Earl had already left when Elizabeth went down to the kitchen the next morning. Violet told her he had stopped in to say good-bye, and that he hadn’t wanted to wake her.
Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She always avoided actually saying good-bye to him, yet she bitterly resented losing the chance to see him, if only for a minute or two. She ate her breakfast in silence, trying to ignore her housekeeper’s attempts to find out where she’d gone the night before.
Martin, as usual, was hidden behind the newspaper, making little tsking noises whenever he saw something that upset him.
Violet’s patience finally gave out as Elizabeth was finishing her second cup of tea. “I don’t know why we have to have so many secrets in this house,” she muttered. “All I ask is that you let me know when you’re leaving, Lizzie, so I don’t have to worry about you. Remember how you worried about me when you didn’t know where I was.”
“If I’d told you where I was going,” Elizabeth said mildly, “you’d have worried even more.”
Violet spun around to stare at her. “I knew it! You went after that murderer, didn’t you.”
The newspaper rattled as Martin lowered it. “Murderer? What murderer? Don’t tell me someone else has been killed.”
“It’s the same one, you nitwit,” Violet snapped. “The man they found in the cellar at the wedding.”
“What was he doing in the cellar in the first place, that’s what I want to know.” He peered at Elizabeth over the top of his glasses. “They don’t have any wine down there, you know.”
“How’d you know that?” Violet demanded. “You’ve never been down there. How’d you know what they have or don’t have?”
“Someone told me.” Martin lifted the newspaper again and disappeared behind it.
Elizabeth and Violet exchanged glances. “Who told you that, Martin?” Elizabeth inquired.
“I don’t know, madam. Some young fellow in the kitchen. I didn’t catch his name.”
“Why did he tell you there was no wine in the cellar?”
Martin lowered the newspaper again. “Because I asked him if there was any down there, madam. I don’t like champagne. Nasty stuff. The bubbles fly up my nose and make my eyes water. Most unbecoming and quite embarrassing.”
“They had scrumpy, too,” Violet reminded him.
Martin gave her a withering look. “I don’t care to imbibe an obnoxious liquid that has been produced by fermenting sour apples.”
“Where do you think wine comes from then?” Violet demanded.
“Wine is made from grapes, as any fool should know.”
“Well, then.”
Martin sniffed. “Grapes are far superior to apples.”
“They’re still fermented fruit, aren’t they? It’s just a different color, that’s all.”
Martin sat in silence for a moment, then he shook the paper before lifting it in front of his face. “One might have expected a ludicrous comment like that from such an unenlightened cretin,” he murmured.
“Here, what do you mean by that?” Violet looked at Elizabeth for help.
Hoping to spare her housekeeper’s feelings, Elizabeth declined to answer.
Unfortunately, Martin had no such scruples. “Cretin,” he repeated. “I believe in the more popular vernacular, the word is ‘nitwit.’”
Violet opened her mouth to protest, but Elizabeth forestalled her. “Martin, when were you in the kitchen asking for wine?”
“At the wedding, madam.”
“Yes, Martin. I understand that. I meant about what time was it?”
“I didn’t look at the clock. It was when those silly women were making such a fuss about the knife to cut the wedding cake.” Martin shook the newspaper then turned the page. “I was looking for something to drink with my food. It’s not good for the digestion, to eat without drinking something. All I could see was champagne and that disgusting cider, so I went into the kitchen to see if they had a bottle of wine.”
“And that’s when you saw the gentleman?”
“Yes, madam.”
“What was he doing?”
Martin gave her a puzzled look. “Doing?”
“Well, was he just standing there, was he by the cellar door, was he at the sink?”
“Actually, madam, he was on his way out. He seemed in rather a hurry. He was quite abrupt when I asked him about the wine. I apologized for bothering him and said I would look in the cellar for a bottle, but he became quite agitated. He was most emphatic about there not being any wine down there. He actually escorted me out of that kitchen, rather rudely in my opinion. I had to settle for some insipid tea that the bakery woman had made earlier. The most I can say for that is that it was wet.”
Elizabeth barely heard his last comments. “This gentleman. Was he tall, rather stout, with graying hair?”
Martin nodded. “Yes, madam. That’s the chap. I think he was with the leggy bridesmaid. Good-looking woman, for her age.”
Violet huffed out her breath but Elizabeth ignored her. “Of course,” she said softly. “I should have known.”
Martin looked confused. “I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind.” Elizabeth got up from the table. “Violet, I’m going to Priscilla’s flat. I have the proofs from the wedding and I need to drop them off there.”
Martin began struggling to his feet, muttering something under his breath.
“Can’t I see them first?” Violet wiped her hands on her apron. “If I remember rightly, I had a nice one taken with Charlie.”
Elizabeth stared at her, intrigued to see her housekeeper blushing. “Why, Violet, I do believe you’re beginning to care for Charlie Gibbons. Are you going out with him again?”
Violet did her best to appear unconcerned, but the fluttering of her hands gave her away. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Gibbons is thinking of moving to Sitting Marsh. He likes the village and the people here, and it will mean he’ll be close to his brother and his new sister-in-law.”
Elizabeth smiled. “How nice for you, Violet. It’s about time you had a gentleman friend. Everyone needs someone to care for and cherish.”
Martin, who had finally steadied himself on his feet, sniffed. “Now, I suppose, we shall have to listen to a lot of sentimental drivel about gentleman friends and clandestine rendezvous.”
“Better than listening to you bleat about your lottery lady,” Violet snapped.
Fortunately the telephone rang, putting an end to what might have been a lengthy argument. Violet picked up the telephone and spoke into it.
Elizabeth waited, hoping against hope, yet afraid to expect too much.
Violet pulled the receiver away from her ear and looked at her. “It’s your major.”
Fighting to hide her apprehension, Elizabeth took the telephone and murmured a breathless, “Earl? Is everything all right?”
His rich voice reassured her. “Everything’s fine. I just thought you’d like to know what your kidnappers were up to at the base last night.”
“Oh, dear.” Elizabeth pressed the receiver to her ear and tried to forget there were others in the room. “I hope they didn’t do too much damage.”
“They burned down the rec room. According to the note they left, their girlfriends had abandoned them in favor of GIs, and they weren’t too happy about it.”
“Oh, Lord. I am so sorry, Earl. Is it at all salvageable?”
“Not much of it. We’ll have to rebuild. The guys are going to miss that place. Those little thugs couldn’t have picked a better payback.”
“It’s a shame. Nobody deserved that.”
“There’s something else you need to know.”
Something in his voice warned her. “What is it?”
“There’s some heavy hush-hush meetings going on. Everyone’s being confined to the base. It may be a week or so before I can leave.”
She swallowed. “Is it the invasion?”
“Elizabeth-”
“I know, you can’t tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I’ll be back just as soon as I can. You know that.”
“Yes, I do.” She pulled in her breath. “God speed, Earl. Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m still carrying your scarf, by the way. The one you gave me when I left last year. It goes everywhere with me.”
Somehow she wasn’t consoled by that. It was the first time he’d mentioned it since he’d been back. It sounded like an omen. “I’m glad to hear that. I pray it will keep you safe.”
“It has so far.” He lowered his voice. “I have to go. I’ll call when I can.”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. Unable to trust her voice for more than a couple of words, she said quickly, “Till we meet again.”
“So long, sweetheart.”
She replaced the receiver, already feeling the loss. “Don’t hold off lunch for me,” she told Violet, as she headed for the door. “I might be late. I’ll bring back some fish and chips.”
“Fish and chips!”
Martin looked so hopeful she had to smile. “All right, I’ll bring them back for all of us. Though you might have to wait a bit longer. The girls might not like that.”
“The girls are servants, madam. They’ll do as they’re told.”
“Don’t tell them that.” Elizabeth reached the door and opened it. “Polly informed me that domestics, as they are now called, don’t like being referred to as servants.”
“It was good enough for their forefathers, it’s good enough for them today.”
“I’m afraid not, Martin.” Elizabeth sent him an affectionate smile. “The world is changing, whether we like it or not. We will have to change with it.”
Martin drew himself up as straight as his bowed shoulders allowed. “Never! There will always be an England, as long as we defend her shores and carry on her traditions!”
“Oh, Gawd, now he’ll start caterwauling,” Violet muttered, giving him a dirty look.
Elizabeth closed the door behind her, her smile fading. Traditions. How many was she breaking with her passion for Earl Monroe? How many more would she break before it was over? It was something she couldn’t think about now.
She hurried outside, disheartened by the sight of a clear blue sky. Once she had loved the good weather, so rare in that part of the country. But that was before the war. Before clear skies allowed airplanes to fly, taking courageous young men into danger and, far too often, to their deaths.
Astride her motorcycle, she roared down the hill to the High Street. Pulling up outside the police station, she was relieved to see George and Sid’s bicycles leaning against the wall. She had made a promise to Earl, and this time she would keep it.
She found George at his desk as usual and quickly explained why she needed him with her.
“Right,” he said, when she was finished. Raising his voice, he called out, “Sid, take over here. I have some business to take care of with her ladyship.”
“You found the boys that burned down the Yanks’ gym?” Sid asked, as he emerged from the back room.
“I’m afraid not.” Elizabeth exchanged glances with George. “They are somewhere in North Horsham, I presume. I’m sure you’ll catch up with them sooner or later.”
“I doubt it,” George said, as he pulled on his helmet. “The case has been taken over by the North Horsham constabulary. It seems the Americans put in a rather strong complaint.”
“One can hardly blame them,” Elizabeth murmured. She waited for George to open the door for her, then hurried outside to her motorcycle. “Can you manage to squeeze yourself into the sidecar again?” she asked as George approached.
“Not on your life, your ladyship. I’ll be quite happy on my bicycle, thank you.”
“But we will get there so much more quickly.”
“I’ll manage very well on my own. Thank you, m’m.” George walked over to his bicycle and bent over to fasten a clip around each ankle. “I’ll be right behind you when you get there. You’ll see.”
Seriously doubting that, Elizabeth had to give in gracefully. She rode slowly down to the Tudor Arms. Even so, by the time she arrived there George was nowhere to be seen. Impatient now, she rang the bell on the back door and waited for Alfie to open it.
His bushy eyebrows shot up at the sight of her. “Lady Elizabeth! Whatever…?”
“I’d like a word with Malcolm,” she said, giving him no time to form the question. “Is he here?”
“Afraid you’ve just missed him.” Curiosity was written all over his face, but he knew better than to ask. “I do believe he’s on his way to see his lady friend, Fiona.”
“Thank you, Alfie.” Elizabeth turned away, then added over her shoulder, “Oh, when George turns up, tell him where I’ve gone, will you?”
“George is coming here?”
Hearing his bewilderment, she wished she had time to explain. “He’s following me,” she said, climbing back onto her motorcycle. “Do tell him to hurry, won’t you?” She roared off, drowning out whatever Alfie was saying.
It took her several minutes to reach the flat. Priscilla lived above the ironmongery and normally the shop would have been busy. However, since the war had taken many of the men who purchased the tools and gardening implements, business was no longer brisk. Which suited Elizabeth. She did not need a large audience to witness her visit, or the outcome.
Fiona opened the door to her knock, obviously taken aback by the lady of the manor’s second visit in as many days. Again she seemed reluctant to allow Elizabeth to enter, but was left with no choice when her guest deliberately walked through the door and into the cramped front room.
At least the room looked more tidy than when she’d last visited, Elizabeth observed. Malcolm Ludwick sat on the couch, reading a newspaper. He leapt to his feet when Elizabeth walked in, and his expression was not too welcoming. He greeted her in a surly tone of voice and offered her a seat.
Hoping fervently that George wasn’t too far behind, Elizabeth sat on the couch. “I quite forgot the reason for my visit yesterday,” she said, as Fiona perched on the arm of the chair that Malcolm now occupied. “I had the proofs of the wedding with me, and I meant to leave them with you. I’m afraid I’m becoming quite scatterbrained lately.” She drew the packet from her handbag and handed them to Fiona. “They are quite lovely. I’m sure Priscilla will be most pleased. Have you heard from her, by the way?”
“Not yet, your ladyship. There hasn’t been enough time for a postcard to reach us from Scotland.” Fiona took out the proofs and started thumbing through them.
“Oh, of course not.” Elizabeth laughed. “How silly of me. It seems much longer since she and Wally went on their honeymoon. Time drags so much these days. I suppose we’re all waiting for the Allied invasion to take place. One rather hopes that it will end the war, though I suppose that’s wishful thinking for the most part.”
She smiled at Malcolm and felt a chill when she saw his narrowed gaze on her face.
“Well, thank you very much, your ladyship.” Fiona stood up, the proofs still in her hand. “I appreciate you bringing these over. Priscilla will be thrilled to find them waiting for her when she gets home.”
“I imagine they are having a marvelous time in Scotland,” Elizabeth said, leaning back on the couch. “Although the weather can be quite beastly this time of year. I do think they might have done better to have gone to Somerset or Cornwall. So much warmer down there.”
Fiona seemed at a loss what to do next. She glanced at Malcolm, who still had his gaze pinned on Elizabeth’s face. “Er… I suppose I should offer you a cup of tea,” she said, making it clear it was the last thing she wanted to do.
“Oh, that sounds lovely!” Elizabeth glanced at the small clock on the mantelpiece. Where the devil was George? He should have been here by now.
“Actually, we were just on the way out,” Malcolm said, getting to his feet. “So if you would excuse us, your ladyship-”
“Of course.” Elizabeth made no effort to move. “I’m so glad you are here, Mr. Ludwick. Before you go, I have a question I’d like to ask you.”
She could see it in his eyes. The guilt, underlined with fear. She’d seen that look before. The question was, could she get him to confess what he’d done?
He pretended to be puzzled, though she was quite sure he knew what she was talking about. “Question?”
“Yes.” She smiled at him. She could only stall for so long. If George didn’t get there very soon, she could be walking into trouble again. Earl would not like that. “When George talked to you at the wedding-”
“Excuse me,” he interrupted. “George?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth met his gaze. “Police Constable George Dalrymple.”
She saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. “Oh, yes, I think I remember. Bald-headed chap. Bit of a bumbler.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I suppose he is, at times. Anyway, I seem to remember you telling him that you overheard Tess Winterhalter arguing with the deceased that afternoon. Furious with him, I believe you said?”
Malcolm appeared reluctant to answer, and Fiona answered for him. “That’s right, Malcolm. I heard you say that. I remember being surprised that you knew-”
“Shut up!” Malcolm snarled.
Fiona reared back as if she’d been struck, one hand at her mouth.
Elizabeth saw the dawning realization in the woman’s eyes and felt sorry for her. Turning back to Malcolm, she said quietly, “You overheard Tess accusing him of taking Fiona to his room, didn’t you? You probably saw her threaten him with the knife then lock him in the cellar. Maybe the idea came to you then. Here was your chance to get rid of your rival and blame it on the young girl who was so angry with her boyfriend.”
Malcolm apparently was prepared to bluff his way out. “Utter poppycock! I barely knew the chap. As for him being a rival, that’s utter nonsense.”
“Is it?” Elizabeth smiled. “I think not. Fiona is a woman of means, and you weren’t about to lose your benefactor to a two-faced schemer like Brian Sutcliffe. When you heard that Fiona had been to his room, you were afraid he’d charm her away from you. You were presented with a chance to solve that problem and you took it.”
Fiona gasped. “No! I don’t believe it!”
“Good,” Malcolm said roughly. “Because it isn’t true. Yes, I heard the bridesmaid arguing with Sutcliffe, but I left right away. Didn’t want to embarrass the girl. I never went back into the kitchen after that.”
“What were you doing there in the first place?”
“I was getting Fiona a glass of water.”
“That’s right,” Fiona said quickly. “I was thirsty and wanted some water.”
Elizabeth nodded. “And you never went back to the kitchen after that?”
“No, of course I didn’t.”
She glanced at the clock again. George had to be close by now. “That’s strange. My butler told me he met you in the kitchen. Apparently he was looking for wine and you told him there was none in the cellar.”
The icy calm that crept into his eyes unsettled her. “That’s right, I remember now. I met him on the way out.”
“But that had to be later. Martin said you were alone, which meant Tess had already left the kitchen.”
“Perhaps it was. I don’t remember.” He turned and grasped Fiona’s arm, so tightly she let out a gasp of pain. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, your ladyship, we really do have to leave.”
“I’m just curious, Mr. Ludwick. How did you know there was no wine in the cellar?”
Fiona tugged at her arm, but instead of letting go, he held her tighter, making her wince. “I didn’t,” he said shortly. “I told the old boy that because I was afraid he’d go looking for wine and fall and hurt himself.”
Elizabeth got slowly to her feet. “I don’t think so,” she said firmly. “I think you went back later, thinking that Brian Sutcliffe was still locked in the cellar. You found the door was open and went in to investigate. I believe you found him at the foot of the stairs, having fallen, perhaps unconscious. You saw the knife and stabbed him with it. Then you left. You told Martin there was no wine down there to get rid of him. You couldn’t have him finding the body while you were still there. It was too risky.”
Malcolm was smiling, but there was no humor in it at all. “Very clever, Lady Elizabeth. Unfortunately for you, no one will ever hear that theory.”
“Malcolm!” Fiona cried. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get rid of her.” He backed toward the door, dragging Fiona with him. He reached with his free hand into his pocket and withdrew a cigarette lighter. He flicked the wheel with his thumb, while Fiona gasped in horror.
“No! I won’t let you do this!”
“You don’t have any say in it.” Malcolm reached the door. “This place is old. It will go up like a bonfire. Too bad Lady Elizabeth was trapped inside when the place burned down.” He held the flickering flame to the newspaper lying on the hallstand. It immediately burst into hungry flames that quickly ate up the pages.
Fiona screamed, and Elizabeth stepped forward. “Let her go!”
“Not on your life. I’ve killed for her now and she’s going to keep me in comfort for the rest of my life.”
“No, I’m not!” Fiona screamed. “I hate you! I’ll see you hang first.”
“I don’t think so, my dear.” Again Malcolm’s mouth stretched in an evil grin. “If you want to live, you’ll do exactly what I say. If you breathe a word about what happened here, or what was said here, I’ll make sure you share the same fate as our esteemed lady of the manor.”
The flames were now devouring the coats and scarves on the hallstand, and the smoke curled up to the ceiling. Elizabeth coughed and started toward the door. She never saw Malcolm’s fist coming. All she saw were stars, as a jolting pain shot through her jaw and her knees buckled under her. From a distance she heard Fiona scream again, then everything faded into black.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and blinked. She lay on a couch in an unfamiliar room, and people milled around, all seemingly talking at once.
“She’s awake!” said a gruff voice, and then George was bending over her, his red-rimmed eyes full of concern. All right, your ladyship?”
Elizabeth coughed and sat up, feeling immensely uncomfortable. She recognized Arnold, the elderly ironmonger, and his wife Trudy, who was hovering at her husband’s elbow, her face taut with anxiety.
“I’m quite all right,” Elizabeth assured them, surprised to hear her voice so hoarse. Actually she felt rather dizzy, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “What happened?”
“I got there just in time to see Ludwick dragging Mrs. Farnsworth out of the burning flat,” George told her. “I hit him with my truncheon and he went down like a wounded pheasant. Mrs. Farnsworth told me everything. Luckily the fire hadn’t got much of a hold. Arnold and some of the other shopkeepers managed to put it out. The fire brigade is on the way to make sure everything’s under control. I’m afraid the new bride will be coming back to a bit of a mess, though.”
“What about Fiona?” Elizabeth swung her feet to the ground. “Is she all right?”
“She’s at the station, helping Sid write out a report. The inspector’s on his way to take Ludwick into custody. Right now he’s locked up in our cell.”
Very carefully, Elizabeth got to her feet. She had to hang onto the arm of the couch to steady herself, but gradually the room stopped swimming around.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, your ladyship,” George said, looking anxious. “Trudy here rang the doctor. He’s on his way to look you over.”
“Oh, I wish you hadn’t bothered him.” Elizabeth smiled at Trudy. “I’m sure some fresh air is all I need.” She started coughing again and Trudy hurried forward.
“Come with me, your ladyship, into the back garden. You’re right, you need some fresh air. You can wait for the doctor out there. I have a nice comfortable deck chair you can sit on until he gets here.”
She refused to take no for an answer, and Elizabeth allowed herself to be led outside onto a pleasant square of lawn where Trudy settled her onto a deck chair.
“There,” said the ironmonger’s wife, as she handed Elizabeth a copy of Woman’s Weekly. “You just rest there and I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea. I’m sure the doctor will be here in no time.”
Thanking her, Elizabeth made herself more comfortable on the chair. Perhaps she was just a little tired. She couldn’t help wondering what Earl would say when he heard about her narrow escape. Perhaps it was foolish to go into Priscilla’s flat without George. Then again, they might never have got a confession from the man if George had been there. So it all worked out, after all.
A faint drone in the distance drew her attention to the sky. Airplanes. She shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight, and finally she could see them-a huge formation of bombers flying low toward the coast.
They drew closer, the leading formation almost overhead. She could see the markings on their wings. The distinctive white star on the blue circle confirmed her fears. American airplanes. Earl must be up there somewhere with them.
She watched them until they disappeared from sight, the drone of their engines fading into silence. Someday she would not have to watch like this, her heart full of fear for him and his men. Someday the war would end, and all this agony of uncertainty and despair would be over.
Someday.
She could only hope that day would come soon.