In fact, Elizabeth was well aware that if her mother were able to witness the familiarity between her only heir and a lowly servant, she would come back to haunt both of them. Mavis Hartleigh had spent the major portion of her life trying to live down the fact that until she’d married the future Earl of Wellsborough, she’d been a servant herself.
“Violet,” Elizabeth said, fixing a stern eye on Violet’s pinched features. “Any interest I might have in Major Monroe is strictly business. He is in command of the men billeted in this house, and there are certain concerns that should be addressed. I merely thought it might be more pleasant to share a meal while discussing our business, rather than the stuffy atmosphere of the library or my office. It would be more conducive for an honest exchange of views, don’t you think?”
“I’ve seen the way you look when his name is mentioned,” Violet retorted, refusing to be intimidated. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel a spark of something when he’s around.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. Wild horses wouldn’t drag that admission from her, no matter how close to the mark it might have been. “Major Monroe is married,” she said primly.
“Go on!” Violet rushed over to the table and sat down. “When did he tell you that?”
Elizabeth stared hard at the bills in her hand. “I really don’t remember. It came up some time in one of our conversations.”
“Bet that was a disappointment.”
That was something else she wasn’t prepared to admit. Instead, Elizabeth held up a letter. “Look at this! It’s a letter from Uncle Roger.”
Violet’s expression changed to one of contempt. “What’s he want now?”
Elizabeth tore open the envelope, more relieved at the diversion than interest in the letter. She scanned the lines then refolded the flimsy paper. “He’s got a spot of leave coming up and wants to pay us a visit.”
“Probably on the earhole for money or something. We never see him unless he wants something. If I had my way I wouldn’t let him past the front door.”
“If you had your way,” Elizabeth murmured, “no one would get past the front door.”
Violet opened her mouth to answer then snapped it shut as the door to the kitchen flew open.
The elderly gentleman standing in the doorway wore the black coat and gray striped trousers of the traditional, efficient English butler, but there the image ended. Gold-rimmed spectacles hung precariously on the end of his nose, and the few wisps of white hair that adorned his bald pate waved back and forth as his head nodded up and down in gentle agitation. His bowed shoulders shook, and his knees trembled as he stared at Elizabeth, and without a sound his mouth opened and closed like a starving goldfish.
Alarmed, Elizabeth rose from her chair. Martin had served the Earls of Wellsborough since before the turn of the century. Determined that he should continue to do so as long as he so desired, she and Violet went to great pains to convince him his services were still essential to the running of the Manor House.
She largely ignored his occasional lapses into senility as well as his tendency to dwell in the past, but looking at his stricken face, seemingly even more wrinkled and pasty than usual, Elizabeth sensed that whatever had caused his distress this time was more than a simple misunderstanding, which was often the case.
Martin had been unsettled by the American officers being quartered at the Manor House, but since he saw little of them and was largely oblivious to their presence, he’d appeared to accept the situation. Nevertheless, something had upset the old gentleman.
Stepping up to him, Elizabeth laid a hand on his frail shoulder. “Martin? What is it?”
Martin shuddered beneath her fingers. He finally spoke, and his voice sounded as dry and cracked as burned leather. “The master,” he whispered. “I saw him in the great hall.”
“That’s nonsense,” Violet snapped, apparently unsettled herself by the old man’s obvious distress. “You know very well, Martin, that Lord Hartleigh passed away two years ago. You put flowers on his grave just last week.”
Martin drew himself up as straight as was physically possible, and his voice regained strength as he stared at Violet. “His body may be buried in that grave,” he said hoarsely, “but I just saw his ghost walking down the great hall. I’d stake my life on it.”
CHAPTER2
“Didn’t sleep a wink last night,” Violet declared the next morning when Elizabeth walked into the kitchen. “What with that German bomber pilot on the loose somewhere and Martin’s ghost, I was afraid to shut my eyes.”
“What ghost?” Polly demanded, withdrawing her head from the broom closet.
Violet made a sound of disgust. “Mind your manners, Polly. Say good morning to madam.”
Polly gave Elizabeth a cheeky grin. “Oops, sorry. Morning, m’m.”
Elizabeth returned the greeting. “I wouldn’t pay too much attention to Martin. You know how he is.” She accepted the cup of tea Violet handed her and sat down at the table.
“He did seem really upset, all the same.” Violet turned back to the stove. “Even for him.”
“He probably saw one of the Yanks wandering around,” Polly said, hauling her bucket and mop over to the door. “Though I haven’t seem much of them since they’ve been here.”
She disappeared, and Violet shook her head. “Thank Gawd for that. I don’t trust them Yanks. Nor Polly for that matter.”
Martin had placed the weekly local newspaper next to Elizabeth’s table mat, and she picked it up. “You worry too much Violet,” she murmured.
“Someone around here has to,” Violet muttered darkly.
Elizabeth stopped listening to her, her attention caught by the thick black headlines stamped across the front page. German Pilot Escapes! they screamed, and in smaller letters, Dangerous Enemy on the Loose in Hawthorn Woods!
According to the news report, soldiers from the camp in nearby Beerstowe had joined the local constabulary in a manhunt, and residents of the village were warned to stay away from the woods, where the pilot was suspected of having gone to ground.
Aware that Violet was talking to her, Elizabeth tore her gaze from the newspaper. “I beg your pardon?”
Violet crossed her arms. “I was asking if you and your major will be having dinner in the dining room tonight. What’s in that paper that’s so interesting, anyway?”
Elizabeth read the report out loud. “I feel sorry for the poor man,” she said when she was finished. “He looked so young, hardly more than a boy, and he was obviously terrified.”
“I should think so. I’d be terrified, too, if I saw Rita Crumm and her mob rushing at me. Enough to scare Hitler hisself, that woman.” Violet tilted her head to one side. “You never answered me about your major.”
“He’s not my major, Violet.” Elizabeth folded the newspaper and laid it next to her knife. “And I’d appreciate it if you would stop calling him that. You know how impressionable Polly is-I really don’t want any silly gossip going around. Especially now that Major Monroe is staying at the manor.”
Violet nodded. “So is he coming to dinner or not?”
“I haven’t asked him yet.”
“Well, would you mind getting on with it? That’s where you should be eating your meals, anyway. It isn’t proper for a lady of the manor to be taking her meals with the servants in the kitchen.”
Elizabeth sighed at the familiar argument. “You know very well how much I hate eating all alone at that enormous table in the dining room. Besides, as you also know very well, I don’t think of you and Martin as servants. I consider you both family.”
Violet’s cheeks turned pink. “That’s lovely, Lizzie, but your mother wouldn’t like that.”
“She wouldn’t like you calling me Lizzie, either, but since she’s not here, and I am, I think we can stop worrying about her approval and just do what we think is right.”
“If you say so.” Violet looked inordinately pleased. “Now, about dinner tonight. I need to know what to buy at the
butcher’s this morning. Thank goodness we still have enough coupons left in the ration books for a decent meal.”
Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I’ll try to catch the major before he leaves for the base. They all came back late last night, and I didn’t like to ask him then.”
“I know, I heard them. Them bloody water pipes were making such a racket I wonder they didn’t wake the dead. No wonder poor old Martin thought he saw a ghost.”
“I suppose we really should get them seen to, now that Major Monroe’s men are using the east wing bathroom. I didn’t think anyone would be using it again after Mummy and Daddy died.”
“Maybe your major could ask one of his men to take a look at the pipes.”
“He’s not-” Elizabeth began, but Violet interrupted her.
“I know, he’s not your major. Ask him anyway. Here’s your porridge. Eat it while it’s hot.” She dumped a steaming plate of creamed oatmeal in front of Elizabeth.
“I’m sure the American officers have enough to do defending our skies against German bombers.” Elizabeth picked up her spoon. “We’ll have to find someone ourselves.”
“Then you’ll have to go into North Horsham to find a plumber. There are precious few men left in Sitting Marsh, and not one of them would know how to fix a water pipe.”
Violet was right, Elizabeth thought gloomily. Most of the men in the village had been called up or had volunteered for the forces, and those who were left were either too old or too busy with their own businesses to help out with anything short of an emergency.
Her gaze wandered to the newspaper headlines again. The only constabulary left in Sitting Marsh were two elderly men dragged out of retirement to replace those who had joined up to fight for their country. George and Sid did their best, but apprehending a desperate enemy pilot went far beyond their meager capabilities. She could only hope the army routed out the man quickly, before panic spread among the villagers.
She had almost finished her porridge when the telephone jangled loudly across the kitchen, making Violet drop the saucepan she was drying onto the tiled kitchen counter.
“Blasted telephone,” Violet grumbled as she reached for it. “I wish there was some way we could turn down the noise it makes. I jump every time it rings.” She held the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
Elizabeth watched her face for some clue as to who might be ringing at this early hour. To her dismay, she heard Violet gasp. “Go on! No, I don’t believe it. Yes, of course I’ll tell her. Oh, my Gawd, what dreadful news!”
On her feet now, Elizabeth stared at Violet as she replaced the receiver and turned slowly to face her. All kinds of scenarios raced through her mind… the uppermost being the possibility that the Germans had launched the long-expected invasion. She waited, afraid to ask the question that hovered on her lips.
“You’re never going to believe this,” Violet said hoarsely, “but that was Marlene. She wanted to warn Polly. That scared young German pilot you felt so sorry for has gone and killed one of the land girls from Macclesby’s farm. They just found her dead body in Hawthorn Woods.”
Polly sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow. Scrubbing bathrooms was the thing she hated most about her job. She often wondered why she didn’t pack it in and go down to the canning factory. From what the other girls said, working there was a lot of fun. ’Course, she’d have to lie about her age. You had to be seventeen to work at the factory, and she was only fifteen. But then she was used to lying about her age. She’d been doing it for almost two years down at the pub, and only last week she’d lied to that nice Yank she’d met. Told him she was twenty. He’d believed her, too.
Polly smiled as she wrung out her mop. Good-looking, that Sam. Had to be at least twenty-four. Stolen her heart right away he had, with his dark-brown bedroom eyes and that thick, black, curly hair. Proper man all right. She’d had to lie about her job, too. She didn’t want him thinking she was just a crummy servant. She’d told him she was Lady Elizabeth’s secretary. Good job he couldn’t see her now, on her knees scrubbing the loo.
She leaned forward again and swiped the washrag around the pedestal of the toilet bowl. One day, she promised herself fiercely, she’d be living like a lady, too, with a secretary and a housekeeper and a butler to open the door. Only her butler would have a lot more gumption than wheezy old Martin, she’d make sure of that.
The sound of male laughter drifted down the hallway, freezing her hand. Yanks. So far she hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of Sam since he’d moved in with the others a week ago.
She’d been shocked to find out he was one of the officers billeted at the manor. Marlene had warned her that once Sam found out how she’d been lying to him, he’d never speak to her again. Marlene thought she knew everything, just because she was her older sister. Well, Polly told herself as she quickly gathered up her mop and bucket, Sam wasn’t going to find out she’d been lying. She’d managed to keep out of sight of the Yanks for a week now, and she’d go on doing it as long as she had a chance with the most gorgeous man she’d ever set eyes on. And like she told Marlene, she’d keep on lying to him until he was so madly in love with her he wouldn’t care when she finally told him the truth.
The voices drew closer, and before the men could round the corner she slipped out of the bathroom and through the door that led to the back stairs.
Elizabeth stared at Violet in disbelief. “That young boy killed someone? Are you sure?”
Violet shrugged. “That’s what Marlene said. He cut her head wide open, Marlene said. Told me to warn Polly not to ride her bike home past the woods tonight.”
“I can’t believe it. He seemed so harmless.”
“He wasn’t bloody harmless when he was dropping them bombs over London, now was he?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I know what you’re saying, Violet, and I really can’t explain how I feel. I suppose it’s the fact that the young man was following orders when he dropped those bombs. Killing an innocent young woman in cold blood is something else entirely.”
“Once a killer always a killer, that’s what I say. Those Germans are all alike.” Violet picked up the saucepan and began scrubbing the inside of it with a scouring pad. “I should have thought you of all people would know that, seeing as how your own parents died.”
Elizabeth stared at the remains of her porridge. Her appetite had disappeared, and she had no interest in cleaning up the bowl. It was hard to explain, even to herself, her sympathy toward the young German pilot.
Like everyone else, her image of a German bomber pilot was a vicious monster with hideous features hidden beneath the goggles and mask of his flying helmet. The young man standing shivering on the village green the day before was so far removed from that picture Elizabeth found it hard to believe he could actually fly a plane, let alone be responsible for dropping bombs on innocent women and children.
“I’m going to ring George Dalrymple,” she announced, getting up from the table. “You know how gossip gets distorted, especially after news has been passed around that hairdresser’s shop.”
Violet didn’t answer her, but Elizabeth could tell she didn’t approve by the way she banged the saucepan down on the draining board.
There was no answer from the police station in the village, and Elizabeth hung up the telephone. “I think I’ll take a run down there,” she announced.
“Now, Lizzie, don’t you get yourself involved in all this. Remember what happened the last time you started messing around with the murder of that poor Beryl Pierce. Almost got yourself killed, you did.”
“Violet,” Elizabeth said reasonably, “you know very well I was never in any real danger. In any case, I’m not getting involved. I’m merely going down to the police station to find out the truth of the matter. If indeed there is a killer on the loose in our woods, I want to know about it. Arrangements will have to be made to take Polly home tonight.”
“Perhaps your major will run her home i
n his Jeep,” Violet said, giving her a sly look.
“He’s not my major.” Elizabeth pulled her cardigan from the back of the chair and slipped it on. “I’ll let you break the bad news to Polly. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“So what am I going to do about dinner?”
“Buy the meat. If the major can’t join me, it will keep overnight in the larder. It’s getting quite cool at night now.”
“All right. But I’d hate to waste good meat. If he doesn’t come by tomorrow night, we’ll have to eat it all ourselves.”
“We can always make sandwiches for the Americans.”
Elizabeth almost laughed at Violet’s dour expression. She might have done so if her mind wasn’t still on a frightened young man hiding in the woods in fear of his life. Somewhere a mother was anxiously waiting, not knowing if her son was dead or alive. That was the trouble with war; the innocent on both sides suffered.
Martin met her in the upper hallway and peered at her above the thin gold rims of his glasses. Ever since he’d first worn the spectacles several years ago, Elizabeth had never seen him look through them. “Are you leaving, madam, or returning home?”
“I’m leaving, Martin. You didn’t happen to have seen Major Monroe about this morning, I suppose?”
The wrinkles on Martin’s crumpled face deepened. “Major? I don’t remember ever seeing a major about here. You don’t mean that scoundrel, Colonel Hartleigh, do you? He’s not here, I hope.” Martin’s head swiveled from side to side.
“No, no, I don’t mean Uncle Roger. I meant the American major. Have you seen any of the Americans?”
Martin drew himself up as straight as his spine would allow. “No, madam. Nor do I care to see them.” He raised his hand and placed it over his mouth, then whispered around it, “They are the reason he came back, you know.”
Death Is in the Air Page 2