Midwinter
Mystery
Chapter
Fourteen
The
series of short sharp stabs deep into it's very hearth, finally
evoked the first few sparks of life from the pitiful looking fire, as
it began to crackle, spit and glow it's way into existence. It was a
small but timely reward for all of Buster's persistent efforts at
rekindling the fireplace with nothing more than a box of short-fused
matches and a rusty old poker stick, There was at last a dawn, a slim
promise of a fire yet to be, rather than just the smoldering pile of
smoke it had been for so long. Then, using the poker as a prop he
struggled to his feet and rose up from the ashes.
"Crikey,
wot the heck's been going on in 'ere ?” coughed George as he
entered the charge room.
"I've
been tryin' to light this blinkin' fire, ain't I !. What does it look
like I've been doin' ?” replied Buster wearily dropping the poker
down by the side of the grate.
"I dunno, do I, cos I can't see nothin' on account of all this smoke !”
George responded, waving a hand across his face to help alleviate his
stinging eyes. “ 'Ere, don't you go startin' on me ! It's taken me
half the stupid morning to get the darned thing going ! And I'm
tellin' you now, if you bring another load of damp logs back here –
you can flippin' well start the thing yourself !” Buster informed
sharply. Then, as he peered through the smoky haze at his compatriot,
it began to become clear to him the true extent of the problem. “Oh
! The perishin' chimney must be blocked up again or something.
Probably another one of them bird's nests has got itself stuck up
there, I expect ,” he surmised, whilst slipping his trouser braces
loosely back over a pair of semi-collapsed shoulders, and then
proceeded to brush a hand down the arms of his collarless shirt to
wipe any of the loose sooty covering away from them.“ A good sweep
up there should fix it !” he pronounced. George squinted over at
Buster, his red eyes still sore from the smoky condition of the room,
while he removed his overcoat, “ When did you last clean it out
then ?” he asked. “ Eh ! Oh, no, It weren't me ! It was old Bert
Harris, the window cleaner - don't you remember him ?” enlightened
Buster. “ He used to wash all the windows around 'ere., at one
time. Sometimes he'd even clear your gutters out and sweep yer
chimney an' all ! Why the last time I saw him now was about...ohh,
must be nigh on... well it couldn't have been longer than...”
Buster stretched his greying matter to the limit before coming up
with nothing, “ Ah ! Do you remember when they stopped rationing ?”
"Yeah,
it was 'bout six or seven years ago now, weren't it ?” George
answered hanging his coat up on the coat stand. “ 'Ere ! That wasn't
the last time it was cleaned out, was it ?” he asked
incredulously.
"Nah,
of course not ! That's when old Bert kicked the bucket – passed
away I mean, that is !” said Buster respectfully correcting
himself.
"No,
I reckon it was probably about five, or so, years before that !”
Buster nodded knowingly, confirming his belief and ran a hand around
the inside top of his trousers stuffing his shirt tails back into
them,
"Blimey
! That'll make it over 10 years ago, no wonder it's blocked. We must
have cremated 'alf the bloomin' wood up there since then !” George
interceded, lifting the flap counter up as he made his way through
into the main room.
"Yeah,
that sounds 'bout right !” said Buster. “ He used to let me watch
him do it, you know. He had this special long pole, you see, and you
could attach other bits onto it to make it longer, if you needed, and
then he'd stick this round wiry brush on it's other end and shove it
right up...”
"Don't
go giving me any ideas old-timer, you're already looking all Sooty
and Sweep as it is,” George interceded. “ And if you keep goin'
on about it I know just the small wiry thing I'll be using to shove
up there, meself !” he concluded as ran a finger over the thin
layer of soot on the counter top. “ Look, I'll crack open a window
in here to let some fresh air in, while you get started cleaning this
mess up before the Chief gets back,” he suggested.
"So
you think he's gonna come back, then ? ” Buster asked cynically.
"I hope so. But I jus' don't know what could of 'appened to him,”
George sighed heavily. “ I went back out to the field this morning
to have another scout around for him, but it's just the same as
yesterday. No clues, no sign, no Chief !” George replied
despondently before commencing thumping on the sides of the window
frame, a couple of times, with his closed fist to loosen it enough to
open on it's frayed sash cords.
"I thought you were going to ask around the village this morning, if
anyone had seen him ?” queried Buster, kneeling back down by the
fireplace to start sweeping up some of the ash and soot debris up
with a dustpan and brush.
"Nah,
I changed me mind 'bout it. I mean what's the point, most people here
haven't even met him yet so how would they know if they'd seen him or
not ! It's like asking them to search for a stranger in a haystack !”
answered George. “ You know, I was thinking, do you realise that
I'm probably the last man to have seen 'im alive,” he continued
solemnly.
"Blimey
! As if things weren't bad enough for him already !” Buster chimed
in.
"Wot
d'yer mean by that ?” challenged George defensively.
" Jus' that he hasn't exactly been lucky since he got here, 'specially when he's
been with you, has he ? I mean he's been here just a couple of days
and he's already had a crack to the head, been in a car accident and
now he's gone missing – just like the other fellah !” Buster
explained himself.
"Well,
that ain't all my fault !” George snapped sharply.
"Mebbe
not, but come to think of it, you have been with him every time
something bad's 'appened to him, aint'cha !” Buster's mind seemed
to become clearer than the state of the smoke filled room they stood
in.
"Wot
are you trying to say ?”
"Nothing
! But if he don't turn up again soon then things might not look too
good for either of us, will they ?” Buster responded in a rare
moment of clarity. “ And if news ever gets out back up the line
that we've lost someone else -well, people might start thinking
something funny is going on down here !”
"SOMETHING
FUNNY' IS GOING ON DOWN 'ERE !”
"Yea,
but they don't know that, do they. All they'll see is that you and
the Chief went out one morning - and only one of yer came back !”
"Lumme,
you're right ! I never thought of it like that !” George started to
fully appreciate the darker implications of his predicament. “'Say,
we'd better get a move on to find him and fast ! Otherwise, my head's
for the chop, for sure !”
"I DON'T BELIEVE IT ! YOU HAVEN'T ANOTHER ONE ALREADY !” came the
unexpected and abrupt outburst from behind them. Turning sharply
around they were confronted by the unexpected arrival of the vicar,
who had entered the station, unannounced, to catch the tail end of
their confessional conversation - and was clearly alarmed to hear
this disturbing development. “ How long has he been missing ?”
he asked tersely.
"Oh,
'bout a day or so,” George answered with a shrug of the shoulders.
"A DAY ! Why didn't you come and tell me about it, I might have been of
help ?”
"Well,
we were kind of hoping he'd sort of turn up on his own like,
sometime” answered George rather sheepishly.
"Hmm,
'hoping' is just a poor substitute for praying, young man. But, I
suppose it doesn't do any harm either, let us just pray that he is
somewhere safe and well for now !” reflected the vicar solemnly. “
I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound as if I'm judging or preaching to
you, or anything like that, even though the pair of you are clearly
in need of it,” the vicar continued, changing the nature of his
discourse to a more humanitarian and empathic tone. “ But this
situation could effect the lives of so many others, more than just
yourselves, you know. You do realise that, don't you ?”
George
felt a pang of discomfort in his stomach, a condition that had been
growing strangely worse over the last few hours. The exact cause of
which was elusive to the P.C. Could it possibly be perhaps that
despite his rather cavalier approach to work and numerous personal
foibles, the thought of being responsible for a life other than his
own was starting to weigh heavy on his conscience – as well as his
digestive system !
"Of
course I understand, to a degree, why you would prefer rather to keep
this to yourselves. What with your, shall we say, somewhat dubious
past record on the subject - colleagues mysteriously vanishing and so
forth,” the holy man conceded. “ I believe Oscar Wilde, may have
assessed your situation more succinctly and colourfully when he wrote,
'To lose one Chief may be regarded as being unfortunate, but to lose
two is just plain carelessness,' I trust you'll forgive my little
paraphrasing there, ” he asked, his mouth turning up at the sides
with small smile, as he stood as close to the counter as humanly
possible, his hands clasped together on it's surface, their fingers
knitted together in a holy union.
"Well,
if it's good enough fer that 'Wilde' fellah then it's no bother to us
either,” answered Buster - admittedly without fully understanding
what he was replying to – from somewhere under a pair of heavily
perplexed wiry eyebrows, nudging his co-conspirator sharply in the
ribs for support. But, George's thoughts were busy elsewhere, keeping
him too preoccupied to respond, “ Do yer think it really looks that
bad, your Reverence ? I mean we didn't have nothin' to do with it –
honest !” he ejected nervously. “I tried me best to find him
yesterday. Honest did ! I searched all over that field, twice, but
there just weren't nothing of him - anywhere. Then by the time I'd
finished and walked all the way back 'ere from up there it was jus'
too late in the day to go knockin' on anyone's door,” George spoke
surprisingly straightforward and responsibly, perhaps trying a bit
too hard to justify himself to his inquisitor. “Besides, it sounds
like he's probably better off somewhere else - away from me !” he
added cynically, in lieu of recent events.
The
vicar nodded his head, on a number of occasions, throughout George's
story and explanation for not involving anyone else at the time, as
if acknowledging his approval of the Constable's conduct in the
matter. And at the end of it all he seemed sufficiently satisfied
that they had acted with the best - if not the most diligent - of
intentions. And decided, for now, not to trouble them with the
original reason he came over to the station in the first place, or
that he was to harbouring his own grave reservations about things yet
to come. “Now let's have any talk like that right now, young man,
Instead let us concentrate our thoughts on finding the Inspector,
shall we. You know, it's at times like these that we find out who our
true friends are, those who we can really depend on. Now, I
appreciate this may not exactly fall under an ecclesiastical matter
as such, but I say 'carpe diem' ! So, why don't we form a search
party of other like minded souls – people who we can trust - and
strike out while the trail is still, relatively, fresh. Unity,
secrecy and pray are our greatest allies right now in locating the
Inspector as soon as possible. Because, I assure you gentlemen, that
if we fail - your heads won't be the only one for the 'chop' !”
suggested the vicar, darkly.
"Now,
I fear that time and providence may not be on ours, or the
Inspector's, side for much longer,” he warned, his hands breaking
formation and splaying their fingers out across the counter, as if he
was preparing to launch himself over it . “ Therefore, I propose
that we give ourselves only until the end of the day to locate him,
and if we're still a man down by the then, we'll no other choice but
to surrender ourselves to the mercy of the authorities ! And from
then on the 'die is cast', as they say, for us all. This whole
village will fall under the closest of scrutiny for this, mark my
words ! We will won't be friends and neighbours to them, we'll
simply be – suspects ! I dare say such an investigation would draw
all manner of people down here, stirring things up and causing
disruption to our peaceful way of life. Then there's all the
photograph's and intrusive questioning into our personal affairs. No,
none of us would want any of that – would we ?” he asked staring
across the counter at his would-be collaborators, shaking his head in
a leading manner.
The
two beleaguered respondents shifted awkwardly on their feet for a
moment before following suit, hesitantly shaking their heads in
agreement in a kind of conditioned reflex. “ Very good ! Well, in
that case may I suggest we proceed with all due alacrity gentlemen.
I'll return to my church and ring the bells, an alarm call to rally
my followers. Whilst you rustle up a select band of villagers of your
own. Then we'll meet back here and divide into smaller groups to
cover more area. Agreed ?” Once more the pair answered with their
heads, silently nodding them. “ Yeah ! sounds all right ! Hey,
maybe we should have done all this when the Sergeant disappeared, eh
?” piped up Buster, shuffling nearer to the counter.
"Perhaps,
who can say for sure. Unfortunately, hindsight is a cruel gift that
only avails itself to us AFTER the tragedy. Still, let us not dwell
on such thoughts shall we – they'll only... complicate matters.
Instead, we should simply take comfort from the fact that you know
you tried your best, and when all is said and done that is all anyone
can ask of you - or we of ourselves. If you ask me, the only good
things that can be drawn from the past are memories and lessons,
everything else like regret and guilt are best left closed away with
yesterday !”
The
vicar bade a final farewell and with a slight gracious bow of the
head he took his leave of them. Only to pause at the doorway and turn
around, his face betraying a perplexed frame of mind. “ By the way,
do you know why the Inspector was sent down here now – at this
particular time ? I mean, it's not as if there's been any new
development in the Sergeant's disappearance or anything – has there
?” he asked casually.
"We
dunno, he didn't say nothin' 'bout it to us. Why ?” George replied
lifting the counter flap open again.
"Oh,
no reason,” responded the vicar innocently, “ just natural
curiosity, I suppose.” And satisfied with the answer he turned on
his heels and continued on his way out the door.
Buster
followed George through the counter and joined him by the window to
watch the mild cleric strolling away. “ I wonder why vicars use all
those funny words when they talk ?” mused George thoughtfully.
"Wot,
LATIN ?” snapped Buster.
"Nah
! The big ones, y'know - the ones no one else understands !”
"Beats
me, I never understand him what he's talkin' about half the time
anyway, and the other half I don't listen to,”
"Yeah,
his English does sound a bit Double Dutch don't it ! I guess its must
be 'cos of them 'enthusiastical' matters he was going on about !”
George concluded rationally while retrieving his overcoat from the
stand. Slipping an arm into one of the coat sleeves he let out
another thought, “'Ere, what do yer make of all this 'posse' stuff,
then ?”
"Well,
I don't think we've got much choice in it, I mean we ain't exactly
done much good on our own so far – have we ? At least this way
there'll be more people to share the blame around with when things go
wrong !” came the voice of experience.
"Hmm,
you might 'ave something there, old-timer. Hey, you never know,”
said George settling the coat comfortably over his shoulders, “ if
we manage to find the Chief ourselves they might even give us a medal
or something !”
"What
like a CBE, or one of them RCMP's ?”
"RCMP
! You silly clot, don't you know nothin',” laughed George. “ It's a RSVP !”
George
started off towards the door, “ C'mon then, let's get a move on.
Something tells me we've got a long day ahead of us !” he said over
his shoulder.
"A long, cold, wet one, I reckon !” said an unimpressed Buster. “
'Ere, I just had a funny thought, we have to find a group of people
before we can get started to find one man ! Heh, Heh, Heh” he
chuckled to himself.
"Yeah,
hilarious !” replied George sarcastically. He watched Buster
convulsing at his own joke for a moment. “Mind you don't do
yerself a mischief laughing like that,” he advised. And then
followed with, “ Where d'yer think we should start looking ?”
"The
pub !” proffered Buster without hesitation.
"Done
!” accepted George, “but just one small one though, got it !”
"'Course,
just one small double to whet me whistle like, and then we'll see who
wants to get lost with us.”
"Hmm,
okay well I'll wait over there for you, then,” said George
buttoning up his overcoat.
"Eh
! What are you talking about, Im comin' with you,”volunteered
Buster.
"Nah,
you won't. You've got to get yer'self cleaned up and....”
"'And'
what ?” Buster challenged,
"Well,
we're gonna be out for quite a while, right ?” George reached for
the nearby door handle, “So... you'd better put that fire out,
before you leave !” And with that he jumped out the door pulling it
quickly shut behind him.
© Michael
Burford, 2018
https://plus.google.com/107528496066989305279
No comments:
Post a Comment