Silent Nights by Martin Edwards Page B

blue dusk, he saw an old man staggering, carrying a rush basket in one hand and an indescribable something in the other. He was evidently in a hurry, this ancient. From time to time he looked back over his shoulder as though he expected pursuit. Breathlessly, he mounted the stile and fell over rather than surmounted it.
    Stumbling to his feet, he saw Joe sitting at the wheel of the van, and gaped at him toothlessly, his eyes wide with horror. Joe the Runner recognized the signs.
    â€œWhat have you been doin’?” he demanded sternly.
    For a few minutes the breathless old man could not speak; blinked fearfully at his interrogator; and then:
    â€œHe’s fired me,” he croaked. “Wouldn’t give me no turkey or nothin, so I went up to the ’All and pinched one.”
    â€œOh!” said Joe judiciously.
    It was not an unpleasant sensation, sitting in judgement on a fellow creature.
    â€œThere was such a bother and a fuss and shouting going on…what with the safe bein’ found broke open, and that foreign man being caught, that nobody seed me,” whimpered the elderly Mr Timmins.
    â€œEh?” said Joe. “What’s that—safe broken open?”
    The old man nodded.
    â€œI heered ’em when I was hiding in the pantry. His lordship found that the safe had been opened an’ money took. He sent for the constable, and they’ve got the prince locked up in a room, with the undergardener and the butler on guard outside the door—”
    He looked down at the frozen turkey in his red, numbed hand; and his lips twitched pathetically.
    â€œHis lordship promised me a turkey and his lordship said I shouldn’t have—”
    Joe Runner was a quick thinker. “Jump up in the truck,” he commanded roughly. “Where do you live?”
    â€œAbout three miles from here,” began Mr Timmins.
    Joe leaned over, and pulled him up, parcel, bag and turkey.
    â€œGet through into the back, and keep quiet.”
    He leapt down, cranked up the engine with some difficulty, and sent the little trolley lumbering on to the main road. When he passed three officers in a police car speeding towards Carfane Hall his heart was in his mouth, but he was not challenged. Presently, at the urgent desire of the old man, he stopped at the end of a row of cottages.
    â€œGawd bless you, mister!” whimpered Mr Timmins. “I’ll never do a thing like this again—”
    â€œHi!” said Joe sternly. “What do I get out of this?”
    And then, as the recollection of a debt came to him:
    â€œLeave the turkey—and hop!”
    Mr Timmins hopped.
    ***
    It was nine o’clock on Christmas morning, and Angela Willett had just finished her packing.
    Outside the skies were dark and cheerless, snow and rain were falling together, so that this tiny furnished room had almost a palatial atmosphere in comparison with the drear world outside.
    â€œI suppose it’s too early to cook the sausages—by the way, our train leaves at ten tonight, so we needn’t invent ways of spending the evening—come in.”
    It was Joe the Runner, rather wet but smiling. He carried under his arm something wrapped in an old newspaper.
    â€œExcuse me, miss,” he said, as he removed the covering, “but a gent I met in the street asked me to give you this.”
    â€œA turkey!” gasped Angela. “How wonderful…who was it?”
    â€œI don’t know, miss—an old gentleman,” said Joe vaguely. “He said ‘Be sure an’ give it to the young lady herself—wishin’ her a happy Christmas’. ”
    They gazed on the carcase in awe and ecstasy. As the front door slammed, announcing Joe’s hasty departure:
    â€œAn old gentleman,” said Angela slowly. “Uncle Peter!”
    â€œUncle grandmother!” smiled John. “I believe he stole it!”
    â€œHow uncharitable you are!” she reproached