An Unmentionable Murder (21 page)

“Sadie Buttons!” Once more Violet's harsh voice cut across the table. “I think it's time you went to bed.”

Sadie sighed and pushed herself to her feet. “All right, I'm going. But don't forget to tell her ladyship the news.”

Elizabeth looked at Violet. “What news?”

“It's Martin,” Sadie began. “I thought someone was ringing to tell us something really terrible had happened to the major, but it wasn't that, it was—”

Again Violet cut her off. “Good
night
, Sadie.”

Sadie shook her head, muttered a good-night, and disappeared out the door.

“What's all this about Martin?” Elizabeth felt another chill of fear. “He's all right, isn't he?”

“Oh, he's all, all right.” Violet clicked her tongue. “I mean, yes, he's not hurt or missing or anything. Though how in the world he got into this big a mess I'll never know.”

Elizabeth laid her handbag on the empty chair next to Violet and buried her face in her hands. “Perhaps this had better wait until the morning. I really don't think I can take much more tonight.”

“It's up to you,” Violet said crisply, “but knowing you, you'll spend the night worrying and wondering about it, so you might as well hear it now. Besides, I'm not sure what it's all about anyway.”

Elizabeth lowered her hands. “Violet, what on earth are you talking about?”

Violet sat back and folded her hands across her thin chest. “Martin has gone and got himself mixed up with the War Office, that's what.”

“The War Office?”

“That's what I said. They rang here for him. Said to tell him to ring them in the morning.” Violet shook her head. “How in the world did he get into trouble with the War Office?”

“I suppose we'll have to wait until the morning to ask him.” Elizabeth looked hopefully at her housekeeper. “I don't suppose there's any tea in the pot?”

“If there is, it's cold by now.” Violet peered more closely at her. “Besides, you look as if a stiff brandy would do you more good. I'll get you one.”

She got up and crossed the kitchen to the dresser. “We've still got half a bottle left of the brandy the major brought us from the base.” She poured some into a glass and brought it back to Elizabeth. “How is the major really, Lizzie? Is he going to be all right?”

Elizabeth took the glass and sipped some of the brandy before setting it down. It burned hot fire in her chest, then settled in her stomach with a satisfying warmth that made her feel a little less bleak. “I honestly don't know, Violet. I wish I did. He looked so peaceful, as if he were simply asleep. I kept expecting him to wake up and . . .” She swallowed. “We'll know more in the morning, I expect.”

Violet nodded. “I can't tell you how worried I was about you going all the way up there on that motorcycle. I don't know what your father would have said.”

“I didn't take the motorcycle. That nice Captain Crawford took me in the jeep, along with most of the officers that are billeted here.”

“Oh, that was nice of him.” Violet went back to the dresser, poured herself a small brandy, and carried it back to the table. “If I'd known that I wouldn't have worried so.”

“I suppose I should have let you know, but I was in such a hurry to get there—”

“It's all right, Lizzie. I know how upset you were.”

“If it hadn't been for Captain Crawford, I don't know if I would have made it home tonight. He was kind enough to drive me back, even though the rest of his friends were off enjoying themselves in the town.”

“Well, they won't be too long behind him,” Violet said, glancing at the clock. “The pubs closed up well over an hour ago.”

“Is it that late? I hadn't realized.” Elizabeth picked up her glass. “I'm terribly sorry, Violet, for keeping you up like this.”

Violet shook her head, then lifted her glass and drained it. She choked, cleared her throat, then said hoarsely, “I'm just glad you had someone drive you home. I don't know what I would have done if you'd stayed there all night.”

“I would have rung to let you know.” Elizabeth rubbed a weary hand across her eyes. “The captain sat with me for quite a while waiting to see if I could go in to see Earl. He told me about the town where he lives in Texas. It's not much bigger than Sitting Marsh apparently. He told me about the parades on July Fourth, and the horse and cart he rode in—”

She broke off, aware of the tingling feeling that nagged her to examine the comment she'd just made. There was a connection somewhere to the elusive piece of information that hovered on the edge of her memory.

“I think the horse-drawn carts are dying out,” Violet murmured. “They're all changing over to motorcars and lorries nowadays. Can't remember when I last saw a horse and cart in the High Street—”

Elizabeth uttered a sharp exclamation.

Violet stared at her in concern. “You all right, Lizzie? You look so pale. You should go to bed.”

Elizabeth finished her brandy and got up. “You're right, I should. I have a lot to take care of tomorrow.” She gathered up her handbag and threw her coat over her arm. “You go to bed as well, Violet. You need your sleep.” She turned and hurried out of the kitchen, leaving Violet to stare after her.

Of course.
She could see it quite clearly now. The coast road, bathed in moonlight, she and Violet standing by the motorcycle, screaming Martin's name and hearing nothing except the wind in the trees . . .
and the sound of a horse's hooves.

She hadn't thought much about it at the time. It was a common enough sound in the countryside, and she and Violet had been worried about finding Martin. Apparently it never occurred to either of them to wonder why a horse would be trotting along the country lanes in the dark so late at night.

Most of the horse-drawn carts in the area belonged to the farmers, and they would be fast asleep, since they would rise before the dawn. There was, however, someone else who had a horse and cart. Clyde Morgan.

It was, indeed, very late for him to be out collecting his rags and bones. Then again, that was the night Morgan had died, and his midnight ride might very well have been his last. If he had died in his own front room, as she suspected, then someone would have had to take him to the ruined factory. A horse and cart would have made a most convenient conveyance for a dead body.

Tomorrow, right after ringing the hospital, she would take a look at Clyde Morgan's cart. If she found what she suspected she would find, then her suspicions would be confirmed. Then she would once again be faced with the inevitable question. What on earth was she going to do about it?

CHAPTER 16

Despite the turmoil churning in her mind, exhaustion took over and Elizabeth slept soundly that night. She awoke with a start, memory flooding back to jolt her fully awake and propel her out of bed.

The closest telephone was in her office, and she threw on a dressing gown, tying the sash as she sped along the corridor.

Once inside her office, she grabbed up the receiver, her trembling fingers dialing the number she had scribbled on her blotting pad.

A brisk female voice answered her, and for a moment she froze, unable to ask the question for fear of the answer. The woman on the end of the line sounded impatient as she repeated her greeting, and Elizabeth took a deep breath.

“Good morning,” she said breathlessly. “I'm Lady Elizabeth, from the Manor House in Sitting Marsh. I'm inquiring as to the condition of Major Earl Monroe.”

The silence on the end of the line terrified her, but then the voice spoke again. “Your ladyship, the major had a reasonably comfortable night and is resting.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. He'd survived the night. Thank God. “Is he any better?”

“You'd have to ask the doctor about that, m'm. He's not available at this moment.”

“Very well.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “When can I speak to the doctor?”

“He's doing his rounds, m'm. He should be done in an hour or two, if you'd care to try again later.”

“I intend to visit the major later today. I can speak to the doctor then.” She hung up before the woman could tell her no visitors were allowed. No one was going to prevent her from seeing Earl today. No one.

After getting dressed, she hurried down to the kitchen. As usual, Violet was at her post at the stove, and both Polly and Sadie were seated at the table.

“I forgot to tell you last night, m'm, but we caught the knickers thief,” Sadie announced, apparently unaffected by Violet's disapproving click of the tongue.

“You mean thieves,” Polly added.

Elizabeth ate her porridge and listened as the two girls filled her in on their adventures of the day before. “How in heaven's name are you going to return all that underwear?” she asked when they had finished. “How will you know what belongs to whom?”

“We thought about that, m'm,” Sadie said, throwing a triumphant grin in Polly's direction. “We're going to put them all out on a table in Polly's front garden, and then let everyone know they can come by and pick out what belongs to them.”

“Yeah,” Polly chimed in. “Violet's already picked out yours and hers, and Sadie and me have got ours, so the rest belong to whoever had them stolen.”

“I,” Violet interrupted, with a frown at Polly. “Sadie and
I.
”

“Well, I've got mine, too,” Polly muttered, looking confused.

“We did think about taking them down to the police station, m'm,” Sadie said, “but can you imagine George or Sid trying to sort that lot out?”

Polly giggled, and Violet's frown deepened. “Well, all I can say,” she said crisply, “is that it's a very good job it was only young boys in that windmill. If it had been some dangerous criminal, you and Polly would have been in quite a pickle.”

“Not really,” Polly said, nudging Sadie with her elbow. “We had the whole American army out there.”

“Army air force,” Sadie corrected. “Joe's always telling me as how he's in the air force but it's attached to the army, so it's army air force. That's why they call it the USAAF.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What were the Americans doing there anyway?”

Sadie shrugged. “Didn't have time to ask them. They got rid of us in a hurry.”

“Per'aps they were looking for the thief, too,” Polly suggested.

“I'm sure they've got better things to do than hunt down a pack of delinquents who go around stealing washing from a line,” Violet muttered.

“Which makes one wonder exactly what the American army was doing there.” Elizabeth turned to Sadie. “Didn't they give you any idea why they were there?”

“Nope.” Sadie thought about it. “They had their guns drawn, though, so I think they were expecting more than what they got.”

Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “Well, I can't worry about that now. I have an errand to run, then I'm going into North Horsham.” She looked at Polly. “I trust you'll be able to take care of things today?”

Polly nodded and jumped up from the table. “Of course, m'm. Don't you worry about a thing. I'll take care of everything. I'll be off now and get started.”

“You'd better get started, too, young lady.” Violet pointed a bony finger at Sadie. “There's plenty to be done now that the boys in the east wing are back.”

“Don't I know it.” Sadie got to her feet. “I hope you find the major in better health, m'm,” she said, earning herself a grateful smile from Elizabeth.

The door had barely closed behind the girls when it opened again and Martin shuffled in.

Elizabeth was concerned to see the dark shadows under his eyes. She waited for what seemed an eternity for him to cross the short space between the door and his chair. He finally came to an unsteady halt and blinked at her over the rims of his spectacles.

“Good morning, madam. May I be permitted to join you at the table?”

“Of course you may, Martin.”

“Thank you, madam. I am much obliged.”

She made herself stay seated while he struggled to lower himself on the chair, knowing if she didn't he would refuse to sit. She needed to have a word with him, and the less time spent doing so the better.

Finally settling himself, Martin looked at Violet. “So what poisonous concoction have you whipped up for the feast this morning? Not more of that loathsome porridge, I trust.”

Violet sniffed and turned back to the stove. “You could always go and eat corn with the chickens.”

A puzzled frown marred Martin's brow. “I wasn't aware we kept chickens on the estate.”

“We don't,” Violet snapped. “I was talking about Farmer Miller's chickens.”

This was apparently too much for Martin to comprehend.

While he was still working on it, Elizabeth leaned forward. “The telephone rang for you last night.”

An odd expression flickered across his face. “I didn't hear it.”

Violet tutted. “Because you were in bed, you silly old goat.”

Martin sent her a withering glance. “Well, that would certainly explain why, of course.”

“It was the War Office,” Elizabeth watched his face closely, but couldn't be sure if he'd understood.

“The War Office, madam?”

“Yes, Martin. They asked that you give them a ring this morning.”

“Very well, madam.”

Elizabeth waited, while Violet turned to face them, sticky porridge clinging to the wooden spoon in her hand.