‘So this young man came to fix the glass,’ sighed Basnett. ‘I had to go to work, so I explained exactly what had to be done to maintain both humidity and temperature, but when I got home, he’d left all the doors open. It was a cold, frosty day and I lost hundreds of valuable plants . . .’
‘No you didn’t!’ snapped Ruth. ‘Most of them recovered, you lost a few, those nearest the door; some failed to flower afterwards, but it wasn’t a catastrophe, not by any means.’
‘But my orchids did suffer . . .’
‘He rang my dad up and threatened to do all sort of unmentionable things to me if I showed my face in his hothouses again,’ grimaced Neil. ‘So you can imagine my reaction when I turned up at the dance with Glenys and saw Mr Basnett was there . . . I just turned tail and got out as fast as I could . . .’
‘And I thought flower growers were a peaceful lot!’ I said. ‘So, Neil, shall we prosecute Mr Basnett for assaulting you? I need your consent before I can proceed . . .’
‘No, ’course not,’ smiled the youth. ‘I was careless. I’m sorry, Mr Basnett. I deserved it, not for keeping Glenys out late but for being careless with your hothouse doors. I never said sorry before, but I do now. I was too scared to ring you or call before . . .’
‘How about shaking hands?’ I said to them both. And after a moment of hesitation, they did. Mrs Basnett hugged her daughter and I could see that there was going to be a few moments of emotion, so I decided to leave. From my office I rang Strensford police station to report the safe return of Glenys Basnett and asked for her name to be crossed off the list of missing persons.
* * *
Any father will worry when his daughter first attends a dance, whether it is a school dance or one in town where young people congregate. As a policeman and father of three daughters, I could easily understand this concern.
Certainly, a lot of the trouble outside dance halls was due to youths fighting for the favours of a girl but I was still fairly surprised to receive a visit from Robin Mallaby, a newsagent from Ashfordly. He found me in my minivan, patrolling Aidensfield one Friday afternoon, and he hailed me.
‘Mr Rhea,’ he called after he flagged me down. ‘Can you spare a moment?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I’m glad I caught you. You know there’s a Young Farmers’ dance in your village hall tomorrow?’ he said. ‘You’ll be on duty?’
‘Yes, Robin, I’ll be there. Why? Are you anticipating a problem?’
‘Well, no, not really. But you know my daughter? Charlotte? She works in the shop sometimes, delivers evening papers around Ashfordly.’
‘I’ve seen her, yes,’ I agreed. ‘A good-looking girl.’
‘Yes, well, that’s the problem,’ he muttered. ‘Look, I’m not quite sure how to say this, or I might be over-reacting, but can you keep an eye on her at that dance?’
‘An eye on her? Is she in trouble?’
‘No, but, well, it’s her first dance, Mr Rhea. She’s only sixteen, we don’t want to stop her enjoying herself, and we can’t really go, can we? Not to a dance for youngsters, so if you’re on duty, I wondered if you’d just keep an eye on her.’
‘Well, I can make sure she comes to no harm, but you can’t expect me to forbid her going out with a boy, Robin, that’s hardly my job!’
‘No, but, well, just pretend you’re keeping a fatherly eye on her, make sure she’s safe, that none of those ruffians get their hands on her.’
‘Well, I’ll do what I can if it’ll make you happier, Robin.’
‘Thanks, that’s put my mind at rest . . . I do worry about her, you know . . .’
‘You’re remembering what you did to girls when you were sixteen! That’s your problem!’ I laughed.
‘I know, that’s what makes it so bloody hard to let her go, but I know I can’t stop her and I wouldn’t want to stop her, but it doesn’t stop me fretting about her. Damn it, she’s just a child.’
‘I’ll be there, Robin, you sit at home and relax.’
‘Aye, well, there won’t be much relaxing, not till she’s back home and in bed.’
‘How’s she getting to Aidensfield?’ I asked.
‘Her cousin’s got a car, he’s called Maurice, lad of eighteen. He’s in the Young Farmers’ club and he’s taking his own girlfriend, her brother and our Charlotte.’
‘I know the lad. OK, Robin, for you I’ll keep an eye on her, at a discreet distance, of course!’
And so I found myself agreeing to watch over and protect the sixteen-year-old daughter of a local newsagent. I knew I could never give her my entire protection that evening for I had other duties to perform, but I would keep an eye on the girl, just as I would keep an eye on other vulnerable youngsters that evening. I knew Charlotte by sight and noticed her arrival; she was accompanied by her cousin and his companions. They did not go down to the pub as many others had done, but went straight into the village hall where music was playing. There was a bar in the hall, I knew; it was run by George Ward from the Aidensfield Arms so I knew there would be no bother. At such dances there was often the risk of under-age drinkers being served, thus causing problems later, so I would pop in from time to time to allow the sight of my uniform to act as a warning.
But, like the Ashfordly, Elsinby and Aidensfield Indoor Plant Society’s annual dance, this function was completed with the minimum of fuss. I saw Charlotte’s burly cousin, Maurice, dancing with his girlfriend, Jill, and her brother Clive had also found a partner whom I did not know. I got the impression he’d come to meet her here because Charlotte did not get many dances. One or two lads twirled her around the floor, but afterwards she sat with Maurice and his party.
Outside the hall, I had to warn one or two merry youngsters about their foul language. I warned some about using the outside of the hall as a public toilet and had to remind others that driving when under the influence of drink could land them in the cells with a court appearance to follow. It was all routine stuff and could not really be classed as a major headache. And then, at quarter to midnight, the dance ended and the cheerful dancers began to leave the premises. I watched them from the comfort of my minivan.
I had parked it in a strategic position, with its lights glowing, so that I could observe a wide area; if there was going to be any real trouble it would occur as the merrymakers were leaving the dance. From the security of my van I could see most of them and, in the event of a real problem, my radio was immediately available.
As the crowds filtered away without any cause for concern, I noticed Charlotte Mallaby. I could see her in the dim glow from a distant street lamp; she was alone and she was standing near Maurice’s car, clearly awaiting his return. But the car was locked and she could not get in; I saw her standing somewhat forlornly as the happy crowd evaporated, some arm-in-arm with their new-found friends, others kissing one another and some departing in happy groups.
I decided to wander across and talk to her; in reality, I wanted to make sure she came to no harm. She did look vulnerable and lonely and I found myself recalling her father’s concern.
I left my van without bothering to put on my uniform cap — we did not wear caps when in those minivans because the roofs were too low — to wear one’s cap in such a tiny vehicle would mean we’d be sitting like hunchbacks! I wandered across to her in the gloom and as I drew near she turned and saw me. I saw a fleeting smile cross her face. She had someone to talk to, even if it was just a policeman. She knew me by sight, for I was a fairly regular visitor to her father’s shop, so I asked how she had enjoyed the dance. She began to say she hadn’t really enjoyed it.
She’d had no one to dance with and her friends all had other friends to talk to. She’d felt a bit lonely, she said, and then, as I chatted to her, leaning on the car roof with my elbow, I heard a footfall behind me — someone had crept around the rear of the car and was now approaching. My hair stood on end, a warning of some impending crisis and I whirled around in time to see a massive fist heading for my fa
ce. Instinctively I ducked; moving quickly in the manner taught me by our unarmed combat instructor, I seized the outstretched arm, twisted it and succeeded in bringing it high and powerfully up the back of the oncoming assailant. In seconds, I had him on his knees, crying in pain.
‘Maurice!’ cried Charlotte. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? This is PC Rhea!’
‘The policeman?’ the big man whispered. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, Mr Rhea . . . I thought it was . . .’
I hauled him to his feet and released him; he rubbed his arm as I said, ‘You thought it was who?’
‘I thought it was somebody annoying Charlotte,’ he said meekly.
‘Well, even if it was, you don’t rush in with all guns blazing before finding out for certain!’ I said. ‘With a pile-driving fist like yours, you could have felled me — or whoever else it was aimed at.’
Charlotte said, ‘Maurice, why? Why won’t you let me talk to people? You refused to let me dance with whom I wanted and now this . . .’
‘Your dad asked me to keep an eye on you,’ he told her. ‘I was responsible for you! I thought it was somebody pestering you . . . I just went over to chat to Alan Cooper about a cattle deal and came back to see you with a man . . . I had no idea it was you, Mr Rhea, without your cap . . . in the dark . . . look, I’m sorry . . .’
‘Why does dad worry about me so much?’ Charlotte cried. ‘He’s ruined my night out, he’s told everybody to keep an eye on me. Everybody! Even the bloody bandsmen were keeping an eye on me! Now, leave me alone, Maurice, take me home. I’m never coming to a dance with you again!’
I daren’t tell the poor girl that I had also been keeping an eye on her and that my reason for speaking to her was not one of mere friendship. It was because her father had asked me to watch her.
Maybe all the men at the dance had been watching one another, with requests to report back to her father? No wonder the poor girl had been so alone at her first dance.
‘Mr Rhea, I want to apologize,’ said Maurice.
‘Accepted,’ I said. ‘Forget it, I’ll take no action — this time! But if you go around punching people who chat to your cousin, you’re going to finish up in court, or on your back in some gutter with your nose out of joint.’
‘Thanks, I’ll be careful.’
‘And make sure Charlotte enjoys her dance next time, leave her alone,’ I said. ‘She’s grown up now, she can dance with who she wants to, in spite of what her dad says!’
‘Thanks, Mr Rhea,’ said Charlotte, getting into the car as Maurice unlocked the doors.
‘Don’t let this put you off going to dances,’ I said to her. ‘It’s just that everyone loves you so much. They don’t want to see you come to any harm.’
‘I’ll try to remember that,’ she said, sinking into the rear seat.
And she did go to more dances. Six weeks later I was on duty at the Ashfordly Football Supporters’ Club dance and saw Charlotte was there. And she was having a marvellous time. But as I patrolled my lonely beat outside the dance hall I did see her father lurking in the shadows near the Town Hall. Clearly the fellow had some kind of complex about his daughter so I went across to reassure him.
‘She’ll be safe, Robin, leave her alone, she’ll not come to any harm.’
‘Somebody attacked my sister at a dance like this, Mr Rhea, years ago when she was sixteen. I can’t get it out of my mind. I don’t want the same thing to happen to Charlotte.’
‘You’ve not told Charlotte about that, have you?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘Then don’t,’ I asked him. ‘Let her grow up and be happy.’
‘It’s tough,’ he said. ‘So bloody tough.’
‘I know,’ I patted him on the shoulder. ‘But youngsters are tough as well. She’ll respect you for your love, but don’t smother her.’
‘Aye, you’re right,’ and he turned to walk away towards his shop with the house above the premises. As the dance drew to an end I saw Charlotte walking along the street with a tall and handsome young man.
She did not see me watching from the shadows.
7. If You Go Down to the Woods Today
Up he starts, discover’d and surpris’d.
JOHN MILTON, 1608–74
When I was a small child I believed that if I went down to the woods I would be in for a big surprise. It was all connected with a popular song about some teddy bears having a picnic in the woods. Perhaps because of that yearning for a big surprise, I spent a lot of time in the woods looking for teddy bears having picnics. I never found any.
There were, however, several fascinating woods around my childhood village even if I failed to experience that big surprise. They contained lots of small surprises and pleasures such as enabling me to discover otter cubs at play, to find caves, lakes and cliffs, to explore an old ruined millhouse, to watch salmon and trout swimming against the strong current of the river, to climb trees and peer into wood pigeons’ nests, to listen to woodpeckers, to scramble up cliffs and poke my hands into the nests of jackdaws and to touch the eggs as the female sat on them, to walk nine times around the wishing stone and then wonder why none of my wishes came true. In those magical days, I carried a pocket book of British birds and learned to identify those I saw; in spite of my nesting exploits I never took or destroyed any birds’ eggs.
Another secret I kept was the location of the holt of the otters whose cubs I watched. I knew that otters were hunted along that salmon river because they did kill these splendid fish, but even as a child, I felt I wanted to protect all forms of wildlife. I was fortunate to grow up in such a wonderful place and I suppose some would say my childhood was idyllic. For me, though, it was normal. I thought all children had such a splendid and wide-ranging playground because, in addition to those woods and rivers, I had the open moors on my doorstep with expansive views, rugged terrain and untold freedom to explore. I spent hours in those woods and upon those moors.
It was those superb woods which contained my own secret place and yet, throughout my childhood, I never did experience that magical big surprise. Maybe all my experiences were big surprises? How was I to know? As I matured into my teens and then my twenties, however, I must admit that those expectations began to evaporate. By the time I went walking in the woods as an adult, I had forgotten about big surprises.
But as a young policeman with new stretches of woodland on my beat at Aidensfield I did in fact experience a curious surprise — so, after the passage of all those years, that long-held childhood wish did come true.
It happened one day as I was patrolling through Low Hollins Wood which bordered the river between Aidensfield and Thackerston. It was a wonderful place, rich with a variety of deciduous trees and riddled with interesting footpaths.
I had never walked the length of this wood, either on duty or off, and on this breezy July day I found myself with a couple of hours to spare. I was on duty and decided to acquaint myself with the geography of the woodland and its maze of paths just in case I ever had to search it for any reason. I considered that a detailed knowledge of its terrain should be gained as part of my local knowledge; it was in my professional interest to know every inch of my beat, I told myself.
Off I went, therefore, in full uniform, to explore the main footpath. The wood was noisy with birdsong and the movement of animals in the undergrowth; I could hear the sound of tiny creatures like shrews and wood mice, I caught sight of a fox lurking behind some rhododendrons and knew that badgers had a safe haven nearby. I watched a green woodpecker hammering on a dead tree in search of grubs and spotted two jays, the most shy of birds, flitting among a small group of conifers. Wood warblers and willow warblers, blackbirds, spotted flycatchers, tree-creepers, wood pigeons, pheasants, a kestrel — those and more were in that wood, some sounding their alarm calls at my intrusion into their territory and others almost ignoring my presence. It was rather like a re-run of some of my childhood joys.
But then I saw a very strange but handsome bird.
I caught a mere glimpse of it but in that fleeting moment gained the impression that it was about the size of a pheasant with a long, feathery tail and dark bottle-green plumage. It flew across the path ahead of me and its flight appeared to be clumsy, rather like that of a pheasant. Pheasants are not the most agile of birds when in the air and this bird appeared to be similarly cumbersome. None the less, it did clear the shrubs ahead of me before it vanished into the undergrowth.
I was baffled. It was not like any British bird that I knew. I realized that exotic birds did escape from captivity from time to time, and some people in the district did breed ornamental pheasants. I wondered if this was one that had escaped. I could have been wrong, of course, for I had gained but a very fleeting glimpse of the bird, so I was unsure what it was. But the sighting did arouse my interest and I concentrated upon trying to see it again.
I decided I would follow the direction the curious bird had taken, so I diverted from the main footpath and followed a far less well defined one. I must have walked for about a quarter of a mile when another strange-looking bird bolted from the undergrowth, half flew and half scrambled through a patch of briars and then disappeared with a cackling noise. It was more of a russet colour and did not look like the first one, although there were similarities, the chief one being the clumsy attempt at flight. Now I was very interested in these odd birds. I racked my brains in an effort to identify them, but failed to produce a name. I wished I’d had my bird book!
Without going into too much detail about the experiences which followed, it is fair to say that during the next hour I came across about a dozen strange birds, none of which was like any other except that all had the same clumsy method of flying. Their colours were varied — I saw one which was pure white and very heavy, another with greys and yellows dominating, a grey one and a tiny, cheeky looking thing with green plumage below and reddish-brown above. From time to time I noticed one which seemed similar to earlier sightings and could not decide whether I had seen the same bird twice, or whether this was another. As I had sighted the creatures some distance from my first experience, I guessed that, for each colourful bird, there were several examples in this wood.
CONSTABLE BENEATH THE TREES a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain's best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 13) Page 13