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-and 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 her 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.
It was also possible, she reminded herself, that Sheila knew what he had done and was covering for him. Which would explain her determination to point her finger at the German pilot. She could hardly blame the woman. After all, it was a mother’s natural and fierce instinct to protect her young.
She reached the group of women just as Rita yelled from behind the haystack, “That’s it, ladies, he’s not here. Reform and regroup!”
The bedraggled women climbed wearily out of the demolished haystack and stood in a huddle, awaiting further orders. They seemed relieved to see Elizabeth and called out a chorus of greetings, no doubt alerting Rita to her presence.
Elizabeth waited for her to make an appearance. It was worth the wait.
Rita marched into view, her hat askew over one eye and a large piece of straw sticking out of her frizzy curls. Pieces of hay clung to her heavily padded shoulders and her pencil thin skirt. Ladders ran up and down her thick lisle stockings, and a metal buckle was missing from one of her shoes.
Apparently unaware of the spectacle she made, she looked haughtily down her nose at Elizabeth. “Your ladyship. Is there something we can do for you?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” Elizabeth glanced around the subdued group of women. “But this isn’t the place to discuss it. You all look incredibly weary. Why don’t we all meet in Bessie’s tearoom in about an hour? We can discuss the matter over afternoon tea.”
Rita folded her arms. “We are on an important mission, Lady Elizabeth. I’m sure the ladies would rather you tell us what you want from us right here, so that we can go on looking for that miserable Nazi.”
“Did I mention you are all invited as my guests?”
The reaction from the group was immediate and emphatic. “I’ll be there!” someone called out.
“Me, too!”
“I’m coming as well!”
Obviously realizing she was vastly outnumbered, Rita drew herself up to attention-a move that was spoiled somewhat when the piece of straw in her hair dislodged itself and slid down her nose. Swiping at it with her hand, she said stiffly, “Very well, if you insist. In one hour, then.”
Clara Rigglesby, one of the few of Rita’s followers bold enough to challenge her, spoke up. “You’d better make sure you clean up first, Rita. You look like a bloody scarecrow.”
A couple of the women giggled.
“We all look like we’ve had a romp in the hay with the army boys,” someone else said.
“Wish we had,” a young woman declared. “It might have been worth all this blinking effort.”
A chorus of laughter greeted this remark.
Elizabeth recognized Nellie Smith and smiled. Everyone knew Nellie was still looking for a husband and was fast approaching the age when she’d be considered an old maid.
Rita must have sensed she was losing control, for she lifted her chin and snapped, “I’ll thank you all to remember that we have the lady of the manor in our presence. So forget the vulgar remarks and prepare to return to the village.”
A general muttering of resentment followed her command, but the women slowly dispersed and headed for the gate.
“I hope whatever you have in mind doesn’t take too long, Lady Elizabeth,” Rita said as she accompanied Elizabeth back to the farmyard. “We must find this murderer and make sure he’s punished for what he did to that poor girl. We can’t allow anything to stop us from carrying out our duty.”
“I quite understand your concern, Rita,” Elizabeth assured her. She reached the gate and waited for the other woman to open it for her. “I can promise you, however, that my proposal is quite important to the war effort, and I feel confident that you and your band of followers are the best people to undertake this assignment.”
In spite of her efforts to appear indifferent, Rita began to look quite excited. “Well, then, I shall look forward to hearing about this mission at the tearoom,” she said as she climbed onto her bicycle.
Elizabeth lifted her hand. “In one hour, Rita.” She watched the line of housewives wobble off along the lane then made her way to the cowshed. A group of soldiers sat around on the grass outside, apparently waiting for further orders. Elizabeth hoped for Sheila’s sake that they soon received a command to move on and leave the poor woman in peace.
Before going in search of Maurice, she made her way around the farmhouse to where the bedroom windows overlooked the paddocks. A thorough examination of the ground revealed nothing. If there had been any bloodstains there, no doubt they would have been washed out by the recent rains.
She found Maurice inside the cowshed, where he was filling the bins with a mixture of shredded mangold, chaff, sugarbeet pulp, and crushed linseed cake, ready for the afternoon milking.
Elizabeth watched him in silence for a while. When he seemed more comfortable with her presence, she said quietly, “Maurice, do you know who burned the clothes on the bonfire this morning?”
Maurice went on shoveling the cow feed into the bins without any indication he’d understood.
Elizabeth tried again. “Maurice, I found some buttons. Would you look at them and tell me if you recognize them?”
Again Maurice ignored her.
Elizabeth stepped closer to the young man. “I’m sorry to bother you, Maurice, but sooner or later the constables are going to find out what happened to Amelia.” She had no real confidence in that, but one could always live in hope. “It would make everything so much easier if you would tell me what really happened.”
“He doesn’t know what happened,” a sharp voice said from behind her.
Elizabeth swung around to face Sheila Macclesby. She felt a nervous tug in her stomach when she saw the irate expression on Sheila’s face. Obviously she’d overstepped the mark this time and now had some explaining to do.