When Elizabeth went in search of the Winterhalters, Violet informed her that Daphne had not returned from her walk and Rodney had gone to look for her. Since Elizabeth barely had time to get to the church on her motorcycle in time for the service, she was forced to wait until later before she could talk to Tess’s parents.
She’d hoped to see Earl that morning; he often joined her for the Sunday service, but she could see no sign of his dark head as she entered the church. Aware that people were discussing the death of Brian Sutcliffe, she avoided conversation with anyone and left hurriedly as soon as the service was over.
She arrived back at the manor in time to see both Daphne and Rodney strolling up the driveway. The sight of them greatly relieved her. She’d been rather worried that something might have happened to Daphne. Which just proved how easy it was to jump to conclusions.
She waited until the Winterhalters had settled themselves in the library before going in to see them. They both looked up as she entered, with identical expressions of dread on their faces. She hurried to reassure them.
“I’ve talked to Tess,” she told them, “and I don’t think she is responsible for the death of Brian Sutcliffe.”
Both parents uttered exclamations, though Rodney looked far more relieved than his wife.
He rose to his feet, one hand raking through his hair. “Did she tell you what happened?”
“Yes, she did.” Elizabeth sat on her favorite armchair by the fireplace and smiled at Daphne, who still looked stricken. “I really can’t go into it now, as I have many more questions to ask and people to talk to before we can come to any conclusions. As soon as I know something for certain I’ll let you know.”
“Do you have any idea who might have killed Brian?” Daphne asked, one hand clutching her throat.
“Not at present, no.” Elizabeth stood. “But I can assure you I’ll do everything in my power to ferret out the truth.”
“Well, if there’s anything we can do to help…” Rodney walked to the door with her. “I can’t thank you enough, Lady Elizabeth. As you can imagine, my wife and I have been out of our minds with worry. I only hope we can solve this mess before the inspector gets here and jumps to the wrong conclusion, as P.C. Dalrymple did.”
Heartily agreeing with that sentiment, Elizabeth left them alone and headed for the kitchen. She was eager to have her lunch and then get out of the manor for a while, in order to clear her mind. A brisk stroll across the downs with her two dogs, Gracie and George, bounding along by her side was just what she needed to organize her thoughts.
It wasn’t until she was tramping through the long grass that she allowed herself to think about Earl. He’d been absent a lot lately, and he seemed preoccupied. Which usually meant something big was brewing at the base. Talk of the Allied invasion of Europe had been the main topic of news lately, both in the newspaper and on the wireless. Speculation, of course. No one knew when or even if it would eventually take place.
One thing Elizabeth did know: if there was to be an invasion, Earl would be in the thick of it. The troops landing on the beaches would need air support. Undoubtedly that was the reason he’d been sent back to his base in England. Something else was just as certain. She wouldn’t know he’d gone until it was over. One way or another.
The fear that always hovered in the back of her mind surged to the forefront. To lose him now, just when the path ahead of them appeared to be offering a chance for happiness, would be too terrible to bear. She was devastated when he left England the year before, but there had always been a faint hope to cling to, a chance that she would see him again someday. To have him come back to her, only to lose him forever, would destroy her completely. No, it was too awful to even think about.
Her eyes misted with tears, she didn’t recognize the figure standing on the edge of the cliffs at first. The dogs, however, had no such reservations and were leaping about with joyous whines and yaps that left no doubt in her mind.
It was as if he’d materialized out of her thoughts, and for a moment she was too full of emotion to speak as she reached him.
“I was on my way back to the manor,” he said, holding out his hand. “I saw you across the downs and figured I’d wait for you here.” He’d parked the Jeep on the grass verge a few yards behind him. The dogs scrambled into it, their noses busily sniffing out unfamiliar smells.
Smiling, Elizabeth put her hand in his. “I was just thinking about you.”
She’d said it lightly, but the glow in his eyes intensified. “I’m happy to hear that.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “You want to walk?”
She fell into step beside him as he started back across the cliffs away from the manor.
“I don’t feel like going back to my quarters just yet,” he said, linking her arm through his. “I want to be out here in the sun and the fresh air on a nice, normal. Sunday afternoon. For a while I want to forget everything and everyone and relax with my best girl.”
Something about the way he said it brought a chill to her heart. “You’re going away,” she said, her voice flat with misery.
He glanced at her, his expression hard to read. “Not as far as I know. Not yet, anyway.”
“Then what is it?”
He halted and pulled her around to face him. “You know I can’t tell you anything specific. It’s just that I might not be able to spend much time with you for the next week or two. Things are heating up, and I’ll be pretty tied up for a while. I’ve just got time to pick up my stuff this afternoon and I’m heading back to the base.”
The hollow in her stomach grew larger. “The invasion?”
“Elizabeth…”
“I know. You can’t tell me.” She pulled away from him, determined not to let him see her fear. “Well, then,” she added stiffly, “we’ll just have to talk about something else. What do you think these little pink flowers are called?” She turned her back and walked away from him, gesturing fiercely at the clump of wildflowers growing alongside the railings that lined the cliff path. “They come back every year and no one seems to know their name.”
“Dammit, Elizabeth!” He caught up with her, seized her arms, and turned her to face him again. “You know I’d tell you if I could.”
Struggling to keep the tears at bay, she muttered, “Yes, I do. It’s just that it’s so hard, not knowing. I try not to think about it, but every time I pick up a newspaper…” She looked up at him, helpless to continue.
The look in his eyes cut off her breath. “You know, Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton, you sure make it hard for me to keep my promise.”
“Then don’t.” She didn’t know she’d said the words out loud until she saw his face change. Even if she could take them back, she knew she wouldn’t. Yes, he was right. They should wait. His divorce wasn’t finalized yet. Officially he was still married. Protocol demanded they keep their distance from each other, at least until he was a free man.
Right at that minute, however, none of that seemed to matter. No one was around to see them, and heaven only knew when she would be alone with him again. If ever. No, she would not take back the words.
She waited for what seemed an eternity before he moved. She wondered if he’d understood, but then he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. It seemed as if everything-the trees, dogs, birds, the grass, the ocean, the sun, and the salty breeze, all of it-disappeared into one soundless moment in time. So this, she thought with a sense of wonder, this is what being in love is really like.
Polly flew up the stairs so fast she tripped at the top and went sprawling onto the landing. The carpet scraped her knee and she winced. Another flipping ladder to ruin her stockings.
Edna’s voice screeched up the stairs. “What are you doing up there? You sound like a herd of elephants.”
Polly pulled a face and scrambled to her feet. “I tripped, that’s all.” The precious letter had crumpled in her hand, and she smoothed it out.
“It’s those blasted high heels you wear. You’ll break your neck in those, my girl. You mark my words.”
Having heard the dire warning too many times to count, Polly ignored it and limped into the bedroom. With a flick of her foot she kicked off one sandal, then the other, and sank onto the bed.
She stared at her address written in an untidy scrawl across the envelope. Just above her name was a smudge of dirt, as if it had been splashed with mud. Tense with excitement, she stared at it, wondering where the writer had been when he wrote the letter.
There was one way to find out. Very carefully, hardly daring to breathe, she opened the flap with her thumb and drew out the flimsy pages.
There were three pages altogether, covered in the same scrawl, which at times was hard to read. She skimmed through it at first, skipping the newsy parts to get to something personal. She found it halfway down the last page.
You sound like a really nice girl. Polly. I hope you’ll go on writing to me. I’d love to hear from you again. If you can, send me a photograph. I’d like to know what you look like. I’ll send you one of me in the next letter. Until then, I’ll be thinking about you and looking forward to hearing from you again. Yours sincerely, Pte. Tom Reynolds.
Polly pressed the letter against her heart for a moment. His name was Tom! He was nineteen. Only three years older than her. He lived in Surrey, near London, and he liked dancing and football. Well, she wasn’t much of a dancer, and she never saw a football match, but that was something that could be worked on later. Tom. She tried it out loud. “Tom and Polly Reynolds.” Yes, it sounded good.
She went back and read the letter again, more slowly this time, taking in every word. He sounded well-educated. That worried her for a moment. She hoped he didn’t talk posh like Tess. Winterhalter. That would put a block on it from the start. Oh, well. She’d worry about that later.
She leapt from the bed and opened the top drawer of her dressing table. The cardboard cigar box that held her photographs was tucked underneath a pile of undies. She drew it out and opened it, then spread all the photographs out on the bed.
This one made her look too young. This one made her look ugly. In this one her hair was a mess, and this one was taken on a windy day and half her hair was wrapped around her face. None of them made her look like a film star.
Finally, in desperation, she settled on one that didn’t look too bad. It was taken in the summer, by Sam. She was standing by her bicycle and laughing at something Sam had said. The blue and white frock she had on that day was one of her favorites, with its little puffy sleeves and a full skirt.
For a moment tears pricked at her eyelids when she remembered that day. It was taken before the accident that had messed up Sam’s face. He looked so handsome back then. She thought she’d never seen anyone so handsome. Not even Clark Gable or Errol Flynn was as handsome as her Sam.
She stared at the photograph in her hand. She couldn’t send this to a stranger. Not if it meant explaining about Sam. She looked at the pile of discarded photographs lying on the bed, then at the one in her hand again. Confused and uncertain, she reached for Tom’s letter and read it again.
He’d never know Sam took it. She’d never tell him. Not even if they ended up getting married and living the rest of their lives together.
With a long sigh she gathered up the rest of the photographs and put them back in the box. After tucking it away in the drawer, she fetched her writing pad and pencil and started her letter to Tom. When she was finished, she tucked the photograph inside the letter, sealed the envelope, and propped it up on her dressing table. Tomorrow she’d take it to the post office.
At the door to her bedroom she paused and looked back. The envelope stared back at her, full of promise and exciting unknowns. “Good-bye, Sam,” she said softly, and closed the door.
Elizabeth was quite breathless when Earl finally let her go. Breathless and dizzy and feeling ridiculously young and shy. She couldn’t look at him, and instead pretended to be anxious about the dogs, both of whom were chasing butterflies, blissfully oblivious of the earth-shattering moment that had just taken place.
He still held her hands, and she sought frantically in her mind for something sensible to say. Anything that would break the forbidden spell that bonded them. In desperation, she said the first words that popped into her mind. “I’m supposed to be investigating a murder.”
Earl’s voice sounded strange when he answered. “Elizabeth, you have the darndest knack for deflating a man’s ego.”
Appalled at her insensitivity, she stared up at him. “Oh, Earl, I didn’t mean…”
His chuckle both surprised and relieved her. “It’s all right. You’re being sensible and practical and all the things I’m supposed to be and can’t be right now. And you’re right. This isn’t a good idea. I guess we just got caught up in the moment.”
For some reason, his words disheartened her. “It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it,” she murmured. “Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s just that-”
Gently he laid a finger on her lips. “I know. You don’t have to explain. There’ll be a right time for us. We just have to be patient, that’s all.”
Her smile was an effort. “Sometimes it’s hard.”
“Tell me about it.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. “Come on, let’s corral George and Gracie and give them a ride back to the manor. They love to ride in the Jeep.”
Sad that her short, blissful time with him was ending so rapidly, she watched him whistle to the dogs. They came at once and, tails wagging, followed him back to the Jeep. She trailed behind them, committing to memory the picture of man and dogs, happy and carefree in each other’s company. It would be all she had while he was away.
Arriving back at the manor, he pulled up in the courtyard and turned to her. The dogs leapt from the Jeep and disappeared around the corner of the ancient building. “I guess this is good-bye for a while,” he said, smiling down at her.
It was hard to smile back. “You take care of yourself,” she said, striving to keep her tone light.
“You, too.” His grin faded. “Stay out of harm’s way, Elizabeth. I won’t always be around to help out.”
“I know.” She grasped his hand in both of hers. “Don’t worry about me, Earl. I promise I won’t do anything foolish. Just concentrate on coming safely back to me.”
“You’ve got a deal.” He touched her cheek with his free hand. “So long, sweetheart.”
She caught her breath. It was the first time he’d used the endearment. It was something else to cling to in the dark hours ahead. She could not say good-bye. It was too final. She’d never been able to say it to him. Even when she’d thought he was leaving her life forever. “Until we meet again,” she said, adding inwardly, my love.
Instead of waiting for him to help her down from the Jeep, she scrambled out on her own. The last she heard of him was the roar of his engine as he drove off to the back of the manor.
Rather than wait the eternity it took Martin to open the front door for her, she made her way through the greenhouses to the kitchen door. Violet was putting dishes away when she entered and looked up in surprise.
“I thought you were taking the dogs for a walk,” she said, sliding the last dinner plate onto the pile in the cupboard.
“I was.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “I have to get down to the village hall now. Bessie is going back there this afternoon to finish cleaning up and I want to talk to her.”
Violet peered at her over her shoulder. “About the murder?”
“We don’t know if it’s a murder yet,” Elizabeth pointed out.
“From what I understand, some poor bugger was lying dead on the floor with a knife in his chest. I daresay he didn’t put it there himself.”
“It could have been an accident. He could have fallen with the knife in his hand.”
Violet turned all the way around. “And what would he be doing in the cellar with a knife in the first place?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Don’t worry, Violet. I’ll find out what happened. I usually do.”
“That’s what worries me. You always seem to end up in trouble yourself when you start going around asking questions like that.”
“With so many people worrying about me,” Elizabeth said, as she headed for the door, “how can I possibly get into trouble?” She closed the door behind her, before Violet could answer.
A few minutes later she halted her motorcycle in front of the village hall, just as Bessie emerged carrying a huge box. By the way she staggered as she reached the gate, Elizabeth could tell the poor woman’s load was too heavy for her.
Elizabeth climbed off her motorcycle with as much haste as decorum allowed and hurried to help Bessie squeeze through the gate.
“Thank you, your ladyship,” Bessie said, panting with exertion. “I thought I was going to drop it. Really I did.”
“I do hope you’re not expecting to carry this all the way back to the Bake Shop.” Elizabeth grasped one edge of the box.
“Well, I was going to try.” Bessie looked doubtfully at the motorcycle. “I carried it down here.”
“But it’s uphill all the way back.” Elizabeth shifted the weight of the box against her hip. “What’s in here, anyway?”
“China. The ladies from the Housewives League brought glasses and plates, and I brought the cups and saucers from the tea shop.”
“Oh, my.” Elizabeth wavered, then said cautiously, “I could run them up in the sidecar of my motorcycle, if you like.”
Bessie’s face shone with relief. “Oh, would you? Thank you, m’m. I’d be ever so grateful, really I would. I still have to pack up the linens and the cutlery.”
“Right. Let’s get this in… here.” Elizabeth delivered the last word on a groan as they heaved the box into the tiny sidecar. “It only just fits,” she said, as she wiggled the box to make sure it was secure.
“Thank you, m’m. I’ll get back inside and finish clearing up. Some of the ladies came to help me and I don’t want to leave them working on their own.”
Elizabeth climbed aboard the motorcycle, kicked the engine to life, and tucked her pleated skirt securely under her knees. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, shouting over the roar of her engine. “I’d like a word with you before you leave.”
Bessie nodded, waved her hand, and scurried back to the hall.
Mindful of her precious cargo, Elizabeth rode cautiously up the hill to the High Street. Housewives loaded down with heavy shopping bags waved to her as she passed, and she nodded in response, too anxious to raise a hand from the handlebars. It was with a sigh of relief that she finally braked to a halt in front of Bessie’s Bake Shop.
Two of Bessie’s assistants rushed out to help her unload the cumbersome box and wrestle it into the shop. The heavenly aroma of freshly baked bread and buns was almost irresistible, but anxious to talk to Bessie before she left the hall, Elizabeth reluctantly returned to her motorcycle.
To her surprise, she saw George and his long-suffering partner Sid hovering around the vehicle when she emerged onto the street. The two constables were deep in conversation, which they broke off the minute Elizabeth arrived within earshot.
They greeted her in unison, and just a little too hastily. She knew at once they had been talking about her. “Am I parked in the wrong place?” she asked, knowing perfectly well that unlike North Horsham, there were no restrictions in the High Street in Sitting Marsh.
“No, no, your ladyship,” Sid hastened to assure her. “It was just that me and George-”
“Were discussing the weather,” George interrupted loudly.
Sid sent him a puzzled look. “No, we weren’t. You were saying as how-”
“Don’t you have something urgent to do at the station?” George said, glowering at Sid.
Sid raised his eyebrows. “It’s Sunday,” he said, his voice rising in protest.
“Ho, ho,” George said, sounding a little like a bored Father Christmas. “A policeman’s work is never done, isn’t that right, your ladyship?”
“Quite,” Elizabeth murmured. She knew quite well it was only a matter of time before Sid blurted out what George was trying so hard to keep quiet. “I admire dedicated men such as you two. Always on duty. Makes one feel so terribly secure.”
George eyed her warily, while Sid beamed. “That’s so nice of you to say, Lady Elizabeth. I was just saying to George, I was-”
George loudly cleared his throat. “I’m sure her ladyship has better things to do this afternoon than stand around listening to your idle chatter, Sid.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth said brightly. “I’m always interested in what Sid has to say. He can be so terribly informative at times.”
“Don’t I bloody know it,” George muttered.
Sid preened. “I do me best, your ladyship.”
Elizabeth smiled at him. “You certainly seemed concerned about something just now. I do hope I don’t have a flat tire.”
Apparently oblivious of George’s fierce glare, Sid’s hearty laugh rang out. “Oh, no, m’m. Nothing like that. George was just saying he hoped the inspector got here and arrested the murderer before you got in the way again.”
This time George’s frantic coughing failed to cover up Sid’s words. Elizabeth gave him a frosty look. “Why, George, I thought you always appreciated my efforts to solve your cases for you.”
George’s face turned beet red, and he ran a finger around the collar of his shirt as if it were choking him. “Yes, I do. Most of the time, that is. But this time we know who the murderer is, and I wouldn’t like to see you go to all that trouble of asking everyone questions like you always do when it ain’t… isn’t necessary.” He coughed again, then added as an afterthought, “Your ladyship.”
Elizabeth fixed him with a stern eye. “You know who murdered Brian Sutcliffe?”
“Yes, m’m.”
“Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to inform me, just so I won’t get in your way.”
George looked as if he were about to cry. “I can’t do that, your ladyship. You know I can’t.”
“Course you can,” Sid said cheerfully. “You know who it is, Lady Elizabeth. It’s the chap what’s staying at the manor, isn’t it. Mr. Rodney Winterhalter is the one what killed Mr. Sutcliffe. Isn’t that right, George?”