Death Is in the Air

by Kate Kingsbury

  Wally let out a roar of laughter. “Can you see them jazzed-up Yanks trotting around the village hall to the music of Ernie’s Entertainers? What with Wilf wheezing on the mouth organ and Ernie’s caterwauling on his trumpet, and poor old Priscilla Peeble playing on the cracks between the piano keys, there’d be a flipping riot before the first song came to an end.”

  “Not at the village hall,” Elizabeth said impatiently. “I mean here, at the town hall. We have enough space out there in the ballroom to accommodate everyone. We could decorate it ourselves, and Ted Wilkins could supply beer and wine from his pub. Maybe the Americans could bring some spirits from the base. I’m sure someone could arrange that.”

  Wally nodded. “You might have something there, your ladyship. But what would we do about music? Ernie would be booed off the stage.”

  “We could play records!” Bessie announced. “I’ve got a whole pile of band music-American and English. I’ve got nearly all of those Glen Miller tunes. My Philip collects them. We could use my gramophone, and I know Philip wouldn’t mind if we used his speakers. Oo, it’s going to be lovely!”

  Her enthusiasm rippled around the table. “I’ll be master of ceremonies,” Wally offered, “and Percy here can run the gramophone.”

  “I suppose I could ask the Women’s League to decorate,” Deirdre said rather wistfully. “It might be quite enjoyable. It has been a dreadfully long time since Roland and I danced together.”

  “I’ll make some sausage rolls and Cornish pasties.” Bessie sent a sly glance at Percy. “’Course, it would help if I could get my hands on a little of that black market stuff.”

  Percy nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, though I can’t promise, mind.”

  Bessie clapped her hands. “Ted can get some crisps and nuts. Oo, I can’t wait.”

  Well pleased with herself, Elizabeth beamed at everyone. “That’s settled, then. We’ll do it.”

  “When shall we have it?” Wally asked. “I’ll need to rehearse a bit.”

  “As soon as possible.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “This Saturday.”

  A chorus of dismay met her words.

  “That’s only two days away!”

  “We can’t get everything done by then!”

  “That’s impossible!”

  This last was from Deirdre. Bessie, Elizabeth noted, said nothing, though her smile had faltered.

  “Nothing is impossible if we put our minds to it.” Elizabeth straightened her back. “This is a war effort to improve relationships between the allies. It has top priority over everything else. If we all work together we can get it done.”

  “Well,” Deirdre said, “it might be an idea if Rita Crumm and her cohorts stop looking for Nazis and give us a hand. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

  Well satisfied, Elizabeth nodded. “I intend to do just that. This dance will be just the thing to take their minds off that German pilot.”

  “I imagine you will be there to greet everyone at the door, Lady Elizabeth?”

  “Of course I’ll be there.”

  “You’ll be bringing your American officers, then?” Wally asked, puffing furiously on his pipe. “Might be a good idea. They can keep their chaps from getting out of hand.”

  “Who’s going to keep our lads from getting out of hand?” Percy demanded.

  All four pairs of eyes turned in Elizabeth’s direction. She gave them all a weak smile. Violet’s words echoed in her head. All she could hope was that they were not prophetic and that she wasn’t taking on more trouble than she could handle.

  CHAPTER10

  When Elizabeth arrived at the Macclesby farm a few minutes later, it was to confront utter chaos. Pigs ran around loose in the yard, chased by red-faced soldiers carrying rifles, while a female voice, unmistakably belonging to Rita Crumm, could be heard from the cornfields screeching curses at the top of her lungs. George stood on the bottom rung of a gate, hollering orders that no one seemed to hear, let alone obey.

  Elizabeth saw Pauline over by the cowshed, arguing with an army officer, and in the distance a group of women brandishing what she fervently hoped weren’t carving knives advanced in a solid line upon the only haystack that appeared to be intact. The rest were torn apart and scattered to the winds.

  As she crossed the yard to the house, the unpleasant smell of burning wool caught her attention. A thin column of smoke arose from behind the farmhouse, and she hurried back there to investigate, half afraid that Rita in her enthusiasm had set fire to the barn.

  Much to her relief, the smoke drifted from a smoldering bonfire. She was about to turn away when she caught sight of something glinting in the afternoon sunshine. Sparks sprayed from the ashes when she poked them with her shoe, and she saw the sunlight glance off several small pieces of metal. After a few more nudges at them with her foot, she managed to separate them from the embers.

  While she waited for them to cool down, she crouched down to examine the pieces more closely. They were round, brass buttons, embossed with some kind of emblem. She waited a moment longer, then picked up the still-warm buttons and slipped them into the pocket of her cardigan.

  Frowning, she straightened. Why would Sheila burn clothes, when the village was in the middle of a huge clothing drive for the victims bombed out of their homes? There was only one way to find out, and that was to ask her.

  As she rounded the house, Elizabeth caught sight of Pauline striding across the yard with a bucket in her hand. She hailed the young woman, who paused, obviously irritated by this further interruption.

  “Good afternoon, m’m,” she mumbled, when Elizabeth approached.

  “Pauline, I was wondering about that bonfire at the back of the house,” Elizabeth said, coming straight to the point. “I couldn’t help noticing that some clothes had been burned. Do you know anything about that?”

  Pauline’s face seemed to close up. “Yes, m’m. I was the one what lit it, wasn’t I. Mrs. Macclesby gave me some old sacks to burn, but there weren’t no clothes on there. Not that I put there, anyhow.”

  Elizabeth took the buttons from her pocket and held them out on her palm. “Then how do you think these got into the fire?”

  Pauline stared at the buttons for several seconds. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “They could have been there already when I set light to the sacks. We burn a lot of stuff on that bit of ground.”

  “But you didn’t notice them there when you put the sacks on the ground?”

  Pauline looked her straight in the eye. “No, m’m. I didn’t.”

  Satisfied, Elizabeth nodded. “Well, thank you, Pauline. I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “Thank you, m’m. Though I don’t know what work’ll get done with all these army blokes running around here. Anyone can see that German ain’t here. That’s the army for you, always wasting someone’s time.” She stomped off, leaving Elizabeth to wonder if the girl’s bitterness toward the military stemmed more from the loss of her boyfriend than the unwarranted interruption of her day.

  Sheila opened the door to Elizabeth’s summons a minute or two later, though barely more than a crack. When she recognized her visitor, however, she widened the gap and urged Elizabeth inside. “So good of you to come, Lady Elizabeth,” she said, as she slammed the door shut, “though I don’t really know what you can do about all this. The P.C.s have been out there for an hour trying to get rid of everyone.”

  Elizabeth gave her a sympathetic smile. “Well, perhaps I can at least talk to Rita. I have some news to give her anyway.”

  Sheila looked concerned. “Her Bert’s all right, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, as far as I know.” Elizabeth seated herself on the couch. “Don’t worry, this is good news. We are holding a dance on Saturday at the town hall. I’m hoping Rita and her group of ladies will be able to help us.”

  “A dance?” Sheila’s face brightened just a little. “What sort of dance?”

  “Well, we’ll be playing records-band music, of course-an
d we’ll have drinks and refreshments. We’re inviting the British soldiers as well as the Americans.”

  “Taking a bit of a chance there, your ladyship. Our boys don’t get on with the Yanks too well.”

  “That’s just the point. We want to create an environment where both sides can get to know each other and appreciate each other’s point of view.”

  Sheila still looked doubtful. “And you’re sure that can happen at a dance where there’s drinking and girls?”

  Elizabeth felt a stab of apprehension. Now that she really thought about it, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. In the next instant she chided herself. She couldn’t let a few niggling doubts get in the way. The die was cast now, and she would see it through to the bitter end. Never say die; that was the Hartleigh motto. Those words had given her ancestors courage and conviction through wars and battles in the past, and it would get her through whatever lay ahead.

  Remembering the buttons, she pulled them from her pocket. “I found these lying near the bonfire around the back of the house,” she said, holding them out for Sheila’s inspection. “I was wondering if they belonged to the clothes you burned on the bonfire.”

  Sheila looked startled. “Clothes? I haven’t burned any clothes. I gave Pauline some old sacks to burn, but there weren’t any clothes. I give all our old clothes to the village clothing drive.”

  “Ah, that was what I wanted to mention,” Elizabeth said hurriedly. “I didn’t know if you were aware of the drive.”

  “Everyone knows about it, m’m. There are notices all over the town.” Sheila glanced at the clock. “I’m so sorry, Lady Elizabeth. You’ve been here for ten minutes, and I haven’t even offered you some tea. Would you like a cup?”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Elizabeth said, rising to her feet, “but I think I’ll get out there and talk to Rita before her ladies do any more damage to your haystacks.”

  “Thank you, m’m, I’d appreciate that. Nothing I say does any good. When I told them they were trespassing, Rita kept telling me it’s wartime, and the rules don’t count anymore. What I say is that no matter if there’s a war on or not, a person’s property is private, and I should be able to order them off my land.”

  “Quite right, Sheila. I’ll see to it right away.” Elizabeth turned to leave, then paused. “Before I go, though, I wonder if you’d mind taking a closer look at these buttons? They are rather distinctive, and I’d like to know if you remember seeing them anywhere before.”

  She held out the buttons, and Sheila took them into her hand as if afraid they would burn her skin. She turned them over, then hastily handed them back to Elizabeth. “Sorry, m’m. Never saw them before in my life. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  “That’s all right.” Elizabeth opened the door. “Maybe one of the girls will recognize them. I hope you won’t mind if I have a word with them?”

  For a moment or two Sheila looked as if she might argue, but then she shook her head. “Not at all, your ladyship.”

  “Thank you, Sheila. I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Elizabeth closed the door, then jumped as Sid’s grating voice said behind her, “Lady Elizabeth! I thought I saw you a little while ago. Come to help us find that bloody German, have you?”

  “Not exactly, Sid.” Elizabeth gave him her brightest smile. “I’m sure I can leave that to you and George.”

  “That you can, m’m. That you can.” Sid puffed out his chest and beamed all over his face.

  For a moment Elizabeth was tempted to show him the buttons then thought better of it. It had already occurred to her that if clothes had indeed been burned on the bonfire, they could possibly belong to the killer and would no doubt have been stained with Amelia’s blood. It was also possible the clothes had been hidden among the sacks by the killer, knowing they would soon be destroyed.

  Then again, the clothes could have been discarded by the German pilot, simply to avoid being recognized, though so far no one had reported any clothes stolen, and Elizabeth doubted that the German would be running around the countryside in his underwear. In any case, even if the clothes had been evidence, they were in ashes now and therefore not much use.

  As for the buttons, if she handed them over now, she would lose any chance of finding out to whom they belonged. All in all, it seemed prudent to hang on to them for the time being.

  She found Maisie in the cornfield, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to the elbows, stubbornly refusing offers from two young soldiers to help her stack sheaves. The young girl’s face glowed red with exertion as she heaved a heavy load of the corn on its end.

  “Cor, look at them muscles,” one of the soldiers said, poking his grinning companion in the shoulder. “I’d watch it if I were you, Doug. She could pick both of us up with one hand.”

  “Yeah, right bruiser, this one is.” The second soldier gave Maisie’s shoulder a light punch. “How about a wrestling match then, darlin’? First one on the ground loses.”

  Maisie looked as if she were about to cry.

  Elizabeth thinned her lips and marched over to them. “Young man, why aren’t you with the rest of your regiment? I was under the impression you were ordered to search for an enemy soldier, not harass the young ladies.”

  The soldier named Doug gave her a dirty look. “So who are you then? The sergeant major’s girlfriend?”

  Maisie gasped and stared at the soldier in horror at this audacious affront.

  Undaunted, Elizabeth drew herself up to her full height. “I’m Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh. May I ask whom I am addressing?”

  The soldier appeared taken aback.

  “His name is Private Doug McDaniel,” Maisie said helpfully, earning a black scowl for her efforts.

  “Well, Private McDaniel,” Elizabeth said grimly, “I suggest you apologize to this young lady and then get back to your duties this very minute, or I shall have no alternative but to report your boorish behavior to your commanding officer, whom, I might add, is a very good friend of mine.”

  The soldier’s scowl changed to concern. “Sorry, m’m,” he muttered, “I didn’t mean no harm.”

  Maisie just nodded, while the soldiers backed away then turned tail and raced across the field. “Thank you, your ladyship,” she said when the men had climbed over the fence and disappeared from view.

  “Not at all.” Elizabeth dusted her gloved hands together. “You have to be firm with these young men today, or they will take advantage of you.”

  Maisie’s cheeks turned red again, and she looked down at her boots. “Yes, m’m. I’ll try.” She peeked up again. “Are you really a great friend of their commanding officer?”

  “Never met him,” Elizabeth said cheerfully, “but I’m not above telling a little fib or two when it’s absolutely necessary.”

  Maisie smiled, transforming her rather plain face into something quite pleasing. “Thank you, m’m.”

  “Yes, well.” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Maisie, I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

  “I’ll try,” Maisie said, apparently eager now to return the favor.

  “Well, it’s about the spade you left leaning against the house the night Amelia died. You found it in the tool shed the next day, is that right?”

  “Yes, m’m.” Maisie seemed troubled. “I didn’t do nothing wrong, did I?”

  “No, no, not at all.” Elizabeth smiled at the girl to reassure her. “It’s just that when you found the spade you seemed really surprised to see that it was clean.”

  “I was!” Maisie nodded with enthusiasm. “I left it all muddied up and forgot about it. We’re supposed to clean the tools before we put them away. Someone must have cleaned it up for me. That was really nice of them to do that.”

  Something in Elizabeth’s face must have alerted her, because her smile faltered, and she added hesitantly, “Why are you asking about… oh!” Her hand slapped her mouth over her gasp. When she took her hand away again, the color had drained from h
er face. “You think Amelia was killed with my spade?”

  Maisie might be naive, Elizabeth thought ruefully, but she wasn’t stupid. “It’s a very remote possibility,” she said quickly, “so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone about it just yet. We don’t want to cause a lot of trouble over nothing.”

  Maisie looked scared, but she nodded. “Mum’s the word,” she said, holding up her right hand. “On my honor.”

  “I’m most grateful. By the way, where exactly did you leave the spade that night?”

  Maisie thought about it. “Standing against the wall right under Mrs. Macclesby’s bedroom window,” she said at last.

  “Thank you, Maisie. You’ve been a big help. Oh, before I forget…” Elizabeth reached in her pocket and pulled out the buttons. “Have you ever seen these buttons before?”

  Maisie peered at them. “Well, I couldn’t be sure about it, of course. Some of those buttons look all the same. But…” She paused, as if reluctant to finish the sentence.

  “Yes?” Elizabeth prompted.

  “Well, as I said, I couldn’t be sure of course, but they look like the buttons on a reefer jacket. Maurice wears one all the time, and his has got buttons like that.”

  Elizabeth closed her fingers over the buttons. “Thank you, Maisie. I won’t keep you any longer. I hope you won’t mention this to anyone else.”

  “No, m’m. You can count on me. Cross me heart and hope to die.” She drew a cross with her thumb over her chest.

  Elizabeth had to leave it at that.

  As she hurried across the field to where Rita Crumm’s army of housewives were ravaging the haystack, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d been wrong about Maurice. In spite of his gentle nature, she had to remember that everyone is capable of murder if given enough reason.

  If Amelia Brunswick had cruelly rejected him one time too many, it was entirely possible that something had snapped in Maurice’s unstable mind, and in a fit of rage he hit her with the spade, without even understanding the consequences of his action.