Constable in the Dale (A Constable Nick Mystery Book 5)

by Nicholas Rhea

  But as I made for the door after kissing Mary farewell, the telephone shrilled in the office. I hurried through, picked it up and heard the typical tones of a call from a kiosk. I waited as the caller pushed the money into the box. “Aidensfield Police, P. C. Rhea,” I announced.

  “Oh, Mr Rhea,” came the panting tones of a woman. “It’s my Irene and that Andrew, they’ve run away… you must find them… quickly.”

  Although no name was given, I knew this was Miss Breckon and said,

  “I’ll be there in one minute,” and hurried from the house.

  By the time I arrived at the curious house, she had returned from the kiosk and was waiting in the front doorway where she was framed in the light of the interior. She was ringing her hands and fidgeting with anxiety.

  She did not speak as I followed her inside and closed the door.

  “Thank goodness I caught you!” she panted. “Really, these young people… they are trying… and I thought he was such a nice young man…”

  I removed my crash helmet and tried to calm her. I sat on the horsehair settee, and my action caused her to settle in a chair opposite.

  “Now, Miss Breckon.” I spoke slowly and looked carefully at her. “Let’s start from the beginning. What’s all this about Irene running away?”

  “They’ve gone… both of them… on his motorbike…”

  “When?” I asked.

  “Just a few minutes ago…”

  “Hold on,” I raised my hands, “are you sure? Could they have gone for a spin in the moonlight? I see nothing sinister or worrying in a young man taking his girl for a motor-cycle ride.’’

  “No, no… no, it’s not like that, Mr Rhea, you must believe me… they’ve run away…”

  “Miss Breckon, Irene is not a juvenile any more, nor is Andrew. He’s over 21, and she is 19, and that means they can go for rides like this without the police being called in. If you’re worried about her, then I could search — that’s if you’re really concerned for her safety, maybe thinking harm might befall her…”

  I was trying in vain to make her understand that the police aren’t concerned about girls of 19 having a quick cuddle or even going the whole way with their chosen boyfriends.

  “No… no…” she was weeping now, “they’ve run away…”

  I paused, wondering what had prompted this drama, and said, “Miss Breckon, what has happened?”

  She did not reply immediately, but sat in the chair quietly allowing tears to run down her cheeks.

  “They have run away,” she sniffed. “She’s gone…”

  “Was there an argument?” I sensed an atmosphere; it was difficult to define but something had happened between Aunt Sadie and the youngsters. Maybe the long-suffering Andrew had cracked at last?

  She hung her head a long time before answering this question, and her lack of response told me the truth. There had been a dispute of some kind.

  Finally, she said, “Yes, Mr Rhea. I did remonstrate with them.”

  “And they walked out?”

  “Yes, and they went off on his motor-cycle.”

  “Can I ask what the argument was about?”

  “I caught them misbehaving, Mr Rhea, in this house! I will not tolerate such behaviour, and I told them in no uncertain terms… there are standards…”

  I held up my hand. “Just a moment, how were they misbehaving?”

  “I caught them in an embrace, kissing one another…”

  “Go on,” I wanted to hear this. It looked as if Andrew hadn’t wasted his opportunity.

  “Well, he came into the house this evening, Mr Rhea; he asked if he could speak to me and I allowed him in, in spite of the lateness of the hour.”

  “And then?”

  “He asked if he could take Irene home to meet his parents, on Sunday afternoon after chapel. He proposed to pick her up on his machine, take her to Scarborough for Sunday dinner, and return her in the early evening…”

  “I think that is a perfectly normal thing — and it was good of him to seek your permission.”

  “Well, Irene’s never been to a big city like Scarborough… anyway, Mr Rhea, I had once been to Scarborough, long ago, and my mother had some photographs of me near the Spa. I wanted them to see me there. Well, I went upstairs to find the album and in those few moments, he and Irene… well… they kissed and embraced…”

  “And you were angry?”

  “I felt insulted; I felt let down. The moment my back was turned they started misbehaving…”

  “That is not misbehaving in a modern society,” I tried to explain but knew it was useless. “Anyway, what happened?”

  “Well, as I remonstrated with them, Andrew grabbed his things and rushed out, saying I was a stupid old woman… and Irene ran after him… then they disappeared on his bike and…” she burst into a fit of sobbing. I felt sorry for her although this was of her own making.

  “Miss Breckon,” I said firmly, “domestic disputes of this kind are not a police matter. You ought to know that. Irene is old enough to go out with boys and I know she’s a sensible girl and that she won’t let you down…”

  “She has… she kissed that… that horrible youth…”

  I ignored this remark, as I continued, “But because of your concern, I will radio my Control Room and ask our patrols to look out for Andrew’s motor-bike. It can’t be far, and I will ask him to bring Irene back. The radio is on my motor-cycle outside.”

  I had little hope of finding Andrew and Irene, for it was impossible to know where they’d gone, but miracles do sometimes happen and within half an hour, the radio on my motorcycle alerted me and I responded. I learned that Andrew had been traced to a fish-and-chip shop in Eltering, but Irene was not with him. According to him, she had not left on his motorcycle; that was the message I received, and Control Room said that Andrew was now heading back to Aidensfield. The drama had produced an unexpected twist.

  “This alters things, Miss Breckon,” I said. “If she’s not with Andrew, where is she?”

  Her answer came in a flood of tears. “I don’t know, I don’t know… I thought she’d gone with him… they went out… tore out… and I heard the motor-bike go…”

  This put me in something of a dilemma. All kinds of possibilities flashed through my mind — was Irene bent on committing suicide? Or was she running headlong into the night? Or had she gone for a quiet think somewhere? Maybe there was a friend in the village she wanted to talk to? What had been the last words between Andrew and herself? Should I begin a localised search, or did the circumstances justify a full-scale hunt? Girls in love were prone to acting in odd ways. The answer was that I did not know what to do — I believed she would return if we left her alone, but I could be wrong. There were so many imponderables.

  “I think I’d better wait for Andrew,” I decided. “I must hear what happened between them after they left the house.”

  “You don’t expect me to welcome that man back into my house, after desecrating my niece, do you?” Her eyes flashed at me.

  “I’ll speak to him outside,” I made a rapid compromise.

  There followed an embarrassing silence, so I went outside and sat upon the saddle of my stationary motor-cycle to await the return of Andrew Pugh. This also gave me the advantage of being able to look up and down the village street in case Irene decided to reveal herself before coming home.

  The door remained open, and I could hear occasional movements of Miss Breckon inside, but she never emerged to enlighten me further about the events which precipitated this action. After nearly half an hour, Andrew arrived and parked near me. He hurried over, obviously very worried and said, “What’s happened, Mr Rhea? The policeman said Irene had run away.”

  “We thought she was with you,” I said.

  “Did she say that?” and he pointed at the house.

  “She thinks it is true.” I spoke in defence of Miss Breckon.

  “Silly old besom!” he spat. “I’ve never come across anybody like he
r, honest. I lost my rag, Mr Rhea.”

  “What happened? Can you throw any light on it for me? It might help us to find Irene. Where in the name of God do we start to look? I just don’t know.”

  “Well,” he put his crash helmet on the tank of my motorcycle, and loosened his jacket. “You know what she’s like?”

  “I do,” I sympathised.

  “I wanted to ask Irene over to our house next Sunday, so I knocked on the door and was invited in. So far so good. When I got on about Scarborough, she said she loved Scarborough and wanted to show us — me and Irene that is — some photos she’d had taken there years ago. So she went upstairs to find them.

  Well, Mr Rhea, I mean, that was the first time… the first bloody time we’d been alone… so I gave Irene a cuddle and a kiss. You know, arms round her waist and a kiss on the lips… she responded… we’ve been waiting for bloody weeks for just a few minutes like that, alone…”

  “And she caught you?”

  “She’s drilled bloody holes through the floor boards, Mr Rhea! Just you have a look. In that room, that living room ceiling which is all beams and floor boards, there’s bloody great holes drilled through. Peep holes, all over, so anybody up there can peep down…”

  “You saw them?”

  “I did! She had the light on up there, seeking her photos, and I looked up and caught her… I saw this beady bloody eye staring down at us, and so I gave her the old two-fingers and gave Irene a right bloody snog!”

  I laughed. “You’re not serious, Andrew?”

  “Just you have a look next time you go into the room.” “What happened then?”

  “Well, she came storming downstairs and went berserk. She accused me and Irene of being immoral, said Irene was a slut and sex-mad and, well, I thought she’d blown a gasket. I lost my rag; I said I was standing no more of this and stormed out. I got on the bike, revved up and cleared off.”

  “And Irene?”

  “I dunno. I thought she’d be kept in.”

  “You didn’t look behind as you left?”

  “Not likely. I was going to write to Irene, or see her in the kitchens tomorrow, just to say I loved her… but that silly old…”

  “That’s a new one on me,” I said, “spy holes in the floor, but it seems Irene ran out after you. Obviously she didn’t catch you and the old lady thought you’d both run off. Now, Andrew, think hard. Did you and Irene talk about anything that might give us a clue where to look?”

  He thought hard. “We talked about going for walks in the woods,” he said, “if we were allowed to be alone. But wherever we went, away from the house, Aunt Sadie came. We talked about going walking alone, Mr Rhea, or going for a day out somewhere, like Whitby or across the moors.”

  “Did she know any walks in this area?”

  “Oh yes, apparently when she was little, she and Aunt Sadie would spend hours walking the woods and fields.”

  “Had she a favourite?”

  “Yes,” he pondered, “yes, now you mention it. There’s a place called Lover’s Leap, where you can sit on a bench and look down a cliff into the river… apparently two lovers jumped off long ago… ”

  “God!” I swore. “Andrew, could she have thought you were running out on her? I mean you roared off… leaving her to face Aunt Sadie… Now, if she thought you’d given her up…”

  “Where is this place?” he cried.

  “I know it. Start your bike — I’ll come with you on the pillion. I’ll tell Sadie to stay here with the door open, in case Irene comes home.”

  Minutes later, we were bumping along the footpath which ran beside the river, rising through the dense woodland with its beeches and oaks, and all the time keeping our eyes open for the fleeing girl. Andrew’s driving was skilful on very narrow and difficult terrain, and his headlight picked out the trees, the rocks, the tumbling river with its rapids and black whirlpools. We did not speak, except when I guided him left or right as we roared towards the towering cliff known as Lover’s Leap.

  “There she is!” Suddenly, I could see her on the rustic seat which overlooked the ravine through which the river ran.

  “Irene!” Andrew shouted, “It’s me…”

  I don’t know whether she could hear his voice above the roar of the river or whether the noise of the oncoming motor-cycle unsettled her, but she stood up and began to walk towards the edge of the cliff.

  “God Almighty!” he shouted, accelerating wildly. “Look at her! Irene!”

  Seconds later, he swept to a standstill before Irene, who stood in the moonlight in her summer dress with tears streaming down her face.

  “Go!” I hissed in his ear, “I’ll look after the bike.”

  I saw her fall into his arms as I kept my distance.

  “I’ll see you two back at the house,” I said, turning Andrew’s motor-bike around. “It’s a good hour’s walk if you take your time.”

  And I drove away.

  Back at the house, Aunt Sadie emerged when she heard the motor-cycle, and showed surprise when I clambered from it. I went indoors, and closed the door behind me.

  “We’ve found her, and she’s fine,” I told her. “She’s walking back with Andrew; they’ll be about an hour. She’d gone for a long think about things.”

  “Is she all right?” was her first question.

  “Yes, she’s fine,” I was pleased to tell her.

  She walked into the living room and I found myself looking at the ceiling. Half-inch holes had been drilled through the floor boards in dozens of places, each giving a sneak view of anything that occurred below. She saw me examining them and began to cry.

  “Andrew told me about the upset,” I said gently.

  “I… it wasn’t me… I didn’t put those holes there,” she said. “My mother did. She drilled them to spy on me… and… I daren’t bring boyfriends in… she watched us… and… well, it made me go all secretive… and…”

  “You rebelled and have regretted it ever since?” I said.

  “Mr Rhea, I’m sure you must know that Irene is my daughter, born late in life… I knew nothing of life…”

  “But Irene will head the same way if you force her. You must see that…”

  “I do, I do… I’m trying to protect her, and I do love her so, and don’t want to see her harmed…”

  “Then trust her. You’ve got to win back her trust, haven’t you, after tonight? She is a lovely girl, and she loves you,” I said. “Now, she has found a boyfriend in a thousand, a real nice boy. Don’t let her lose him, Miss Breckon. Let her go to Scarborough for Sunday lunch; let him stay here one weekend… trust, Miss Breckon. It’s needed on both sides. It is cruel not to trust,” I added, dragging part of a quote from Shakespeare to the forefront of my mind.

  I remained with her, drinking a welcome cup of tea, until I heard the youngsters outside.

  “It’s time for me to go,” I said. “Welcome them back, show them both you love them. Andrew is right for her, Miss Breckon, I’m sure of it.”

  “He’s good for us both, Mr Rhea.” She escorted me to the door, smiling, and opened her arms to welcome the young lovers.

  If you enjoyed Constable in the Dale check out Endeavour Press’s other books here: Endeavour Press - the UK’s leading independent publisher of digital books.

  For weekly updates on our free and discounted eBooks sign up to our newsletter.

  Follow us on Twitter and Goodreads.