“It’s the only decent one I have left beside the straw, and that’s looking worse for wear now.”
“There’s a lot to be said for a good old-fashioned cloth pull-on, that’s what I say.” Violet placed another bowl of soup on the table.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “They are so awfully drab. Not in the least bit fashionable.”
“They’re good enough for the queen. The king doesn’t seem to mind her wearing them.”
“I doubt if the king has much say in the matter,” Elizabeth murmured. “Besides, royalty are supposed to wear hats without brims so that people can see their faces. The royal family has never been too adventurous when it comes to fashion, in any case. I wouldn’t be caught dead in some of the clothes the queen wears.”
“Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton! Watch your tongue! You shouldn’t be talking about the royal family like that.” Violet went to the door and yelled for Martin. “I don’t know what he gets up to lately,” she said, coming back to the table, “but he’s never on time for meals anymore. He used to hover around the kitchen like a starving pigeon waiting for me to dish up, but now I have to call him down all the time.”
“Martin doesn’t have much sense of anything nowadays. He’s living in the past most of the time.”
“Don’t I know it.” Violet looked at the clock. “His soup is going to get cold if he doesn’t hurry up. Where can he be?”
“He’s probably talking to Father in the great hall,” Elizabeth murmured, only half paying attention. Her mind was on the message from Sheila Macclesby. She’d deliberately put off calling her until after lunch because she was afraid Sheila was going to tell her that Maurice had killed Amelia and would then beg her to help him. If Maurice had killed the girl, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Sheila that.
She was startled when Violet said crossly, “Don’t you start with this ghost business, Lizzie. I’ve had enough of it with Martin, and now Polly swears she saw something funny in the great hall. Wouldn’t tell me what it was, but I could tell it shook her up. Martin I can see, but Polly usually has more sense than that. Mind you, what with all those pipes rattling every time someone goes to the lavatory, it’s no wonder people start imagining things.”
Elizabeth gradually became aware of what Violet was saying. She looked up sharply. “Polly saw a ghost?”
Violet shrugged. “I don’t know that it was a ghost she saw, but she saw something odd, that I can tell you. ’Course, everyone knows there’s no such things as ghosts, don’t they?” She sent a nervous glance at Elizabeth. “Stuff and nonsense, that’s what I say.”
She didn’t sound too convinced, and Elizabeth did her best to reassure her. “There are no such things as ghosts, Violet, so you can stop worrying.”
Violet looked relieved. “I’m not worried at all.” She peered up at the clock again. “Where is that man? I’ll have to heat up his soup again.” She picked up the bowl and returned the contents to the pot.
“I’ve finished mine,” Elizabeth said, getting up from her chair. “I’ll find him on my way up to the office and tell him his lunch is ready.”
“His lunch is past ready,” Violet said grimly. “It’s on its way to the sink if he doesn’t hurry up. By the way, you never told me how you got on at the police station. They haven’t found that German yet, I suppose?”
“Not as far as I know.” Elizabeth paused at the door. “They’re still looking, of course. At least, the army is looking for him.”
“I wonder if they’ve run across Rita and her lot yet.”
“Rita and her troops had a change of heart about hunting down the German, lucky for him.”
“Go on! Not like Rita to give up on a chance to glorify herself. Mind you, it’s just as well. Anything could have happened with all those soldiers running around.”
“That’s exactly what I told them.”
Violet tilted her head to one side. “I had an idea you might be responsible for them changing their minds.”
“Someone had to do it, and the constables weren’t too cooperative.”
“Yes, but why does it always have to be you?” Violet wagged a finger at her. “You’ll get yourself into more trouble than you can handle one of these fine days, Lizzie. You see if you don’t.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You worry too much, Violet. After all, it’s my duty to watch over the villagers, and I’m very good at taking care of myself.”
“No woman is good at taking care of herself. You need a man to do that.”
“I tried that. Look where it landed me. If there’s one thing I don’t need in my life, it’s another man.” She left on those words, before Violet could give her any more argument.
It took her several minutes to find Martin. She finally spied him at the end of the great hall closest to the east wing. He stood at one of the tall, diamond-leaded windows, looking out at the neglected tennis court.
“He used to play there with your mother,” Martin said when she reached his side.
Feeling a rush of warmth for the elderly man, she wished that protocol would allow her to give him a hug. There was not the slightest doubt in her mind that had she done so, Martin would probably faint dead away at the outrage. “I know,” she said gently. “Both my parents loved to play tennis.”
“No one plays on the tennis court now.”
“Well, it’s not very serviceable right now. The net is broken, and the grass needs cutting and marking again.”
“He wants it repaired and spruced up.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Who does?”
“The master, of course. He was just here, telling me so. I think he misses playing tennis.”
Elizabeth glanced down the hall. It stretched the entire length of the house, and the far end was lost in shadows. Massive portraits of long-dead ancestors stared from their lofty perches on the walls with expressions varying from scowls to bored indifference. Not one of them smiled. If her portrait were to be hung alongside them, she would insist that she be smiling in it. No wonder people imagined they saw ghosts in such somber surroundings.
She looked the other way to the empty spaces still waiting. Her parents had sat for portraits shortly before their deaths. The massive paintings had been locked away for the past two years. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to look at them. Now she couldn’t remember if either of her parents had smiled in them. She would get them out, she decided, and have them hung where they belonged, alongside her grandparents, both of whom had passed away a few years ago. Her whole immediate family gone now. There were times when she felt like an orphan, left all alone in the world.
“Would you like me to see to it, madam?”
Jolted out of her thoughts, she stared at Martin. “See to what, Martin?”
“The tennis court, madam. I could spruce it up for the master.”
“Oh, if you like.” She eyed his frail body doubtfully. “Perhaps you can get Desmond to help. He’s supposed to be taking care of the grounds.”
Martin growled in his throat. “If you want my opinion madam, Desmond is about as useful in the grounds as a hole in an umbrella. I’ll take care of the matter myself.”
“As you wish.” Remembering why she was there, she added quickly, “Oh, Martin, your soup is getting cold in the kitchen. You’d better hurry down there before Violet throws it out.”
“Is it that time already?” Martin fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and drew out a large, silver pocket watch. “My word, where does the time go? If you’ll excuse me, madam, I’ll trot along to the kitchen now.”
“Of course, Martin. Enjoy your lunch.” She watched him shuffle slowly along the blue and gold carpet, his bowed figure frowned upon by the disdainful images on the walls. He had given his life to this house and the family who had lived there. If believing he could see the ghost of Lord Nigel Hartleigh made him happy, then who was she to deprive him of his fantasy?
She had almost reached her off
ice when Polly came flying down the hallway, her long, black hair tumbling about her flushed face. In the old days, Elizabeth thought, no maid would be allowed into the main house without her hair pinned and tucked securely under her cap. Polly had absolutely refused to wear a cap. Times had changed indeed.
“Lady Elizabeth!” Fighting for breath, Polly halted in front of her.
Her clothes were at least halfway presentable today. The plaid skirt and white blouse were quite respectable, and so much more becoming than those dreadful slacks the young girls lived in nowadays. Elizabeth bestowed a smile on the young maid. “What can I do for you, Polly?”
“Well, m’m, I just wanted to tell you that I rang all those numbers Violet give me-”
“Gave me,” Elizabeth corrected automatically.
“Sorry, m’m. Gave me. Anyhow, they all said as how they’d be at the meeting this afternoon. I got it all wrote down in a note on your desk.”
Elizabeth generously ignored the further slip in grammar. “Thank you, Polly. I appreciate your efforts.”
“Well, I was wondering, m’m, if you’ve given any more thought to me working in your office. I’m learning to talk proper now, and I’m getting really, really good at figures and writing letters, and I know I could manage all the bills. Violet showed me how to write out a check for the bank, so I know how to do that now, and I can answer the telephone and ring people and set up appointments and do all that for you.”
Elizabeth frowned. She had to admit she could use the help, but she wasn’t at all sure she could trust Polly with her varied and sometimes complicated duties. “I suppose I could use you for an hour every day,” she said at last. “There’s a mountain of filing to be done, and you could start there.”
Polly nodded eagerly, her face wreathed in smiles. “I can do the filing, m’m. You just show me once, and I’ll know how to do it.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Very well, you can start tomorrow. Be in my office at half past eight.”
“Yes, m’m.” Polly poised to rush off.
“And Polly?”
“Yes, m’m?”
“You will still have to take care of the housework.”
“Yes, m’m.”
She had gone a few steps when Elizabeth stopped her again. “Oh, and Polly?”
This time the response came a little more warily. “Yes, m’m?”
“It’s talk properly.”
Polly grinned. “Yes, ma’am!”
The thoroughly American twang to the word made Elizabeth wince, but this time she let the young girl go. She had to ring Sheila Macclesby now to find out what was so urgent and she was dreading it.
Reaching her office, she sat down at the heavy oak desk and dialed the number of the farm. A young female voice answered her on the second ring, sounding breathless. “Macclesby farm!”
“This is Lady Elizabeth from the Manor House. I’d like to speak to Mrs. Macclesby, please.”
“Oh, Lady Elizabeth! This is Pauline. Mrs. Macclesby’s in the cowshed, trying to stop the soldiers from mucking about with the cows.”
Elizabeth frowned. “What are soldiers doing in the cowshed?”
“They’re looking for that German, that’s what. He’s been hiding in the barn. Maurice found some food up there, stolen from the kitchen. There was a scarf up there, too, with a swastika on it. He’s not there now, though. I reckon he scarpered in the night.”
While Elizabeth was still digesting the news, Pauline added, “Oh, wait a minute, here comes Mrs. Macclesby now!” There followed a babble of conversation too low for Elizabeth to hear, then Sheila Macclesby’s clear voice rang in her ear.
“Good afternoon, your ladyship. Thank you for ringing. I just wanted you to know that Maurice found evidence that the German pilot has been hiding in our barn. The soldiers are looking for him now.”
“So Pauline tells me. Is Maurice all right?”
“He’s a little upset by all the excitement, but he’s not hurt or anything. I wouldn’t let the soldiers talk to him. You know how he gets. But at least now we know that the German killed Amelia. She must have seen him lurking around the farm, and he killed her to keep her quiet.”
It was quite possible, Elizabeth had to admit. But then, if he’d killed to make good his escape, why would he go to all the trouble of dragging the body to the woods? “I have to go to a council meeting now,” she told Sheila, “but as soon as it’s over I’ll come out there. Perhaps Maurice will feel more comfortable talking to me.”
“I don’t think he will, Lady Elizabeth. He won’t talk to the constables and he knows them really well.”
“George and Sid are there?”
“I think everyone in town is here,” Sheila said, her exasperation sounding clearly in her voice. “Rita and her mob arrived a little while ago. They’re all out in the fields looking in the haystacks. Don’t know what they expect to find out there, but they are making a blooming mess, I can tell you. Begging your pardon, m’m.”
“Oh dear.” Elizabeth glanced at the small, pendulum clock on her desk. “I’ll be out there as soon as I can get there.”
“Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. I need someone out here to take care of this mess. What with Rita Crumm and her lot, and the soldiers making trouble for the land girls, and all Sid and George can do is wander around wondering what to do next.”
“I’ll be there,” Elizabeth promised and dropped the phone. The sooner she got the meeting over with, the sooner she could be out at the farm. Someone had to restore order out there before poor Sheila went out of her mind. Besides, she really wanted to talk to Maisie about the disappearing spade.
The other council members were already there when she arrived at the town hall a short while later. Deirdre Cumberland, the vicar’s wife, dressed to kill as usual, was the first to greet her as she entered the dark, musty meeting room.
Returning the greeting, Elizabeth stepped up to the platform and took her seat at the head of the table. The acrid smell of burning tobacco wrinkled her nose. Captain Wally Carbunkle, long retired from the sea, puffed at a pipe while he listened to Percy Bodkins grumbling about all the extra accounts he had to deal with in his grocer’s shop now that everything was on ration.
The fourth member of the council, a rotund, middle-aged woman whose red apple cheeks dimpled in a permanent smile, waved a hand at her from the opposite end of the table. “It’s so nice to see you again, your ladyship,” she called out. “How is poor old Martin getting along? All right, is he?”
“Thank you, yes, Bessie.” Elizabeth smiled fondly at her. Bessie Bartholomew, proprietress and master baker at Bessie’s Bake Shop, was always a delight. Elizabeth had never heard the woman say a bad word about anyone, and she was always the first to offer help when needed. She had lost her husband during the first months of the war, and both her sons were fighting overseas, yet she always had a smile and a cheerful word for everyone. It was a pleasure to buy bread and buns in her spotlessly clean and bright shop or sit in her warm, cozy parlor enjoying a spot of afternoon tea.
“I’d like to know why we are here,” Deirdre demanded in her whiny voice. “I was supposed to join the Women’s League knitting group this afternoon. I trust this issue is important enough to summon us in the middle of the week?”
Wally took his pipe out of his mouth and waved it at her. “Settle down, Deirdre. Her ladyship would not have called this meeting if it weren’t important. Now ain’t that so, your ladyship?”
“Quite so, Captain Carbunkle.” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I’ve called you all here because of the unpleasant hostility that prevails in the village toward the Americans. I believe the matter is serious enough that it’s time to do something about it. Apparently the Tudor Arms was badly damaged last night when a fight broke out between the British soldiers and the Americans. I find this situation unacceptable, and we have to come up with ways to improve matters.”
“I told you this would happen,” Deirdre muttered.
Elizabeth sighed
. “It’s true, Mrs. Cumberland and her grievance committee discussed the matter with me a while ago, but nothing has been done about it, and the situation is simply getting worse. Does anyone have any ideas of how we can alleviate the problem?”
“Close down the aerodrome, that’s what I say,” Percy declared. “Bloody Yanks are causing more trouble than they are worth. Sorry, your ladyship, but I’ve had it up to here with them.” He drew his hand across his throat.
“I think we all have to remember just why the Americans are here.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders, prepared to fight if needs be. “Every day those young men risk their lives in the skies to help us win this war. Some of them die. Some of them are horribly disfigured. In my opinion, we should be going down on our knees to thank them, instead of blaming them for everything that goes wrong in the village.”
“Hear, hear, m’m,” Bessie murmured. “They’re good lads, they are. Just a long way from home.” She sent Deirdre her beautiful smile. “I hope and pray every day that if my sons end up in a strange town in a foreign country, someone will be kind enough to take care of them for me. I wouldn’t mind betting there are plenty of mothers in America praying for the same thing.”
Deirdre sniffed, but Wally clapped his hands. “Well said, Bessie, me old mate. So how can we help the poor blighters feel at home?”
“I was thinking we should offer some kind of entertainment that both the English and the Americans could enjoy together.” Elizabeth looked around the table. “Something that will take them out of the pub every night.”
“Like a concert?” Percy shook his head. “Begging your pardon, m’m, I can’t see the Yanks sitting still that long. Energetic lot, they are. Always on the go. I’ve seen them in my shop. Can’t stand still a minute, they can’t. Always jiggling about, shuffling their feet like they want to dance all the time.”
“That’s it!” Elizabeth snapped her fingers. “We’ll hold a dance for them.”
The expressions on the faces of the council members didn’t look encouraging. Even Bessie looked doubtful at the suggestion.
“We have the monthly dance at the village hall,” Deirdre said stiffly. “I suppose we could invite them there.”
Death Is in the Air Page 10