An Unmentionable Murder (18 page)

Polly groaned and pedaled harder, anxious to be away from the scene of her humiliation and to be rid of the load of underwear under her nose.

“Bet you see that GI again!” Sadie called out from behind her.

Polly didn't answer, but she felt an uneasy quiver of apprehension at the thought. What if she did bump into him again? She wouldn't be able to look him in the face, that was for sure.

She shook her head, reminding herself again how much it hurt when Sam went back to America. No matter how good looking or exciting Warren Hudson might be, she was absolutely, definitely, positively not going to fall for a Yank again. So there.

On her way home Elizabeth decided to stop by Rose Clovell's house. Not that she suspected the poor woman of murdering Clyde Morgan, of course. Rose Clovell was a petite, nervous woman, the kind who would trap a spider and put it outside rather than kill it. No, it was more a need to explore every avenue, to convince herself she'd left no stone unturned.

She found Rose at home, tending to a clematis in her back garden. Laying down a pair of pruning shears, the frail woman greeted her guest with a wan smile. “I was wondering when you'd call on me, your ladyship,” she said as she led Elizabeth into her tidy parlor. “I'd heard you were asking questions about the death of Clyde Morgan.”

“Word does get around fast in the village,” Elizabeth murmured as she took the seat Rose offered her.

“Yes, well, it's a small village, isn't it. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, but I'm actually rather late for supper so I won't keep you long.” Elizabeth waited while Rose shooed a large black cat off an armchair and seated herself.

The cat stalked off across the room, tail waving in indignation. Elizabeth watched it jump up on the window seat and begin delicately washing one elegant paw. Something hummed in her brain . . . the feeling she knew something . . . a cat and an armchair . . .What was her mind trying to tell her?

Rose spoke, making her jump. “What is it you want to know, Lady Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth brought her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I happened to be passing by and thought I'd drop in and see if you are well. All this business with Clyde Morgan must have brought back some unpleasant memories for you.”

Rose nodded, her small teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “Well, yes, it did, actually. I'm really not surprised someone shot that man. No one liked him, you know.”

“It really hasn't been decided if someone shot him.” Elizabeth watched the other woman's face carefully. “It's more a theory of mine, that's all.”

“Oh.” Rose appeared to think about that. “Well, as I said, it wouldn't surprise me.” She shot a look at Elizabeth. “You're wondering if I killed him, aren't you?”

Somewhat taken aback, Elizabeth started to deny it, but Rose cut her off.

“Oh, it's all right, your ladyship. I can see why you'd think that. After all, I blamed Clyde Morgan for the death of my son.” She paused for a moment, then shook her head. “That was when it first happened, and I wasn't thinking straight. What happened to my boy was an accident, pure and simple. I know that now. My Arnie, he was a hooligan. Always in trouble. Always coming home covered in bruises . . . wouldn't tell me where he got them. He'd been fighting, of course. It was only a matter of time before he got into trouble.”

Rose's voice faded away in Elizabeth's ears as the insistent buzz of recognition intensified. Something about bruises . . . Iris Morgan's boy . . . the cat . . .

It came to her all at once in a blinding flash. Of course. How terribly obtuse of her. How could she have missed something so significant?

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Clovell.” She leapt to her feet, guiltily aware of Rose's startled expression. “I've just remembered something important and I simply must get back to the manor right away. Do forgive me.”

“Of course.” Rose scrambled to open the door for her, barely getting there ahead of her. “It was nice of you to drop by, your ladyship. I hope I might see you again in the future.”

“Oh, of course!” Elizabeth stepped outside, waved a frantic farewell, and hurried down the path, no doubt leaving a befuddled Rose Clovell behind her.

She'd finally put it all together and she needed to talk to Iris Morgan right away. There was no time to go back to the manor now. Supper would have to wait until she'd taken care of this matter.

She fleetingly wondered if she should call George, then realized he would be home by now. The station would be closed. Besides, she needed to confirm her suspicions before she could make any firm accusations, and she was far more likely to get the answers she needed if she wasn't accompanied by a constable.

Seated astride her motorcycle, she bounced on the kick start and the engine roared to life. After tucking her scarf around her head, she tied it in a firm knot, then set off for the village.

 
Violet turned down the gas on the stove until the soup was at a low simmer. “We'll wait another fifteen minutes,” she said, “then we'll eat without them.”

Sadie sat alone at the kitchen table, impatiently staring at the clock. She wanted to get supper over with so she could keep an eye out for Joe. He'd told her he might be back that evening and she didn't want to miss him.

“I wonder where Lady Elizabeth is,” she murmured as Violet sat down at the table. “It's not like her to be late for supper.”

“Probably tearing around the countryside on that motorcycle of hers.” Violet propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “What's worrying me more is where Martin has gone. This is the fourth night in a row he's disappeared.”

Sadie looked at Violet in concern. The crotchety housekeeper never confided in her like this, and it bothered her. Violet had to be really worried about Martin for her to let her hair down like this. “Per'aps he's got a lady friend he's visiting and doesn't want you to know,” she suggested.

“No doubt. The question is, what's a man his age doing out all night and how does he get where he's going?”

Sadie frowned. She couldn't quite see the old fogey on a bicycle. She knew he couldn't drive a motorcar and it was too far to walk to the bus stop. Martin got tired out walking up the stairs. “Per'aps someone's picking him up.”

“That's what I think.” Violet sighed. “But who? And where do they go?”

Sadie sat up straight. “What we have to do is follow him! Without him knowing, of course.”

Violet lowered her hands. “I've already thought of that. The problem is, he slips out when I'm not looking.”

Sadie reached out and patted Violet's arm. “You just leave it to me. I'm very good at following people, I am. I followed that little bugger today all the way to the windmill, didn't I?”

Violet gave her a sharp look. “You followed who?”

Sadie sighed. She and her big mouth. “We found the knickers thieves,” she said, and proceeded to tell Violet the whole story.

Violet's face grew more and more disapproving, especially when Sadie got to the part about the Americans seeing them with their arms full of underwear. “I just hope they didn't know you'd come from the Manor House,” she said when Sadie was finished. “Most embarrassing for her ladyship.”

“We never said a word about that,” Sadie assured her. “Anyhow, as I was saying, I'm good at following people, so I'll watch Martin like a hawk tomorrow and I'll follow him to wherever he's going.”

Violet seemed unconvinced. “You won't be able to follow a car if one picks him up.”

“Watch me. I can go pretty fast on me bicycle. In any case, I can find out who it is picking him up. That'll be a start.”

Pushing her chair back, Violet rose to her feet. “Well, if anyone asks, I know nothing about it. I'm not asking you to do anything, you understand. It's all on your shoulders.”

Sadie nodded. “Mum's the word. Now how about dishing up that delicious soup before me belly button disappears into me back?”

“Enough of that, young lady,” Violet snapped, returning to her usual crabby self, much to Sadie's relief. “I'll serve it up when I'm good and ready.” She moved over to the stove, muttering, “Very inconsiderate of her ladyship, I must say. Not turning up for supper without a word to say she wasn't coming home.”

“Maybe she went down the pub for a pint,” Sadie said with a grin.

“And just maybe I'll wait another hour for her if you keep giving me lip.” Violet glared at her. “Do you want your supper now or what?”

“Yes, please,” Sadie said meekly. Violet was quite capable of keeping her word, and Sadie was afraid if she hung around in the kitchen much longer, Joe would get back and she wouldn't be there to see him before he went to his quarters.

She ate the soup and chunks of bread and butter without another word, while Violet played around with hers until Sadie could have screamed with frustration. She couldn't leave the table until Violet had finished her supper, and the way things were going it looked as if she'd be there until midnight.

At long last Violet laid down her spoon, and Sadie was free to leave the room. Pulling off her apron, she charged up to her room and ran a comb through her hair. After adding a dash of lipstick and a touch of eau de cologne behind her ears, she opened her window and leaned out.

She could just see the edge of the courtyard from there, and sure enough the bonnet of a jeep poked out from the corner of the mansion. The Yanks were back.

Flying along the great hall, with its imposing portraits frowning disapproval at her, she sped toward the east wing and prayed she'd be in time to catch Joe. He didn't like her calling on him in his quarters. The other officers teased him and Joe wasn't very good at ignoring them. He was a really sensitive bloke and got embarrassed easily.

At first Sadie had taken it personally, thinking he was ashamed to let his mates know he was taking her out. After one memorable argument, however, she realized that it was just the way Joe was, and that it didn't take much to turn his face red and make his tongue trip over itself.

She often wondered why she bothered with him. He was not at all like the blokes she usually fancied. Every time she saw him, though, she got a warm feeling inside. A comfortable feeling, knowing she didn't have to try to put on airs and graces or pretend to be someone she wasn't. Joe was a good friend, and she liked being with him. For now, that was enough.

She reached the stairs that led down to the courtyard just in time to see a group of officers trudging up them. The looks on their faces turned her stomach. She always knew when something had gone wrong with a mission. She could tell by the way they came up the stairs, none of them talking and poking fun at each other like they usually did.

For a moment fear crawled in her belly when she didn't see Joe right away. She was just about to ask someone, but then she saw him turn the corner in the flight of stairs, his head down, his shoulders hunched.

Relief chased away caution, and she called out to him, “Joe? You're all right, aren't you?”

The other officers passed with no more than a glance in her direction. No sly comments, no teasing remarks. She waited, heart beating anxiously, for Joe to climb to the top of the stairs.

When he reached her, he seemed to have trouble looking at her, glancing everywhere but at her face.

“What is it, Joe?” She grabbed hold of his arm, heedless of the sidelong glances from the two airmen coming up behind him. “What happened?”

Joe looked down at his shoes and mumbled, “We had a couple of gliders come in with us.”

She stared at him in confusion. “Gliders?”

“Aircraft coming in without engines.”

It took her a moment or two to make sense of what he'd said. “You mean they had to land without an engine?”

“They made it back to base, but the kites broke up on landing. Major Monroe was in one of them.”

Sadie's stomach dropped to her boots. “Oh, God. Is he . . . ?”

“I don't know.” Joe's eyes were bloodshot when he finally looked at her. “They took him away in an ambulance. It didn't look good.”

For a moment Sadie couldn't breathe. She lifted her chin and stared at the ornate ceiling above her head. “How in God's name am I supposed to tell that to Lady Elizabeth?”

CHAPTER 14

Iris wasn't home when Elizabeth arrived there a few minutes later. Tommy answered the door to her knock and gave her a sullen shake of his head when she asked for his mother.

“She's not come home from the village yet,” he mumbled. “I don't know when she's coming home.”

Elizabeth tried to soften his frown with a smile. “May I come in and wait for her?”

“Mum said we were not to let anyone in while she's gone.” He started to close the door, but just then a loud wail from inside the house turned his head.

“That sounds as if your sister has hurt herself.” Elizabeth pushed open the door again and purposefully stepped over the threshold.

Tommy looked as if he would try to stop her, but Katie wailed again and, giving up, he dashed up the hallway and disappeared through a door. Seconds later he reappeared, carrying a sobbing Katie in his arms.

“She fell and bumped her head,” he muttered.

Leaving the door open, Elizabeth hurried forward. “Let me look.” She followed Tommy into the parlor, where he sat the child down on the couch.

Elizabeth laid down her handbag and approached the child, who stared up at her with wet eyes and her small thumb stuck in her mouth.