She would never know what prompted her to utter her next words. Maybe it was the approval in his eyes. Or the relief of seeing him back safe and sound from a near disaster. It could well have been all the excitement of being in the middle of a brawl. Or perhaps the two glasses of sherry she’d consumed while worrying about him. Whatever the cause, the words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Please, Earl, do call me Lizzie.”
Polly had been in the middle of the dance floor when the fight erupted. Sam had been wonderful, shielding her with his body as he swept her away from the brawling servicemen. She’d looked for Marlene but couldn’t find her in all the confusion. Now she stood shivering outside the town hall, watching people stream down the steps.
“I hope she’s all right,” she told Sam. “Ma will never forgive me if something happens to her. We’re supposed to watch out for each other.”
Sam tightened his arm around her. “You can’t be responsible for what she does. She’s a big girl.”
Polly looked at him in surprise. “Not that big. She’s not as skinny as me but-” She broke off when Sam laughed.
“Not big in that way, though I guess she is built real nice, now that I think about it.”
“Here, watch it!” Polly punched him in the arm. “Don’t you go looking at my sister like that.”
Sam dropped a kiss on her nose. “No need to worry, honey. I only have eyes for you.” He started to sing softly, chasing away her doubts.
She couldn’t stop worrying about Marlene, though, and kept her gaze fixed anxiously on the doors.
“She’ll be okay,” Sam said after a while. “She’s almost your age. Not like she’s a young kid or anything.”
Polly felt a pang of guilt. What would he say if he knew she wasn’t sixteen yet? She had to tell him some time. But not yet. Not until she knew for sure that he was well and truly hooked.
“I’m hungry,” she said to take his mind off the subject of age. “Wish I’d had a couple of those bangers when I had the chance.”
Sam stared at her. “Bangers?”
She grinned. “Bangers and fried onions. You know, sausages.”
“Oh, you mean the hot dogs. They were swell!”
“Hot dogs? Is that what you call them?”
“Sure. Wiener in a bun. Everyone eats them at ball games. No fried onions-just relish and mustard.”
She burst out laughing. “Don’t say that around here,” she said when she could breathe again. “People will think you’re talking about something else.”
“Say what?”
“Wiener.”Again she exploded into laughter. “I can’t tell you what it means. Just don’t say it.”
“Oh, I get it. Like when you say keep your pecker up.”
She stopped laughing. “So what’s wrong with that? It just means keep smiling, that’s all.”
Sam grinned. “Not where I come from.”
“Really?” Polly frowned. “Looks like we talk a different language after all.”
“You’d better believe it.” Sam squeezed her shoulders. “Isn’t that your sister coming down the steps now?”
“Yes, it is,” Polly said in relief, then she gasped.
Marlene’s normally immaculate hair was in a tangle all over her head, and one sleeve of her dress was torn. As she got closer, Polly could see an angry-looking scratch down one side of her face.
“What on earth happened to you?” she cried out as her sister reached her side.
The Yank with her, the one who’d been dancing with her all night, spoke first. “Eh, she’s okay. Some prick took a swing at me, Marlene here jumped in, and his girlfriend tried to scratch her eyes out. Took two of us to pry ’em apart.”
“I got the better of her,” Marlene declared, though she looked ready to cry.
“We’d better get home,” Polly said nervously. “Ma’s going to be really upset when she sees that scratch on your face.”
“It’s too early to go home yet.” Marlene’s friend looked at his watch. “The night is still young. Let’s go find a club where we can get a drink.”
Polly laughed. “There aren’t no clubs around here. Only the pub, and that shut at eleven.”
“Eleven?” The Yank’s black eyebrows rose in his forehead. “What kind of time is that to close down? Don’t they know there’s a bunch of guys here looking for a drink?”
“I reckon you’ve all had enough to drink, Tony,” Sam said, slapping the other man on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take your girl home and call it a night?”
“Yeah, Tony,” Marlene said, touching the ugly scratch with her fingers. “I want to go home now.”
“Okay, sweetheart, anything you say.” Tony winked at Polly. “See you later, babe.” He slung an arm around Marlene’s shoulders. “Where do we get a cab?”
Sam sighed. “This isn’t New York, Tony. No cabs. You’ll either have to take one of the Jeeps or hoof it.”
Tony looked put out. “Okay, sugar, let’s see if we can grab a Jeep before the rest of those bozos get out here.” He looked at Sam. “You wanna come along with us?”
“Nope. Reckon we’ll just mosey on along behind you.”
“Okay. I’ll wait after I drop Marlene off at the house and give you a ride back to base.”
Sam grinned. “Take your time, buddy.”
Tony’s smile was wicked. “I plan to. See ya!”
Polly watched them leave, still feeling worried about Marlene. She seemed too quiet. Not at all like herself. “Do you know him?” she asked Sam as they started walking down the High Street.
“Who, Tony? Yeah, I guess I do. He’s okay. Gets a little wild now and again, but he’s a good guy. Your sis’ll be okay with him.”
“I hope so.” She thought about it for a moment then said, “He’s got a funny accent.”
“He’s a New Yorker.”
“He talks too fast, and it’s hard to understand what he’s saying.”
Sam laughed. “Most of the guys say the same about you gals.”
“What? Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”
“As long as I can see that look in those beautiful brown eyes, I don’t have to understand what you’re saying.”
She pretended not to understand him. “What look?”
He stopped and pulled her into his arms. Her heart melted when he gave her a long, lingering kiss. There was one thing about the Yanks, she thought happily as they continued on their way. They certainly knew how to make a girl feel good about herself. Even if they didn’t really mean a word of it.
Elizabeth dreamed about Earl that night. It wasn’t a good dream. It was vague and terrifying, filled with crashing planes and huge, leaping flames. She woke from it trembling and found it hard to go asleep after that. Part of her conscience insisted that the dream was her punishment for lusting after a married man. Not that she was really lusting after him, she hastened to correct herself.
She couldn’t help the way she felt about him, but surely, as long as she didn’t do anything about it, and never, ever let him know her feelings, what harm could there be in enjoying his company now and then?
None, she assured herself. He was a friend, that was all. Clinging to that faint ray of comfort, she finally fell asleep.
The telephone pealed its shrill summons the next morning while she was enjoying a boiled egg for breakfast with Violet and Martin in the kitchen.
Violet had been telling Martin about the fight at the town hall, and he was suitably horrified, insisting that the master would come down heavily on his head for not protecting the womenfolk from such barbaric behavior.
The fact that had he been at the dance the night before he might possibly have been trampled to death did not occur to him, and far be it for Elizabeth to point that out and diminish his role as protector.
She welcomed the ringing of the telephone as an effective diversion and waited for Violet to answer it. She watched the housekeeper’s face and knew at once something momentous had happened
.
Violet’s replies were short and unrevealing, consisting mostly of “yes,” “no,” and “well I never.”
Elizabeth waited impatiently for her to hang up the receiver. When she did, it seemed to take her forever to turn around.
“Well,” she said finally, “you’ll never guess what happened now.”
“I’m sure I won’t,” Elizabeth said impatiently, “so why don’t you just tell me?”
“That was George Dalrymple on the telephone.” Violet’s face took on a look of pure satisfaction. “He thought you’d like to know that the German is hiding in the old windmill out on Robbing Lane. Rita and her mob have the place surrounded. He’s on his way out there now.”
Elizabeth dropped her egg spoon with a clatter. “I must leave right away. It would be just like Rita to take matters into her own hands, and it will take George at least half an hour to get out there on his bicycle.”
“You be careful, Lizzie,” Violet warned. “You know how that Rita’s lot gets when they’re on the warpath. Never know what they’ll be up to, that you don’t. I don’t want you getting hurt if they decide to go after that German.”
“Save your worries for that poor boy.” Elizabeth flung the words over her shoulder as she rushed from the room. Her beige wool coat hung on the hallstand, together with her black beret and scarf. She threw everything on, just as Martin came shuffling out into the hall.
“Madam, you can’t fight the Germans empty-handed,” he said as she headed for the door. “Take the blunderbuss with you. That will scare the pants off them!” He looked shocked. “Begging your pardon, madam. I can’t imagine where I picked up that phrase.”
“You’ve been listening at the keyhole to them Americans again,” Violet said, hurrying down the hallway after him. “That’s where you hear those things. Shame on you, Martin. You know what they say. Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves.”
“Well, that’s as may be,” Martin said haughtily, “but I can tell you that one hears no good of some other people, either.”
Violet pulled up short. “What the blue blazes does that mean?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I get things sorted out,” Elizabeth said hurriedly, and before Martin had a chance to start his shuffle, she’d pulled the door open and closed it again behind her.
It took her only a few minutes to reach Robbing Lane on her motorcycle. She was glad of her scarf as the chill wind whipped at her face. It would soon be time to light the fires in the fireplaces. She could only hope they had enough coal to keep the fires going throughout the winter. December and January could be cruel months in Sitting Marsh, sometimes burying the village in deep snow for weeks at a time.
She wondered if bad weather would ground the Americans. If so, the officers would have a respite from their dangerous missions. In spite of her former fears, so far her uninvited guests had made little impression on day to day life at the manor. They left early in the mornings and didn’t return until late in the evenings. Apparently they took all their meals at the base and generally kept to themselves.
If the bad weather grounded them, that could change. With time on their hands, the officers would become bored with sitting around the base or in their rooms in the east wing.
She couldn’t help wondering if she’d see more of Earl Monroe. He’d seemed stunned when she’d blurted out those unfortunate words last night.
She should never have uttered them. She should have kept things on a formal level, so that there would be no hint of anything but an acquaintance between them. By allowing him to call her by her childhood name, she was putting their relationship on a much more personal level. Even though he didn’t seem to realize that.
After his initial surprise, he’d acted pleased and flattered by her request. It was the very first time she’d called him by his first name, and it had seemed strange on her tongue. Even so, she had been unprepared for the impact of hearing her special name spoken in his deep voice. Never had it sounded quite so intimate.
She hastened to warn him never to call her Lizzie in front of anyone, and he’d promised to do so. He’d seemed amused by the warning and didn’t seen to understand the significance. She hadn’t bothered to explain. Better that he should think it simply a whim, rather than a breach of protocol that could lead to some serious gossiping among the villagers. After all, the more casual she kept this new arrangement, the better.
She couldn’t help feeling, however, that she’d made a serious blunder in letting down her guard and that she would have to work very hard in order to ensure that it never happened again. That road could surely only lead to trouble and heartbreak.
CHAPTER16
As Elizabeth rounded the curve on her motorcycle, she saw the group of women circling the dilapidated base of the old windmill. Rita stalked around, her strident voice too far distant to make out the words. The tone, however, was unmistakable. Rita was in her sergeant major mode.
Bracing herself for an inevitable confrontation, Elizabeth deliberately revved up the engine and roared onto the scene. Her spectacular skid halted her a few yards from where Joan Plumstone and Marge Gunther crouched behind a bush. They both leapt into the air when Elizabeth’s wheels kicked up the dust behind them.
“Sorry,” Elizabeth murmured as she cut the engine. “I didn’t realize I was going so fast.”
“Lady Elizabeth!”
The harsh voice made it sound more like a reprimand than a greeting. Elizabeth grimaced as she watched Rita march toward her. “Good morning, Rita!” she called out. “Police Constable Dalrymple informed me that you have discovered the German pilot.”
The mention of the constable’s name appeared to take the wind out of Rita’s sails somewhat. She spluttered for a moment then said testily, “There was no need for George to bother you, your ladyship. I’m quite sure my ladies can handle the situation.”
Which was precisely why George alerted me, Elizabeth thought wryly. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” she said, vigorously nodding her head. “I’m simply here to observe, that’s all. In my role as lady of the manor, of course. I feel it’s my duty to be on the scene when something of such significance is taking place.”
Rather childish of her to remind Rita of her position, Elizabeth reflected, but necessary at times. Someone had to keep that woman under control.
“Well, as you can see, we have the entire place surrounded.” Rita waved an arm to emphasize her statement. “He cannot escape now. In a moment I will give the word, and we will charge in there and get him. Isn’t that right, ladies?”
A faint and definitely half-hearted chorus of “Right” answered her. Obviously the group of wary ladies did not share their leader’s enthusiasm when it came down to actually tackling the poor boy.
“Might I strongly suggest that you wait until the constables arrive?” Elizabeth said firmly. “Even the most innocuous of animals can become vicious when cornered. I should hate to see any of you ladies hurt.”
Several of the women began muttering in concern and were immediately silenced when Rita held up her hand. “We had planned on taking him by surprise, your ladyship. Since the noise from your motorcycle has now rendered that impossible, we shall have to resort to a charge. There are more than enough of us to overwhelm any attempt of the German to offer resistence.”
Irritated now, Elizabeth climbed off her motorcycle and approached Rita. “I cannot allow you to do any such thing, Rita. Apart from the fact that the young man could be armed with a gun and could shoot you all on sight, you have no right to attack a human being unprovoked.”
“Unprovoked?” Rita’s voice rose shrilly in the cool air. “The man is a murderer! If you don’t think that’s enough reason to attack him”-she dropped her tone to acrimonious drawl-“your ladyship, then I have to respectfully question your sense of justice.”
“You have no proof that this young pilot killed Amelia Brunswick.” Elizabeth rashly went out on a limb. “In fact, evidence suggests that someone else was respons
ible for her murder.”
Rita seemed taken aback. “Evidence? What evidence?”
“That’s something you’ll have to take up with P.C. Dalrymple. He should arrive at any minute, and until then I must insist that you not attempt to approach the windmill.”
Several of the women muttered their agreement, apparently relieved the decision had been taken out of their hands.
Rita, however, became incensed with what she obviously considered mutiny. “All right, you miserable traitors!” she yelled. “You can all snivel on the sidelines if you like. But I’m not going to be called a coward. It’s our duty to capture this bloody German, and we will disgrace ourselves if we turn away from our duty. So who’s with me?”
She glared at poor Nellie, who, faced with choosing between the calm authority of the lady of the manor and the fevered rage of her fearless leader, sided with the person who could do her the most damage. “I’m with you,” she quavered, raising a shaking hand.
Rita glared at a few other women, all of whom dragged themselves reluctantly over to stand behind her. A dozen pair of eyes fastened on Elizabeth’s face, pleading with her to stop Rita somehow.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but just then the door to the windmill opened a crack. It was enough to break the slim hold she had over Rita’s intentions. With an inhuman howl, Rita pulled a wicked-looking knife from under her coat and brandished it in the air. “Come on, ladies! Tally ho!”
The crack closed immediately, but that didn’t deter Rita. With her cohorts now hot on her heels, all feebly echoing that ridiculous war cry, she surged full tilt toward the windmill.
Elizabeth threw up her hands then determinedly gave chase.
Rita reached the door first. She shoved it open with her shoulder, raised the hand holding the knife above her head, and prepared to plunge inside.
Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes and prayed. When she opened them again, it seemed as if her prayer had been inexplicably answered. Rita appeared frozen in the doorway, while the group of women crowded silently behind her.
Death Is in the Air Page 17