Death Is in the Air

by Kate Kingsbury

  Polly followed her gaze. “Are you talking about the decorations or the men?”

  Marlene grinned. “Both. Just look at those Yanks dance! Our boys can’t dance like that.”

  “They’re not even trying.” Polly nodded at the walls lined with British soldiers, most of them with scowls on their faces. “They don’t look very happy, do they?”

  “I can see why. What with all the girls out there on the floor with the Yanks. Look, there’s Lilly Crumm. Trust her to grab a Yank.”

  “I’m surprised her ma isn’t out there with one, too.” Polly gasped as she watched a tall, skinny American airman swing Lilly through his legs, then up over his back where she was suspended upside down for a heart-pounding second or two before being bounced back on her feet.

  “No wonder they call it swing,” Polly murmured. “Them Yanks are swinging the girls all over the place.”

  “So where is your Sam, then?” Marlene sent a searching glance around the room. “Can’t see him anywhere.”

  Polly’s stomach turned over. “He’s not here yet. Must have been kept late at the base.” She pretended not to notice Marlene’s quick look of concern.

  “He’ll probably be here any minute.”

  “Yeah, I hope so.” He had to be there. It wouldn’t be the same without him. She’d got all dressed up for him and had put on the nylons he’d got her from the base. She just loved those nylons. She wouldn’t have believed how silky and sheer stockings could be until she’d pulled on one of those filmy, almost transparent scraps of fabric over her legs. Just wearing them made her feel sort of slinky and ritzy.

  She’d hitched up the skirt of her pink seersucker frock once she’d left the house and escaped from Ma’s sharp eyes. She didn’t really like the dress. It was too babyish. She’d wanted the black one hanging in Finnegan’s big window, but Ma had put her foot down. Said it was too old for her.

  At first she’d sworn never to wear the soppy pink thing. Then Marlene had shown her how to hitch up the skirt and pull the sweetheart neckline down lower, and it hadn’t looked half bad after that. Though she still wished she could have had the black frock.

  Idly she watched a good-looking Yank stroll over in her direction. Normally she’d have been all in a tizzy to see a man like that heading toward her. Funny how nobody seemed worth bothering about now that she had Sam. She sent another worried glance at the door. Where the bloody hell was he?

  The dark-haired, dark-eyed Yank paused in front of her. She was all set to send him on his way with a polite refusal when he stepped past her and offered his hand to Marlene. “Wanna boogie?”

  Marlene’s face turned bright red. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said nervously.

  Polly gave her a mighty shove with her shoulder. “’Course you can do it, silly. Just let him throw you about, that’s all. He has to do all the work.”

  The American shot her a grin. “Thanks, babe.” He grabbed Marlene’s hand. “Come on, sugar, I’ll show you how it’s done.” He charged onto the floor, dragging a protesting Marlene behind him.

  Polly watched them for a while, forgetting her worries about Sam in the sheer enjoyment of watching her big sister make a proper fool of herself out there.

  Marlene looked stiff and awkward as she tried her best to keep up with the Yank, who seemed to be made of rubber the way he was twisting and twirling all around the floor. He spun her around a few times, until she looked really giddy, then grabbed her hands and swung her between his feet.

  Polly caught her breath when Marlene, instead of hanging on to her partner’s hands, let go instead. She skidded across the floor on her bottom and crashed into another couple. The girl was in midair at the time. Her partner caught her awkwardly, breaking her fall before they both landed in a heap on top of Marlene. Polly thought she was going to die from laughing.

  Marlene’s face was the color of a beetroot when she scrambled to her feet, tugging her skirt back down over her knees. She started to walk away from the Yank, but he pulled her back into his arms and started jitterbugging again all around the floor, with Marlene hanging on like grim death. Polly had to go and sit down before she wet her drawers laughing at her.

  Half an hour later she wasn’t laughing at all. By then Marlene had got the hang of the dancing and seemed to be having a really good time with her Yank, who hadn’t left her side for a moment.

  Polly sat staring at the door, fear looming like a cold dark cloud inside her. Sam still hadn’t come. Although she’d fought hard against the thought, the unthinkable now seemed frighteningly possible. Maybe this time Sam wasn’t coming back at all.

  “These Cornish pasties are marvelous!” Elizabeth exclaimed after she’d bitten into the savory pastry. “What a treat.”

  Standing behind the refreshment table, Violet’s face looked sour. “I could bake stuff like this if I didn’t have to worry about rationing and that’s all I had to do all day.”

  “I’m sure you could, Violet,” Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. “Your trifle is beyond compare.”

  Violet’s scowl vanished. “Well, thank you, Liz-” She caught herself just in time and, after giving the woman next to her a swift glance, added lamely, “Your ladyship.”

  Nellie Smith seemed oblivious to anything except the line of American airmen clamoring to buy the sandwiches and pastries piled up in front of her. Behind her, one of Bessie’s assistants stood frying fat, juicy sausages over a camp stove, while a pan of fried onions sizzled next to them. Elizabeth moved away from the enticing aroma before she was tempted to sample the fat-laden food.

  The noise in the main hall was deafening. Captain Carbunkle had turned up the volume to an ear-splitting roar, and everyone on the dance floor yelled to be heard above the blaring of trumpets and the pounding of drums. Heads bobbed up and down, feet swung in the air, hands were flung in every direction, and the vibration of stomping feet shook the floorboards.

  Elizabeth, overwhelmed by all the raucous activity, decided to get a breath of fresh air. On her way out she scanned the floor, searching for a familiar square-cut face with sun-bleached brown hair. Determined not to give in to the fear that hovered inside her, she strode to the main doors and pulled them open.

  Cigarette smoke escaped above her head in a billowing cloud. She took in several deep breaths of the cool, fresh night air then closed the doors behind her, shutting out the noise. With the ensuing silence came the terror she’d tried so hard to ignore.

  Something had happened to him. She was sure of that now. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did. She had no right to feel this way about another woman’s husband, but sometimes a heart wouldn’t listen to reason, and hers seemed set on turning a deaf ear to common sense and decency.

  If she wasn’t so miserable, she could laugh at herself for being such a fool. After the fiasco of her marriage to Harry, the very last thing she’d ever imagined doing was falling for another man. That would have been crazy enough. She hadn’t been content with that. Oh, no, not Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton. She’d had to break all the rules. She’d made the fatal mistake of falling for a man who was so far out of reach he might just as well be on the moon.

  For a moment or two she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity. Then she pulled herself together. She was a Hartleigh, after all. Stiff upper lip and all that. Her attraction to Major Earl Monroe had been nothing more than an immature fascination for the unconventional, the inevitable lure of a uniform, and the appeal of a foreign lifestyle so different from her own. What woman hadn’t been led astray by such enticements at some time or other in her life?

  After all, what had she really lost? One couldn’t lose that which one never had, and there were many thousands of women who had lost so much more. She had absolutely no right to go moping about feeling sorry for herself. Violet would be furious with her if she had any idea of her ridiculous and childish behavior.

  Thus fortified, albeit with a heavy heart, Elizabeth squared her shoulders, shoved open the door
s, and marched back into the thundering fray.

  She noticed this time that the room had become sharply divided. On the one side, the Americans sat at the tables, either in groups or alone with a girl, while the rest of them jiggled around on the dance floor.

  On the opposite side of the room, the British soldiers leaned against the wall, watching the dancing with bored expressions, or stood in groups muttering amongst each other.

  It was those groups that worried Elizabeth the most. Even from that distance she could tell that the soldiers were not at all happy. A couple of them were making angry gestures and shaking their heads, while others scowled at the dancers on the floor.

  It wasn’t hard to understand why they were upset. With the exception of two or three women, all of whom looked old enough to be mothers of the uniformed men, the rest of the female assembly were either clinging to the arms of the Americans or flying over their backs.

  It was time, Elizabeth decided, to get the two sides together before they were at each other’s throats.

  She headed for the stage, where Wally Carbunkle was busily sorting out records. “I think it’s time for a break,” she told him as she clambered up beside him. “See if you can find Priscilla. Tell her I need her to play the piano for a short while. I think I saw her over by the bar.”

  “I’ll get her, your ladyship.” Wally, looking very spiffy in a white shirt and red waistcoat, trotted off to find Priscilla.

  Elizabeth stepped up to the microphone and looked down at the upturned faces of the dancers, most of whom looked disgruntled at being interrupted in their war dances. Undaunted, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I think it’s time we got everyone on the floor for a round of country dancing,” she announced into the round, black mouth of the microphone.

  Her words were met with a chorus of groans from the women, while the Americans looked at each other in confusion. A babble of voices arose from the floor while the women explained the art of English country dancing.

  Sensing the lack of enthusiasm, Elizabeth tried again. “How about a Lambeth Walk?”

  More mutters of explanation. The Americans merely looked horrified.

  “Hands, Knees and Bumps a Daisy?”

  This time the explanations were accompanied by half-hearted demonstrations from the abashed-looking women. Howls of laughter erupted from the men on the floor.

  Elizabeth had to admit they did look rather ridiculous, slapping hands and bumping behinds. She made one last appeal. “All right, we’ll play a slow song and make it a lady’s invitation dance. Marlene Barnett, you start off by picking your partner, then when the music ceases, you each find another partner, and so on until everyone is dancing.”

  This announcement was met with a rumbling of grudging approval. Smelling victory, Elizabeth urgently beckoned to Wally Carbunkle, who was still hunting for Priscilla. He came back at a bumbling run and, panting for breath, climbed onto the stage.

  “Don’t you worry, Lady Elizabeth, I’ll take care of it,” he assured her.

  She waited until the first strains of Frank Sinatra’s clear, mellow voice filled the hall then thankfully left the stage. She’d done her best to integrate the crowd. Now she could only hope for the best.

  Watching the dancers from the edge of the floor, she couldn’t stop the ache growing in her heart. Couples danced cheek to cheek, shuffling around no more than an inch at a time. Amazing, she thought. She’d been fascinated by the way the Americans danced much livelier and faster than their British counterparts, and now they were dancing closer and much more slowly than she was used to seeing.

  In fact, in view of the fact they were so closely entwined with their partners, the Americans’ idea of a slow dance was quite sensual. How marvelous it would have been to have danced with Earl Monroe that way.

  Even as she struggled to repress the thought, her attention was caught by a small disruption by the main doors. A group of American officers had entered, and Elizabeth was intrigued to see Polly Barnett rush up to one of them and throw her arms around his neck.

  Then her heart seemed to stop when another of the officers broke away from the group and began walking unsteadily toward her. He was limping, she noticed, and he wore a piece of sticking plaster on his forehead. He looked incredibly weary… and unbelievably handsome.

  He paused in front of her and held out his hand. “Sorry I’m late. I believe this is our dance.”

  Speechless and embarrassingly close to tears, Elizabeth smiled up into the tired face of Major Earl Monroe.

  CHAPTER15

  Suddenly the chattering and laughter in the ballroom seemed to ebb away as Elizabeth took Earl’s hand, leaving only the soothing voice of Frank Sinatra to entice her onto the dance floor.

  “You’re limping,” she said as he led her into the midst of the smooching couples.

  “We had a little problem on the way back this morning.”

  “Won’t it hurt you to dance?”

  “I’ll manage. Just don’t ask me to jitterbug.”

  “Don’t worry. I have no intention of breaking my neck for anyone.” She glanced over to the group at the door. All of them appeared to have bandages of some kind, and one of them leaned on a cane. “What happened?”

  “We caught some flak. Crippled the plane, but we made it back close enough to land in a field. Took us a while to hitch a ride back to base.”

  Filled with concern, she looked up at him. His mouth was smiling, but the bleakness in his eyes frightened her. “That’s a little problem?”

  “We made it down in one piece. Better than ditching in the ocean.”

  “You shouldn’t have bothered coming down here tonight. You must feel awful.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

  Her heart seemed to turn over. “I’m so glad you made it back.” Such simple words that couldn’t convey the gratitude she felt that he had been spared. This time.

  “So am I.” His gaze flicked over her. “Nice dress.”

  “Thank you.” She had been right. Dancing this close with Earl Monroe was an interesting-no, captivating-experience. She felt quite light-headed.

  She saw the other couples nuzzling each other and wanted so much to touch his cheek with hers. She had to remind herself sternly that he belonged to another woman. In an effort to reinforce that, she said deliberately, “Your wife will be very relieved to know you are safe.”

  His face was expressionless when he answered her. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “Two. Boy and a girl.”

  “They must all miss you very much. It’s hard for children to be without their father.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re almost grown up now. Brad’s sixteen, and Marcia’s a year older.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You must have been very young when you had them.”

  “Right out of high school.” He inclined his head in the direction of the stage. “Good music. Sinatra’s a favorite of mine.”

  “Mine, too.” Aware that he’d deliberately changed the subject, she told him about the rest of Bessie’s collection of records. Obviously it was painful for him to talk about his family. He must miss them very much, she thought, and chided herself for the deep pang of envy she felt.

  The song ended much too soon, and she walked with him off the floor, wishing it could have gone on forever.

  He said something to her, but the band music drowned out his words. She was about to ask him to repeat them when the sound of a disturbance over at the bar caught her attention.

  A British soldier appeared to be arguing with an American, while a young woman attempted to get between them. Elizabeth recognized Lilly Crumm just as the soldier swung a punch at the other man’s face. The American immediately retaliated and knocked the soldier to the ground.

  It seemed to Elizabeth as if everyone in the room had been waiting for that moment. The tension had been building all night, and now all hell broke loose. Rita Crumm appeared f
rom nowhere and dragged her daughter out of the way as British soldiers, American airmen, and too many women surged onto the floor. Fists began to fly, voices cursed, yelled, and screamed, while somewhere in the background someone was blowing on a whistle, barely heard above the racket.

  Elizabeth signaled to Wally to turn off the music, since no one was listening to it anyway. Earl seemed to have disappeared, and she went up on her toes to scan the room for a sight of him. As she did so, a glass tankard sailed past her head, narrowly missing her. Someone bumped into her back, sending her forward into the flailing arms and kicking feet.

  A painful blow on the shin made her cry out, and she twisted out of the way as a couple of men locked in mortal combat lurched past her. A pair of strong arms locked around her from behind, and terrified now, she struggled to release herself.

  “Come on,” Earl’s voice said in her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Weak with relief, she let him guide her through the struggling bodies until they were at the edge of the crowd.

  He put his mouth close to her ear again and asked, “Is there another way out of here?”

  She pointed to a door tucked away in the corner behind the stage. Immediately he grabbed her hand and stumbled unevenly toward the door, dragging her behind him. They reached it safely, just as the shrill sound of whistles echoed throughout the ballroom.

  “M.P.’s,” Earl said, and pushed her through the door into the dark passageway beyond. “That will be trouble for the guys.”

  She didn’t answer him until they were through the narrow passageway and out into the main foyer. Then she said with a sigh, “Well, that was a disaster.”

  He looked sympathetic. “I hate to say I told you so…”

  “I know. Obviously this integration thing is going to take a lot more work. I’ll simply have to come up with something else.”

  Inexplicably he gave a shout of laughter. “Lady Elizabeth,” he said, still chuckling, “you are priceless! I like your spirit. Reminds me of the pioneers.”