Now he still had the money, even if he had lost the love of his wife. He finished his coffee and went to the ticket office.

  ‘Aidensfield, please,’ he said.

  ‘There’s deep snow up there in Yorkshire,’ said the clerk. ‘But trains are still running. It’ll take a long time, though, it’s a slow journey. It takes all day from here. Now, do you want a single or a return?’

  ‘Single,’ he said firmly.

  For Dr Alex Ferrenby, the few days’ holiday with his brother had been a genuine tonic. Kate had been right, he had needed a rest and a break from the demands of a busy surgery.

  His brother and his wife had fussed over him. They’d taken him out for walks and meals, had shown him the New Forest, the southern coastline and some delightful villages. They’d gone to a theatre and to a splendid restaurant and there was no doubt that the rest and the change had been a tonic. Alex was returning to Aidensfield fully rested and able to continue with his GP duties. There was no snow in Hampshire but the news said heavy snow had fallen on the North York Moors. He hoped the trains would get through. It was a long journey back to Yorkshire and he made an early start, constantly worrying about the awful weather forecast. He hoped there were no delays along the route, for he knew he must change trains at Reading, Birmingham and Leeds before taking the last train from York to Aidensfield.

  But his first train was delayed slightly, and when he arrived at Reading, he found himself having to gallop along the platforms in order to catch his connection. The guard was shouting for him to hurry because the train

  must depart on time if it was to make its own connections in the Midlands and North, and so poor Alex, overweight and not really fit enough to run, found himself struggling with his luggage and fighting for breath. As the guard blew his whistle, Alex opened the first available door and struggled inside. The whistle sounded again, a long, shrill blast, and the train started to move.

  Fighting to keep his balance as the train gathered speed, Alex was thrown into an empty seat. He decided to stay there. It would be far easier to remain here than to struggle along the corridors and between the seats to find another place. Panting and perspiring, he lifted his suitcase on to the rack, and placed his overcoat beside it, having removed his copy of The Times from the pocket of the latter. Finally, as the train was rushing along the line, he settled down in his seat. Only then did he take a look at the man sitting opposite him. For a moment, he could not put a name to the face, but the man had recognised him.

  ‘Dr Ferrenby, isn’t it?’ He was in his middle thirties, rather pale-faced but of a burly build.

  ‘Yes, sorry for the inconvenience, I almost missed my connection, the incoming train was late.’

  ‘I reckon we’ll be late home tonight, Doctor,’ the man smiled. ‘The weather’s taking a turn for the worse, terrible forecast, heavy snow in the Yorkshire Dales and North York Moors. You are going to Aidensfield, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve had a few days with my brother, very pleasant. Forgive me, I do know your face, but, well, my age you know, I’m getting forgetful these days. I can’t remember your name … you are a patient? Were a patient, perhaps?’

  ‘I was, a long time ago. You saw me when I broke my arm, this arm, fell off a ladder doing some decorating. Walsh is the name, Doctor. Steven Walsh, everybody calls me Stevie.’

  ‘Really, ah, yes. It’s coming back now. Walsh … Ellen, that’s right, she’s my patient.’

  ‘And she’s my wife,’ smiled Walsh. ‘Lovely girl, best thing I ever did, marrying her.’

  ‘Farm Cottage, yes, I do remember now. She’s been coming to see me regularly …’

  ‘She never came to see me, Doctor, not when I was away.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve been away? Overseas?’

  ‘Your memory is short, Doctor, isn’t it? I’ve been a guest of Her Majesty, doing time for armed robbery … I’m just out, today, going home for the first time.’

  ‘Oh, God, yes I do remember now. How time flies! And you’re out, eh? With remission, I trust?’

  He nodded. ‘Good conduct. Yes, I’m out well before my ten years is up and I’m on my way to Aidensfield. Home, Doctor. Home’s a lovely place, eh?’

  But Alex Ferrenby was barely paying attention, he was so overcome with the realisation that he had almost broken a professional rule by referring to Ellen’s pregnancy. She had been coming to him regularly for that reason, and as he looked at the ex-prisoner opposite, a man known in the past for his violent temper, he realised that the birth was due at any time. Before leaving for his holiday, he had reminded Kate of Mrs Walsh’s condition.

  But if this man had been in prison, then he could not be the child’s father.

  ‘You said Ellen has been coming to see you regularly, Doctor. Nothing serious, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, good heavens, no. Nothing to worry about, women’s matters, that’s all. She’s very healthy, Mr Walsh, very healthy indeed.’

  ‘Looks after herself, eh?’

  ‘Yes, very much so.’ But Dr Ferrenby was perspiring all over again. Did Ellen know this man was on his way to see her? Surely he did not know of her current heavily pregnant condition?

  ‘Oh, God,’ Alex Ferrenby said to himself, ‘please protect that woman …’

  And he turned his attention to The Times crossword.

  ‘I’ve got to go out,’ Nick told Kate as he struggled out of his heavy motorcycle gear.

  ‘Out? But you’ve just come in!’ she protested. ‘And you’re soaked, your legs and clothes are caked with snow and you’re frozen!’

  He continued regardless. ‘I’ll change my boots and socks, and put some other trousers on. I’m dry under this topcoat. But I thought I’d get the job done now, before I finish for the day. There’s no point getting settled in and then having to turn out again.’ He bent down to pull off his boots. ‘Look, it’ll only take half an hour or so. And when I come back, I’ll have a nice hot bath and curl up in front of the fire with you.’

  ‘Promises, promises!’ She kissed his cold cheek. ‘All right. I’ll have something hot and ready to eat the moment you get in.’

  “The thought will give my wheels wings,’ he grinned. ‘What are the roads like?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know, I can’t see them, they’re all covered in snow!’ ‘Nick!’

  ‘They’re not good, luv.’ He was serious now. ‘It’s snowing very heavily, there’s drifting too, especially on the higher ground. And it’s pitch black out there. No moon, no stars. A real black moorland night! There’s no wonder they used to call this area Blackamoor! But the plough’s been through to Elsinby so I should be all right. I’m going that way.’

  ‘What’s so important that you have to go out in this weather?’

  ‘I’ve got to see Ellen Walsh,’ he said. ‘I tried to ring her from the office, but the lines are down. Her husband’s coming home, I’ve got to warn her.’

  ‘Husband? But he’s at home now, isn’t he? He brought her into the surgery only yesterday. She’s pregnant, it was her final prenatal check. Anyway, why do you have to warn her? What about?’

  ‘That isn’t her husband,’ said Nick.

  ‘Well, it’s the man she’s living with …’

  ‘And you assumed they were married? Well, they’re not, and her real husband is on his way to Aidensfield, we think. He’s just done a long stretch for armed robbery and he’s got a history of violence. So I’ve got to warn her - and the fellow she’s living with. She is still married to Walsh, remember, and she is pregnant - but not by Walsh. You see the problem?’

  ‘Oh, Nick, how awful, especially for her. Yes, you must tell her. But can’t it wait? Her husband will never get through in these conditions, will he?’

  ‘The trains are still running, Kate, it takes a hell of a snowstorm to stop them, and they’ve got rail-ploughs on these local lines. All he has to do is to catch a train and he can get all the way to Aidensfield. And he can walk from Aidensfield to Elsinby even if it is snowing and blowing.’

  ‘All right, but you’re not taking your motorbike out, surely?’

  ‘No, I popped into Mostyn’s garage; they say I can borrow their four-wheel drive. A Landrover should get through. But I must warn her, Kate, I can even fetch her back into the village to stay with friends if necessary.’

  Kate nodded, her face full of concern. ‘Yes, do that. She can always stay here the night. Take care,’ and she kissed him.

  Nick, his greatcoat collar turned up against the storm, battled through the snow towards the garage.

  The Landrover, which was Mostyn’s general purpose vehicle and used for attending breakdowns in remote places, was ready and waiting. The garage had filled it with petrol and the engine had been warmed ready. Nick thanked Malcolm Mostyn for his help and said he should be back well within the hour. He let Malcolm know where he was heading, just in case things did go wrong but Malcolm told him to keep the vehicle until morning. In

  the unlikely event of the garage needing it, they could always come and collect it.

  As he was leaving Aidensfield, with the wipers barely able to remove the thick snow from the windscreen, he saw the familiar figure of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass trudging through the storm. He eased to a halt, the lights showing the depth of the snow and the drifts which were forming in the strengthening wind.

  ‘Claude!’ Nick shouted as he lowered the window.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Rowan.’ Claude came to the side of the vehicle. ‘I didn’t realise you’d gone to all the trouble of hiring a Landrover to look for my Alfred.’

  ‘You’ve not found him, then?’

  ‘No, not a sign, not a whimper, not a footprint in the snow, Mr Rowan. But if your lads are all out looking for him, then it makes me a happy man.’

  ‘We’ll do our best, Claude.’ Nick hadn’t the heart to tell him of Blaketon’s dismissive reaction. ‘You’ll let me know if he turns up? Now, can I give you a lift anywhere?’

  ‘No, you search the countryside out Elsinby way and I’ll head for Maddleskirk and Crampton.’

  ‘And don’t you get lost, Claude. I don’t want to have to turn out and search for you as well, you know. Looking for your Alfred is enough for one night.’

  ‘Right you are, Mr Rowan, I’ll be careful.’ He shook his head sadly from side to side. ‘By, I am worried about him, out in all this weather, all on his own …’

  ‘Keep looking, Claude,’ and Nick closed the window, engaged his gear and resumed his journey, leaving behind the khaki-coated figure of Claude Jeremiah. He saw his bulky shape move into the centre of the road, to walk in the tracks left by the Landrover. What a night to be hunting for a lost dog … Claude must truly love old Alfred, thought Nick.

  The Landrover coped with the thick snow and within twenty minutes Nick was easing along the lonely lane which led to Ellen Walsh’s cottage. Small drifts were forming where the snow was driven through gateways in the drystone walls but the vehicle ploughed its way through them. Eventually, the lights of the cottage came into view and Nick drove carefully into the yard, drawing to a halt so that he had room to manoeuvre to begin his homeward journey. He beeped the horn and after a moment or two, a figure appeared in the doorway.

  Nick doused the vehicle lights, climbed out and made his way through the snow to the door. He saw that the man was Roy Marshall, a cattle-food salesman he’d met from time to time.

  ‘Evening, Mr Marshall, it’s PC Rowan.’

  ‘I wondered who was calling at this time of night. Left the bike at home, eh?’

  ‘You bet! But I’m here to see Ellen, is she around?’

  ‘Yes?’ There was a quizzical tone to his voice. ‘You’d better come in.’

  The cottage was cosy inside. A blazing fire filled the room with its glow and there were clip rugs on the floor. A table occupied a corner of the living room and Nick saw tea cups and a milk bottle. Ellen Walsh struggled out of her fireside chair to greet him; she looked extremely pregnant.

  ‘Don’t get up,’ Nick said. ‘Please, stay there,’ and the woman sank back into her chair with a smile of relief on her pale face. Her hair was rather untidy and her clothes looked cheap, but in her younger days, she must have been a very attractive woman.

  ‘Will you have a cup of tea, Mr Rowan?’ She pointed to the table. ‘Roy, give Mr Rowan a cup. Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Milk, no sugar,’ smiled Nick, pulling out a kitchen chair. This kind of welcome was traditional on these moors, even for a visiting policeman, and so he settled on to the chair and continued. ‘You must be wondering why I’ve come out on a night like this.’

  ‘It’s usually bad news when a policeman knocks on the door,’ said Marshall.

  ‘Well, first thing is your telephone’s out of order, the lines must have come down in the snowstorm.’ He paused. ‘But it’s about Stevie.’ Nick accepted a cup from Marshall, avoiding meeting his gaze.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Marshall quickly. ‘I know who he is and all about him, Ellen’s told me.’

  ‘He’s being released today,’ Nick went on. ‘We think he might try to return to Aidensfield. The trains are still running so he could make it.’

  ‘Aidensfield? You mean he might come here?’ Ellen sounded terrified. ‘But why, why come here? I’ve had nothing to do with him since he was put away. I want nothing to do with him, not now, not ever again. I’m hoping to get a divorce, he’s been absent for seven years now.’

  ‘He is your husband and this was his home, Mrs Walsh,‘Nick pointed out. ‘Where else can he go?’

  She began to shiver and Marshall went over to comfort her. ‘I can deal with him,’ he said with some bravado.

  ‘You don’t know what he’s like, Roy, he really is brutal, vicious. We’d not be safe, any of us, not with me having your baby.’

  ‘Look, I can handle it.’ Marshall tried to sound confident but Nick could detect the tremor in his voice.

  ‘All I can say is that it might be a good idea to leave this house, at least for the time being. With the phone not working you’d have a hard job raising help.’

  ‘There’s a kiosk down the road, Mr Rowan, it’s often working when ours goes off. Overhead cables, ours, you see. But I’ll lock up, we’ll be fine. I’d hear him if he turned up here, believe me. He’d never get into the house, we’d see him off, even on a night like this. He doesn’t frighten me.’

  ‘He frightens me,’ whimpered Ellen Walsh, holding her arms across her bulging stomach. ‘I don’t want him to harm the baby…’

  ‘Look,’ said Nick, ‘I’ve got a Landrover outside. I can run you down to the village, or to a friend’s house, until all this has blown over. You could even stay at my place, just until it’s safe.’

  ‘Nobody’s going to force us out of our home, Mr Rowan,’ said Roy Marshall. ‘Not even Stevie Walsh. Especially not Stevie Walsh. Thanks for coming out to warn us, it is appreciated, but we can fight our own battles.’

  ‘OK, if that’s the way you want it. Well, I must be off.

  Don’t forget, call us if you need to, that kiosk’s not far away.’

  “Thanks, but once you’ve gone, I’ll bolt and bar these doors, Mr Rowan. It’ll be like Fort Knox in here.’

  And so Nick returned to his Landrover, brushed away the snow from the windscreen and began his homeward journey.

  page 37

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nick returned to the police house and parked the Landrover in his drive. With his head down against the driving blizzard, he battled his way to the door and entered, carrying in a flurry of flakes which patterned the floor. He stamped his feet and shook his coat to remove the surplus snow he’d collected even on the short journey from the Landrover, and hung his coat in the hall. His helmet he placed on the floor to dry.

  ‘It’s me,’ he shouted through to Kate. ‘I’m back.’

  ‘How was she?’ called Kate.

  ‘Very pregnant,’ he said, taking off his wet boots. ‘That chap she’s with is called Marshall, Roy Marshall. He’s a decent chap, he’ll look after her.’

  ‘Well, come in and sit down. I’ve got a nice Lancashire hotpot ready, it’ll warm you through. There’s a log on the fire, your slippers are in the hearth and there’s a glass of whisky poured ready. You’ll not be driving anywhere tonight!’

  “Thanks, luv. Just what I need,’ and Nick padded through to the living room, rubbing his cold hands and

  savouring the smell that wafted from the kitchen. He went across to the blazing fire to warm himself.

  Suddenly there was a loud knocking at his office door.

  ‘Oh, no!’ he groaned. ‘What now?’

  ‘I’ll go’, Kate said. ‘It might be for me.’

  ‘No, I’m still half in uniform so I reckon I’m half on duty,’ and so he went to answer the door. But even before he arrived, the knocking was repeated, louder and more urgent this time.

  ‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ said Nick, opening the door.

  ‘About time too!’ and a snow-covered Claude Jeremiah Greengrass stood there with the flakes whirling about him like pieces of white confetti.

  ‘Sorry for the delay, Claude, I was through the other end of the house. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I saw the Landrover was back. I wondered if you’d found Alfred, now that you’ve given up and come home.’

  ‘I’ve come home for my supper, Claude, but sorry, I didn’t find Alfred. I went all the way to Elsinby, up to the heights and back again. I never saw a sign of him, not even a footprint in the snow.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Kate came through and saw Claude. ‘Oh, Mr Greengrass … come in, don’t stand out there. Nick, you should bring him in, it’s not fit for a dog to be out there tonight.’

  ‘But my dog’s out there, Mrs Rowan, Alfred that is. The whole North Riding police force is out there looking for him, according to Constable Rowan, with never a sign of him. I’m right worried, really I am. I let him out this

  morning and haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.’