Death Is in the Air (12 page)

“Thank you, your ladyship, but we don’t want to posh it up too much, do we,” Rita said, her expression smug. “After all, this won’t exactly be the society ball of the
year. We don’t want the ordinary people to feel out of place.”

“Perhaps not,” Elizabeth said quietly. “On the other hand, we don’t want it to look like Saturday night at the boozer, either.” She moved to the door. “Of course, one has to know the difference. I’ll send Violet down to supervise. I think a certain amount of taste would not be amiss.” Well pleased with the look of outrage on Rita’s face, she closed the door firmly behind her and headed for the bake shop.

Bessie was behind the counter, discussing with the three ladies who worked for her the items to be baked for the dance. She smiled at Elizabeth as she walked in. “There you are, your ladyship. I was just telling my girls we’ll have to bake all night to get everything done. But it will be worth it, won’t it, ladies?”

Elsie, Helen, and Janet nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

“Thank you all,” Elizabeth said warmly. “I’m sorry it’s such short notice, but I think the situation warrants a certain amount of haste. I’m hoping we can all set an example for the military and prove that we can all get along quite well together if we put our minds to it.”

“I hope you’re right, m’m,” Bessie murmured, echoing Elizabeth’s lingering doubts. “But we’ll give it a jolly good try, anyway.”

“Yes, well,” Elizabeth rubbed at a nonexistent spot on the counter, “about the funds for all this. I—”

“Don’t you worry about nothing, m’m,” Bessie assured her. “If they all pay a shilling to get in, that should be enough to cover everything, including this afternoon’s tea meeting. There’s always the war effort fund if we’re a bit short. After all, this is a war effort, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Thank you, Bessie. I just hope we’re doing the right thing.”

“Of course we are.” Bessie turned to her helpers.
“Well, get on with it. You’d better get cracking if you want to get some sleep tonight.”

The women scurried into the kitchen, and Bessie leaned her plump, dimpled elbows on the counter. “I know it’s none of my business, your ladyship, but I was wondering if they found out who killed that poor land girl yet.”

“Not as far as I know,” Elizabeth admitted.

“Seems like that German killed her, then?”

“I really don’t know what to think,” Elizabeth said carefully. “So far no one seems to know with whom Amelia spent that last evening. He or she might have been able to answer some important questions.”

“Well, maybe I can help you there.” Bessie looked over her shoulder at the door to the kitchen, which was firmly closed. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this, but I just found out a little while ago that Elsie’s brother, Tim, is stationed out at the camp in Beerstowe. He saw a young woman creeping out of the sick bay just before midnight the night the land girl was killed. The only patient in there at the time was a friend of Tim’s. His name is Jeff Thomas, and he’d been going out with the girl who was killed. Tim’s pretty sure it was her he saw creeping out of there that night. He didn’t say anything to the police because he didn’t want to get Jeff in trouble. Especially now his girlfriend is dead. But I thought you might want to know.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said slowly. “Thank you, Bessie, for letting me know.”

She left the shop, mulling over this latest piece of information. Amelia apparently did spend the evening with Jeff Thomas after all and had left there alive, presumably to come home alone. Sheila Macclesby heard the girl arguing with someone after she arrived back at the farm. The German pilot? Or Maurice? It certainly seemed that the suspects had been narrowed down to those two, and although Elizabeth hated to admit it, it
was beginning to look more and more as though one of them had taken a spade to Amelia’s head.

She went over the possible scenarios in her head as she rode her motorcycle back to the Manor House. The remaining land girls were still a possibility, of course, but only one of them had any real motive, and although Pauline’s attitude wasn’t the most pleasant she’d come across, Elizabeth couldn’t picture her wielding a spade at a young woman’s head. Then again, none of her suspects seemed capable of such a ghastly attack.

There was always the possibility that the German pilot had been discovered lurking in the yard when Amelia arrived home that night. Perhaps he’d panicked, killed the girl to silence her, then taken her body to the woods to secure his hiding place. Had he then exchanged his blood-stained uniform for clothes stolen from the farmhouse and hidden them in the sacks to be burned?

Or had Maurice killed Amelia in a fit of rage? Perhaps Sheila had found his bloodstained clothes and burned them to protect him.

Whatever had really happened, it seemed unlikely anyone would be able to prove anything. Unless she could trace the origin of the buttons she’d found.

She would pay a visit to Rosie Finnegan the very next day, she decided. Rosie owned the clothes shop in the High Street. Maybe she could help find out to what garment those buttons were attached. If they didn’t come from Maurice’s reefer jacket, then perhaps they came from the German pilot’s uniform. It wasn’t much, but right then it was all she had. And something told her she had to get at the truth soon, before an innocent person was convicted of murder.

CHAPTER
12

“Did you hear about the dance on Saturday?” Marlene asked eagerly the minute Polly put her foot inside the door that night.

Still flushed from the kiss Sam gave her before he dropped her off at the house, Polly had to collect her thoughts a bit before she answered. “Dance? What dance?”

Marlene waltzed down the narrow hallway to the kitchen, her red hair swinging above her shoulders. “Her ladyship is putting on a dance at the town hall and guess what!”

Polly followed her, intrigued by her older sister’s excitement. “Clark Gable is coming.”

“Not bloomin’ likely, silly.” Marlene pushed open the kitchen door and disappeared inside.

Polly hung her coat up on the hallstand and rushed into the kitchen behind her. “So tell me what!”

Marlene grabbed her startled mother and swung her around, spraying water from the potato peeler she held in her hand. “Go on, Ma, tell Polly about the dance!”

Edna Barnett sighed. “Rita and the rest of us all had tea with Lady Elizabeth this afternoon, and—”

“What?” Polly gaped at her in astonishment. “What, up at the Manor House? I didn’t see none of you up there.”

“Not at the Manor House,” Edna explained patiently. “At Bessie’s tearoom. Her ladyship paid for everything.”

“Why’d she do that?”

“Because she wanted to ask us if we’d help decorate the town hall tonight. The council is putting on a dance on Saturday night.”

“Ah,” Polly murmured, nodding her head, “so that’s why she had me pull out all that stuff from the storerooms. I thought she was going to spruce up the Manor House a bit.”

Marlene gave her mother a hefty nudge. “Go on, tell her who’s invited.”

“You already told me it weren’t Clark Gable.” Polly flopped down on the nearest chair. “I’m not much interested in anyone else.”

“What about if we told you that the soldiers from Beerstowe have been invited, as well as all the Yanks?”

Polly frowned. “The Yanks won’t come. They came that once to the village hall dance, remember? They stayed long enough to eat up all the sandwiches, then they left and went down the pub. Never danced one dance, they didn’t. Just stood around looking like a bunch of strays caught in a storm.”

Marlene bounced onto the chair next to her. “They didn’t stay because no one can dance to Awful Ernie’s music. But what if they had real American big band music that they could jive to and jitterbug? They’d bloody well come then, wouldn’t they?”

“Watch your language, Marlene,” Edna warned, still busily peeling potatoes.

“Sorry, Ma.” Marlene leaned forward and dug her nail into Polly’s arm. “You could ask your Sam to come. He’d bring his mates, wouldn’t he?”

Polly felt a shiver of excitement. “He might. I could ask him.” Her smile faded. “Too bad about Clay. You could have asked him, too.”

Marlene’s face sobered, too. “I know. Poor bugger. I keep thinking about him, wondering what happened to him.”

“Probably picked up by the Germans now,” Polly said, feeling sorry for her sister.

Marlene nodded. “Well, that’s war, I suppose. At least he won’t have to fly those planes again. Not like Sam. You must feel ill every time he goes up in them.”

Polly shrugged. “I do, but what’s the use of worrying? If it’s his time, then there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” Her words hid the cold dread she felt every time she thought about Sam taking off with a load of bombs sitting underneath him. He’d been lucky so far. He’d come back in one piece. She refused to think about the unwritten law that said the more times he went up, the more likely his number would eventually be up.

Thinking about Sam reminded her of something. “Well, I’ve got big news meself tonight,” she announced.

Edna spun around with a look of alarm on her face. “I hope it’s good news,” she said, shaking her potato peeler at Polly. “I hope you’ve been behaving yourself.”

Polly snorted. “’Course I have. Haven’t had much chance to do anything else.”

“And you’d better not do anything else, or your father will hear of it.”

“Aw, Ma, would you shut up nagging at me.” Polly leaned back in her chair. “You should be proud of me for what I done.”

Edna immediately looked suspicious, while Marlene’s eyes lit up. “Go on, what did you do, then?”

“I got hired to be Lady Elizabeth’s secretary, that’s
what,” Polly proudly declared. “So what do you think of that, then?”

“You never did!” Marlene slapped her palm down on the table, making Polly jump. “I don’t believe it.”

“Is this true, Polly?” Edna demanded. She looked pleased in spite of the doubt in her voice.

“’Course it’s true.” Polly hooked her thumbs into her hair and pulled it back from her face. “Now I’ll have to put my hair up proper all the time.”

“Are you getting paid more money?”

Polly pulled a face at Marlene. “Not yet, but I will when I learn everything.”

“When did this happen?” Edna asked, still sounding suspicious.

“This morning.” Polly sat up straight again. “I asked Lady Elizabeth if I could help out in the office, and she said yes.”

“Instead of cleaning the house?”

“No, I’ve still got to clean, but at least I’ll be doing secretary’s work some of the time.”

Marlene grinned. “You must really like that Sam.”

“Just who
is
this Sam?” Edna demanded.

Polly scowled at her sister. “The American officer who gives me a lift home at night. He’s staying at the Manor House, and he’s a friend of Lady Elizabeth’s.”

Edna’s eyes narrowed. “Just how old is this Sam?”

“Aw, Ma, I don’t know, do I. He’s just someone her ladyship asked to give me a lift ’cause she’s worried about me riding me bike past the woods at night.”

“Doesn’t sound so innocent to me. How long has this been going on? What about your bike?”

“Just last night and tonight. He puts me bike in the back of the Jeep so I have it for the mornings. It’s all right, Ma. Sam’s a proper gentleman. He wouldn’t do nothing, honest.” Polly crossed her fingers under the table. Maybe it wasn’t exactly the truth, but she was scared to death her mother would forbid her to see Sam
again if she knew just how much her youngest daughter cared about the handsome officer.

“Well, just make sure there’s no hanky-panky going on between you,” Edna muttered, turning back to the sink. She lifted the pot of potatoes and dumped it on the stove. “Are you two girls going to help us decorate tonight? I think most of Rita’s group is helping out.”

“I’ve got to wash some clothes,” Marlene said, getting up from the table. “I want to hang them out on the line tonight now that it’s stopped raining.”

“Me, too,” Polly said, getting excited again about jitterbugging with Sam. “I wonder if I can talk Sam into getting us some nylons for the dance?”

Marlene grinned. “Play your cards right, me girl, and you can talk him into anything you want.”

“Here!” Edna said sharply. “I don’t want none of that talk in this house.”

“Oh, go on, Ma, you worry too much.” Marlene slapped her mother playfully on the back as she went past her. “I’m going to sort out some clothes before supper.”

Polly sprang to her feet. “Me, too. I have to decide what I’m going to wear on Saturday.”

“Just don’t bring trouble home to this house,” Edna muttered. “Neither of you. Or I’ll wash my hands of you.”

Polly knew what she meant. She’d heard it all before. “We won’t, Ma,” she promised automatically and followed Marlene upstairs to pick out her dress for the dance.

Alone in the library, Elizabeth surveyed the mound of garlands and silk flowers that had decorated the Manor House for longer than she remembered. There was far too much for her to carry on her motorcycle. She smiled when the solution occurred to her.

She had to visit the east wing in order to issue the invitation to the dance. She had already called the
American base and the camp in Beerstowe to inform them of the event, but she wanted to invite the major and his officers personally. That way she could be fairly certain that they would feel under some obligation to attend. If the major happened to be in the east wing when she went up there, she could ask him to help her take the decorations over to the town hall.

And if not, she reminded herself as she hurried down the great hall, she could always ask that nice Sam Cutter, who had been kind enough to give Polly a ride home these past two nights. Having convinced herself that she was not simply making up excuses to see the major again, she felt quite pleased with the way things were working out.

She was halfway down the hall when she thought she saw something moving at the far end. The double summertime provided daylight hours until quite late, and the sun was just beginning to sink in the evening sky. The long shadows cast from the two suits of armor stretched from wall to wall, and it was in those shadows that Elizabeth thought she saw movement.

Even as she paused there, beneath the portrait of the first Lord Hartleigh and his wife, she felt a strong, cold draft of wind brush her face. Startled, she stepped back, her fingers jumping to her cheek. None of the windows opened along this stretch of the hall, and the doors at both ends were securely fastened. Yet there was an unmistakable draft blowing from somewhere.

The shadows moved again, and what appeared to be a faint mist seemed to blow across them. It hovered there for no more than a second or two, then vanished.

Elizabeth blinked. It had all happened so fast she was certain now that she must have imagined it. All this talk of ghosts had unsettled her nerves. There were no such things as ghosts. Or even if there were, surely they waited until nightfall to make an appearance. She really had to stop listening to Martin’s ramblings.

In spite of her convictions, she trod warily down the
length of the hall until she reached the door that led to the east wing. As she stretched out her hand, a terrible gargling noise, followed by a shuddering and rattling, almost shot her out of her skin. Without another second’s delay she hauled open the door and fled through it.

Her common sense told her that it was just the water pipes complaining because someone had used the lavatory. Her shattered nerves, however, propelled her forward at full steam. Head down, she charged around the corner and ran smack into a sturdy body.

Temporarily winded, she heard a startled “Ouf!” as her unfortunate companion lost the air from his lungs. She didn’t have to look up to know she’d charged straight into Earl Monroe’s stomach.

“I say,” she muttered, “I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you all right?”

She was afraid to look at him. For one thing she was standing much too close to him. Close enough to smell a quite unusual fragrance. Very pleasant. Had to be American. British men didn’t smell nearly that good. Not the ones she’d been anywhere close to, that was.

Something else she noticed, which didn’t help to calm her nerves one bit, was that she was held in a quite firm grip. He’d grabbed her arms to steady her when she’d barreled into him. He hadn’t let go. She could feel his fingers right through the sleeves of her silk blouse. For several seconds she remained motionless, while her heart pounded.

“We could use you on our football team,” he said at last, mercifully removing his hands from her tingling arms. “You pack a real wallop, ma’am.”