Old Ernest (Ernie) Cook owned a hill farm high on the Yorkshire Moors. He lived alone now, his wife Beryl had died some years ago, their only son had left for London not long afterward having decided farming (to his father's disappointment) wasn't for him. Ernest kept himself to himself and Nick Rowan had rarely been out to the farm perhaps once or twice about mundane issues such as a shotgun licence. So it was notable that he had been up at the farm three times in the last fortnight. And Nick was losing patience with the situation.
"Its three times now the flock's got out Ernie," he said, "and they've nearly caused an accident this time."
"Ah don't know how they got out Mr Rowan. Ah do check my fences but…"
"But not well enough. I'm sorry Ernie but its got to stop. The postman ended up going off the road trying to avoid your sheep. He could have been hurt." Nick sighed. "I don't want to come down hard on you Ernie but –"
"Tell him Ernie." Bert Cooper was listening to the exchange intently. He wasn't too much younger than Ernie and had worked for him on the farm for many years. Now Ernie frowned at him and shook his head saying, "Nay, there's nowt to say."
Nick looked at Bert. "Bert?"
"Ernie doesn't want ter tell you Mr Rowan but the flock's not been getting out. Some beggar has been letting them out."
"How do you know that Bert?"
"Found t'gate swinging open first time, then wire cut last few times, that's how!"
Nick looked sharply at Ernie. "You didn't tell me this Ernie! Why?"
"Ah don't want trouble Mr Rowan."
"Well someone wants trouble Ernie. And if you tell me, maybe I can help you sort it out," Nick said patiently. He sighed. Sometimes half the battle was getting people to let you help them. And what he couldn't work out was who on earth wanted to cause bother for Ernest.
"Nay, I've not had bother wi' no-one Mr Rowan. Happen it were some walker or such like who left that gate open."
Nick looked at Bert.
"You had that fancy beggar from Cross Rigg pestering yer Ernie," Bert chipped in helpfully.
Nick frowned a minute then got it. "You mean Mr Armstrong? Just bought Cross Rigg about three months ago."
"Aye, he's been pestering Ernie to sell him some land."
Nick could understand that. Cross Rigg was limited in size whereas Ernie had farmed in quite a big way until it got too much for him and much of his land was redundant; it made sense for someone to make an offer for it or lease it.
"Well, ah don't want to sell land off Mr Rowan," Ernie said now. "I don't know, our Billy might change his mind and come back here to farm yet and he can't do that if I've sold it all off now can he?"
"Pigs might," muttered Bert.
"How did Mr Armstrong react when you said you weren't selling Ernie?" Nick asked now.
"He's never been away from t'door," muttered Bert. "Pestering Ernie here asking if he's changed his mind yet."
"That true Ernie?" Nick asked sharply.
"Aye, well, he doesn't give up so easy," Ernie conceded.
Nick thought a minute. Certainly there was no proof but still, acquiring the extra grazing land would greatly improve the value of Cross Rigg.
"Tell you what Ernie," he said now, "I'll go and speak to Mr Armstrong, just ask him if he's seen any strangers hanging around and ask him to keep an eye out. And you let me know if you have any more problems all right? We'll get to the bottom of it but you've to tell me if anything else happens."
"Aye, all right Mr Rowan."
Armstrong was in the yard when Nick arrived. Cross Rigg had been somewhat run down when he bought it, it was already looking much different. The house had been spruced up and the tumbledown barns reconstructed. Nick took a moment to look around noting the smart wooden fencing, stock grazing in the fields around the house. Armstrong himself reflected his set up – brisk, no-nonsense, with a keen determination. Very different in many ways from Ernie but of course the man was very much younger.
"Constable Rowan isn't it?" The man smiled pleasantly. "I was just going into the house for a cup of tea. Would you care to join me?"
"If you don't mind, sir, I won't," Nick replied. "I need to get back to the station. But I just wanted to speak to you about Ernie Cook at Low Farm."
"Ah, I understand his flock were out again. The postman told me – he was quite shaken up when he got here."
"Again, sir?"
"Well they got loose a week or two back, some got in with mine, had a devil of a job sorting them all out."
Nick nodded. He took a deep breath. "Its unusual for Ernie to be having problems like this," he said. "His stockman, Bert, reckons fences may have been cut, gates left open. I wondered if you'd seen anyone hanging around. Other than the usual walkers and the like."
"Not at all Constable. But I will be keeping my eye out now." The man thought for a moment. "Should I go down and see Ernie do you think? Must be very worrying for him especially given his age."
"Do you get on with Ernie well sir?"
"Well, only in a neighbourly sort of way. Good morning, sort of thing. Oh and I asked him about purchasing some land but he didn't seem keen although he is only farming in quite a small way at the moment and I'm keen to expand."
"All right sir. Well I'll get on now but if you could just keep an eye out and let me know if you see anything untoward."
There was little more Nick could do. He had no evidence, and he somehow could not visualise Armstrong setting stock loose and tormenting an elderly farmer.
"Ah think old Ernie's slipping a bit," was Alf Ventress' verdict when Nick spoke to him about it back at the station.
"What, he left the gate open himself you mean?" Nick sighed. "All right, what about the wire cutting?"
"Well you've only old Bert's word for that." Alf said. "Look, I'm just saying, pair of 'em are getting on Nick and happen its just all getting ter much for 'em. And Ernie doesn't want to admit it because he's dead set on keeping t'farm going for that son of his even though there's no chance he's coming back ter take that farm on."
Things took a more sinister turn a few nights later.
The phone rang in the Police House at 1.15 am. Nick answered it still half asleep. "Aidensfield Police?" He half turned as Kate came sleepily down the stairs behind him. Nick listened a moment then said, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Fire brigade on the way? All right." He put down the phone. Kate looked at him quizzically.
"I need to get to Low Farm. Ernest Cook's haybarn is on fire and I'll lay odds its not an accident."
Six am the next morning and Nick and Sergeant Blaketon were watching the fire brigade still damping down. The barn and contents were gone. This included all the winter hay, plus the farm tractor. One of the firemen approached the two police officers.
"Strong smell of petrol," he said quietly. "Petrol can just there by the barn door and another one at the back of the barn – there's a window there. Petrol probably poured in through the window but our fire investigation people will tell you more when they've had chance to investigate."
Ernie was in the farmhouse across from the barn. He was sitting by the large fireplace dominating the kitchen/parlour of the shabby farmhouse. He had a a blanket over his shoulders. He suddenly looked every bit of his seventy odd years. Nick felt a jolt - they had to do something for Ernest. This couldn't go on.