The Planting of the Penny Hedge Read online

‘Well then…’ he spoke to himself in a whisper, watching the platform from the window ‘…back home to Whitby it is then.’

  The train left the city of York behind and was soon surrounded by luscious green countryside. A paperboy walked along the moving train selling copies of The Press which Matthews purchased a copy of, and he read through the many articles between looking out of the window. The seats of the half empty train were certainly not the comfiest, however the views across the Yorkshire moors certainly made up for it. He found himself occasionally glancing in Grace’s direction, but she never looked back at him. She was reading a book and didn’t move the entire journey.

  Matthews remembered his last visit to Whitby, only a month ago. It was to attend the funeral of his mother. He had tried to forget that day the best he could, he hadn’t cried at all since finding out she had died, and even his sister’s sobs throughout the ceremony didn’t seem to cause him to join her. He loved his mother dearly, and felt guilty for not shedding any tears for her passing. He had only stayed the one night for her funeral, he couldn’t bear to be around his family’s contagious sorrow and decided to return to York and back to work where his mind would be occupied.

  As the steam locomotive pulled into Whitby station over two hours later, the sense of relief from passengers was apparent.

  Chapter 2

  The train stopped at the platform in a cloud of its own smoke and the screeching of its old rusty brakes. Matthews wavered for a moment before leaving his seat, he wished he could remain on the train in order to return to York. Grace, who had been sitting only a couple of seats ahead of him the whole way, gave him a friendly smile as she passed him on her way to the exit. He quickly jumped from his seat and retrieved his bag from the luggage rack and followed her out onto the platform.

  ‘Would you like me to call you a carriage?’ Matthews asked with a hint of hesitation.

  ‘Oh,’ she seemed almost taken aback by his question, ‘no it is quite alright, my fiancé should be outside waiting for me. It was very nice to meet you constable.’ She turned and briskly walked along the short platform and out onto the street. Matthews left her to rush on ahead prior to heading out himself. He wasn’t expecting anybody to be waiting for him anyway.

  The sun was shining through the cloud filled sky, and the salty sea breeze caught the back of Matthews throat the moment he stepped out onto the street. The cries of seagulls rung like sirens from up above. The busy streets, although not quite as busy as York, were bustling with people going about their business. Horse manure littered the roads, whilst road cleaners, consisting of a man shovelling up the mess and collecting it on the back of his cart, struggled to keep up with the constant deposits. Between the manure, salty sea air, the nearby harbour and the hundreds of chimneys puffing out black sooty smoke, Whitby was a constant array of odours. Yet despite this, Matthews couldn’t help but feel like he was home. He had been born in Whitby and grew up in the town. His family had been from this area for numerous generations and he felt as though he knew the town better than he knew himself.

  As expected, there was nobody waiting to greet him outside of the train station, he saw Grace being helped into a nearby carriage by a thuggish looking man with a large black beard and bowler hat; her fiancé no doubt. He couldn’t help but wonder why she had been travelling alone from York, but knew this was none of his business and decided to put her from his mind.

  With no key to his father’s house, where he presumed he would be staying until he could make other arrangements, he decided to make his way straight to the police station in hope to get the key and return to the house to unwind. It may not have been the longest of journeys but he felt exhausted, and some time to himself whist his father and sister were out was just what he needed. As he walked, he mumbled to himself his annoyance at the whole thing, his father had not even sent him a letter before or after putting in his transfer request. He had not enquired when he would be arriving or anything.

  It was a short walk to the police station; a grand building made of large red stone slabs with huge imposing windows along the front. Matthews walked straight through the front door and gave a quick ‘hello’ to the receptionist before letting himself through to the back; he had been here many times and was known by almost everyone. When he arrived outside is father’s office, his secretary looked up from her typewriter as Matthews marched through the outer office and walked straight passed her and into his father’s office unannounced. She did nothing to stop him, and he was sure she had smirked at his charged efforts to make an unannounced entrance.

  ‘How dare you put in a transfer for me without even discussing it with me first.’ He slammed the door behind himself, aware that the secretary just outside had stopped typing. Dropping his suitcase next to the door, he marched over to the enormous oak desk his father sat behind and slammed both hands down onto the desk causing a loud bang.

  ‘Ah, you are finally here,’ his father responded as though his son had casually walked in the room. He was an equally tall man with a well-kept beard, dark hair that was greying on the sides and wore a smart suit, with a pocket watch chain hanging from his jacket pocket. It was clear to look at the two men to see they were related. ‘Sit down boy I have plenty to tell you. I thought you might have arrived last night, but no matter you are here now.’ His voice was deep and gravely.

  ‘Pops, you are not listening to me.’ Matthews tried to keep a civilized tone with his father but he knew he would keep ignoring his annoyance if he didn’t persist. He took the seat opposite without invitation. The office was a large oval shaped room with bookshelves and windows circling the desk.

  ‘Yes, I am listening to you, and you know why I did it. I told you when I last saw you I was going to put in the transfer and…’

  ‘And I told you I didn’t want it.’ Matthews cut off his father, his voice still raised. ‘Don’t use mothers funeral last month as an excuse. I told you at the church, I told you at the wake, and I told you at the train station before I returned to York that I did not want to be transferred here. You know how I feel about the force seeing me as the chief’s son, and yet despite what I want you went ahead and did it anyway. As usual it is about what you want and screw everybody else.’

  ‘Your mother’s funeral was a difficult time for all the family.’ His father spoke in a hushed tone. ‘It is not just myself wanting you closer, your sister Charlotte and brother Robert have been asking me about you returning ever since the funeral.’ The chief gave out a long sigh. ‘However, you are here now and I have great news.’

  ‘I fail to see any positives, but what I want to know is where I will be living, you have not communicated with me at all during this transfer, so I presume I will be moving back home until I can find something?’

  ‘Actually,’ the chief grinned as though pleased with himself. He pulled open his desk draw and rummaged around for a couple of seconds. ‘Here it is.’ He pulled out a brown envelope and tossed it across the desk to his son. Matthews ripped it open and poured the contents out onto his hand; it was a large metal key. Matthews looked back quizzical.

  ‘You remember your grandmother’s old house on the west cliff, quite a lovely terraced house with the great views of the sea and abbey?’

  ‘Of course, I spent more time in that house than my own as a kid.’

  ‘Well when she passed last year the house became your mother’s ownership and she never knew what to do with it. We had told Charlotte she could move into it when she gets married, but knowing your sister it will end up empty for years, whilst she waits for prince fucking charming to show up, and your brother Robert already has a house with his wife in Ruswarp. We had thought about renting it out but the place is full of your grandmothers belongings, we haven’t had time to clear it yet. So it’s perfect for you.’ His father grinned, Matthews on the other hand was not. He loved his grandmother dearly, but even when she was alive the house was a complete mess, she had died over six months ago and his thoughts on how the hous
e would look now were not pretty.

  ‘Fine, I will go take a look at it and unpack, there is still enough hours in the day to get anything I may need from the shops.’ He stood to leave.

  ‘Hold on son, I haven’t even told you the best news yet. Sit, sit.’ Matthews did as he was told. The chief then slid across another brown envelope across the desk, and gestured for his son to take it.

  ‘What is this?’ Matthews took it, but did not open it.

  ‘Your first case.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘This morning a body was discovered on the beach.’ The chief shifted in his chair and cleared his throat with a deep cough. ‘Not a stone’s throw from that new pavilion on the cliffside. I was called there this morning and have written up a report of what could be seen, I was able to get a sketch drawing of how the body was laid on the sand, which I know sounds odd but it will become clear when you see it. In the envelope you’ll find my report, the sketch, plus details of the gentleman who discovered the body during his morning dog walk. I have also written down the details of where the body has been taken, you will probably want to get over and see it as soon as possible.’

  ‘But surely this is not the job of a constable, haven’t you got one of the inspectors on this…oh I see…’ Matthews threw the envelope back onto the desk, ‘you are signing me up to partner one of them, who is it? Please tell me it’s not Andrew Suggitt, I don’t know how he ever made inspector. Thicker than duck shit if you ask me.’

  ‘No, I am not partnering you up. This is what I have been trying to tell you since you walked in. I didn’t transfer you to Whitby to continue being a PC, I am hiring you as a DC, detective constable.’ Matthews stood again, his mouth open in shock.

  ‘But there is no such rank as a DC?’

  ‘True, most detectives are private and not associated with the police station, but I know this is what you ultimately want to be.’

  ‘You can’t just make up a position for me!’

  ‘Actually I can, this is my station and I can call you the fucking tooth fairy if I want to.’ He grinned at his own sarcasm but Matthews did not. ‘See it this way, you get to be a detective and I get to have a detective working closely with the station, instead of against it like they usually do. You can have an office here that you can use as much or as little as you want, we would just require you to check in with reports of what you’re investigating on a regular basis.’

  ‘No, no, no. I told you I didn’t want special treatment for being the chief’s son.’ His voice was raising again. ‘I told you this is why I wanted to stay in York. What are the other officers going to think me just walking in here and getting such a promotion? No, I’m sorry father but I can’t do that.’ He turned his back on his father and stormed out of the office, snatching his suitcase on his way. The chief bolted from his chair at lightning speed, snatched the envelope and followed. He ran out of the door and seized his son by the arm right in front of the secretaries desk.

  ‘I need a good detective in this town, and I know your performance in York has been incredible, you have intuition second to none. You can distance yourself emotionally from crime, and more importantly you see things that many officers miss. Yes, I wanted you in Whitby for selfish personal reasons, but I also wanted you because you are proving to be a bloody incredible officer, and I certainly could do with one here. Now take the blasted envelope and get on with it, I want to see you tomorrow afternoon with an update.’

  With that he returned to his office before his son could protest further and slammed the door. Matthews stood there for a moment in silence, what on earth just happened?

  Chapter 3

  Matthews left the police station in a fluster, kicking the railings outside as he passed. With his suitcase in one hand, and the envelope containing the investigation information in the other he checked his coat pocket to make sure he had the key to his grandmother’s house. It was there, which was a relief as it meant he didn’t have to go back into his father’s office. Although he knew it was not in ideal place to live, he was more thinking about how unkept it was likely to be, he knew it would be much better than being under the same roof as his father. He turned back to face the grand station building and rolled his eyes with a loud sigh, having his father as his boss was his worst nightmare, and it just became his reality.

  'Detective Matthews?' a quiet voice called from the doorway, Matthews was a little taken aback at being called detective, especially given that he had only found out himself only seconds ago. A teenage boy, about fourteen years old, exited the police station. He approached Matthews with an extended hand. 'Pleased to meet you sir, my name is Harvey, I'm one of the stable hands and carriage drivers. Chief asked me to drive ya around today. He tells me that if I do good helpin’ ya with stuff he may consider me for trainin’. I’ve always wanted to be a police officer ya see.' He was a tall skinny lad with a pale complexion which was covered in a layer of dirt. He had a thick head of brown messy hair and sleepy looking dark eyes, yet his smile was warm and sincere.

  'Has he now...' Matthews was going to dismiss the young lad, but remembering he mentioned being his carriage driver anywhere, decided a lift to the house was not a bad idea. 'Where is the carriage?'

  'Just wait here sir, I'll bring it around front.' With that he shot off as fast as he could around the building and out of sight. Matthews laid the suitcase on the ground and looked at the door key still in his hand, his thoughts flooded with memories of his grandmother. He remembered how she was always in her kitchen baking pies and breads; it was the only part of her house he really had memories of her in. As a young boy Matthews loved the smell of his grandmothers cooking and would often help, she was particularly good at cooking a Sunday roast, and her Yorkshire puddings were the highlight in Matthews opinion. He didn't know how he felt about moving into her old house, he had been there almost every day before he had left Whitby, and he hadn't been back to her house since she had died. It was certainly going to be an odd experience returning after all this time.

  A minute later Harvey returned guiding two beautiful black horses, they were pulling a small carriage. 'Woah boys.' He patted the one nearest to him as he brought them to a stop in front of Detective Matthews. 'Allow me sir.' he took the suitcase from the ground and carried it around to the back of the carriage where he secured it in place, he then returned to open the door for Matthews to get inside. 'Where to sir?'

  Matthews looked at the key he still held in his hand, and the envelope in his other. Today was Thursday and he hadn’t expected to be given a case by his father for a couple of days, how wrong he was to think such a thing.

  'I need to speak with the coroner, and then I’ll need to make a stop off for some groceries before heading home. Do you need to be back at the station by a certain time?'

  'Nah, chief said I've to assist you today for as long as I'm needed.' Harvey’s voice never seemed to raise very loud when he spoke and Matthews sometimes had to concentrate more than usual to make sure he didn’t miss what he was saying.

  'I see.' Matthews knew the young lad would know his connection to the chief. 'Well let us get on then.' Harvey slammed the door shut and took his seat upfront, his voice barely audible from the carriage as he instructed the horses to go.

  The carriage was not the most comfortable of places, and smelt of damp and sweaty feet. The wooden bench he sat upon had only a thin blanket covering it, which gave no cushioning to the rider. The windows of the doors, one at each side, did not have a cover over them so he watched as he passed by the train station and made their way into town. Matthews had always loved the sound of horse hoofs along the road, he had been a regular visitor of the police stables as a youngster. One of his school friends had worked there for a short time and so Matthews would join him grooming and cleaning out.

  As they passed through town, Matthews couldn’t help but think how the place never seemed to change. The River Esk, which flowed through the centre of the town was lined with
hundreds of fishing boats of all sizes, and workers of all different ages could be seen from dusk ‘til dawn unloading the latest catch and restocking the boats ready for the next sailing. Whitby was a thriving fishing town, and most people either worked on the harbour or had family members who did.

  The journey to the coroner was short, and once outside Matthews knocked on the door. The doorway was up a narrow ally, which could not fit the horse and cart, so he had to walk up the final few yards alone; the building itself was hidden from the main street. The alley didn’t lead anywhere and came to an end at the coroner’s door. With the envelope of information in hand he waited for an answer, and after a few seconds the sound of keys scrabbling behind the door could be heard, and moments later an elderly man appeared around the doorframe.

  ‘Can I help you?’ The man’s voice croaked.

  ‘Ah, yes…my name is…’ He paused for a moment, suddenly realising his new title. ‘Detective Matthews. I have been given the case regarding the man found on the beach this morning and was wondering if I could speak to you about him.’

  ‘I’ve been expecting ya.’ The old man opened up the door and beckoned for the detective to come inside. ‘Mr Waters at your service.’ He held out an extended hand to the detective who immediately returned the handshake. ‘You are here just in time actually, I’ve just hung up the photographs in the dark room. I imagine they should be ready in a moment.’

  ‘Photographs?’ Matthews quizzed.

  ‘Ey, I set up a dark room last year, got myself a cracking camera to take pictures of bodies at the scene. Although it’s a bloody big thing to carry. Can sometimes come in handy for documenting autopsies too, especially if there’s a hearing and they want evidence to look at, marvellous bit of equipment if you ask me. Follow me.’ He slammed the door shut and locked it before guiding the detective through the building. They eventually came to a room lit by a single candle cased in a fancy red glass shade. The room was small with a worktop running along the back wall, above which two washing lines hung with pieces of paper clipped to them.