CONSTABLE VERSUS GREENGRASS a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 16)

by Nicholas Rhea

  “Are you hurt, Claude?” I asked with some concern as I hurried to his aid. He slid to the ground and managed to find his feet, then blinked at me and Blaketon; he was swaying slightly, but was not injured in any way.

  “That’s dangerous driving, that is,” he slurred his words. “I’ll have you for this, Blaketon, trying to run me down.”

  “You’re drunk!” snapped Blaketon.

  “And you’re ugly, but I’ll be sober in the morning!” snapped Claude. “Now, if you’ve damaged my pogo stick, the Force will have to pay for its repair. I’ll have you know that’s a unique instrument, world-famous it is. Renowned in the world of pogo-jumping.”

  But Sergeant Blaketon was more concerned about damage to the official car. He was closely examining it, knowing that if it had been dented or damaged in any way, he would have to submit a report to headquarters and answer countless questions from his superiors. He knew he would have difficulty in explaining how he came to knock Claude Jeremiah Greengrass off a pogo stick. Fortunately, there was no damage, not even a scratch on the paintwork or a crack in any glass.

  “You’re very lucky, Greengrass!” he said at length. “This car is not damaged, otherwise I’d have had you . . .”

  “Had me? Now hang on, this one’s your fault, you ran into me!” Claude was blinking furiously as he struggled to come to terms with the incident. “You knocked me off my stick, and you’re on the wrong side of the road an’ all . . . that’s careless driving, Sergeant Blaketon, and I have half a mind to report you.”

  “You’re drunk, Greengrass!” retorted Blaketon. “You’re drunk in charge of that pogo stick!”

  “There’s no such offence, Sergeant!” grinned Claude. “You can’t have me for that!”

  “I can. It’s a carriage, Greengrass. If a bicycle is a carriage under the Licensing Act of 1872, as determined in Corkery v Carpenter in 1950, then so is your pogo stick. You were on the highway, you were being carried and both feet were off the ground, therefore it is a carriage. And if it is a carriage, it needs lights during the hours of darkness, and brakes . . . I’m reporting you for being drunk in charge of a carriage on the highway. And if you object, I shall have you arrested and taken to Ashfordly Police Station . . .”

  I could only stand back in dismay as Sergeant Blaketon read the riot act to the assembled regulars, threatening to summons each of them for aiding and abetting Claude in his foolhardy, illegal act, and criticising George for allowing such conduct on licensed premises, to say nothing of the bets that were being laid.

  As the subdued regulars trooped inside, Claude’s pogo stick was confiscated.

  “Confiscated? You can’t confiscate that, it’s my property!” Claude shouted.

  “It’s evidence, Greengrass!” was Blaketon’s curt reply. “Evidence for the court.”

  After experiencing Sergeant Blaketon’s wrath, the regulars had all returned to the bar, leaving Claude alone to answer for his behaviour. The unhappy Claude had lost his bet and would now have to buy everyone a drink; George, meanwhile, was beginning to worry about his licence because the conduct of licensed premises was his responsibility. Unruly behaviour, betting on the premises and permitting drunkenness might all put his licence at risk. We drove away without a word.

  “Sergeant,” I said after a while, “you weren’t serious about prosecuting Claude for being drunk in charge of a carriage, were you?”

  “That contraption of his is a carriage, Rhea,” he retorted. “It is constructed for the carriage of a person and it was upon the highway, therefore it is a carriage. He was in charge of it, and he was drunk. That’s all I need — and I have the device in question which can be shown to the court.”

  But I noticed the gleam in his eye when he dropped me at my police house. He told me to take the pogo stick with me and said, “You keep that thing, Rhea, at least for a few days. I think Claude, George and his pals have suffered enough but keep up the pretence. Let him think I am going to take him to court. Keep him on tenterhooks for a day or two, then give that thing back to him. I don’t think he will take it on the highway again, do you?”

  “Not without brakes and lights,” I answered.

  * * *

  Among the regular haunts of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass were the auction rooms, house and farm sales in and around Aidensfield. He was a familiar figure among the sale-goers because this was his main source of resaleable items. He bought all manner of job lots sometimes stumbling across a valuable object but, more often than not, returning home with a load of old rubbish. Rudolph Burley, the auctioneer, knew Claude very well indeed and if Claude was experiencing a hard time financially, Rudolph would knock down to him a miscellany of lots for a very modest bid or two. It was also a way for Rudolph to get rid of rubbish which no one else would entertain.

  It was a brisk March day when all the livestock along with the machinery and equipment, plus the contents of Aud Elijah Barron’s farmhouse at Skeugh Heights, Elsinby, were to be sold. Aud Elijah was retiring to a cottage in the village, along with his wife, Annie, and five sheepdogs.

  In the North York Moors, the prefix “Aud” is widely used as a term of affection; technically, it means “old”, but is seldom used in that context. It is almost a term of endearment and many young men have the prefix “Aud” added to their names. Claude was often known as Aud Claude and I have heard him described at that aud fraud Claude.

  When Elijah and Annie’s big day arrived, I was on duty at the sale, chiefly to ensure that traffic along the approach roads was not placed at risk from the comings and goings of vehicles when arriving and leaving Skeugh Heights. My presence at the sale was also regarded as useful from the peace-keeping aspect, particularly if any disputes arose. I was well aware of the phrase caveat emptor which means “buyer beware”. I knew that it was the responsibility of the buyer to inspect the goods before making a bid — for a bid at auction is binding. The full legal maxim is caveat emptor, qui ignorare non debuit quod ius alienum emit. Translated, this means: Let a purchaser beware, for he ought not to be ignorant of the nature of the property which he is buying from another party.

  Aud Elijah’s farm was positioned upon an exposed moorland ridge and access was via a long, winding and ascending track which led from a narrow lane between Elsinby and Ploatby. The livestock sale was in the morning, with viewing at 8 a.m. followed by the sale at 10 a.m.; there was a break from noon until 1.30 p.m., when the machinery and house contents were to be auctioned.

  Many local people, including the regular at tenders at such sales, would make a full day of this event, adjourning to the Hopbind Inn for their lunchtime refreshment. The pub was open all afternoon, having been granted an extension of hours by the local magistrates because of the sale. Some people had no intention of purchasing anything — they came for the outing and the distinctive atmosphere of a country sale. Some, of course, came to compare their household rubbish with that on view. But there was not a lot of genuine rubbish at Aud Elijah’s; he always bought thoroughly good furniture and equipment and even the animals were of top quality. Well, almost all of them were.

  When I was satisfied that most of the incoming vehicles had arrived, I walked up to the farm and through the huge barn where the indoor sale would be conducted. It was about 11.15 and outside at the rear, Rudolph was in full flight, his loud, rapid-fire voice drowning all other sounds as he auctioned a fine herd of dairy Friesians which were in the field behind him. Knowledgeable buyers were there and the herd was a particularly fine one; I saw the animals knocked down at a very fair price to a gentleman farmer from Wensleydale. After a few minutes, I returned through the barn to see if I could find a cup of coffee and en route bumped into Claude.

  “Now, Claude,” I greeted him, “what brings you here?”

  “It’s nowt to do with the law what I do in my leisure time.” He was defensive, as always.

  “I was just being polite,” I countered, pointing to the furniture which was arrayed about the floor of the barn. “T
here’s some good stuff here, animals and furniture alike. Antiques, very classy ones, if I’m any judge.”

  “Too posh for me, is the likes of that stuff,” he muttered. “I go for the tail-end stuff, Mr Rhea, that way you get bargains. Job lots, boxes of books and crockery, cutlery and glasses . . . and then I sell ’em on.”

  “Well, I hope you find something useful,” I said, leaving him as he wandered into the barn. Behind the barn, Rudolph had now turned to sell the pigs which had been herded into pens; he was selling half a dozen at a time. Some saddlebacks were first to be sold and when all the pigs had gone, it would be the turn of the sheep, black-faced Swaledales, which were also in pens outside. Last on the list of livestock, after the hens, geese and ducks, was Elijah’s aud gallower, a Cleveland Bay gelding called Lazarus. He was in the stable, awaiting his destiny. An aud gallower is the local name for a faithful horse; I knew Elijah would be very upset at having to part with his horse, for they had been together for years.

  Elijah would ride Lazarus into the village to collect his groceries and his mail and, over the years, the pair had become inseparable. Lazarus was a skinny old animal of indeterminate age; he seemed to have been with Elijah since Moses was a lad, and he was called Lazarus because, from time to time if he was upset, he would pretend to be dead. Elijah then had to revive him by shouting into his ears or pouring cold water over his nose. To an observer, it appeared that Elijah was miraculously resurrecting Lazarus from the dead.

  Lazarus didn’t like loud and sudden noises either; on shooting days, the guns had to be kept well away from him while thunderstorms almost made him demented. Man and horse understood each other very well indeed, however, but now it was all over because Elijah had no space to keep a horse at his new cottage. Lazarus had to be sold. I knew Aud Elijah would keep away from the auction at that stage; it would be a sad farewell and he would not wish to see his horse being sold to a stranger. We all hoped that Lazarus would go to a good home, preferably one where he had no need to work. Putting him out to grass seemed a suitable end to his long career.

  I did not wait to see the auction of Lazarus because it was my break time. I was quite surprised that Sergeant Blaketon had not driven out to pay me a visit. He loved farm sales and would always find an excuse to rendezvous with his officers when they were on duty. Expecting him to arrive later in the afternoon, I went home, had my lunch and returned to find that further people had arrived. Indeed, a new influx of eager hopefuls was arriving for the afternoon’s auction of the furniture and farm equipment. Many of the earlier ones were still in the Hopbind Inn having lunch — some would undoubtedly dwell there for the afternoon — and so I remained on the road to guide in the arriving vehicles. Among the first to return was Aud Elijah.

  I wondered who had bought his old horse as I was pondering whether or not I should refer to the matter, he saw me and came across for a chat.

  “Things is going very well, Mr Rhea.” He nodded across to the barn. “If this afternoon’s as good as this morning, I’ll not complain.”

  “There’s a good turn-out, Elijah,” I commented, noting he had dressed in his best suit. Clearly, he regarded today as a very important occasion and I noted that his grey growth of whiskers had been shaved, his white hair cut and his fingernails cleaned. A sturdy man in his seventies, his face was pink and clear due to the pure moorland air in which he had worked all his life. Everyone liked Aud Elijah.

  “Aye, there’s a knowledgeable crowd here because I’ve allus made sure I bought good stuff. Cattle, equipment, stuff for t’house, it’s allus been t’best — and folks know that.”

  “An investment, eh?”

  “Aye,” he said wistfully. “An investment, it’ll keep me and Annie when we get older. Even poor aud Lazarus was an investment, he cost me next to nowt when I bought him, and next to nowt to keep him. It’s not oft I’ve had a vet out to him, he’s allus been healthy even when he pretends to be badly. But I shall be able to see him and ride him at his new spot.”

  “Really?” I was pleased at this news. “Who’s bought him?”

  “Aud Claude,” he smiled. “He’ll be as right as rain with Claude.”

  “Claude Jeremiah Greengrass you mean? What’s he want with a horse?” I asked.

  “Nay, Mr Rhea, that’s summat I can’t answer. But Claude says I can pop along there to see t’aud lad and have a ride out from time to time.”

  We chatted about the sale and his future, then off he went up to the house and into the auctioneer’s temporary office to see how things were progressing. I was still puzzling about Claude’s purchase as I left my traffic point and went into the barn where the sale of furniture and farm equipment was about to begin. Already, a large crowd had gathered and quite by chance, I discovered Claude admiring a set of dining chairs.

  “Mahogany, Mr Rhea,” he stroked the splendid polished wood. “Beyond me, though. Some dealer will have an eye on them.”

  “I’m told you are now the owner of a horse, Claude!” I smiled. “I had no idea you’d come to rescue Lazarus.”

  “I didn’t, Mr Rhea,” he said. “Nobody was bidding for him; he’s old and past it, you know that as well as me. There was no bids, Mr Rhea, nobody wanted him. They’re after prime stock, not summat that’s only good for the knacker’s yard. Then Rudolph put up the tack; it’s about as knackered as the horse that carried it, but I bought yon saddle and stuff because I thought I could sell it on. It’s not the quality you’d expect the county set to buy second-hand but it’s good enough for me to sell on. So I bid for the tack and got a fair saddle, bridle and so on. The snag was, Mr Rhea, I got the horse an’ all. I hadn’t caught Rudolph’s words, you see, I had no idea he was giving the tack away with the horse, or the horse with the tack, depending how you look at it. I just wanted the tack, I got the lot for a tenner. Horse and tack.”

  “Caveat emptor,” I smiled at him.

  “Eh?”

  “Buyer beware, Claude. It means it’s a binding deal; you should have been certain what you were bidding for.”

  “Aye, well, Aud Elijah can come and ride his horse whenever he wants. I’ve told him that. I’ve a stable and mebbe I can use Lazarus for hacking or summat. That’ll earn his keep.”

  “Well, be careful if you make another bid!”

  “I will, ’cos there’s a trunk. I’ve my eye on. I’ve looked at it, mind, it’s full of old clothes and things . . .” And he tapped the side of his nose to indicate I should not tell anyone of his intention. I would not — and we parted. Afterwards, I learned that Claude had indeed succeeded in his bid to buy the old wooden trunk of clothes and it now awaited collection by him. Lazarus was also waiting patiently in his stable for Claude to take him to his new home, but Claude had gone to the Hopbind Inn for a celebratory drink. Whatever was in that trunk had pleased him greatly and he had felt the urge to share his delight with his pals. He was still there when the auction ended.

  I waited around the premises as the buyers paid their bills and collected their newly acquired goods and chattels, then went down to the gate to guide the outgoing cars, cattle trucks and vans on to the road. A steady stream of traffic was soon departing without causing me any real problems when I noticed Claude Jeremiah Greengrass heading down the farm track towards me. He was leading Lazarus with a short rein and was talking to the horse; strapped on to the saddle was his recently acquired trunk. Somehow, he had balanced it on the horse’s back and it was held in place with straps and ropes as Lazarus bore it down the lane. He looked like a pack horse of old as he bore the ungainly load towards me. The first thing that impressed me was that the trunk looked unsafe on the horse’s back; even as I watched, it had moved slightly and was tending to hang down at one side. The web of straps and ropes appeared to be holding it, however, and Claude continued towards me, walking Lazarus on the grass beside the track to allow the outgoing vehicles to pass. Lazarus did not appear at all bothered about the proximity or the noise of the traffic and seemed happy to follow his
new lord and master. So far, the horse had not gone to sleep which meant he was quite content.

  “So you got the trunk, Claude?” I greeted him as he reached my point.

  “Aye, Mr Rhea, caveat emptor and all that. I got just what I wanted today, more than I wanted really. Do you want to buy a good aud gallower?”

  I thought his voice sounded rather slurred; I would not have said he was drunk but without doubt he had been imbibing in the Hopbind Inn and had consumed more than normal, especially at this time of day. In my opinion, he was not sufficiently under the influence of his drinking to be unfit to be in charge of the horse. Tiddly perhaps, but not drunk.

  “No thanks, Claude, I have no wish to buy a horse. Now, is that trunk safe on his back?”

  “Safe as houses, Mr Rhea,” he said. “I lashed it on myself, reef knots galore, and a few round turns, half hitches, timber hitches and clove hitches.”

  “I hope you get it home without a hitch,” I grinned.

  “Lazarus knows his job, Mr Rhea, he’s not likely to break into a gallop or even a trot, not in his state. I just hope he gets home without dropping dead.”

  “Or pretending to be dead?” I reminded Claude of Lazarus’s propensity for feigning death when he was upset.

  And so man, horse and wobbly trunk emerged from the farm track and turned towards Elsinby. Claude had a long walk back to his ranch and I guessed he would be completely sober by the time he arrived. Reflecting upon the events of that day, I felt it had all proceeded very smoothly — but I had not bargained for Sergeant Blaketon’s impending arrival.

  As the procession of vehicles was leaving Skeugh Heights, with most of them turning towards Elsinby, Sergeant Blaketon was heading in the opposite direction with the intention of paying me a supervisory visit. He was driving his official black Ford Anglia which, as usual, was as clean as the proverbial new pin with its paintwork, glass and chrome parts gleaming in the setting sun.

  Although I did not witness the incident which followed, I learned the details from motorists who had been near the scene, and of course, I had to cope with both Greengrass and Blaketon, to say nothing of Lazarus.