“Didn’t sleep a wink last night,” Violet declared the next morning when Elizabeth walked into the kitchen. “What with that German bomber pilot on the loose somewhere and Martin’s ghost, I was afraid to shut my eyes.”
“What ghost?” Polly demanded, withdrawing her head from the broom closet.
Violet made a sound of disgust. “Mind your manners, Polly. Say good morning to madam.”
Polly gave Elizabeth a cheeky grin. “Oops, sorry. Morning, m’m.”
Elizabeth returned the greeting. “I wouldn’t pay too much attention to Martin. You know how he is.” She accepted the cup of tea Violet handed her and sat down at the table.
“He did seem really upset, all the same.” Violet turned back to the stove. “Even for him.”
“He probably saw one of the Yanks wandering around,” Polly said, hauling her bucket and mop over to the door. “Though I haven’t seem much of them since they’ve been here.”
She disappeared, and Violet shook her head. “Thank Gawd for that. I don’t trust them Yanks. Nor Polly for that matter.”
Martin had placed the weekly local newspaper next to Elizabeth’s table mat, and she picked it up. “You worry too much Violet,” she murmured.
“Someone around here has to,” Violet muttered darkly.
Elizabeth stopped listening to her, her attention caught by the thick black headlines stamped across the front page. German Pilot Escapes! they screamed, and in smaller letters, Dangerous Enemy on the Loose in Hawthorn Woods!
According to the news report, soldiers from the camp in nearby Beerstowe had joined the local constabulary in a manhunt, and residents of the village were warned to stay away from the woods, where the pilot was suspected of having gone to ground.
Aware that Violet was talking to her, Elizabeth tore her gaze from the newspaper. “I beg your pardon?”
Violet crossed her arms. “I was asking if you and your major will be having dinner in the dining room tonight. What’s in that paper that’s so interesting, anyway?”
Elizabeth read the report out loud. “I feel sorry for the poor man,” she said when she was finished. “He looked so young, hardly more than a boy, and he was obviously terrified.”
“I should think so. I’d be terrified, too, if I saw Rita Crumm and her mob rushing at me. Enough to scare Hitler hisself, that woman.” Violet tilted her head to one side. “You never answered me about your major.”
“He’s not my major, Violet.” Elizabeth folded the newspaper and laid it next to her knife. “And I’d appreciate it if you would stop calling him that. You know how impressionable Polly is-I really don’t want any silly gossip going around. Especially now that Major Monroe is staying at the manor.”
Violet nodded. “So is he coming to dinner or not?”
“I haven’t asked him yet.”
“Well, would you mind getting on with it? That’s where you should be eating your meals, anyway. It isn’t proper for a lady of the manor to be taking her meals with the servants in the kitchen.”
Elizabeth sighed at the familiar argument. “You know very well how much I hate eating all alone at that enormous table in the dining room. Besides, as you also know very well, I don’t think of you and Martin as servants. I consider you both family.”
Violet’s cheeks turned pink. “That’s lovely, Lizzie, but your mother wouldn’t like that.”
“She wouldn’t like you calling me Lizzie, either, but since she’s not here, and I am, I think we can stop worrying about her approval and just do what we think is right.”
“If you say so.” Violet looked inordinately pleased. “Now, about dinner tonight. I need to know what to buy at the butcher’s this morning. Thank goodness we still have enough coupons left in the ration books for a decent meal.”
Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I’ll try to catch the major before he leaves for the base. They all came back late last night, and I didn’t like to ask him then.”
“I know, I heard them. Them bloody water pipes were making such a racket I wonder they didn’t wake the dead. No wonder poor old Martin thought he saw a ghost.”
“I suppose we really should get them seen to, now that Major Monroe’s men are using the east wing bathroom. I didn’t think anyone would be using it again after Mummy and Daddy died.”
“Maybe your major could ask one of his men to take a look at the pipes.”
“He’s not-” Elizabeth began, but Violet interrupted her.
“I know, he’s not your major. Ask him anyway. Here’s your porridge. Eat it while it’s hot.” She dumped a steaming plate of creamed oatmeal in front of Elizabeth.
“I’m sure the American officers have enough to do defending our skies against German bombers.” Elizabeth picked up her spoon. “We’ll have to find someone ourselves.”
“Then you’ll have to go into North Horsham to find a plumber. There are precious few men left in Sitting Marsh, and not one of them would know how to fix a water pipe.”
Violet was right, Elizabeth thought gloomily. Most of the men in the village had been called up or had volunteered for the forces, and those who were left were either too old or too busy with their own businesses to help out with anything short of an emergency.
Her gaze wandered to the newspaper headlines again. The only constabulary left in Sitting Marsh were two elderly men dragged out of retirement to replace those who had joined up to fight for their country. George and Sid did their best, but apprehending a desperate enemy pilot went far beyond their meager capabilities. She could only hope the army routed out the man quickly, before panic spread among the villagers.
She had almost finished her porridge when the telephone jangled loudly across the kitchen, making Violet drop the saucepan she was drying onto the tiled kitchen counter.
“Blasted telephone,” Violet grumbled as she reached for it. “I wish there was some way we could turn down the noise it makes. I jump every time it rings.” She held the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
Elizabeth watched her face for some clue as to who might be ringing at this early hour. To her dismay, she heard Violet gasp. “Go on! No, I don’t believe it. Yes, of course I’ll tell her. Oh, my Gawd, what dreadful news!”
On her feet now, Elizabeth stared at Violet as she replaced the receiver and turned slowly to face her. All kinds of scenarios raced through her mind… the uppermost being the possibility that the Germans had launched the long-expected invasion. She waited, afraid to ask the question that hovered on her lips.
“You’re never going to believe this,” Violet said hoarsely, “but that was Marlene. She wanted to warn Polly. That scared young German pilot you felt so sorry for has gone and killed one of the land girls from Macclesby’s farm. They just found her dead body in Hawthorn Woods.”
Polly sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow. Scrubbing bathrooms was the thing she hated most about her job. She often wondered why she didn’t pack it in and go down to the canning factory. From what the other girls said, working there was a lot of fun. ’Course, she’d have to lie about her age. You had to be seventeen to work at the factory, and she was only fifteen. But then she was used to lying about her age. She’d been doing it for almost two years down at the pub, and only last week she’d lied to that nice Yank she’d met. Told him she was twenty. He’d believed her, too.
Polly smiled as she wrung out her mop. Good-looking, that Sam. Had to be at least twenty-four. Stolen her heart right away he had, with his dark-brown bedroom eyes and that thick, black, curly hair. Proper man all right. She’d had to lie about her job, too. She didn’t want him thinking she was just a crummy servant. She’d told him she was Lady Elizabeth’s secretary. Good job he couldn’t see her now, on her knees scrubbing the loo.
She leaned forward again and swiped the washrag around the pedestal of the toilet bowl. One day, she promised herself fiercely, she’d be living like a lady, too, with a secretary and a housekeeper and a butler to open the door. Only her butler would have a lot more gumption than wheezy old Martin, she’d make sure of that.
The sound of male laughter drifted down the hallway, freezing her hand. Yanks. So far she hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of Sam since he’d moved in with the others a week ago.
She’d been shocked to find out he was one of the officers billeted at the manor. Marlene had warned her that once Sam found out how she’d been lying to him, he’d never speak to her again. Marlene thought she knew everything, just because she was her older sister. Well, Polly told herself as she quickly gathered up her mop and bucket, Sam wasn’t going to find out she’d been lying. She’d managed to keep out of sight of the Yanks for a week now, and she’d go on doing it as long as she had a chance with the most gorgeous man she’d ever set eyes on. And like she told Marlene, she’d keep on lying to him until he was so madly in love with her he wouldn’t care when she finally told him the truth.
The voices drew closer, and before the men could round the corner she slipped out of the bathroom and through the door that led to the back stairs.
Elizabeth stared at Violet in disbelief. “That young boy killed someone? Are you sure?”
Violet shrugged. “That’s what Marlene said. He cut her head wide open, Marlene said. Told me to warn Polly not to ride her bike home past the woods tonight.”
“I can’t believe it. He seemed so harmless.”
“He wasn’t bloody harmless when he was dropping them bombs over London, now was he?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I know what you’re saying, Violet, and I really can’t explain how I feel. I suppose it’s the fact that the young man was following orders when he dropped those bombs. Killing an innocent young woman in cold blood is something else entirely.”
“Once a killer always a killer, that’s what I say. Those Germans are all alike.” Violet picked up the saucepan and began scrubbing the inside of it with a scouring pad. “I should have thought you of all people would know that, seeing as how your own parents died.”
Elizabeth stared at the remains of her porridge. Her appetite had disappeared, and she had no interest in cleaning up the bowl. It was hard to explain, even to herself, her sympathy toward the young German pilot.
Like everyone else, her image of a German bomber pilot was a vicious monster with hideous features hidden beneath the goggles and mask of his flying helmet. The young man standing shivering on the village green the day before was so far removed from that picture Elizabeth found it hard to believe he could actually fly a plane, let alone be responsible for dropping bombs on innocent women and children.
“I’m going to ring George Dalrymple,” she announced, getting up from the table. “You know how gossip gets distorted, especially after news has been passed around that hairdresser’s shop.”
Violet didn’t answer her, but Elizabeth could tell she didn’t approve by the way she banged the saucepan down on the draining board.
There was no answer from the police station in the village, and Elizabeth hung up the telephone. “I think I’ll take a run down there,” she announced.
“Now, Lizzie, don’t you get yourself involved in all this. Remember what happened the last time you started messing around with the murder of that poor Beryl Pierce. Almost got yourself killed, you did.”
“Violet,” Elizabeth said reasonably, “you know very well I was never in any real danger. In any case, I’m not getting involved. I’m merely going down to the police station to find out the truth of the matter. If indeed there is a killer on the loose in our woods, I want to know about it. Arrangements will have to be made to take Polly home tonight.”
“Perhaps your major will run her home in his Jeep,” Violet said, giving her a sly look.
“He’s not my major.” Elizabeth pulled her cardigan from the back of the chair and slipped it on. “I’ll let you break the bad news to Polly. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“So what am I going to do about dinner?”
“Buy the meat. If the major can’t join me, it will keep overnight in the larder. It’s getting quite cool at night now.”
“All right. But I’d hate to waste good meat. If he doesn’t come by tomorrow night, we’ll have to eat it all ourselves.”
“We can always make sandwiches for the Americans.”
Elizabeth almost laughed at Violet’s dour expression. She might have done so if her mind wasn’t still on a frightened young man hiding in the woods in fear of his life. Somewhere a mother was anxiously waiting, not knowing if her son was dead or alive. That was the trouble with war; the innocent on both sides suffered.
Martin met her in the upper hallway and peered at her above the thin gold rims of his glasses. Ever since he’d first worn the spectacles several years ago, Elizabeth had never seen him look through them. “Are you leaving, madam, or returning home?”
“I’m leaving, Martin. You didn’t happen to have seen Major Monroe about this morning, I suppose?”
The wrinkles on Martin’s crumpled face deepened. “Major? I don’t remember ever seeing a major about here. You don’t mean that scoundrel, Colonel Hartleigh, do you? He’s not here, I hope.” Martin’s head swiveled from side to side.
“No, no, I don’t mean Uncle Roger. I meant the American major. Have you seen any of the Americans?”
Martin drew himself up as straight as his spine would allow. “No, madam. Nor do I care to see them.” He raised his hand and placed it over his mouth, then whispered around it, “They are the reason he came back, you know.”
Elizabeth frowned. Martin’s remarks often didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, she hated to ignore them just in case he was trying to say something important. “Who came back?”
“Your father. I saw him as clearly as I can see you. He doesn’t like these foreigners in his house. That’s what he’s trying to tell us.”
The sounds of muffled engines caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she instantly forgot about Martin’s ghost. She reached for the massive door handle, but Martin uttered an exclamation and shuffled forward.
“Please, allow me, madam.”
Elizabeth forced herself to wait until he grabbed hold of the handle with both hands and slowly tugged the door open. She could hear the slamming of doors outside and guessed the Americans were about to leave. If she hurried, she might just catch Major Monroe before he left.
The gap between the front door and the frame widened, and she squeezed herself through, earning a look of reproof from Martin.
“I say, madam!” he protested.
“Sorry, Martin, but I’m in a bit of hurry. Don’t close the door for a moment. I won’t be but a jiff.” She sped down the white marble steps and across to the courtyard, where a Jeep was already rolling across the gravel to the long, curving driveway.
The young men saluted her as she rushed by, and she returned the greeting with a cheerful wave of her hand. One Jeep stood alone in the shadows of the ancient walls, engine revving as the man behind the wheel prepared to pull out.
To Elizabeth’s relief, she recognized the rugged features of Major Monroe. Hurrying forward, she called out to him. “Major? I wonder if I could have a moment?”
He turned his gaze on her, and as always she felt a quiver deep inside when she confronted his steel-blue eyes. “Ma’am?”
She felt awkward looking into that penetrating gaze and instead concentrated on the doors of the stables behind him. “I was wondering, Major, if you would care to have dinner with me tonight, here at the manor. There are several things I’d like to discuss with you, and I thought you might enjoy some home cooking for once, since you’re always eating at the base and that must get really tiresome, although Violet isn’t exactly a gourmet chef-actually she’s not even a very good chef-but she does her best, and it should be a fairly decent meal, that’s if-”
“Ma’am?”
Relieved to have an excuse to draw breath, Elizabeth returned her gaze to Major Monroe’s face and found amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I’d be delighted to have dinner with you, Lady Elizabeth, and I’d enjoy sampling Violet’s home cooking. On two conditions.”
She eyed him warily. “All right. What are they?”
“One, this would be an informal dinner, and two, you stop calling me Major and start calling me Earl.”
She would dearly love to call him by his Christian name, but somehow when she tried, the name seemed to stick in her throat. Maybe because she had never known anyone called Earl before, and it seemed so odd to give a commoner, and an American yet, a title of nobility. After all, she was the daughter of an earl, and one did not take that lightly.
If she were truly honest with herself, however, she’d be forced to admit that the reason she had so much difficulty referring to him by his first name was the air of familiarity such a procedure evoked. Though she’d die rather than admit it, Major Earl Monroe of the United States Army Air Force was far too attractive to risk sharing the least bit of familiarity.
Besides, the man was married. Which was none of her concern, of course, but it did sort of rule out any prospects she might have been entertaining. Which she wasn’t, of course.
“If it takes that long to make up your mind, perhaps we should make it some other time.”
Startled, she glanced at his face but couldn’t really tell from his expression if he was teasing or not. “No, of course not. I would prefer an informal meal. Actually, we can’t do much else with the little rations we’re allowed.”
“Well, perhaps I can help out with that. I might be able to rustle up some steaks.”
Aghast, she hurried to reassure him. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She had already compromised her convictions by accepting a bottle of sherry from him. Accepting gifts from the Americans made her feel as if she were accepting charity, even though she knew that was not the intention.
Since her ex-husband’s gambling habits had left her without her inheritance and deeply in debt, she was overly sensitive to anything that smacked of a donation. The Hartleighs had always fended for themselves over the centuries, and she was not about to break the tradition now.
“I guess the name thing is not going to happen, either.”
On the defensive now, she lifted her chin. “I’ve already explained our customs to you, Major. I don’t feel we know each other well enough to be on a first-name basis.”
He grinned. “Well, maybe we can remedy that tonight over dinner. What time?”
The remark had been perfectly innocent. Nevertheless, she was so flustered, she stuttered. “S-s-seven o’clock?”
He glanced at the door as three of the officers strolled out into the sunlight and headed their way. “I’ll be there,” he said and touched the peak of his cap, managing to make the polite gesture seem incredibly intimate.
She was already regretting the invitation as she watched the Jeep roar down the tree-lined driveway and disappear around the bend. In the first place, she didn’t particularly care for the sensations she experienced every time she came into contact with the thoroughly charming major. After her marriage had ended in a beastly divorce, she had vowed that never again would she form any kind of attachment toward a man. Major Monroe had a way of making her forget that promise.
In the second place, the major belonged to another woman. In these days of uncertainty, it had become common for people to snatch whatever moments of happiness were available. One never quite knew what was waiting around the corner, and it was difficult to ignore the sense of urgency that demanded she live for the day and stop worrying about tomorrow. Especially when she might never see another tomorrow.
There were certain codes that she must adhere to, however, and harboring lascivious thoughts about a married man was definitely forbidden. To do so would only bring heartache to too many people.
Nevertheless, as she climbed aboard her shiny red motorcycle, she couldn’t help smiling at the thought of dining alone with the major that night. His conversations were always fascinating and amusing. Surely it couldn’t hurt to enjoy his company for one evening.
Her smile faded as she chugged down the driveway. If Marlene was telling the truth that morning, and the German pilot had brutally killed a young woman, she was going to need someone to make her feel better.