An Unmentional Murder

by Kate Kingsbury

  “I suppose I should have let you know, but I was in such a hurry to get there-”

  “It’s all right, Lizzie. I know how upset you were.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Captain Crawford, I don’t know if I would have made it home tonight. He was kind enough to drive me back, even though the rest of his friends were off enjoying themselves in the town.”

  “Well, they won’t be too long behind him,” Violet said, glancing at the clock. “The pubs closed up well over an hour ago.”

  “Is it that late? I hadn’t realized.” Elizabeth picked up her glass. “I’m terribly sorry, Violet, for keeping you up like this.”

  Violet shook her head, then lifted her glass and drained it. She choked, cleared her throat, then said hoarsely, “I’m just glad you had someone drive you home. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d stayed there all night.”

  “I would have rung to let you know.” Elizabeth rubbed a weary hand across her eyes. “The captain sat with me for quite a while waiting to see if I could go in to see Earl. He told me about the town where he lives in Texas. It’s not much bigger than Sitting Marsh apparently. He told me about the parades on July Fourth, and the horse and cart he rode in-”

  She broke off, aware of the tingling feeling that nagged her to examine the comment she’d just made. There was a connection somewhere to the elusive piece of information that hovered on the edge of her memory.

  “I think the horse-drawn carts are dying out,” Violet murmured. “They’re all changing over to motorcars and lorries nowadays. Can’t remember when I last saw a horse and cart in the High Street-”

  Elizabeth uttered a sharp exclamation.

  Violet stared at her in concern. “You all right, Lizzie? You look so pale. You should go to bed.”

  Elizabeth finished her brandy and got up. “You’re right, I should. I have a lot to take care of tomorrow.” She gathered up her handbag and threw her coat over her arm. “You go to bed as well, Violet. You need your sleep.” She turned and hurried out of the kitchen, leaving Violet to stare after her.

  Of course. She could see it quite clearly now. The coast road, bathed in moonlight, she and Violet standing by the motorcycle, screaming Martin’s name and hearing nothing except the wind in the trees… and the sound of a horse’s hooves.

  She hadn’t thought much about it at the time. It was a common enough sound in the countryside, and she and Violet had been worried about finding Martin. Apparently it never occurred to either of them to wonder why a horse would be trotting along the country lanes in the dark so late at night.

  Most of the horse-drawn carts in the area belonged to the farmers, and they would be fast asleep, since they would rise before the dawn. There was, however, someone else who had a horse and cart. Clyde Morgan.

  It was, indeed, very late for him to be out collecting his rags and bones. Then again, that was the night Morgan had died, and his midnight ride might very well have been his last. If he had died in his own front room, as she suspected, then someone would have had to take him to the ruined factory. A horse and cart would have made a most convenient conveyance for a dead body.

  Tomorrow, right after ringing the hospital, she would take a look at Clyde Morgan’s cart. If she found what she suspected she would find, then her suspicions would be confirmed. Then she would once again be faced with the inevitable question. What on earth was she going to do about it?

  CHAPTER 16

  Despite the turmoil churning in her mind, exhaustion took over and Elizabeth slept soundly that night. She awoke with a start, memory flooding back to jolt her fully awake and propel her out of bed.

  The closest telephone was in her office, and she threw on a dressing gown, tying the sash as she sped along the corridor.

  Once inside her office, she grabbed up the receiver, her trembling fingers dialing the number she had scribbled on her blotting pad.

  A brisk female voice answered her, and for a moment she froze, unable to ask the question for fear of the answer. The woman on the end of the line sounded impatient as she repeated her greeting, and Elizabeth took a deep breath.

  “Good morning,” she said breathlessly. “I’m Lady Elizabeth, from the Manor House in Sitting Marsh. I’m inquiring as to the condition of Major Earl Monroe.”

  The silence on the end of the line terrified her, but then the voice spoke again. “Your ladyship, the major had a reasonably comfortable night and is resting.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. He’d survived the night. Thank God. “Is he any better?”

  “You’d have to ask the doctor about that, m’m. He’s not available at this moment.”

  “Very well.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “When can I speak to the doctor?”

  “He’s doing his rounds, m’m. He should be done in an hour or two, if you’d care to try again later.”

  “I intend to visit the major later today. I can speak to the doctor then.” She hung up before the woman could tell her no visitors were allowed. No one was going to prevent her from seeing Earl today. No one.

  After getting dressed, she hurried down to the kitchen. As usual, Violet was at her post at the stove, and both Polly and Sadie were seated at the table.

  “I forgot to tell you last night, m’m, but we caught the knickers thief,” Sadie announced, apparently unaffected by Violet’s disapproving click of the tongue.

  “You mean thieves,” Polly added.

  Elizabeth ate her porridge and listened as the two girls filled her in on their adventures of the day before. “How in heaven’s name are you going to return all that underwear?” she asked when they had finished. “How will you know what belongs to whom?”

  “We thought about that, m’m,” Sadie said, throwing a triumphant grin in Polly’s direction. “We’re going to put them all out on a table in Polly’s front garden, and then let everyone know they can come by and pick out what belongs to them.”

  “Yeah,” Polly chimed in. “Violet’s already picked out yours and hers, and Sadie and me have got ours, so the rest belong to whoever had them stolen.”

  “I,” Violet interrupted, with a frown at Polly. “Sadie and I.”

  “Well, I’ve got mine, too,” Polly muttered, looking confused.

  “We did think about taking them down to the police station, m’m,” Sadie said, “but can you imagine George or Sid trying to sort that lot out?”

  Polly giggled, and Violet’s frown deepened. “Well, all I can say,” she said crisply, “is that it’s a very good job it was only young boys in that windmill. If it had been some dangerous criminal, you and Polly would have been in quite a pickle.”

  “Not really,” Polly said, nudging Sadie with her elbow. “We had the whole American army out there.”

  “Army air force,” Sadie corrected. “Joe’s always telling me as how he’s in the air force but it’s attached to the army, so it’s army air force. That’s why they call it the USAAF.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “What were the Americans doing there anyway?”

  Sadie shrugged. “Didn’t have time to ask them. They got rid of us in a hurry.”

  “Per’aps they were looking for the thief, too,” Polly suggested.

  “I’m sure they’ve got better things to do than hunt down a pack of delinquents who go around stealing washing from a line,” Violet muttered.

  “Which makes one wonder exactly what the American army was doing there.” Elizabeth turned to Sadie. “Didn’t they give you any idea why they were there?”

  “Nope.” Sadie thought about it. “They had their guns drawn, though, so I think they were expecting more than what they got.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “Well, I can’t worry about that now. I have an errand to run, then I’m going into North Horsham.” She looked at Polly. “I trust you’ll be able to take care of things today?”

  Polly nodded and jumped up from the table. “Of course, m’m. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll be of
f now and get started.”

  “You’d better get started, too, young lady.” Violet pointed a bony finger at Sadie. “There’s plenty to be done now that the boys in the east wing are back.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Sadie got to her feet. “I hope you find the major in better health, m’m,” she said, earning herself a grateful smile from Elizabeth.

  The door had barely closed behind the girls when it opened again and Martin shuffled in.

  Elizabeth was concerned to see the dark shadows under his eyes. She waited for what seemed an eternity for him to cross the short space between the door and his chair. He finally came to an unsteady halt and blinked at her over the rims of his spectacles.

  “Good morning, madam. May I be permitted to join you at the table?”

  “Of course you may, Martin.”

  “Thank you, madam. I am much obliged.”

  She made herself stay seated while he struggled to lower himself on the chair, knowing if she didn’t he would refuse to sit. She needed to have a word with him, and the less time spent doing so the better.

  Finally settling himself, Martin looked at Violet. “So what poisonous concoction have you whipped up for the feast this morning? Not more of that loathsome porridge, I trust.”

  Violet sniffed and turned back to the stove. “You could always go and eat corn with the chickens.”

  A puzzled frown marred Martin’s brow. “I wasn’t aware we kept chickens on the estate.”

  “We don’t,” Violet snapped. “I was talking about Farmer Miller’s chickens.”

  This was apparently too much for Martin to comprehend.

  While he was still working on it, Elizabeth leaned forward. “The telephone rang for you last night.”

  An odd expression flickered across his face. “I didn’t hear it.”

  Violet tutted. “Because you were in bed, you silly old goat.”

  Martin sent her a withering glance. “Well, that would certainly explain why, of course.”

  “It was the War Office,” Elizabeth watched his face closely, but couldn’t be sure if he’d understood.

  “The War Office, madam?”

  “Yes, Martin. They asked that you give them a ring this morning.”

  “Very well, madam.”

  Elizabeth waited, while Violet turned to face them, sticky porridge clinging to the wooden spoon in her hand.

  When it became apparent that Martin had nothing more to say, Elizabeth tried again. “Martin, why would the War Office want you to ring them?”

  “Why don’t you ask them, madam?”

  “I’m asking you, Martin.” She wasn’t in the least comfortable with the situation. On the one hand, it was really none of her business. On the other hand, since she was responsible for Martin’s welfare, she had to make it her business. If Martin was in trouble, he would need her help.

  Martin stared at his empty plate for a long time, then said in a matter-of-fact voice, “I rather imagine it’s a military secret and therefore I’m unable to discuss it.”

  “Is it also a military secret that a very posh motorcar brought you home late last night?” Violet demanded.

  Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that last night.”

  “I forgot about it, didn’t I.” Violet looked at Martin. “Well? What about this motorcar then? What was that all about?”

  Martin gave her a blank look. “Motorcar?”

  “Sadie saw you, so don’t pretend with me.” Violet crossed her thin arms over her chest. “You’d better tell us what this is all about, Martin Chezzlewit, before they throw you in prison.”

  “Really, Martin,” Elizabeth added. “You have both of us quite worried. I do think you should tell us what this is all about.”

  Martin started fidgeting with the handle of his teacup. “All I’m at liberty to say, madam, is that I have been helping the War Office in a delicate matter.”

  Elizabeth stared at him in astonishment, until the long silence was broken by a guffaw of laughter from Violet.

  “Hark at him,” she spluttered. “He thinks he’s a blinking secret service agent.”

  Only Elizabeth glimpsed the gleam in Martin’s eyes, then it was gone. “You might say that,” he murmured.

  Giving up, Elizabeth rose. “Well, I’d better be off.”

  Martin struggled to get to his feet again, but Elizabeth was already at the door.

  “I don’t know what time I’ll be back from the hospital,” she said, “so don’t expect me for meals. I’ll try to ring you later to let you know what I’m doing.”

  “That would be nice,” Violet said dryly.

  Elizabeth let the door close behind her, still wondering what was behind the mystery with Martin. It was obvious something was going on, but she knew her butler well enough to know that if he didn’t want to tell her anything there was nothing she could do to persuade him. Eventually it would all come out, no doubt, when he was ready for her to know. Since no harm had befallen him thus far, she just had to trust that happy state of affairs would continue.

  Once outside the house, however, her thoughts turned to the matter at hand. She had no idea where Clyde Morgan kept his horse and cart, but she had to assume it was somewhere close by.

  The obvious place would be one of the farms, where they often rented out a stable. There were three close enough to be convenient for Clyde Morgan, and she rode down to the one nearest his house. Her search proved fruitless. None of the farmers she visited admitted to stabling Clyde Morgan’s horse and cart.

  The morning was almost over as she made her way back to town. Rather than go back to the manor, she stopped in at Bessie’s bake shop with the intention of snatching a quick bite before going on to North Horsham.

  Bessie was delighted to see her, and insisted on joining her at her table for a few minutes, despite the crowded tearoom which kept her waitresses hopping.

  “You’ll never guess what Rita Crumm’s lot have been up to now,” she said as Elizabeth bit into a piece of tasty Cornish pasty. “They had George call the American base and tell them there were an army of Germans hiding in the old windmill. The Yanks went charging out there and all it were was a bunch of schoolboys playing tricks.” Bessie’s hearty laughter turned heads in the quiet room. “Talk about looking daft. I bet they don’t show their faces in town for a while.”

  “Ah, so that’s why the Americans were out there.” Elizabeth dabbed her mouth with her serviette. “I wondered what they were doing at the windmill.”

  “Oh, so you heard about it, then?”

  Bessie looked disappointed, until Elizabeth explained the whole story, then she chuckled.

  “I tell you, never a dull moment in Sitting Marsh, that’s for sure.”

  Elizabeth picked up her knife and fork again. “We certainly have our share of unusual situations. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you know where the rag and bone man kept his horse and cart, by any chance?”

  Bessie grinned. “I always say, your ladyship, that if you want to know something, you come to Bessie’s tea shop. Hear everything, we do here, and if one of us don’t know, t’other does.”

  “Then you do know where he kept them?”

  Bessie put her finger alongside her nose. “Well, I did hear as how he kept them in a shed in the field behind his house. Along with all the castoffs he collected. I’d like to take a look in there meself. I reckon that shed is full of good rubbish.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Elizabeth murmured, remembering the crowded walls in Iris’s house. She glanced at the clock over the huge brick fireplace. “I’ll take the bill now, Bessie. I’m in rather a hurry.”

  “Right you are, your ladyship.” Bessie heaved her plump body out of the chair. “Be right back with it, I will.”

  Elizabeth swallowed the rest of her pasty, took a few sips of her tea, then gathered up her handbag. She would just have time to stop by the Morgans’ house before setting off for North Horsham and the hospital.

  A f
ew minutes later she arrived at the end of the lane and parked her motorcycle out of sight from the house. An alleyway ran down between the houses, leading onto the fields behind them. Hurrying as fast as she could, Elizabeth headed down the path.

  She spotted the shed as soon as she emerged from the alleyway, and after a furtive glance around to make sure no one was in the back gardens, she crossed the field to the ramshackle building.

  As she opened the door it creaked loudly, and a soft whinny answered her. The horse stood in the corner, its head lifted in expectation, its ears flattened against its head. It looked dejected and underfed. Elizabeth made a mental note to send a member of the S.P.C.A. around to take a look at it later.

  She spoke to it softly as she squeezed past piles of boxes to where the cart stood. A pale shaft of light struggled to penetrate the grimy window, but it was enough to see inside the cart. It didn’t take much scrutiny to find what she was looking for. A large dark stain on the floor of the cart told the story.

  It was as she suspected. Afraid that her husband would harm her children, Iris Morgan had shot him and carried his body in the cart to the damaged munitions factory, knowing it was to be bulldozed down the next morning. No doubt she hoped the body would never be found, but just in case, she had put the gun in her dead husband’s hand to make it look like suicide.

  Elizabeth turned back to the door. She knew now what she had to do. She could not, in all good conscience, allow this crime to go unpunished. Not even for the sake of the children. Clyde Morgan might well have been a monster, but it was not up to his wife to take the law into her own hands. Iris Morgan had to answer for what she had done, and it would be up to the courts to decide a fitting punishment.

  Having come to that decision, Elizabeth felt a small measure of relief. The quandary had worried her a good deal, and right now she had far too much to worry about as it was. She would go immediately to George, tell him what she knew, and insist he inform the inspector right away.

  She had her hand outstretched to open the door when to her dismay it was shoved open, bruising her fingers. Iris stood in the doorway, a wicked-looking carving knife in her hand. “It’s too bad you didn’t mind your own business, Lady Elizabeth,” she said, brandishing the knife in Elizabeth’s face. “Now I’m afraid I’ll have to shut you up for good.”