Let Sleeping Vets Lie Read online

  saddle. He came to England with the Canadian Expeditionary Force at the

  beginning of the war and served till 1918 in the cavalry. I suppose he

  must have recognised then that his life seemed to be inevitably bound up

  with horses so he enrolled with a lot of other exservicemen in the

  London Veterinary College. That was where he met Ginny.

  He didn't go into details of how he had finally landed in Scarburn and I

  didn't press him. But it seemed such a waste. You don't often find a top

  class horseman and a veterinary surgeon combined. Siegfried was such a

  one and I never thought I'd see a better. But Ewan Ross could beat them

  all. The extraordinary thing was that he had settled in a cattle and

  sheep district where his equine skills were seldom exploited. Certainly

  there were numbers of racing stables in the Pennines but Ewan made not

  the slightest attempt to gain a footing there; a 'horse specialist" in a

  big Bentley used to travel around doing most of the racing work and

  making a packet of money in the process. He wasn't a bad chap, either,

  but Ewan had forgotten more about horses than he'd ever know.

  I suppose the simple explanation was that Ewan was devoid of ambition.

  He didn't want a big successful practice, he wasn't interested in being

  rich or famous. Even this morning when I talked to him about our plans

  in Darrowby I could see he was listening with polite attention, but it

  didn't mean a thing to him. No, Ewan would do enough work to keep going

  and beyond that he just didn't give a damn.

  We stayed for something like half an hour in the bar and we'd drunk

  three glasses of beer apiece. I looked at my watch.

  "I'd better be getting back down the hill to Darrowby," I said. "I've

  got a few things fixed for this afternoon."

  Ewan smiled. "Oh, there's no hurry. We'll just have one for the road."

  His t, l ~t e " t 1

  1

  r s 1

  f voice was soft as usual but it had a sleepy quality now and I was

  surprised to see a slight glassiness in the pale blue eyes. There was no

  doubt about it - that small amount of drink had affected him.

  "No thanks," I said. "I've really got to go."

  And as I drove back along the narrow dry-walled road that crawled its

  slow way among the fells I pondered on the strange fact; Ewan Ross

  couldn't drink. Or he had a certain proportion of alcohol in his

  bloodstream so that he was easily topped up. But I didn't think it was

  that; he just had a low threshold for the stuff. I had a conviction that

  he would have stayed in that pub if I had been agreeable; and who knows

  when he might have come out? Ewan's famous benders could all have

  started as simply.

  Anyway, I was only guessing and I never did find out, because I always

  said "No thanks" when he said "We'll just have one for the road." All

  the years I knew him I never saw him drunk or anything like it so I

  can't say anything about that other side of his life.

  Strangely enough, circumstances took me through Scarburn just a few days

  afterwards. It was Sunday and the church was turning out and from my car

  I saw Ewan and Ginny, dressed in their best, walking down the street

  ahead of me. I didn't catch them up - just watching them.till the

  straight-backed easy striding man and the elegant woman turned the

  corner out of sight, and I thought as I was to think so often what

  marvelous-looking people were my two new friends.

  Chapter Twelve.

  "You know, there's maybe something in this Raynes ghost business after

  all." Tristan pushed his chair back from the breakfast table, stretched

  out his legs more comfortably and resumed his study of the Darrowby and

  Houlton times. "It says here they've got a historian looking into it and

  this man has unearthed some interesting facts."

  Siegfried didn't say anything, but his eyes narrowed as his brother took

  out a Woodbine and lit it. Siegfried had given up smoking a week ago and

  he didn't want to watch anybody lighting up; particularly somebody like

  Tristan who invested even the smallest action with quiet delight, rich

  fulfilment. My boss's mouth tightened to a grim line as the young man

  unhurriedly selected a cigarette, flicked his lighter and dragged the

  smoke deep with a kind of ecstatic gasp.

  "Yes," Tristan continued, thin outgoing wisps mingling with his words.

  "This chap points out that several of the monks were murdered at Raynes

  Abbey in the fourteenth century."

  "Well, so what?" snapped Siegfried.

  Tristan raised his eyebrows. "This cowled figure that's been seen so

  often lately near the abbey - why shouldn't it be the spirit of one of

  those monks?"

  "Wheat? What's that you say?"

  "Well, after all it makes you think, doesn't it? Who knows what fell

  deeds might have been ... ?"

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Siegfried barked.

  Tristan looked hurt. "That's all very well, and you may laugh, but

  remember _ ' _

  what Shakespeare said." He raised a solemn finger. "There are more

  things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your ... '

  "Oh balls!" said Siegfried, bringing the discussion effectively to a

  close.

  I took a last thankful swallow of coffee and put down my cup, I was

  pleased that the topic had petered out fairly peacefully because

  Siegfried was in an edgy condition. Up to last week he had been a

  dedicated puffer of pipe and cigarettes but he had also developed a

  classical smoker's cough and had suffered increasingly from violent

  stomach-ache. At times his long thin face had assumed the appearance of

  a skull, the cheeks deeply sunken, the eyes smouldering far down in

  their sockets. And the doctor had said he must give up smoking.

  Siegfried had obeyed, felt immediately better and was instantly seized

  with the evangelical zeal of the convert. But he didn't just advise

  people to give up tobacco; I have seen him several times strike a

  cigarette from the trembling fingers of farm workers, push his face to

  within inches of theirs and grind out menacingly, "Now don't ever let me

  see you with one of those bloody things in your mouth again, do you

  hear?"

  Even now there are grizzled men who tell me with a shudder, "Nay, ah've

  never had a fag sin" Mr. Farnon told me to stop, thirty years back. Nay,

  bugger it, the way 'e looked at me I dursn't do it!"

  However the uncomfortable fact remained that his crusade hadn't the

  slightest effect on his brother. Tristan smoked almost continually but

  he never coughed and his digestion was excellent.

  Siegfried looked at him now as he contentedly tapped off a little ash

  and took another blissful suck. "You smoke too many of those bloody

  cigarettes!"

  "So do you."

  "No I don't!" Siegfried retorted. "I'm a non-smoker and it's time you

  were, too!

  It's a filthy habit and you'll kill yourself the way you're going!"

  Tristan gave him a benign look and again his words floated out on the

  fine Woodbine mist. "Oh I'm sure you're wrong. Do you know, I think it

  rather agrees with me.