By that evening Elizabeth’s stomach was so full of butterflies she was quite certain she’d never be able to force down a bite of food. Which would be a great shame, since the aromas wafting from the warm kitchen were enough to make a statue’s mouth water.
Making sure she was at least ten minutes late, Elizabeth finally left the sanctuary of her bedroom and proceeded down the main staircase to the dining room.
Martin hovered at the foot of the staircase, in his usual state of flustered anxiety. “Madam,” he whispered hoarsely as soon as she came within earshot, “there’s one of those confounded Americans sitting in the dining room. The master is not going to like this at all. Not at all, madam. The blighter had the nerve to tell me he was invited. What utter rot! Just say the word, and I will remove him at once.”
Elizabeth hid a smile at the thought of Martin attempting to forcefully remove the rugged major. “It’s quite all right, Martin. I invited the major to dinner myself. Didn’t Violet tell you?”
Martin looked aghast. “Violet merely mentioned that you were expecting a guest. She failed to mention that you were entertaining an American.”
He’d said “American” as if he were referring to some obnoxious beetle. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “The major is a guest in our home, Martin. I trust you will treat him as such?”
Instantly transformed by her tone, Martin stiffened. “As you wish, madam. I feel obligated to point out, however, that the master has not given his permission for such an escapade, and I am quite sure that he will be as appalled as I am when he is made aware of it. We are only trying to protect you, madam.”
Elizabeth patted Martin’s arm. “Thank you, Martin. I appreciate your concern. And in case you might have forgotten, the master is no longer with us. He and my mother have been gone for two years.”
Martin nodded. “Gone and returned, madam. As you no doubt will discover for yourself before too long.”
Elizabeth frowned. Martin often had lapses of memory and frequent bouts of mind-wandering, but they rarely lasted more than a few minutes or so. His continued insistence on seeing her father’s ghost was disturbing. It was something she would have to worry about later, she decided. Right now she had something much more tangible to worry about.
She had selected a calf-length cream frock in raw silk to wear and had draped a sky-blue scarf around her shoulders to soften the neckline. She really didn’t care for the shoulder pads, which tended to make her look top-heavy, but it seemed that all the clothes came with them these days. Her mother’s gold and pearl earrings and matching pendant completed the attire, and she felt confident she looked her best.
Even so, she felt like a gawky schoolgirl when Martin pompously announced her arrival in the dining room with just an underlying hint of disapproval.
Major Earl Monroe was seated at the foot of the table. He rose to his feet as she walked into the elegant room, and she found his unabashed expression of appreciation even more unsettling.
She murmured her apologies while he pulled back her chair. “I’m terribly sorry for keeping you waiting, Major.”
He eased the chair in as she sat down, then returned the length of the table to his own seat. “No need to apologize, Lady Elizabeth. I’ve been enjoying an excellent Scotch while I studied the contents of this room. You have some great antiques on these walls. Fascinating stuff.”
She smiled. “Thank you. Some of them have been in the family for generations.”
“Like the portraits upstairs. What about that whalebone over there? What’s the story behind that?”
Thankful to have an opening subject to break the ice, she launched into the story of her great-great-uncle’s adventures aboard a sailboat in the Pacific islands.
Violet interrupted a few minutes later to announce the menu; celery soup, roast beef, and Yorkshire pudding, followed by a sherry trifle. “I’ll be serving the first course in a moment or two,” she declared. “Meanwhile, can I offer you a glass of champagne?”
Elizabeth widened her eyes in surprise. “That would be very nice, Violet.” Wondering how on earth her housekeeper had acquired champagne, she added, “You remember Major Monroe, Violet? I’m sure you remember my housekeeper, Major?”
“We bumped into each other in the kitchen just now.” He exchanged a look with Violet that was purely conspiratorial, and she preened like a mating peacock.
“The major was kind enough to bring us a bottle or two. That’s where the champagne came from.” A flush spread over her cheeks, and she patted her frizzy hair. “He brought whiskey as well.”
Put out by the housekeeper’s defiance of her wishes, Elizabeth said tartly, “You may serve the champagne, Violet.”
Violet’s expression was unrepentant. “I’ll send Martin in,” she said and scuttled back to the kitchen.
“I hope I didn’t break any of your customs by taking the bottles to the kitchen.”
Elizabeth stared down the table at him. Separated by three ornate silver candelabra, two huge bowls of white daisies, and a cornucopia filled with ripe apples from the orchard, she felt less intimidated by him than during their earlier encounters. Even so, she felt the impact of his gaze as she murmured, “Not at all, Major. I’m sure Violet was most appreciative.”
He chuckled. “She gave me a hug. Nice lady. Reminds me of an aunt of mine back home.”
Elizabeth felt a pang of envy and quickly suppressed it. She had no desire to hug the major. If Violet wanted to make a fool of herself that was her affair. “Violet has been with the family a very long time. I value her as a friend and as a surrogate member of my family. She was a great source of comfort to me after the death of my parents.”
Violet chose that moment to return with the champagne. She fluttered around Earl as if he were a long-lost son, Elizabeth noticed, with a faint pang of resentment. It was obvious the major had won over Violet with his undeniable charm. All the more reason for her to remain on guard as far as her own attitude toward the handsome American. It wouldn’t do for everyone to fall under his spell.
She was beginning to understand now the attraction these men held in the village. Much more debonair and infinitely more glamourous than their British stiff-upper-lip counterparts, they added the spice of adventure to a very bleak environment for the women of Sitting Marsh. Forced to manage without their menfolk, struggling to feed and clothe their families on the meager rations allowed them, faced with uncertain futures at best, no wonder they welcomed such exciting and alluring newcomers with open arms.
They would all do well to heed Violet’s warnings. She had spoken the truth when she’d said that many hearts were broken in wartime. The understandable urge to live for the moment was a powerful aphrodisiac. Under such circumstances, even the most level-headed person could well stray from the straight and narrow path.
“Why the glum look? You don’t like the champagne?”
Startled out of her thoughts, she quickly lifted her glass. Bubbles danced before her eyes as she murmured, “To your good health, Major Monroe.”
Instead of answering her, he rose from his chair. “Can I ask a favor?”
Wary now, she put down the glass. “Of course.”
“Do I have to sit at the end of this table? I feel like I’m trying to talk to you from the opposite end of a jungle.”
She hesitated, torn between fear of losing her security and the very strong desire to have him sit closer. In the end, desire won. She waved a hand at the chair to her right. “Please, make yourself at home.”
He grinned, unsettling her even further as he sat down in the chair she’d indicated. “That’s better. Now I can hear you and see you. I was beginning to get lonely down there.”
Matching his light tone, she murmured, “Well, we can’t have that, can we. I wouldn’t want it spread about that the Hartleighs were inhospitable.”
“I thought there was only one Hartleigh now.”
She smiled. “Only one in residence. I have uncles, aunts, and various cousins scattered around the world. Most of them live abroad.”
“What happened to your parents?”
His abrupt question disturbed her. She took a moment to regroup her thoughts.
“I’m sorry… if you’d rather not answer-”
“No, it’s all right.” She took a sip of her champagne and was pleasantly surprised by the delicate flavor. “This is very good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His skin looked leathery, dried out from too much sun and wind. She felt an instant’s longing to see the land where he’d grown up then quickly began speaking in an effort to erase the treacherous thought. “My parents were in London attending a concert two years ago, during the Blitz. My mother didn’t want to go, but my father insisted. He was not about to let those filthy Nazis, as he called them, stop him from living his life. They were waiting for a taxi when the sirens sounded. On their way to the shelter a bomb landed just down the street. They were both killed instantly.”
She sat staring down at her glass while the silence seemed to stretch into hours.
Then Earl Monroe gently covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry. That must have been real tough.”
She gulped. “It was.”
The door swung open and crashed against the wall, startling them both. Earl snatched his hand away, while Elizabeth sat up straight, trying to look as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
Martin shuffled into the room, bearing a tray upon which a large soup tureen balanced at a somewhat precarious angle. “Soup, madam!” he shouted, making her jump.
“Thank you, Martin.” Elizabeth eyed the priceless tureen, wondering what on earth had possessed Violet to entrust it to his unsteady hands. “You may put it down here.”
Quickly she cleared a space for it near her plate, then watched in trepidation as Martin advanced one uncertain step at a time, bearing his burden as if it were a sacrifice being offered to the gods.
Holding her breath, she waited for him to reach the table, ready to spring into action should his step falter. When it happened, she was unprepared for it after all.
Martin tilted the tray just a fraction, but it was enough to start the heavy tureen sliding toward the edge. Elizabeth froze, certain that her butler would be badly scalded by the hot soup. Before she had time to let out her breath, however, Earl had leapt from his chair and somehow rounded the table in time to grab the tureen by its handles.
“We’ll just put it down here, sir,” he said and deposited the precious china pot safely onto the white linen tablecloth without spilling a drop.
Martin’s eyebrows twitched a few times. “I say, sir. Magnificent catch. Couldn’t have done better myself. Make a good silly mid-on proud, that one would.”
Catching sight of Earl’s puzzled look, Elizabeth murmured, “Cricket term.” She turned to Martin, who was still gazing at the major with something like awe on his face. “You may leave the soup, Martin. I will serve it myself.” She waited for Earl to reseat himself, still with a bemused expression on his face.
He sat down heavily on his chair as Martin shuffled slowly out of the room. “Silly mid-on?”
“Yes, it’s a cricket fielder’s position.”
“Silly mid-on? For real?”
Elizabeth nodded. “They have a silly mid-off, too.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I swear I’m not.” She didn’t think this was a good time to explain all the intricacies of one of England’s favorite pastimes. “Would you care for some soup?”
He obediently held out his plate. “This is one game I’ve got to see.”
“Well, I’m afraid you might have a long wait.” She carefully ladled pale green soup into the deep bowl. “The men who usually play cricket on the green have all been called up. I suppose the army might have a game now and then, though I imagine if they do it would be played at the camp.”
“That’s too bad.” Earl put his plate down in front of him and eyed it suspiciously. “I’d like to have seen a cricket match.”
“Well, maybe we can arrange something one of these days.” She watched him take a cautious sip of the soup and was pleased when his expression cleared. “I trust the soup is to your liking?”
He flashed a grin at her. “The soup is very much to my liking. Thanks.”
She quickly transferred her attention to her own dish.
“You must have been lonely growing up in this huge house,” he said, after a few moments of companionable silence.
She laid down her spoon and dabbed at her mouth with her serviette. “Not really. We had more servants then, and the house was always full of guests. My mother entertained a lot. Though I often wished I could have gone to school instead of having a private tutor. I think I missed a lot.”
He studied her with a grave expression. “I guess you did. What about now? This can’t be much of a life for a woman like yourself, living practically alone in a mansion.”
“Oh, I have plenty of companionship. Violet, Martin, and Polly are like family, and I have my various committees, and there are always people coming in from the village for advice or help with a problem. Though I must admit, I have been thinking lately of adopting a couple of dogs for extra companionship. There was always a dog around when I was growing up.”
The major smiled. “Didn’t you ever want to break free of all this and go see the rest of the world?”
She laughed, not quite hiding the bitterness. “Oh, I did all that. I traveled fairly extensively and lived in London for several years until I divorced my husband.”
He sounded surprised when he said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were married.”
“Almost nine years. Harry is a compulsive gambler. When my parents died I inherited everything. We moved down here to take over the management of the estate, and Harry managed to lose most of my inheritance in a little over a year. I divorced him before he could lose the Manor House as well.”
“Sounds like you were well rid of him.”
“Maybe, but it’s such a dreadful stigma to be divorced. Especially when one is the lady of the manor. I lost the respect of the villagers. It didn’t help that their new guardian is a woman. If it hadn’t been for the fact that it’s wartime and most of the able-bodied men are serving abroad, I would have had a much harder time of it.”
“Surely in this day and age people are more understanding about divorce. It happens all the time now.”
“In your country, perhaps. Possibly even here, in the large cities. But in a small village like Sitting Marsh, divorce is still frowned upon. It has taken me many months to earn back the respect of the villagers. Even now, there are one or two who look upon me with disdain.”
“Surely not. You are every inch a lady, and I drink to that.” He raised his glass with a flourish, warming the chill in her heart.
“Thank you. I appreciate the kind words, spoken by a true gentleman.” She tapped the rim of his glass with her own.
She was still staring into his eyes when the door swung open, and Polly rushed in.
The housemaid stopped short at the sight of madam and the American gazing at each other across the candlelit table. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Am I interrupting something?”
Feeling as if she’d been caught cheating at cards, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “What are you doing here, Polly? Why haven’t you gone home?”
Polly shrugged, then stacked the empty soup bowls into the tureen with a loud clatter that made Elizabeth wince. “Violet asked me to stay and help out with the dinner, m’m. I was wondering if you’d arranged for my lift home tonight? Violet said you didn’t want me riding my bicycle.” She sent a sly look at Earl, who looked at Elizabeth for clarification.
“Oh, yes, of course.” Elizabeth gave Earl an apologetic smile. “I wonder if perhaps one of your men could take Polly home? I hate to ask, but with a suspected murderer running around loose in the woods, I really don’t think it’s safe for her to ride home alone on her bicycle.”
She saw the shock in his eyes and was immediately contrite. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Major. I assumed you’d heard-”
He shook his head. “I’ve heard nothing. I’ve been gone all day, and after I checked in at the base I came straight back here.”
“It was a land girl,” Polly told him with relish. “They reckon that German what escaped yesterday killed her. Found her body this morning in the woods with her head chopped off.”
“That’s enough, Polly,” Elizabeth said sharply. “You may take the plates out now.”
“Yes, m’m.” Polly picked up the loaded tureen. “But what about my ride?”
“I’ll arrange something,” Earl said. “What time do you want to leave?”
“After you finish your meal will be fine, sir. Thank you.” Polly paused at the door, cradling the heavy dish in her arms. “It would be nice if Sam Cutter could take me home, sir. I’d really like that.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, while Earl looked speculative. “I wasn’t aware you knew my squadron leader.” He glanced at his watch. “Sam hadn’t returned when I left the base. If he’s back in his quarters by the time I’m finished here, I’ll request that he take you home.”
Polly’s face was transformed by her smile. “Thank you, sir. Much obliged, I’m sure.” She backed out of the door, still beaming.
Earl shook his head. “I hope this doesn’t break any of your rules?”
“Not at all.” Elizabeth reached for her champagne glass. “Things have changed so much since I was a young girl. Servants have so much more freedom nowadays, and I’m afraid they have become lax in their duties as well as their attitudes. I’m not sure it’s a good thing. One can’t even refer to them as servants anymore without offending them.”
“War changes a lot of things.” Earl looked around the vast room with appreciation. “It’s good that you’re not close to a big city. It would be a crime to lose a place like this to a bomb. It must be hundreds of years old.”
“Seventeenth century, actually.” Elizabeth followed his gaze to the ornate ceiling, lovingly etched by ancient hands. “I just hope we can escape the bombs for the rest of the war. Norwich isn’t that far away, and it was heavily bombed in April of this year. I’m afraid the Norfolk coast can be quite vulnerable to attack, especially from the sea. We are all supposed to carry gas masks with us all the time, though it’s mostly the children who carry them these days.”
“Well, I reckon you’re well protected with a British army camp and an American Army Air Force base in the area.”
“As well as mined beaches and barbed wire along the cliffs. Not to mention Rita Crumm and her gallant troops,” Elizabeth murmured.
Earl looked intrigued. “Sorry?”
“Just a misguided, though very enthusiastic, group of housewives with an overambitious female tyrant for a leader.”
Earl grinned. “I take it you don’t care for this Rita person?”
She made a face at him. “Rita means well, I suppose, but she can be incredibly tiresome at times. I make allowances for them all. It must be hard to sit twiddling their thumbs while their husbands are risking their lives in a foreign land. Playing at soldiers makes them feel useful, as if they are doing their bit. And most of them do a lot for the war effort, like knitting woollies for the winter, collecting scrap metal, working in victory gardens, that sort of thing. Right now they have organized a massive clothes drive in the village, to help the people who have been bombed out of their homes.”
The major looked impressed. “Tell me about the murder. Was it really a land girl with her head chopped off?”
“Not exactly. It was one of the land girls, unfortunately, but as far as I know, her head was still intact. She was brutally attacked, however, with an axe, so the constables tell me.”
“And the police think the German pilot killed her?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “They don’t really know who killed her yet.”
“And what do you think?”
She studied her glass for a moment or two before answering. “I think,” she said slowly, “that there are a lot more questions to be answered before we can even begin to discover what really happened.” Questions she would somehow have to take care of herself, she silently added, if true justice was to be served.