“I see.” Elizabeth sat up. “Have you had a chance to talk to Evan yet?”
“No, but I talked to his wife, Janet, a little while ago. She told me the two men were working in the boatyard until it got dark, then they both came up to the house and shared a couple of beers.” Marion sniffed. “I should have asked her before, I suppose. It would have saved all that time worrying. I suppose I was scared to ask her, in case Bob was lying and he really did shoot that poor man.” Her eyes were wet with tears when she looked at Elizabeth. “I should have trusted him, Lady Elizabeth. I should have known he couldn’t have done something that dreadful.”
Elizabeth got to her feet. “Well, I can understand why you were concerned. Your husband certainly had good reason to hate Mr. Morgan. I’m just glad we could clear the matter up like this. It must be a great relief for you.”
Marion rose, blowing her nose once more. “What about Ned Widdicombe?” she asked. “Did he have anything to say about the murder?”
“He certainly didn’t seem to be upset about it.” Elizabeth walked to the door. “As for him being involved in some way, that’s highly unlikely. He told me he was working on his accounts with his wife on Monday night.”
In the act of opening the door, Marion paused and stared at her. “His wife? Ned Widdicombe doesn’t have a wife. He used to have one years ago, from what Bob told me, but she ran off with someone else and Ned’s never looked at another woman since.”
Elizabeth stared back at her. “Are you sure? Perhaps he got married again.”
Marion shook her head. “Well, he hadn’t up until last week, your ladyship. He was here sorting out his mother’s things in the old cottage. Him and Bob are on really friendly terms. I’m sure he would have mentioned a wife if he’d got married recently.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said, stepping out into the late-afternoon sunshine, “that’s very interesting. Thank you, Mrs. Redding. You’ve been most helpful and I sincerely hope that your daughter’s health improves in the near future.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Marion Redding said sadly. “But thank you for the thought. Children are so precious, aren’t they? I worried so much about Sheila when she was growing up. I never let her out of my sight. When this happened I blamed myself, thinking I should have been able to prevent it. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t control your child’s life, or what happens to them. You can only pray that things will turn out right for them.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached for the woman as she walked back down the immaculate garden path to her motorcycle. How sad. Sheila obviously had been loved and well cared for, and now this tragedy had robbed her parents of so much. They would never see their child become a productive adult. Nor would they see her married, and giving them grandchildren. They would miss so much because of a senseless accident. Marion was right. Parents can’t control what happens to a child, no matter how protective they may be.
Sitting astride her motorcycle, she felt an odd pang of recognition. It was a familiar sensation-her brain trying to tell her something important that she couldn’t quite recognize. Something she knew that could shed light on the mystery of Clyde Morgan’s death.
As she roared down to the High Street, she tried to remember everything that she’d heard that day. Was it the fact that Ned Widdicombe had lied about his alibi? Was Marion telling the truth about her husband’s whereabouts the night Clyde Morgan died? Or was there something else, something she’d stored away without realizing its importance at the time?
Whatever it was, it was going to drive her crazy until she could grasp it and bring it out into the light. Because, more often than not, whenever she felt this particular sensation, she had the answer she was seeking, and the solution to the puzzle.
CHAPTER 13
Frozen to the spot, Polly could only stare at the menacing ring of armed men. Even the young boys seemed too shocked to move, and only Sadie appeared capable of saying anything.
“What are all these GIs doing out here?” she muttered as a tall soldier detached himself from the line and marched purposefully toward them.
A thin voice piped up from one of the boys. “Are they going to shoot us, miss?”
“Not if I can help it.” Sadie stepped in front of the boys and bravely faced the oncoming officer, much to Polly’s admiration.
The American paused a few feet in front of her, his gaze moving slowly down to the pile of underwear clutched in Sadie’s arms. “What the-?” His gaze shot up to her face. “Just what in hell are you all doing here?”
Sadie’s face turned red, and she shoved the knickers behind her back, causing most of them to flutter to the ground.
More washing, Polly thought mournfully. At this rate, they’d be standing at the sink all day long.
“We thought someone had been stealing washing off the lines,” Sadie said quickly, “but it was all a big mistake.”
“I’ll say it was a mistake.” The officer’s astonished gaze swept over the boys and their bundles, then to Polly, who was beginning to wish she could sink through the ground, and finally to the pile of drawers on the ground. “What were you planning to do with all of this?”
“Take it back where it belongs.” Sadie gave him an uncertain smile. “The lads just borrowed it for a while, that’s all. No harm in that, is there?”
The officer’s face remained stiff and uncompromising, but there was a twinkle in his blue eyes when he murmured, “I reckon it all depends on whether or not you’re an owner of those… ah, clothes.”
“Yes, sir,” Sadie said heartily. “That’s what I say. This is something we should definitely sort out ourselves.”
The American shaded his eyes and peered past her at the windmill. “Did you happen to see anyone else in there?”
“No, sir.” Sadie looked back at the boys, who answered in chorus.
“No, sir! No one, sir!”
“There weren’t no one in there but the lads,” Sadie assured him. “Why? Are you looking for someone?”
The officer shook his head. “Never mind.” He glanced at the boys again then back at Sadie. “I take it those are your bikes behind the shrubs?”
Sadie nodded. “We were just on our way home, weren’t we, Pol?”
Polly nodded, still too embarrassed to speak.
The officer turned and signaled with a wave of his arm. Four GIs detached themselves from the line and came forward at a trot.
“Brent, Adams, take a look in there, just in case,” the officer ordered.
The two men jogged toward the windmill, rifles in hand. One of the remaining soldiers, a dark-eyed young man with an engaging grin, winked at Polly behind the officer’s back.
“You two escort the young ladies back to their bicycles,” the officer ordered. “Help them carry all this stuff. As for you boys, I suggest you all get back home before I decide to slap you all in jail.”
The boys needed no further excuse. They dropped their armloads of knickers on the ground and took off faster than a hare at the races.
Unable to meet the good-looking GI’s amused gaze, Polly trailed behind Sadie and the soldiers as they carried the underwear back to the gate. They were greeted by whistles and catcalls from the line of soldiers, who were now grinning and waving at their comrades marching toward them with their arms full of ladies’ knickers.
Polly was sure she’d never be able to look another American in the eye as the GI stuffed her basket full of the embarrassing underwear.
Sadie appeared to have no such qualms. She helped the other GI load up her basket, chatting happily about Joe and asking if they knew each other.
On the other side of the hedge, the officer had restored order, and all was quiet as they waited for their companions to return from the windmill.
“There you go, sweetheart,” the Yank said as he tucked the last pair into Polly’s basket.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” Polly mumbled.
“So what’s your name, then?”
“Polly who?”
This brought her chin up. The GI was smiling at her, and in spite of her determination to ignore him, her stomach flipped. He really was good looking. Almost as handsome as Sam.
Thinking of Sam hardened her resolve and she dropped her gaze again. “Polly Barnett. Not that it’s any of your business.”
To her immense discomfort, the GI leaned across her basket until his face was inches from hers. “What if I’d like to make it my business? What do you say to that?”
“I’d say you’re out of luck.”
This didn’t seem to bother the GI at all. “My name’s Warren, by the way,” he said. “Warren Hudson. You can call me anything, though, just so long as you call me.”
“I don’t waste my time with Yanks,” Polly said, just as the officer’s voice cut across the hedge.
“Move it, you two!”
The tall American straightened. “Well,” he said softly, “I guess I’ll just have to change your mind about that, Polly Barnett.” He turned to his companion and nudged him in the arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
Polly watched out of the corner of her eye as the two of them went through the gate and closed it behind them.
She was unprepared when Warren Hudson leaned back over and gave her another broad wink before disappearing from view.
“Looks like you got yourself a new boyfriend,” Sadie said as the two of them mounted their bicycles.
Polly sniffed. “I told you, no more Yanks. One was enough for me. I’m not going through that again.”
Sadie started pedaling down the lane, her laughter ringing out on the late-afternoon air. “I wish you could have seen your face when those GIs bent down to pick up all those knickers. Talk about beetroot cheeks! You looked as if you were on fire.”
“Very funny.” Polly pedaled so hard she rode right past Sadie. “Good job me mum couldn’t see us standing there in front of all those Yanks with all those knickers in our arms. She’d have died of shame.”
“Well, you’d better not tell her how many Yanks know what we’re wearing under our skirts now.”
Polly groaned and pedaled harder, anxious to be away from the scene of her humiliation and to be rid of the load of underwear under her nose.
“Bet you see that GI again!” Sadie called out from behind her.
Polly didn’t answer, but she felt an uneasy quiver of apprehension at the thought. What if she did bump into him again? She wouldn’t be able to look him in the face, that was for sure.
She shook her head, reminding herself again how much it hurt when Sam went back to America. No matter how good looking or exciting Warren Hudson might be, she was absolutely, definitely, positively not going to fall for a Yank again. So there.
On her way home Elizabeth decided to stop by Rose Clovell’s house. Not that she suspected the poor woman of murdering Clyde Morgan, of course. Rose Clovell was a petite, nervous woman, the kind who would trap a spider and put it outside rather than kill it. No, it was more a need to explore every avenue, to convince herself she’d left no stone unturned.
She found Rose at home, tending to a clematis in her back garden. Laying down a pair of pruning shears, the frail woman greeted her guest with a wan smile. “I was wondering when you’d call on me, your ladyship,” she said as she led Elizabeth into her tidy parlor. “I’d heard you were asking questions about the death of Clyde Morgan.”
“Word does get around fast in the village,” Elizabeth murmured as she took the seat Rose offered her.
“Yes, well, it’s a small village, isn’t it. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, but I’m actually rather late for supper so I won’t keep you long.” Elizabeth waited while Rose shooed a large black cat off an armchair and seated herself.
The cat stalked off across the room, tail waving in indignation. Elizabeth watched it jump up on the window seat and begin delicately washing one elegant paw. Something hummed in her brain… the feeling she knew something… a cat and an armchair…What was her mind trying to tell her?
Rose spoke, making her jump. “What is it you want to know, Lady Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth brought her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I happened to be passing by and thought I’d drop in and see if you are well. All this business with Clyde Morgan must have brought back some unpleasant memories for you.”
Rose nodded, her small teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “Well, yes, it did, actually. I’m really not surprised someone shot that man. No one liked him, you know.”
“It really hasn’t been decided if someone shot him.” Elizabeth watched the other woman’s face carefully. “It’s more a theory of mine, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Rose appeared to think about that. “Well, as I said, it wouldn’t surprise me.” She shot a look at Elizabeth. “You’re wondering if I killed him, aren’t you?”
Somewhat taken aback, Elizabeth started to deny it, but Rose cut her off.
“Oh, it’s all right, your ladyship. I can see why you’d think that. After all, I blamed Clyde Morgan for the death of my son.” She paused for a moment, then shook her head. “That was when it first happened, and I wasn’t thinking straight. What happened to my boy was an accident, pure and simple. I know that now. My Arnie, he was a hooligan. Always in trouble. Always coming home covered in bruises… wouldn’t tell me where he got them. He’d been fighting, of course. It was only a matter of time before he got into trouble.”
Rose’s voice faded away in Elizabeth’s ears as the insistent buzz of recognition intensified. Something about bruises… Iris Morgan’s boy… the cat…
It came to her all at once in a blinding flash. Of course. How terribly obtuse of her. How could she have missed something so significant?
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Clovell.” She leapt to her feet, guiltily aware of Rose’s startled expression. “I’ve just remembered something important and I simply must get back to the manor right away. Do forgive me.”
“Of course.” Rose scrambled to open the door for her, barely getting there ahead of her. “It was nice of you to drop by, your ladyship. I hope I might see you again in the future.”
“Oh, of course!” Elizabeth stepped outside, waved a frantic farewell, and hurried down the path, no doubt leaving a befuddled Rose Clovell behind her.
She’d finally put it all together and she needed to talk to Iris Morgan right away. There was no time to go back to the manor now. Supper would have to wait until she’d taken care of this matter.
She fleetingly wondered if she should call George, then realized he would be home by now. The station would be closed. Besides, she needed to confirm her suspicions before she could make any firm accusations, and she was far more likely to get the answers she needed if she wasn’t accompanied by a constable.
Seated astride her motorcycle, she bounced on the kick start and the engine roared to life. After tucking her scarf around her head, she tied it in a firm knot, then set off for the village.
Violet turned down the gas on the stove until the soup was at a low simmer. “We’ll wait another fifteen minutes,” she said, “then we’ll eat without them.”
Sadie sat alone at the kitchen table, impatiently staring at the clock. She wanted to get supper over with so she could keep an eye out for Joe. He’d told her he might be back that evening and she didn’t want to miss him.
“I wonder where Lady Elizabeth is,” she murmured as Violet sat down at the table. “It’s not like her to be late for supper.”
“Probably tearing around the countryside on that motorcycle of hers.” Violet propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “What’s worrying me more is where Martin has gone. This is the fourth night in a row he’s disappeared.”
Sadie looked at Violet in concern. The crotchety housekeeper never confided in her like this, and it bothered her. Violet had to be really worried about Martin for her to let her hair down like
this. “Per’aps he’s got a lady friend he’s visiting and doesn’t want you to know,” she suggested.
“No doubt. The question is, what’s a man his age doing out all night and how does he get where he’s going?”
Sadie frowned. She couldn’t quite see the old fogey on a bicycle. She knew he couldn’t drive a motorcar and it was too far to walk to the bus stop. Martin got tired out walking up the stairs. “Per’aps someone’s picking him up.”
“That’s what I think.” Violet sighed. “But who? And where do they go?”
Sadie sat up straight. “What we have to do is follow him! Without him knowing, of course.”
Violet lowered her hands. “I’ve already thought of that. The problem is, he slips out when I’m not looking.”
Sadie reached out and patted Violet’s arm. “You just leave it to me. I’m very good at following people, I am. I followed that little bugger today all the way to the windmill, didn’t I?”
Violet gave her a sharp look. “You followed who?”
Sadie sighed. She and her big mouth. “We found the knickers thieves,” she said, and proceeded to tell Violet the whole story.
Violet’s face grew more and more disapproving, especially when Sadie got to the part about the Americans seeing them with their arms full of underwear. “I just hope they didn’t know you’d come from the Manor House,” she said when Sadie was finished. “Most embarrassing for her ladyship.”
“We never said a word about that,” Sadie assured her. “Anyhow, as I was saying, I’m good at following people, so I’ll watch Martin like a hawk tomorrow and I’ll follow him to wherever he’s going.”
Violet seemed unconvinced. “You won’t be able to follow a car if one picks him up.”
“Watch me. I can go pretty fast on me bicycle. In any case, I can find out who it is picking him up. That’ll be a start.”
Pushing her chair back, Violet rose to her feet. “Well, if anyone asks, I know nothing about it. I’m not asking you to do anything, you understand. It’s all on your shoulders.”
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