‘Well, fancy that! What a coincidence. Anyway, first things first, let’s get this crate out of the ditch.’

  Ellen moved across to the passenger side as Roy settled behind the wheel. At a signal from Stevie, he engaged a high gear. The rope between the two vehicles tautened and the large rear wheels of the tractor bit into the ground. At the same time, Roy let out the clutch and the Landrover’s wheels began to turn very slowly in third gear. It was the work of a minute to get the Landrover back on to the highway. Roy was about to climb out to thank their rescuer but he was already at the passenger door, hauling it open. He peered inside and saw Ellen, huge and groaning.

  ‘Well, well, well, so who have we here?’ His voice retained a jovial note but beneath it his tone was steely.

  ‘Hello, Stevie,’ she whispered. ‘Thanks …’

  ‘So, it’s baby time, is it, Ellen? And who’ve you been with then, while I was away? Who’s the proud daddy?’ He turned to stare at Roy, his eyes suddenly full of menace.

  Ellen groaned anew, almost a scream of agony, and Roy shouted, ‘Let’s go, we must get her to the surgery …’

  Kate’s recognition of their rescuer and her understanding of the threat in his voice made her realise he could wreak havoc with the delicate situation. She had to remain calm and in control; so much depended on her. ‘You’ve been very kind,’ she said, hoping her smile didn’t betray her alarm. ‘We can manage now, thank you.’

  ‘I’m going the opposite way, up to Farm Cottage,’ Stevie said. ‘A bit of urgent business. So drive carefully, take care of my wife, she needs the best.’

  ‘Why are you going to the house, Stevie?’ asked Ellen in a tight, pained voice. “There’s nothing there, nothing at all.’

  But he gave no answer, merely tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger, in a gesture which said, ‘Keep out of my business.’

  As the tractor was disconnected and vanished along the lane, Kate drove carefully towards Aidensfield. The storm had eased a little and the heavy snow was now reduced to a few lighter flakes, although the wind was still whipping it into drifts. She negotiated them with skill and made good use of the road where the plough had pushed through and where other vehicles had formed tracks. Finally, they could see the village hall with its lights blazing.

  ‘We’ll take her there, Roy,’ she said, her voice tinged with relief. ‘We need light and power and it looks the only place with both. There’s a room at the back and it’s near enough for me to fetch my gear from the surgery.’

  And so, struggling through the snow, Kate joined the other orphans from the storm in the warmth of the village hall.

  Although aware of Ellen outside in the Landrover, as she made her preparations, Kate found time to chat to several railway victims, asking about their condition and promising to attend to them very soon. She noticed that most had a cup of tea, some food and a chair; whoever had organised this had done well, even to the extent of producing light and power. Before bringing in Ellen, she went to examine the anteroom at the rear; to her delight it contained a camp bed bearing a mattress.

  Satisfied she’d done all she could, she went outside to help Ellen walk the short distance from the Landrover. Aided by Roy Marshall, the pregnant woman, oblivious of the stares of the rescued passengers, made her precarious journey across the floor of Aidensfield Village Hall, groaning and panting, sighing and wheezing with the constant pains. A woman stepped forward from the crowd and to Kate’s relief she recognised her as Mrs Gillet, a retired midwife who, before her retirement, had regularly assisted Dr Ferrenby.

  ‘I can help, Doctor,’ she offered.

  “Thanks, Edith.’ Kate smiled gratefully. ‘The child’s due literally any minute - it’s a difficult one. I’m going for my equipment. Can you cope for a few minutes?’

  ‘I’ve delivered some of the bairns in this village in worse conditions than this!’ said the midwife. ‘Come along, Ellen, in here, please. You’re in safe hands now.’

  While Kate and Mrs Gillet attended to Ellen in the privacy of the anteroom, Nick took a well-earned breather over a cup of tea and a ham sandwich. He was sitting at a table with Roy Marshall who was chewing his fingernails and not eating a thing. But Nick was quietly proud at the way in which the village had responded to the rail emergency and, as he looked around, he saw that new friendships were being made. The people of Aidensfield were befriending the stranded passengers and he smiled in satisfaction as the tension began to change into an atmosphere of relief tinged with humour and even happiness.

  The boy with the injured leg was cheerfully awaiting Kate’s professional expertise when she’d finished with Ellen, but Nick’s only real concern was for poor old Alex Ferrenby. He had not moved from his chair, he had not offered to treat any of the casualties and it was clear that he was in need of professional help himself. The minute the power returned, Nick would take him home, but that was pointless at the moment. He was far better sitting here among the others.

  Then Claude Jeremiah bustled towards Nick.

  ‘Mr Rowan, I know you’re a busy man and I know you want to get out into the snow to find Alfred, but somebody’s nicked my tractor.’

  ‘Nicked it? On a night like this?’

  ‘Well, it’s gone. I reckon that’s nicked if I didn’t give permission.’

  ‘And you haven’t given permission?’

  ‘Have I heck! I mean, everybody here’s off the train, and nobody wants a tractor do they, not now!’

  ‘Stevie was on a tractor,’ said Roy. ‘When he pulled us out of the ditch.’

  ‘What ditch?’ asked Nick, who then persuaded Roy to tell the whole story of the rescue. Nick listened carefully. ‘So where was he going?’

  ‘He said he was going to Farm Cottage, our house, on some urgent business. I’ve no idea why he wants to go there, there’s nothing there for him. But I couldn’t stop him.’

  Light dawned. ‘Bloody hell!’ cursed Nick, ‘I know what that means. Is the Landrover outside now?’ ‘Yes, here’s the keys.’

  ‘If anybody asks for me, tell them I’ve gone to Farm Cottage!’

  At that moment, there came the sound of a lusty cry from the lungs of a newborn baby.

  ‘Roy, congratulations,’ said Nick, hurriedly shaking his hand. ‘You’re a proud father! Now, Claude, you’re coming with me.’

  ‘C … c … coming with you? You’re not arresting me, are you?’

  ‘No, we’re going to find your tractor. I’ve a good idea where it will be and you’ll have to drive it back. Besides, I might need you to push me out of a ditch.’

  Claude shook his head doubtfully, ‘I’m not very good at physical things, Mr Rowan. My old heart, you know, my wartime experiences. It was tough in the trenches, fighting in conditions worse than this …’

  ‘All right, you drive and I’ll push,’ said Nick.

  ‘I think our policemen are wonderful,’ grinned Claude Jeremiah, following Nick out of the hall. Outside, the snow had ceased to fall and the sky was clearing, but the ground was covered to an even depth, with drifts in exposed places. Aidensfield was as pretty as a picture, with the roofs all white and the lights of candles and oil lamps adding colour to the charming scene.

  ‘By gum, Mr Rowan, it reminds me of a Christmas card,’ called Claude as he scuttled along behind Nick. ‘Come on, Claude. We’ve got to move fast.’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Farm Cottage, Elsinby.’

  ‘There’s some nice pheasants up there, Mr Rowan.’ ‘I’m not interested in pheasants at the moment, Claude.’

  ‘I could allus get you a brace if you need any, just give me the word. I can get ‘em fairly quick, you know. And cheap. I can allus get cheap birds for my friends.’

  ‘Not tonight, Claude. Now, you did say you were driving, didn’t you?’

  ‘Aye, well, on second thoughts mebbe not, not in these conditions. Not this expensive Landrover anyroad. I might cope with my tractor, if you can find it.’

  ‘I’m sure we will find it, Claude.’

  ‘Do you think Alfred will be there an’ all? He might recognise the smell of it, mightn’t he, and he might have followed it, thinking it was me.’ He paused. ‘Poor old Alfred.’

  And so the unlikely team of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass and PC Rowan set out for Farm Cottage.

  As Nick and Claude were leaving Aidensfield, Sergeant Blaketon, Alf Ventress, Phil Bellamy and several more police officers were arriving aboard a railway rescue train which had battled through the snow from Strensford, calling at Ashfordly en route. They were accompanied by British Rail officials and rescue teams, ambulance men, first-aiders, two doctors, five nurses and a host of others, professional and amateur, who had been recruited to deal with the disaster.

  Slowly the train eased into the tunnel near Aidensfield Station and disgorged its load of people and equipment. Sergeant Blaketon, first on the scene, was confronted with a snow-covered coach, an engine with steam hissing quietly from its valves and other evidence of a serious derailment, but not a sign of any casualties. He hurried on to the platform and found the porter.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ he demanded.

  ‘Up at the village hall,’ said the porter. ‘They got lights and power going up there.’

  ‘And the seriously injured?’

  ‘Up there as well, taken by tractor and bus and car.’

  ‘Anybody dead?’ Blaketon continued.

  ‘Not that I know of, Sergeant; tell you what, young Constable Rowan and Claude Jeremiah did a good job between them, and George from the pub. You can be proud of your men, Sergeant.’

  ‘Well, in that case, we’d better get up to the hall. Come on, everybody!’ he called. ‘They’re all in the village hall.’

  And so, apart from some British Rail engineers who had to remain at the scene to decide how to clear the tracks of the debris, the team of would-be rescuers began to trudge towards Aidensfield Village Hall. Fortunately, the snow had ceased to fall, although the road was ankle-deep in most places and it was cold and wet. The sight of the brightly lit hall and the sound of voices inside was a heartening one.

  Sergeant Blaketon spotted Kate bandaging a woman’s hand and made his presence known; he introduced his team of helpers and soon they were moving among the casualties, assessing their needs and attending to a whole range of minor cuts, bruises and grazes. Kate went over to see Dr Ferrenby, who had barely moved the whole time he’d been there. He was sitting with his eyes closed but when Kate spoke he opened them and smiled at her, brightening at her presence.

  ‘Does your head ache, Alex?’ she began.

  ‘No, it’s just that I feel so tired, so very very tired.’

  She began to examine him tenderly, instinctively knowing that something was not right.

  At the moment, she did not know exactly what the problem was, but she did know that poor Alex would need lots of care in the days ahead.

  Meanwhile, Sergeant Blaketon had found George Ward who, assisted by several of the village ladies, was organising hot food and soup.

  ‘Well done, George,’ Blaketon was in a congratulatory mood. ‘Now, is PC Rowan around?’

  ‘No, he’s gone off with Claude Jeremiah,’ smiled George. ‘He said something about looking for Claude’s dog.’ He grinned mischievously.

  ‘You mean those two idiots have gone out in this weather to look for a bloody dog when there’s a major railway incident to deal with?’

  ‘I can’t think why else they’d go, Sergeant,’ said George, enjoying the moment, ‘I mean, poor old Claude is in a pretty bad state, you know. He’s been out all day looking for Alfred.’

  ‘I don’t believe it! Here we are, with a major disaster in the village, and Rowan spends time looking for a poacher’s dog … These city-bred constables have no idea, George, no idea of priorities …’

  ‘Cup of tea, Sergeant?’ asked George innocently.

  ‘There’s your tractor, Claude.’ Nick pointed ahead and carefully drew the Landrover to a halt, taking care not to make it skid.

  ‘Will Alfred be with it, Mr Rowan?’

  ‘Who knows?’ smiled Nick. ‘Now, I don’t want Stevie to know I’m here. So we’ll park here and I’ll walk. I need my torch - and my truncheon.’

  ‘Shall I come, Mr Rowan?’

  ‘No, this might be dangerous, Claude …’ .

  ‘Aye, well, in that case, I’ll sit here and guard the vehicle.’

  The house was in darkness, save for an oil lamp in the kitchen, but the door was wide open and some snow had blown in. Nick entered without using his light. He began to explore the house; like so many of these moorland cottages, it was quite extensive with lots of small rooms and thick walls. He froze as he heard a chinking sound from the scullery. Treading without a sound, he moved towards the noise. Cautiously entering the scullery, the first sight that greeted him was Stevie Walsh crouched on the floor; he had been chipping away at the masonry behind a chest of drawers and Nick was just in time to see him remove several of the stones to reveal a hollow behind. In that hollow lay a small dusty suitcase. Stevie was so engrossed in his work that he had not heard Nick’s approach and Nick waited, watching the man in the light of the oil lamps and candles around him.

  Stevie drew out the case and pressed the catches; the lid flew open to reveal scores of high-value banknotes.

  ‘Ours, I think,’ said Nick, his voice reverberating in the silence.

  ‘God!’ Stevie slammed the lid shut, seized the case and stood defiantly before the policeman.

  ‘It’s not yours, Stevie,’ Nick said quietly, it’s stolen property.’

  Stevie’s hands tightened round the case. ‘Ten years I got for this, Mr Rowan. I’ve served more than seven. I’ve earned this, this is my reward for doing time.’

  ‘No, it’s not. You’re going to hand it over, Stevie. I’m going to confiscate the money.’

  Stevie drew himself up tall. ‘Fancy your chances do you? Against me? One against one.’

  ‘I’ve help outside, Stevie. An old mate. And if you have a go at me, you’ll get even more time for that, won’t you? And look at the weather, you’ll never get away in this lot.’

  ‘I could try, with all this money.’ His voice was almost petulant.

  ‘The money goes nowhere. If you don’t hand it over, next time they put you inside they’ll keep you there for longer. They might even throw away the key, eh?’

  ‘So you’re going to take me in, are you?’

  Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m going to give you a chance, Stevie, a chance to go straight. You were great tonight, at the station and in the village hall. You’ve got guts and you could do well outside, if you keep your nose clean. There’s no need to begin a life of crime again. You deserve better than that. Give me the money and I’ll tell my sergeant you handed it over voluntarily, that you wanted to make a clean start. All right?’

  Stevie looked at Nick, his eyes hard and disbelieving.

  Nick continued, speaking quietly and slowly, ‘I’ll not mention finding you like this, that’s my part of the bargain. You hand in the money and you go, that’s all.’

  ‘You mean I can go free? You’ll not have me for touching this stolen money?’

  “That’s what I’m saying, Stevie. That’s the chance you earned yourself tonight.’

  ‘But where can I go on a night like this?’

  ‘I can give you a lift into Elsinby or Aidensfield, then it’s down to you.’

  Quietly Stevie Walsh handed over the suitcase. Nick locked it, then said, ‘Come on, Stevie. I’ll give you a lift.’

  But as they were heading for the waiting Landrover, Nick heard a commotion in an adjoining barn; the sound of flapping wings and squawking. He hurried inside. There, in the light of his torch, was Alfred chasing the hens. A broad smile on his face, Nick closed the door and went over to Greengrass who now emerged from the waiting Landrover.

  ‘Is this your reinforcements?’ asked Stevie in disbelief.

  ‘That’s him,’ grinned Nick. ‘An old soldier of immense bravery and experience! And a police dog, of course. Well, a CID dog, actually. A dog in heavy disguise!’

  ‘A dog, Mr Rowan?’ asked Greengrass. ‘I didn’t see any police dog here!’

  ‘Well, he’s in disguise, Claude. I thought I’d disguise him as a lurcher, to merge into the countryside, so to speak.’

  ‘A lurcher? You mean they’ve got lurchers as police dogs, Mr Rowan? By, Alfred would be proud. Which reminds me, have you seen anything of my Alfred?’

  Nick nodded quietly. ‘Yes, he’s in that shed behind the cottage.’

  ‘You’re joking? You mean that - you mean you have found him after all?’ ‘I have, Claude.’

  Claude shook his hand excitedly. ‘Well, I mean, is he safe? Is he all right?’

  ‘He’s busy worrying somebody’s hens, Claude, which is an offence, as you know …’

  But Claude Jeremiah didn’t hear those words. He shambled off to find his dog, shouting, ‘Alfred, leave off! If I catch you worrying hens, I’ll skin you alive …’

  ‘Come on, Stevie,’ said Nick. ‘How about that lift?’

  As Nick walked into Aidensfield Village Hall with the suitcase, Sergeant Blaketon was sitting at a table eating a ham sandwich and drinking a cup of tea. He saw Nick and left the table to stride towards him.

  ‘Rowan, of all the foolhardy things to do, to go hunting for Greengrass’s dog when you’ve got a major incident like this…’

  ‘I found him, Sarge,’ beamed Nick. ‘I found him.’ ‘I don’t care about that. Your duty was here, with these people …’

  ‘I found this as well, Sergeant,’ and Nick placed the suitcase on a table and flicked open the lid. ‘Twenty-five thousand pounds. Stevie Walsh handed it over. He wants the money restored to the owners, he wants to make a new start.’

  Blaketon looked at Nick. ‘Pull the other one, Rowan, how did you come by this money?’ ‘Good detective work, Sergeant,’ and at that moment, Claude Jeremiah Greengrass entered the hall with Alfred. The villagers all cheered as Alfred galloped into the room, went straight over to Blaketon’s table, stood on his hind legs and natched the sergeant’s sandwich then crept craftily under a bench to eat it. ‘Greengrass!’ bellowed Blaketon.