CONSTABLE VERSUS GREENGRASS a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 16)
Page 19
“Oh, aye,” George spoke seriously. “I remember one chap, driving a car he was, coming over them moors one Christmas Eve in a blizzard and he reckons he saw the lanterns of the coach. As he watched, the whole thing appeared through the snowflakes with horses galloping like fury. He thought it was a Christmas stunt by somebody. He saw it as clear as could be, the Neptune it was. He didn’t stop or try to follow it because the weather was closing in, he had to get down off the moors before he got marooned.”
“And others? Others have seen it?”
“Aye, Nick, over the years lots of folks reckon they’ve seen lights on a coach and four speeding over the moor from Adder Howe.”
“Well, let’s hope there’s no blizzard this year and that nobody goes chasing lights!” I had no wish to be called out for a moorland search in such appalling conditions.
“It’s not a good forecast, Nick, strong winds are likely and they say it’ll be a white Christmas. There’ll be blizzards on those tops.”
“Then I hope everybody stays at home!” I smiled. “Well, I’ll be off, George. I’ll let you know if Mrs Brewster decides to come to your Christmas dinner.”
When I went to see Mrs Brewster, she shook her head firmly.
“No thank you, Constable.” She was firm in her resolve. “I do appreciate your kindness, but I shall prepare for Leonard. It would be dreadful if he returned and I was out. Suppose I hadn’t a meal on the table when he comes home? That would be awful!”
She offered me a cup of tea and a scone as she explained how Leonard had seen lights on the moor that fateful night. Leaving his slippers under the rocking chair, he’d dressed in his storm-proof clothes then set off to investigate, carrying a powerful torch and using his ancestors’ long crook-like stick to feel his way through the drifts.
She showed me a faded brown daguerreotype of her great-great-grandfather; he was standing beside a stagecoach and had the same long stick in his right hand, easily recognisable by the eagle’s head which had been carved from a sheep’s horn to form the handle.
“That’s my great-great-grandfather, he was a coachman,” said Mrs Brewster with pride. “He drove the Neptune on its route over the moors to Whitby.”
The hairs on the nape of my neck stiffened. “Neptune?” he asked. “Isn’t that the one which crashed in a blizzard?”
“Yes,” she spoke softly. “He was the driver, my great-great-grandfather — Leonard Atkinson. The horses bolted in the blizzard and ran blind across the moor, Constable, along the wrong road. He couldn’t halt them and they crashed over a ravine in Lairsbeck. It was in 1844, long before I was born. The family history keeps the story alive.”
“So it was exactly a hundred years before your Leonard went out to investigate some lights on the moor?” I commented.
“Yes.” Her voice softened. “It was a strange coincidence, wasn’t it? Another odd thing was that my Leonard was carrying that very same eagle-headed stick when he was lost. It makes you think, eh?”
I tried to dismiss her statement as nothing more than coincidence aided by a strong imagination as I attempted once more to persuade her to join the others at the village inn. But she was steadfast in her refusal. She would wait for Leonard. I remember thinking it would be a long wait.
That Christmas Eve, I was on duty. At eleven o’clock in the evening, as the first flakes of snow were falling, I popped into the bars and lounge of the pub to wish George and his customers a Happy Christmas but George caught my arm and whispered, “You haven’t seen Claude Jeremiah Greengrass, have you, Nick?”
“Not since lunchtime, no,” I told him. “Why?”
“He’s vanished. He said he’d seen a light on the moor then rushed off to investigate. That was two hours ago or more. I warned him that blizzards are forecast and . . .”
“Claude knows better than to stay out on a night like this!” I answered.
“Exactly, and he never misses a Christmas Eve in here.”
“I’ll check his ranch on my way home,” I assured George, hoping Claude hadn’t gone to catch the phantom coach. By the time I reached the Greengrass abode, walking instead of risking the minivan, the snow was falling in thick white clouds, obliterating everything and drifting as the wind began to strengthen. It was dry snow and it was lying. With astonishing speed, it began to fill recesses in the road, concealing the grass verges, making the moorland smooth and settling on my greatcoat until I looked like a walking snowman.
The wind was driving it across the great barren wastes of the higher moors and I knew what it must be like on those heights. My worries were increased when I saw there were no lights at Claude’s house and I got no response as I hammered on the door. I tried the handle, but it was locked. The place was deserted.
“Claude?” I shouted. “Claude, are you there?”
Nothing. I searched the outbuildings as the dense falling snow muffled my shouts and I was turning to leave when I heard the familiar voice answering my call.
Claude was shouting, “Who’s that?” as his snow-encrusted figure with Alfred his dog at his side, materialised through the blizzard. Alfred’s woolly grey fur was matted with frozen snow. They looked a sorry pair.
“Claude?” I shouted. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I’ve seen a ghost, that’s what. I need a drink, summat strong and hot! The phantom coach, up there.” And he pointed in the direction of Adder Howe, shivering as he did so. “I saw lights, I thought somebody was lost, so me and Alfred went to search. He found summat, he was snuffling around under them big boulders. Anyroad, not long after I got there, I saw this coach and four hurtling across the moor with its lanterns burning then it vanished. It’s right, Constable, as true as I’m standing here. Alfred ran off howling with me after him as fast as I could go — it’s a good job he knew his way home or I’d have been a corpse out there. I’d have caught the phantom coach, believe me! I’ve never seen owt like them drifts, like mountains they are. Anyroad, he found this.”
Claude opened his gloved fist to reveal an eagle’s head carved from the horn of a sheep and containing the merest remnant of a rotted wooden walking stick. Even though it was severely weathered, I experienced a shiver down my spine. It was the handle of a crook-like stick.
“I think this belonged to Mrs Brewster’s Leonard,” I told him quietly.
The old rogue was silent as the flakes whirled about our heads, and then he said, “Aye, that’s what I thought. He was a mate of mine, was Len, when we were younger. She’d best have this back, hadn’t she? His mother, I mean.”
“Yes,” I said. “Are you going into the village, you could take it to her?”
“I was thinking I might just be in time for a stiff drink at the pub,” said Claude. “Me and Alfred need warming up an’ my fire’s out, but by the time I get there, they’ll be shut, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Claude, if George closes on time at Christmas Eve, it’ll be a miracle!” I said. “I won’t be there to check, will I? And I do think you should be the one to give that eagle head back to Mrs Brewster.”
“My Alfred found it among some rocks . . . There was nowt else, I had a look . . . animals and weather, you know, there’s nowt left after all this time.” There was sympathy in his voice. “Poor old Leonard. He caught the phantom coach right enough.”
“Go and get a stiff drink, Claude, but see Mrs Brewster first!” I told him.
“Aye, right, I will.”
I went home as he padded towards the village. Next morning, the snow lay thick and even, giving Aidensfield a picturesque Christmas appearance. Cottage lights glowed and fires flickered in cosy rooms as the people remained indoors.
Dinners were being prepared as the children opened their presents around the Christmas trees; lonely people were emerging to accept invitations; some were heading for the pub while others visited friends and neighbours. I decided to take a walk around the village and check a few houses before settling down to my own Christmas dinner
with the family, chiefly to ensure that no one was deserted or too shy to take up their invitations. As I was walking past Mrs Brewster’s window, I saw the rocking chair beside the fire.
The table was set for two and a Christmas tree with lights was glittering in a corner as the warm glow from the fire cast shadows about the cosy room of her cottage. I knocked and she answered.
“I came to see if you’d changed your mind about joining the others in the pub for your Christmas dinner,” I said. “There’ll be a good crowd there, you’d enjoy it and you’d be among friends.”
“No, Constable, it’s kind of you to remember me, but Leonard is home now,” and she pointed into the room. I peeped around the door. In front of the fire, on a rug before the rocking chair, I saw a pair of man’s slippers — and lying on the hearth was the eagle head Claude had found, the remains of the family heirloom. “He’s asleep, he had a hard night, you see, out on the moors, but Claude found him and now he’s back home. I mustn’t wake him and I can’t leave him now, can I?”
“No, of course not,” I said, glancing at the chair. Then, not wishing to shatter her illusion, I said, “A happy Christmas to you both.”
I left the cottage and as I walked back along the street, I glanced once more through her window.
Leonard’s empty chair was rocking with the gentle motion of someone at peace.
THE END
ALSO BY NICHOLAS RHEA
CONSTABLE NICK MYSTERIES
Book 1: CONSTABLE ON THE HILL
Book 2: CONSTABLE ON THE PROWL
Book 3: CONSTABLE AROUND THE VILLAGE
Book 4: CONSTABLE ACROSS THE MOORS
Book 5: CONSTABLE IN THE DALE
Book 6: CONSTABLE BY THE SEA
Book 7: CONSTABLE ALONG THE LANE
Book 8: CONSTABLE THROUGH THE MEADOW
Book 9: CONSTABLE IN DISGUISE
Book 10: CONSTABLE AMONG THE HEATHER
Book 11: CONSTABLE BY THE STREAM
Book 12: CONSTABLE AROUND THE GREEN
Book 13: CONSTABLE BENEATH THE TREES
Book 14: CONSTABLE IN CONTROL
Book 15: CONSTABLE IN THE SHRUBBERY
Book 16: CONSTABLE VERSUS GREENGRASS
Book 17: CONSTABLE ABOUT THE PARISH
Book 18: CONSTABLE AT THE GATE
Book 19: CONSTABLE AT THE DAM
Book 20: CONSTABLE OVER THE STILE
Book 21: CONSTABLE UNDER THE GOOSEBERRY BUSH
Book 22: CONSTABLE IN THE FARMYARD
Book 23: CONSTABLE AROUND THE HOUSES
Book 24: CONSTABLE ALONG THE HIGHWAY
Book 25: CONSTABLE OVER THE BRIDGE
Book 26: CONSTABLE GOES TO MARKET
Book 27: CONSTABLE ALONG THE RIVERBANK
Book 28: CONSTABLE IN THE WILDERNESS
Book 29: CONSTABLE AROUND THE PARK
Book 30: CONSTABLE ALONG THE TRAIL
Book 31: CONSTABLE IN THE COUNTRY
Book 32: CONSTABLE ON THE COAST
Book 33: CONSTABLE ON VIEW
Book 34: CONSTABLE BEATS THE BOUNDS
Book 35: CONSTABLE AT THE FAIR
Book 36: CONSTABLE OVER THE HILL
Book 37: CONSTABLE ON TRIAL
MORE COMING SOON
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GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH USAGE FOR US READERS
A & E: accident and emergency department in a hospital
Aggro: violent behaviour,
aggression
Air raid: an attack in which bombs are dropped from aircraft on ground targets
Allotment: a plot of land rented by an individual for growing fruit, vegetable or flowers
Anorak: nerd (it also means a waterproof jacket)
Artex: textured plaster finish for walls and ceilings
A level: exams taken between 16 and 18
Auld Reekie: Edinburgh
Au pair: live-in childcare helper. Often a young woman.
Barm: bread roll
Barney: argument
Beaker: glass or cup for holding liquids
Beemer: BMW car or motorcycle
Benefits: social security
Bent: corrupt
Bin: wastebasket (noun), or throw in rubbish (verb)
Biscuit: cookie
Blackpool Lights: gaudy illuminations in seaside town
Bloke: guy
Blow: cocaine
Blower: telephone
Blues and twos: emergency vehicles
Bob: money
Bobby: policeman
Broadsheet: quality newspaper (New York Times would be a US example)
Brown bread: rhyming slang for dead
Bun: small cake
Bunk: escape, i.e. ‘do a bunk’
Burger bar: hamburger fast-food restaurant
Buy-to-let: buying a house/apartment to rent it out for profit
Charity shop: thrift store