The James Grant Files - James Grant Goes To The Circus

Christina Rossetti's poem, now better known as a Christmas Carol, came to Grant's mind as he looked out from his flat on the floor above his office. Snow probably had fallen "long ago" - but it was falling now, too - "snow on snow" indeed.

From the warmth of his flat he looked out onto a land of white. The snow had been falling intermittently for two days now. The street, the cars, the trees, everything was white. He estimated the depth of snow to be three, maybe four inches. (He preferred his measurements in imperial!)

Normally - not that this amount of snow was all that normal - he would have enjoyed looking out on the scene from the comfort and warmth of his flat. But this was not his mood today. He had invited Sheila to go with him to the circus which was here for a week, and now he feared that she would not want to go out in this weather.

It didn't matter all that much if she did decide to cancel. It wasn't a date after all, he told himself, just two work colleagues, friends, going to the circus. And yet it did matter.

So it was with some trepidation that he phoned her at home - it was Saturday and he took the weekend off if possible - to see if she would prefer to cancel their arrangement. And he was pleasantly surprised when she said certainly not - she had been looking forward to it.

So it was that Mr James Grant collected Miss Sheila Barclay from her home at around 7.00pm and they set off to the circus tent. They were walking. The conditions were not favourable to driving and the distance involved was not long.

They arrived at the 'Big Tent' in good time for the evening performance and found a seat near the front. Despite the conditions there was a good number present, though perhaps not as many as would otherwise have been the case.

And so it began.

It began, as such circuses always do, with the clowns who, of course, also appeared between every other act. There were the dwarfs being pursued by a giant on stilts, which made him twelve feet or more in height. There was the obligatory throwing of a bucket of water into the crowd which, as they cowered in their seats, turned out to be just coloured paper.

Then came the animal acts. A pretty girl riding two horses at the same time, balancing skilfully between them. Then the lion tamer. He came into the arena and saw that the cage was secure before leading the lions into said cage. And as he did so James began to giggle.

"What's so funny?" whispered Sheila.

"Nothing."

"It must be something."

"Just a silly joke that Uncle James shares with his siblings children."

"Well. Tell me. Maybe I'll laugh too."

He hesitated a moment before explaining that he sometimes played a game with the children about books and their authors.The one that had come to his mind just then was - "Dangers of Lion Taming", by Claude Bottom (although the original wasn't 'bottom'!).

Sheila smiled."Anymore like that?"

"My favourite is probably 'Death on the Cliff' by Eileen Dover."

Sheila smiled again. She found a man who still enjoyed childish humour somehow rather endearing.

"Sorry", said James.

"Don't be."

When they got back to concentrating on the performance the lion tamer had just avoided the fate predicted for him in the children's book - the adult version!

The final act, as always, was the trapeze artists, spinning in the air thirty feet above the ground with a dexterity that you could not help but admire.The finale was performed without a safety net. But all went well.

The show over, James insisted on walking Sheila back to her house although the distance was not very great. As they walked, leaning into the snow which had begun to fall heavily again, James had the feeling that he might take Sheila's hand - but he decided against it.

He decided against it for two reasons. Firstly, he didn't want anything to upset their working relationship. Secondly, he thought she might not welcome such an approach. He was essentially a shy man when it came to women and had no idea that they actually found him quite attractive.

At her door he gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek, and then set off home.

He did not realise that Sheila would not have minded if he had taken her hand, nor, indeed, had the kiss been more passionate!

As James walked back to his flat, the snow still falling, he heard the sound of police vehicles in the distance, and then saw them. They were approaching the farm, one of who's fields had been hired for the week by the circus. James didn't bother much about it. His mind was occupied with other things. And, if it were important, he'd probably hear something tomorrow.

And, indeed, he did hear the next morning. It was his old friend Inspector Peter Forster who called him. He had heard that James had been out the previous evening and wondered if he had noticed anything strange. The police had been called to the farm house, one of whose fields was temporarily occupied by the circus, where they found that the owner had been shot dead. The strange thing about it was that there were no print in the snow leading up to the house. His team had been careful to notice. Now, indeed, there were signs of police footprints, but they had been certain that when they arrived no prints were visible in the snow. It was a wild shot - but maybe James had seen something.

But James hadn't. Perhaps his mind was too occupied with other things! Anyway, he volunteered to come out and see, unofficially of course, if he could work anything out.

So later that morning he arrived at the farm.The farmhouse was enclosed by a small garden, beyond which lay two fields. The nearest was empty of all but snow. The field beyond that was occupied by the circus whose last performance would be this evening.

"Do you have any binoculars?" he asked the Inspector.

"I daresay we can find some. "And so saying he gave instructions to a constable who soon appeared with the required item.

James lifted them to his eyes and searched the field and the circus beyond.

"Anything?"

"Not sure", replied James, "I'll let you know if I come up with anything."

Next, James Grant set off for the circus and asked if he could see the owner.

"What's it all about?" demanded John Ferryman owner of Ferryman's Circus Troop.

"Just a minor enquiry really. I wondered why Beppo the clown only appeared at the beginning of the show last night. He usually comes on between every act. I know, I come every year. You put on a great show, by the way."

"Well, Mr Grant. I wouldn't tell everyone this, but I know you and I reckon I can trust you. Beppo - real name Jimmy Peters - asked not to appear at all while we were here, but I persuaded him to come on at least once because he is such a favourite with the kids."

"So why didn't he want to do his act? He's not been ill, has he?"

"Not ill as such."

Ferryman went on to explain the reason. The young man who owned the farm from whom they rented the field for their performance, had raped one of their group - and she had been engaged to Jimmy. Well, it turned out he had got her pregnant. Jimmy had married her anyway, but tragedy followed when she died in childbirth. She had a little girl.

"And was the child all right?" asked a concerned Grant.

"Yes, fine."

"And does Jimmy look after her?"

"Yes, but he has lots of help. We're a family here. Plenty of the girls will help in the mothering."

"But did you report the rape to the police?"

"No point. We're travellers. They don't reckon us much."

James was sure that his friend Peter Forster would have taken it seriously - but he could also understand that these folk didn't always have much faith in the law.He thanked Ferryman for the information, and left. His next visit was to Eric at The White Boar. He wanted to know more about the man who had been killed, the apparent rapist.

But James had almost arrived at the inn when he remembered that it was Sunday. Eric wouldn't be there. It wasn't so much religious fervour as a kind of superstition that kept Eric out of the pub on a Sunday. It was also the one day that he definitely spent at home with his wife.

James knew where he lived - a much posher area that one might expect - and was soon standing on the step and ringing the bell. A woman, whom he took to be Mrs Eric, opened the door. Again, a surprise. She was not what he had expected Eric's wife to look like. In fact she was a rather attractive woman in her early forties, very well dressed, and, when she spoke, revealed an educated accent with a slight Scottish burr.

"Mrs Eric?" enquired James. He had never know Eric's surname.

"It's Mrs Henly, actually", she said. "You'll be Mr Grant. Come away in. Eric's in the sitting room."

And so James was ushered into the presence. He wanted to know if Eric could tell him anything about the farmer who had been killed - and whether the charge against him of rape seemed likely. Eric did not hold back!

"He was a right nasty piece of work. No woman under fifty was safe with him. There were more than one rape charge - but nothin' came of 'em. I'm told he even tried it on with your girl - once."

James didn't bother to point out that Sheila wasn't "his girl", but asked, "So what happened?"

"Story is he'd being trying to chat her up all evening, then followed her home. Only she realised, see, and being a young lady of some common sense, she didn't wait for anything to happen. Let him catch up with her - then kneed him in the groin - and walked calmly home, leaving him squirming on the ground. If I'd been there he'd be singing soprano now!"

"So the charges against him have some merit?"

"Lot more than 'some'' I'd say. There's not a few fathers, brothers, husbands and boyfriends who'd like to shake the hand of whoever done him in!"

'If they could reach it', James thought. But he said nothing.

Grant thanked Eric for his information, and after declining the offer of a cup o' tea from Mrs Eric - er, Mrs Henly - departed.

Back in his office James Grant pondered on the situation. He was fairly sure he knew who had committed the crime - and how he had escaped attention.

When he had borrowed the binoculars he had scanned the field immediately next to the farm and had seen, at twelve or more feet apart, some indentations in the snow. Beppo, the clown who only appeared once at the previous nights' performance at the circus was the one who walked on stilts! That was how he had reached the farm and left no footprints in the snow. And Beppo clearly had good reason to hate the man he had killed. The man who had been responsible for the rape and then death of the woman he had loved - and had left him with a motherless child to bring up.

James sat for several minutes in contemplation before he lifted the phone and dialled Peter Forster's number.

Peter answered straight away."Any ideas?"

James hesitated. Then he said: "No,afraid I've drawn a blank."