“I’ll call the constables,” Earl said, as Elizabeth headed across the kitchen between the yellow vinyl-covered tables to the cellar door.
“Oh, would you?” Elizabeth waved her thanks. “There’s a telephone box across the street. Or ask the vicar if you may use his telephone. I think he’s gone home.”
Close to the cellar, Bessie leaned against the wall, her face chalk white. Oh, don’t go down there, m’m,” she mumbled, when Elizabeth reached her. “It’s such an ’orrible sight, it is.”
“I just want to take a look.” Elizabeth sent a glance of apprehension at the steps leading to the cellar. “Who is it? Did you recognize him?”
“One of the wedding guests, m’m. I don’t know his name.” Bessie mopped her brow with her apron. “I don’t know what’s been going on here, ’onest, I don’t. I thought it strange when we couldn’t find the key to the door. Locked it were, and I know it weren’t locked when we got here. I put the confetti down there so’s no one would get to it before Wally and Priscilla left but then when I went to get it the door was locked and we couldn’t find the key and we were all so upset about not being able to get the confetti but Mrs. Crumm had the brilliant idea to tear up some of the decorations into pieces to make it look like confetti and we all got busy on that and I never gave the key another thought until Florrie found it just now in the jug of milk and…”
She paused for breath, giving Elizabeth a chance to ask, “You found the key where?”
“In a jug of milk, m’m. Well, actually, the jug were empty. Florrie was going to wash it out and she heard something rattling and there was the key. Of course, by then it was too late, wasn’t it. Wally and Priscilla had already gone. I should have known then that something was going on.”
“So you were the one to find the body?”
Bessie swept a stray lock of gray hair back from her eyes. “Yes, m’m. I went down there to get the confetti, you see, so’s I could take it back to the shop and get me money back, seeing as how we didn’t use it an’ all. That’s when I saw-.” She gulped, and tears filled her eyes. “It was so awful, m’m. There he was, just lying there with Mrs. Crumm’s fancy knife sticking out his chest and all covered in blood, it were. I wouldn’t let no one else go down there.”
Elizabeth patted the woman’s shoulder. “There, there, Bessie. Pull yourself together. Why don’t you get yourself a nice cup of tea or perhaps some of that delicious scrumpy. I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time.”
“Thank you, m’m. I think I will.”
To Elizabeth’s relief, Bessie hurried off and disappeared behind the little knot of women gathered in the doorway. Rita, as usual, was ordering everyone to be calm, while sounding somewhat hysterical herself.
“Perhaps it would be better if everyone would wait in the main hall,” Elizabeth called out. “The constable will be here soon and he’ll take care of everything. Meanwhile you can get on with the cleaning up. I’m sure you all want to get home as soon as possible.”
Obviously annoyed at having matters taken out of her hands, Rita sent her a haughty look, but nevertheless shepherded her flock out of the kitchen, just as Earl squeezed past them to come back in.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Elizabeth said, as he strode toward her. “I really wasn’t looking forward to going down there by myself.”
“Why do you need to go down there at all?” he demanded when he reached her. “The P.C. will be here any minute.” She made a face at him and he shrugged. “Right. Stupid question. OK, let’s go. But I’m going first.”
Nervous about what might be waiting for her down there, she was only too happy to follow him down the stairs.
The body lay crumpled at the bottom of the steps. Trying not to notice the knife sticking out from the blood soaked jacket, Elizabeth said unsteadily, “It’s the man we saw earlier. Remember? I pointed him out. I was wondering who he was.”
Earl grunted. “Well, at least it’s not anyone you know. That’s got to be a relief.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Elizabeth frowned, then crouched down to touch the floor with her fingers. “Confetti,” she murmured, as she stared at the tiny pieces of colored paper. “Bessie must have dropped it when she saw the body-” She broke off as a gruff voice spoke from the head of the steps.
“’Ere, ’ere! Wot’s going on down there, then?”
Elizabeth shaded her eyes against the harsh light of the bare lightbulb. “Oh, there you are, George. I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of bother down here. You had better come and take a look.”
George ducked his head so that his helmet cleared the door frame. “Is that you, your ladyship? Not interfering with the evidence, I trust?”
“Of course not, George. You know better than that.”
“Who’s that with you, then?” George demanded as he clumped down the steps.
“It’s me, Constable.” Earl lifted his hand in a salute.
“Ho, yes, Major Monroe,” George muttered, managing to make the name sound like a contagious disease. “Might have known it were you.”
Elizabeth decided to ignore the subtle disapproval behind the words. “The major and I were trying to identify the victim. I don’t suppose you know who he is, George?”
The constable reached the bottom of the steps, peered at the victim, shoved his helmet further back on his head with his thumb, and frowned. “Looks like he’s been stabbed,” he remarked.
“Amazing deduction,” Earl murmured.
Elizabeth dug him in the ribs with her elbow and was rewarded by a faint, “Oof!”
Luckily George was squatting next to the victim and seemed not to hear the comment. “Can’t say as I know this bloke,” he muttered. “Was he one of the wedding guests?”
“Well, that’s rather a difficult question to answer,” Elizabeth said, as George started going through the dead man’s pockets. “We saw him on the dance floor, but I don’t remember him being included on the guest list. The major suggested he might have been added at the last minute. Perhaps some of the other guests might know who he is.”
“Not many of them left up there now.” Apparently having found nothing useful, George got up with a grunt. “Should have had them all stay put, your ladyship. It’s going to make things difficult with the questioning now.”
“Yes, well, I would have, George, if I’d known there was going to be a murder taking place.”
George narrowed his eyes, peering at her in the gloom. “Perhaps you and the major should join the others, m’m. I’ll have to send for the doctor, and the inspector will want to know about this, too.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Elizabeth muttered to no one in particular as she climbed the steps. “He seldom bothers to pay any attention to our little mishaps.”
“I’d say this is a bit more than a little mishap,” Earl said, following her into the kitchen.
“You’re right, of course. What an unfortunate end to such a lovely day. Now there will be an investigation and everyone will be upset. Thank goodness Wally and Priscilla left before the poor devil was discovered. At least they don’t have to know about this until after the honeymoon. I should hate for anything to spoil that for them.”
George’s heavy footsteps sounded behind her. “I’d like to question the guests now, your ladyship,” he announced.
“Very well.” With a heavy sigh, Elizabeth led him into the main hall, where a small forlorn group of guests huddled in one corner.
Rita, of course, was the first to speak up. “I hope you’re not going to keep us hanging around all evening, George. Some of us have homes to go to, you know.”
George gave her a baleful glare. “I won’t keep anyone longer than I have to. Now, first, I need the name of the unfortunate victim.”
“I don’t see how we can tell you that,” Rita retorted, “seeing as how we don’t know who’s been killed.”
“It’s the tall gentleman,” Elizabeth said helpfully. “He has blond hair and is wearing a dark gray suit with a blue silk tie.”
“Oo, I remember ’im,” Nellie Smith piped up. “Handsome bugger, he was. Who would want to kill a nice-looking bloke like that? What a bloomin’ waste.”
Rita turned on her at once. “Is that all you can think about? How handsome he was? He’s lying down there with a knife in his chest. Have you no respect for the dead, Nellie Smith?”
“Of course I do,” Nellie said hotly. “I only meant-”
“And how did you know he had a knife in his chest?” George demanded.
Rita tossed her head. “It happens to be my knife, doesn’t it. Bessie told me where it was.” Her voice lost some of its bravado when she added, “I’ll never use that knife again to cut another wedding cake. Not after knowing where it’s been.”
“I just can’t believe he’s dead,” Bessie said, her voice still quivering. “I was just talking to him in the kitchen an hour or so ago. What a dreadful thing to happen. Thank the Lord Wally and Priscilla got away before I found the body.”
George looked around. “Seems as if a lot of people got away,” he said darkly. “What I want to know is, what’s the name of the deceased? Someone’s got to know who he is.”
Neville Carbunkle, who had been hovering around in the background, stepped forward. “Well, I can tell you one thing,” he said. “Wally didn’t know him. I heard him asking someone who he was.”
George pulled a notepad from his top pocket, then spent an agonizing minute or two hunting for a pencil. Having found one in his trousers pocket, he licked the end of it and started scribbling.
“The chap he asked didn’t know the bloke, either,” Neville added, “but I did see the… er… deceased having nasty words with the photographer earlier.”
Bessie smothered a gasp with her hand.
George turned to her. “Got something to say, Bessie?”
Bessie fanned her face with her hand. “Well, it’s just… when I spoke to the dead man… well, he wasn’t dead when I spoke to him, of course, but you know what I mean…”
George loudly cleared his throat. “Just refer to the deceased as the deceased, then we’ll all know what you mean.”
Bessie nodded, gulped, then said in a rush, “Well, the deceased, who wasn’t deceased yet, asked me for some confetti and I said, What for? ’cause I wasn’t ready to bring it up yet and I told him I was going to bring it up right before the wedding couple left and he said he wanted it to play a joke on Dickie, so I said what sort of joke and he said it was just a bit of fun and I said as how Dickie didn’t like jokes very much and he said he’d like this one and I said-”
“Hold on, hold on,” George butted in, sounding irritable. “I can’t write all that down when you’re rattling on so fast, can I.”
Bessie drew a breath. “I just wanted to tell you-”
“Wait a minute.” George looked over his notes, mumbling, “Wanted to play a joke.” He looked up again. “Who’s Dickie?”
“The photographer,” Bessie explained. “Dickie Muggins. He lives in North Horsham and his mother comes into my tea shop all the time. I told Priscilla about him and she asked him to take the photographs for the wedding.”
“Bit of a nance that one, if you ask me,” Neville muttered.
George ignored him. “So what was this joke all about, then?”
Bessie frowned. “Well, he wouldn’t tell me, would he. I told him the confetti was in the cellar and it were staying there until I was ready to bring it up.”
George went on writing. “Is this Dickie Muggins still here?” he asked, when he lifted his head again.
“No,” Elizabeth told him. “I saw him leave right after Wally and Priscilla left.”
George nodded. “Thank you, m’m.” He looked at Neville. “You said you heard Mr. Muggins arguing with the deceased?”
“I didn’t hear them. I saw them.” Neville gestured toward the kitchen. “I was dancing by the door and I saw the photographer shake his fist in the victim’s face and I could tell he was worked up about something.”
“When was this, then?”
“It was before they cut the cake and made all those speeches. I know that, because I was dancing with Marge at the time.”
Everyone looked at Marge, who blushed and giggled like a young girl.
The sight reminded Elizabeth of the way Violet looked in Charlie Gibbons’s arms. Elizabeth looked around for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. “Has anyone seen Violet and Martin?” she asked, interrupting whatever George was saying.
He frowned in disapproval but waited for someone to answer her.
“I think they went home with the Winterhalters,” Nellie offered. “They were riding in that big black motorcar.”
“Lucky buggers,” Marge Gunther muttered. “We all have to walk home.”
“Well, it’s not as far as the Manor House, is it,” Nellie said.
George loudly cleared his throat. “If I may have your attention, would someone please tell me who invited the deceased to the wedding and what his name is?”
“Well I should think,” Elizabeth said mildly, “that if Wally didn’t know him, he couldn’t have invited him, so he must be a friend of Priscilla’s.”
“No,” a voice declared from the back of the group. “Prissy didn’t invite him either.” Priscilla’s flamboyant schoolfriend pushed to the front of the group. “She never set eyes on him until today.”
George gazed up at Fiona with obvious admiration for a full second, then coughed and looked down at his notepad. “And you are?”
“Mrs. Fiona Farnsworth. I’m an old friend of the bride.”
George scribbled again. “Well now, if Captain Carbunkle didn’t invite the deceased, and Miss Pierce-or I should say Mrs. Carbunkle now-didn’t invite him, then who in blue blazes did invite him?”
“Maybe you should ask the other bridesmaid.” Fiona’s companion had stepped up behind her. “I understand they knew each other very well.”
Fiona stared at her escort. “Tess? How’d you know that?”
Malcolm’s smile was indulgent as he laid an arm across Fiona’s shoulders. “I heard them talking, my love. Actually, arguing would be a better word. The young lady was furious with him.”
His last remark had been directed at George, who was furiously scribbling on his notepad. “And you are?”
“Malcolm Ludwig, old chap. I’m engaged to be married to this lovely lady here.”
“Well, that’s two people already who didn’t like the bloke,” George muttered. “I’ll need to have the photographer’s address and phone number, and I’ll have a word with that young lady. What’s her name?”
“Tess Winterhalter,” Elizabeth answered him. “I understand she went down to the Tudor Arms with some of the other guests. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. If you like, you can come up to the manor later and talk to her. Her parents will be there, as well.”
Her concern was for the young girl, who would no doubt feel more secure in being questioned by the police if her parents were present.
George, however, murmured, “Good idea, your ladyship. I should like to question the young lady’s parents, anyhow, seeing as how the deceased was a friend of their daughter.”
“Does that mean we can all go home now?” Rita demanded peevishly.
“Not so fast,” George declared, as the ladies made a general movement to disperse. “I want to know if anyone saw anything unusual.”
“We saw Marge’s knickers,” Nellie said, with a wicked leer.
Marge gasped above the titters from the group. “You did not!”
George loudly cleared his throat. “I meant anything that might help in this ’orrible murder investigation.”
The faces sobered as silence fell over the crowd.
“I’m sure if anyone remembers anything he or she will let you know,” Elizabeth said. Addressing everyone in general, she added more loudly, “I’m sure we all want to find out who committed this terrible deed, do we not?”
A feeble chorus of agreement answered her and she turned back to George. “I’m leaving for the manor now, George. I assume you will wait for Dr. Sheridan. Shall we expect you later?”
“Thank you, m’m. Much obliged, I’m sure.” George touched the narrow brim of his helmet and tucked the notepad in his pocket. “In the meantime, I must ask everyone who attended the wedding and doesn’t live here to stay in Sitting Marsh until I’ve had a chance to question them.”
There were mutters of protest from some of the guests, and everyone started talking amongst themselves.
Feeling somewhat unsettled herself, Elizabeth led the way from the hall, followed by Earl, with George close behind. Furtive glances from some of the women were directed at them as they left. Well aware that speculation was rife in the village about her relationship with the major, Elizabeth was constantly on guard against fueling the gossip.
There were times, however, when she refused to sacrifice what little time she could scrounge with him, which is why she’d accepted his offer to drive her to the church in his Jeep. No matter what the villagers might make of that. In any case, riding with Earl was a little more elegant than sitting astride her motorcycle, which was her usual mode of transport.
Roaring up the hill in the Jeep toward the manor, she contemplated the disturbing events. If the stranger was indeed a friend of Tess’s and had been invited to the wedding by her, the poor child was in for a terrible shock when she heard the news.
Which brought up the question: if he was a friend of hers, why would she go to the Tudor Arms without him? Had they quarreled, as Malcolm had suggested? If so, things wouldn’t look too good for Tess.
“Well, at least they can’t blame this one on the three musketeers.”
Earl’s voice, raised to be heard above the roar of the engine, startled her. “I’d almost forgotten about them,” she called back. “Are you still having problems with them?”
“Three of our vehicles were disabled last weekend. Our guys had to walk back to base. I just wish I could get my hands on them. We have enough problems to deal with right now, without worrying about a bunch of hoodlums bent on mischief. If this keeps up someone’s going to get hurt.”
“Oh, dear.” Ever since Elizabeth had heard about the three masked men from London visiting American bases and damaging property to harass the American servicemen, she’d been worried that their mischief-making would escalate into real violence.
Or even that the Americans would retaliate with disastrous results. So far the skirmishes had caused little more than a few bruises. But there was a limit to the victims’ patience, especially when they were already dealing with unbelievable stress.
“I can’t believe they’re getting away with it,” Earl said, as they tore around the curve on the hill. “They’ve got the military hunting for them, as well as your constables. You’d think someone would be able to grab them.”
“Apparently they’re extremely adept at slipping the noose.” Thankful for the long twilight evenings, Elizabeth hung on grimly as the Jeep swayed from side to side. Riding at this speed was infinitely more dangerous in the dark, thanks to the blackout, which forbade lights on all vehicles and in all windows. “They’ve had a lot of practice.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” Earl straightened out the wheel. “So, any ideas who might have killed the wedding guest back there?”
“Hardly. We don’t even know why he was at the wedding.”
“Well, if the bridesmaid knew him, I guess her parents will know him, too.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.” Elizabeth frowned. The Winterhalters had left immediately after the cake had been cut, apparently taking her butler and housekeeper with them. She sincerely hoped that Martin was not the cause of their hasty departure. He was not used to attending social events and rarely left the manor these days. Though he had seemed quite well when she’d spoken to him.
Feeling uneasy, she was relieved when Earl pulled up to the steps with a scrunch of tires. “The night is still young,” she said, as he helped her climb out of the Jeep. “Would you like to join me in a glass of sherry?”
To her disappointment, he shook his head. “I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on, and I have to make a real early start in the morning. Rain check?”
She smiled at him. “Of course. Good night, then.”
He still had hold of her hand, and he held on to it for a moment longer before letting her go. “You’ll let me know if you get involved in this mess, right?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Not until you’re knee deep in trouble, as a rule.”
“I promise I’ll keep you informed.”
He lifted his hand and gently stroked her cheek. “I’m gonna hold you to that. Just watch your step, okay? Don’t go charging ahead until you know what you’re getting into.”
She covered his fingers with her own. “You worry too much.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. You’re my lucky charm, you know.”
He’d said the words lightly, but she knew, only too well, the significance behind them. Every time he took to the skies he was in far more danger than she could ever be. The chances of him coming back grew slimmer with each mission. Like so many others who flew into dire peril each day, he was convinced that as long as he had someone there waiting for him, he would survive.
“And you are mine,” she reminded him. “As long as you need me, I’ll always be here for you. Just make sure you come back to me.”
She saw the light in his eyes change. He stared down at her for a long moment, then dropped his hand. “Damn,” he muttered softly. “So long, Elizabeth. See you soon.”
She nodded, her heart too full to answer. Hurrying up the steps, she resisted the urge to watch him drive away. Every time she left him, she never knew if it would be her last sight of him. If it was, she didn’t want it to be the image of him leaving her.