“Madam has gone to North Horsham,” Violet said as she put the last cup and saucer away in the kitchen cupboard. “I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
Sadie glanced up at the clock. “It’s almost ten o’clock. Did she take her motorcycle? How’s she going to ride it in the dark?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m only the housekeeper.” Violet slammed the door shut.
“She must be so upset. She shouldn’t be riding in that state-”
“It’s not up to us to tell Madam what she should or shouldn’t do.”
“You do it all the time,” Sadie pointed out.
“That’s my business, not yours.” Violet glared at her. “Why aren’t you in bed, anyhow?”
Sadie plopped down on a chair next to the table. “Why aren’t you? You’re always in bed by this time.”
“I’m waiting up for her ladyship.” Violet started cleaning the stove with a dishrag.
“I cleaned that once already,” Sadie commented.
“Well, I’m cleaning it again.”
“All right, all right, keep your flipping hair on.” Sadie propped an elbow on the table. “I came to tell her ladyship that Martin is home. I saw him come up the driveway.”
Violet stopped cleaning and stared at her. “Walking?”
Sadie shook her head. “He got out of a posh black motorcar. Then it drove off. I couldn’t see who was driving it. The moon wasn’t bright enough that side of the house. I did see it ride over the flower bed as it went around the driveway, though. Desmond’s going to throw a fit about that.”
Violet came over to the table. “Never mind Desmond. How long ago was this?”
Sadie shrugged. “About half an hour ago, I suppose.”
“Why didn’t you come and tell me straight away? I could have asked Martin where he’d been. He’s more than likely asleep by now.”
“He wouldn’t have told you if you’d asked him.”
“He might have done if I’d told him you’d seen the motorcar.”
“Well, it’s too late now, ain’t it.”
“Isn’t it.” Violet turned back to the stove. “I’ll have to ask him in the morning.”
Sadie drew invisible patterns on the table with her finger. “Do you think the major’s dead?” she asked abruptly.
Violet went very still, then said quietly, “I sincerely hope not, but if he is, well, that’s war, isn’t it.”
Sadie felt a spurt of anger. “How can you say that?
Everyone knows her ladyship is bonkers over him. This will break her heart. I know how I felt about Joe when I thought he wasn’t coming back, and I don’t even love him.”
Violet sent a sly look at her over her shoulder. “Don’t you?”
Sadie stared at her. “Well, no… of course not… I mean…” She let her voice trail off. Did she love him? No, she couldn’t. Joe was Joe… a nice chap, a good friend, that was all. “He’s a friend, that’s all,” she repeated aloud, more to convince herself than Violet.
“I hope you mean that,” Violet said, her back to Sadie once more. “Because if you don’t, then you’re in for a heartbreak every bit as painful as her ladyship’s.”
A cold feeling crept up from Sadie’s stomach and settled in her chest. “I wouldn’t fall for no Yank,” she said roughly. “I’m not that blinking stupid. Nor would Polly, anymore. What’s more, if Major Monroe is dead, that will make us all the more sure of it.”
The telephone rang just then, startling them both out of their wits. Sadie held her breath as she watched Violet pick up the receiver and hold it to her ear.
The housekeeper kept murmuring, “I see, yes, I see,” until Sadie could have screamed with frustration.
Finally, Violet hung up the receiver, but then stood quietly for long moments with her back still turned.
Staring at that rigid spine, Sadie felt sick. Afraid to ask, she could only wait, the feeling of dread growing ever stronger.
Elizabeth watched the sister hurry toward her, her fingers curled tightly in her palms.
Duane rose to his feet, his gaze also intent on the nurse as she reached them. She gave him a quick glance, then turned to Elizabeth.
“You may go in to see him,” she said, her voice grave, “but I must ask you to stay only for a moment or two. I’m sorry to say the major’s condition is extremely serious, and he must not be disturbed.”
Elizabeth swallowed. She’d never been so frightened in all her life. If only her father were here to give her strength. He had always been there for her when she was growing up, a bastion of understanding, advice, and encouragement. But her father was gone… lost in the rubble of a bombed-out building, along with her dear departed mother. She’d lost so much, and now, it seemed, she was about to lose everything that remained to make her happy.
Her legs felt weak as she followed the sister down the long, narrow, bleak corridor, and she urged herself to remain strong. Pausing at the door to the ward, the sister turned to her. “Remember, no more than a minute or two.”
Elizabeth nodded, then walked slowly into the quiet ward, braced for whatever might be facing her.
On either side, men lay silent in their beds, some with eyes closed, others staring at the ceiling, and some with their faces covered in bandages. As she passed each bed, her dread grew. She knew nothing about Earl’s injuries, knew nothing about what to expect.
When she finally spotted him, her first reaction was a rush of relief. He wore no bandages around his head, and apart from a nasty graze across his pale cheek, his face was unmarked. In fact, if it hadn’t been for his lack of color, she might have thought he was sleeping, so peaceful did he look with his dark head on the pillow, his strong features relaxed.
Upon further inspection, however, she noticed the bandages wrapped around his right arm, and a cage under the blankets suggested he had injuries to his legs. For a moment his pain was her pain, and she ached to hold him.
A chair had been placed by the side of the bed, and she sat down on it, hardly daring to breathe. She longed to call his name, touch his hand, anything to reassure herself that he was alive and knew she was there.
Instead she concentrated on the rise and fall of his chest beneath the white sheet, and prayed as she’d never prayed before. Mindful of the sister’s warning, she sat for as long as she dared, then rose to go.
“I won’t say good-bye,” she whispered. “I’ll just say get well, and I’ll be back soon.” She leaned over him and dropped a soft kiss on his forehead. He was so still, so unresponsive. Frightened, she stared at his chest again, relieved to see the steady rise and fall had not abated.
“Get well for me, my love,” she whispered. “I need you so.” Turning, she hurried out of the ward before she made a fool of herself and let the tears fall.
Duane Crawford stood as she hurried into the waiting room, his expression apprehensive.
Unable to speak just then, she simply shook her head.
“Come on,” Duane said, taking hold of her arm, “I’ll get you home.”
She followed him out into the night, numb with weariness and a cold dread that would not subside, no matter how much she tried to look on the positive side.
He was a strong man, she tried to assure herself. Healthy, vigorous, and strong willed. He had survived what should have been a fatal crash, according to what she’d been told. He would come out of that hospital alive. She had to believe that or she’d go out of her mind.
Duane did his best to cheer her up on the long drive back to Sitting Marsh. His determinedly cheerful patter helped keep her mind from dwelling on the worst scenarios, and he even made her smile as they reached the long driveway up to the manor.
“I’m terribly grateful to you for giving up your time like this,” she said as she climbed out of the jeep. “It was extremely kind of you to take me to the hospital, and I know how much your thoughtfulness would mean to Earl. Thank you so very much.”
Duane touched his cap with the tips of his fingers. “My pleasure, ma’am. I just wish I’d had a car instead of having to take you in a jeep. It’s not exactly a comfortable ride.”
Elizabeth smiled. “It got me there, and that’s all I could ask.”
“Well, I reckon it’s better than a horse and cart at that.” He touched his cap again. “Good night, your ladyship.”
Deep in thought, Elizabeth made her way between the hothouses around the mansion to the kitchen door. She found Violet had left the door unlocked, much to her relief. Opening it, Elizabeth was startled to see both Violet and Sadie seated at the kitchen table.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” she demanded as they both turned to look at her.
“We were waiting for you to come home,” Violet said, staring at her with an odd expression on her face.
“How’s the major, m’m?” Sadie asked anxiously.
“He’s alive.” Elizabeth slipped out of her coat and sank onto the empty chair. “That’s all I really know right now.”
“They wouldn’t let you see him?” Violet asked.
“I saw him.” Elizabeth let out her breath on a long sigh. “He was sedated. He didn’t know I was there.”
Sadie made a sympathetic tutting sound. “Was he banged up a lot?”
“Sadie!” Violet wagged a finger in her face. “You know better than to ask questions like that.”
“I only wanted to know-,” Sadie began, but Elizabeth interrupted.
“It’s all right, Violet. I really don’t know, Sadie. All I know is that his face seems to be unharmed.”
“Well, that’s good,” Sadie said earnestly. “At least it weren’t like Polly’s Sam, with his face all messed up-”
“Sadie Buttons!” Once more Violet’s harsh voice cut across the table. “I think it’s time you went to bed.”
Sadie sighed and pushed herself to her feet. “All right, I’m going. But don’t forget to tell her ladyship the news.”
Elizabeth looked at Violet. “What news?”
“It’s Martin,” Sadie began. “I thought someone was ringing to tell us something really terrible had happened to the major, but it wasn’t that, it was-”
Again Violet cut her off. “Good night, Sadie.”
Sadie shook her head, muttered a good-night, and disappeared out the door.
“What’s all this about Martin?” Elizabeth felt another chill of fear. “He’s all right, isn’t he?”
“Oh, he’s all, all right.” Violet clicked her tongue. “I mean, yes, he’s not hurt or missing or anything. Though how in the world he got into this big a mess I’ll never know.”
Elizabeth laid her handbag on the empty chair next to Violet and buried her face in her hands. “Perhaps this had better wait until the morning. I really don’t think I can take much more tonight.”
“It’s up to you,” Violet said crisply, “but knowing you, you’ll spend the night worrying and wondering about it, so you might as well hear it now. Besides, I’m not sure what it’s all about anyway.”
Elizabeth lowered her hands. “Violet, what on earth are you talking about?”
Violet sat back and folded her hands across her thin chest. “Martin has gone and got himself mixed up with the War Office, that’s what.”
“The War Office?”
“That’s what I said. They rang here for him. Said to tell him to ring them in the morning.” Violet shook her head. “How in the world did he get into trouble with the War Office?”
“I suppose we’ll have to wait until the morning to ask him.” Elizabeth looked hopefully at her housekeeper. “I don’t suppose there’s any tea in the pot?”
“If there is, it’s cold by now.” Violet peered more closely at her. “Besides, you look as if a stiff brandy would do you more good. I’ll get you one.”
She got up and crossed the kitchen to the dresser. “We’ve still got half a bottle left of the brandy the major brought us from the base.” She poured some into a glass and brought it back to Elizabeth. “How is the major really, Lizzie? Is he going to be all right?”
Elizabeth took the glass and sipped some of the brandy before setting it down. It burned hot fire in her chest, then settled in her stomach with a satisfying warmth that made her feel a little less bleak. “I honestly don’t know, Violet. I wish I did. He looked so peaceful, as if he were simply asleep. I kept expecting him to wake up and…” She swallowed. “We’ll know more in the morning, I expect.”
Violet nodded. “I can’t tell you how worried I was about you going all the way up there on that motorcycle. I don’t know what your father would have said.”
“I didn’t take the motorcycle. That nice Captain Crawford took me in the jeep, along with most of the officers that are billeted here.”
“Oh, that was nice of him.” Violet went back to the dresser, poured herself a small brandy, and carried it back to the table. “If I’d known that I wouldn’t have worried so.”
“I suppose I should have let you know, but I was in such a hurry to get there-”
“It’s all right, Lizzie. I know how upset you were.”
“If it hadn’t been for Captain Crawford, I don’t know if I would have made it home tonight. He was kind enough to drive me back, even though the rest of his friends were off enjoying themselves in the town.”
“Well, they won’t be too long behind him,” Violet said, glancing at the clock. “The pubs closed up well over an hour ago.”
“Is it that late? I hadn’t realized.” Elizabeth picked up her glass. “I’m terribly sorry, Violet, for keeping you up like this.”
Violet shook her head, then lifted her glass and drained it. She choked, cleared her throat, then said hoarsely, “I’m just glad you had someone drive you home. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d stayed there all night.”
“I would have rung to let you know.” Elizabeth rubbed a weary hand across her eyes. “The captain sat with me for quite a while waiting to see if I could go in to see Earl. He told me about the town where he lives in Texas. It’s not much bigger than Sitting Marsh apparently. He told me about the parades on July Fourth, and the horse and cart he rode in-”
She broke off, aware of the tingling feeling that nagged her to examine the comment she’d just made. There was a connection somewhere to the elusive piece of information that hovered on the edge of her memory.
“I think the horse-drawn carts are dying out,” Violet murmured. “They’re all changing over to motorcars and lorries nowadays. Can’t remember when I last saw a horse and cart in the High Street-”
Elizabeth uttered a sharp exclamation.
Violet stared at her in concern. “You all right, Lizzie? You look so pale. You should go to bed.”
Elizabeth finished her brandy and got up. “You’re right, I should. I have a lot to take care of tomorrow.” She gathered up her handbag and threw her coat over her arm. “You go to bed as well, Violet. You need your sleep.” She turned and hurried out of the kitchen, leaving Violet to stare after her.
Of course. She could see it quite clearly now. The coast road, bathed in moonlight, she and Violet standing by the motorcycle, screaming Martin’s name and hearing nothing except the wind in the trees… and the sound of a horse’s hooves.
She hadn’t thought much about it at the time. It was a common enough sound in the countryside, and she and Violet had been worried about finding Martin. Apparently it never occurred to either of them to wonder why a horse would be trotting along the country lanes in the dark so late at night.
Most of the horse-drawn carts in the area belonged to the farmers, and they would be fast asleep, since they would rise before the dawn. There was, however, someone else who had a horse and cart. Clyde Morgan.
It was, indeed, very late for him to be out collecting his rags and bones. Then again, that was the night Morgan had died, and his midnight ride might very well have been his last. If he had died in his own front room, as she suspected, then someone would have had to take him to the ruined factory. A horse and cart would have made a most convenient conveyance for a dead body.
Tomorrow, right after ringing the hospital, she would take a look at Clyde Morgan’s cart. If she found what she suspected she would find, then her suspicions would be confirmed. Then she would once again be faced with the inevitable question. What on earth was she going to do about it?