction reissues, Christopher Bush’s Ludovic Travers detective novels. May a new “Bush public” yet arise!
Curtis Evans
Dancing Death (1931)
“Thank you, Pollock. What’s the weather like? More snow coming?”
“Bound to come, sir. The sky’s very bad.”
For many devotees of vintage British mystery, there is nothing quite like a murder for Christmas, especially when that murder takes place in a snowbound country mansion during a violently acrimonious house party, as frosty wind makes moan. (’Tis the season!) Certainly Christopher Bush included all of fans’ most desired Christmas murder trimmings in his deliciously devious mystery Dancing Death (1931), the fifth in the Ludovic Travers series of detective novels and one of the finest British Christmas crime tales published during the Golden Age of detective fiction. The roster of such novels, enough to stock the twelve days of Christmas, includes Molly Thynne’s The Crime at the Noah’s Ark (1931), C.H.B. Kitchin’s Crime at Christmas (1934), Mavis Doriel Hay’s The Santa Claus Murder (1936), Jefferson Farjeon’s Mystery in White (1937), Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot’s Christmas (1938), Michael Innes’s There Came Both Mist and Snow (1940), Nicholas Blake’s The Case of the Abominable Snowman (1941), Georgette Heyer’s Envious Casca (1941), John Dickson Carr’s The Gilded Man (1942), and, if we stretch the traditionally accepted temporal limit of the Golden Age yet more, Gladys Mitchell’s Groaning Spinney (1950) and Cyril Hare’s An English Murder (1951). Dean Street Press’s new edition of Christopher Bush’s Dancing Death, the first in nearly ninety years, is a most welcome addition to this charming company of Christmas country house (in one case country inn) mysteries.