An Unmentionable Murder (6 page)

Such language in a young child disturbed Elizabeth. She was even more upset that Iris apparently saw no reason to chastise the little girl for speaking in that dreadful manner. Such poor discipline would undoubtedly result in a problem child. It was none of her business, of course, and this certainly wasn't the time to bring up the subject. Instead, she merely nodded and followed George out into the welcome sunlight.

A few minutes later she pulled up outside the police station and cut the engine. George climbed grumbling and muttering out of the sidecar, and stretched his back with a loud moan.

Ignoring this rather childish display, Elizabeth demanded, “What about the search party? What's being done about finding Martin?”

“All taken care of,” George said smugly. “I left a note for Sid. He should have half the village out looking by now. Unless they've found him already. If you'll hang on a minute, m'm, I'll go and see.”

Seated astride the motorcycle, Elizabeth gripped the handlebars and silently prayed. George's voice interrupted her and she lifted her head.

“No one's there, your ladyship. No messages or anything, so I presume they are still out there looking for your butler.”

“Very well. Thank you, George.” She would have to be content with that for now, she thought dismally.

“Well, I'll be getting back to the desk then,” George said. “I have to make up a report on Clyde Morgan.”

Remembering the tension between Iris and George earlier, Elizabeth's curiosity got the better of her. “What did Iris mean about something being an accident?”

George frowned and scratched the back of his neck. “She was a bit touchy about that, weren't she? Can't say as I blame her. Nasty business that were.”

He turned to leave, and Elizabeth shook her head. “George, I'd like to know what happened.”

He paused, then turned back. “Oh, well, it were like this. A year or two ago Clyde was down the pub, drinking too much, like he always did. Anyway, they had a darts match and they was all betting on him to win it. There was this young girl, Sheila Redding, and she was watching the match. Only sixteen years old, she was. Clyde was fooling around and shot a wild dart. Buried it right in her head, he did.”

Elizabeth uttered a shocked gasp. “Oh, good heavens. What happened to her?”

“Well, they got it out, but it did something to her brain. She's in a wheelchair, can't talk, or do much for herself. They put her in one of them homes for people like that. It's in North Horsham.” George sighed. “Horrible thing to happen to someone that young. They say she'll never get any better.”

“How awful.” Elizabeth's heart ached for the girl. “Was Mr. Morgan charged with anything?”

“Not a thing. Iris were right about that. It were ruled an accident, though in my mind, he should have gone to prison for it. If he hadn't been drunk and fooling around, it would never have happened.” George lifted his hand in a salute. “Thank you for the lift, m'm. Much obliged. Not my favorite way to travel by any means, but it's a lot faster than me bicycle, I will say that.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I'll be quite happy to give you a lift anytime, George. You only have to ask.”

He walked away from her, muttering under his breath. She couldn't swear to it, but it sounded as if he'd said,
Not on your bloody life.

The wind had picked up when she rode up the hill, stinging her cheeks and bringing tears to her eyes. Normally she would be ravenously hungry by now, but her worries over Martin's absence and Earl's silence robbed her of an appetite.

Wearily she wheeled her motorcycle into the stables and walked around to the front door. She'd tugged on the bell rope several times before she remembered that Martin would not be there to open the door for her. Violet must not be able to hear the bell and Sadie in all likelihood was buried somewhere in the depths of the mansion. That meant she'd have to walk around to the back door of the kitchen.

She turned to go down the steps, then paused as the hollow sound of the bolts being drawn back echoed behind her. Violet must have heard the bell after all.

Waiting impatiently for the door to open, she decided to ring the hospital in North Horsham before going down to the kitchen for the midday meal. Someone might have found Martin and taken him there. Not that she had much hope of that, but it would give her something else to do besides waiting helplessly for news.

The door finally began to move, so slowly Elizabeth stared at it in alarm. Violet would have thrown it open, as would Sadie. Even Polly would not be inching it open in this furtive manner. Unless . . .

She put out a tentative hand and gently pushed. Feeling some resistance, she pushed harder, until a caustic voice spoke from the other side. “Hold on, hold on! What's the dashed hurry? I'm going as fast as I can!”

“Martin!”
she screeched, and bounded forward without thinking. She heard a thud and a muffled yelp, and winced. Peering around the half-open door, she saw the elderly man leaning against the wall, one hand rubbing his forehead.

“Martin, I'm so terribly sorry. Are you hurt?”

“I'm not exactly basking in pleasure, madam.” Very slowly he pushed himself away from the wall, righted his glasses, which had slipped down his nose, and smoothed back the half dozen hairs remaining on his head.

“Thank goodness, Martin. Wherever have you been? We've all been so dreadfully worried about you. We were quite sure something ghastly had happened to you. Are you hurt? Were you in an accident? Did you get lost? What on earth
happened
to you?”

Martin brushed imaginary dust from his trousers, then straightened as much as his bowed shoulders would allow. “I'm not at liberty to say, madam.”

Taken aback, Elizabeth said tartly, “Martin Chezzlewit, you have been missing for an entire night. Half the village has been out searching for you—and still are, by all accounts. Violet and myself, as well as Sadie and Polly, were out until after midnight looking for you. You have worried us half to death and now you calmly say you can't tell me where you were or what you were doing?”

“That is correct, madam.” He glanced across the hallway to the grandfather clock. “I do believe lunch is ready. Perhaps we should retire to the kitchen before Violet has a persnickety fit.” He turned his back on her and began shuffling in his snail's-pace gait toward the kitchen steps.

Greatly annoyed, Elizabeth followed him. Having endured so much agony over the past twenty-four hours, she was determined to find out exactly what Martin was up to, and why he refused to talk about it.

Judging from the raised voices in the kitchen, Sadie and Polly had already arrived for their meals. Rather than wait for Martin to make the tedious climb down the stairs, Elizabeth passed him and reached the kitchen ahead of him.

She pushed open the door and the voices abruptly ceased. Violet busied herself at the stove, while Polly sat at the table with Sadie. Both girls jumped to their feet as Elizabeth entered.

She answered their greetings then turned to Violet, whose concentration was on the stew she was spooning onto the dinner plates. “Did Martin tell you where he was last night?”

Violet shook her head without turning around. “Don't talk to me about that old fool. Gone all night he was, and not a word as to where he's been. Won't say anything, except he's ‘not at liberty to say.' ”

She'd uttered the last words in a high-pitched voice that was supposed to mimic Martin's quavery one. Polly giggled, while Sadie's face seemed drawn and tense.

“Well,” Elizabeth said, taking her seat at the table, “he will have to tell us sooner or later. He can't expect us to simply ignore his absence, when it caused so much fuss. What am I going to tell George, or the people who were out looking for him? Can you imagine what Rita Crumm will say when she finds out he's back and not a word about where he's been?”

Violet sniffed. “Rita Crumm would make a storm in a teacup about anything you did, as you well know. I wouldn't go worrying your head about her.”

“Yeah, m'm,” Polly said, reaching for a jagged slice of bread that looked as if it had been hacked off the loaf. “That Rita's jealous of you, that's all. Everybody knows that.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I really don't know what she has to be jealous about. What with all the responsibilities of taking care of the estate and the tenants, and all the repairs that need doing to the manor, the dreadful crimes that have been committed in the village, and the incompetence of the constabulary . . .”

She paused for breath and Violet finished for her, “Not to mention a certain American major who hasn't been around lately.”

That most of all, Elizabeth thought gloomily.

“Even with all that, m'm,” Polly said, watching Violet carry two steaming plates to the table, “I reckon Rita Crumm would change places with you in a moment.”

“That woman needs to be taken down a peg or two.” Violet placed a plate in front of Elizabeth. “Just because she formed the Housewives League doesn't make her a blinking god. You'd think she was winning the war all by herself, to hear her talk. Makes me sick, she does.”

“The Housewives League.” Polly made a sound of disgust in her throat. “That lot cause more trouble than Hitler's bombs do. What with their watching for submarines and keeping guard on the cliffs with their pots and pans, hunting for spies, poking their noses into everything, and messing everything up.”

“They've done good things, too,” Elizabeth reminded her. “They've knitted woollies for the military, collected tinfoil, kept victory gardens, and held bazaars and fetes to raise money for planes and ammunition.”

The door swung open just then and Martin crept in, sending everyone into silence. They all sat, staring at him expectantly, while he shuffled over to the table and took his seat.

Without a word Violet dished up some more stew and put it down in front of him. No one spoke as he lifted his knife and fork and began eating.

The silence seemed to stretch into hours, then for the first time since Elizabeth had sat down at the table, Sadie spoke, saying abruptly, “I haven't heard from Joe.”

It was the last thing Elizabeth expected to hear, and Sadie's tone of voice warned her that the girl was as frantic about her boyfriend as she herself was about Earl.

Very carefully, she put down her knife and fork and dabbed at her mouth with her serviette. “With everything that's going on in France, I would be very surprised if we heard anything just yet. You know how secretive they have to be about everything.”

Sadie avoided her gaze. “Yes, m'm. I suppose that's it.”

Elizabeth's heart started thumping with apprehension. “I don't suppose . . .” Aware of Violet's sharp gaze, she let her voice trail off.

“No, m'm. I haven't heard nothing about no one.”

Violet started talking just then, preventing Elizabeth from saying anything else. She sat quietly, eating her stew without tasting a single bite. All her thoughts and prayers were concentrated on Earl and his safe return. Right at that moment, that was all that mattered to her.

CHAPTER 5

Elizabeth spent the afternoon in the office catching up on the correspondence that seemed to have piled up over the past few days. With Polly's help she answered requests, complaints, and questions, juggled bills, and compiled the agenda for the next town council meeting.

Writing down Captain Carbunkle's name, she remembered her promise to call in on the newlyweds. First thing in the morning, she promised herself. It would help keep her mind off the problem of Earl and his whereabouts.

Violet was alone that evening when Elizabeth went down to the kitchen for supper. The moment she saw her housekeeper's face, she knew something was up. For a dreadful moment she thought Martin had gone missing again.

Especially when Violet hissed at her, “That silly old goat needs his head examined.”

Elizabeth sat down heavily on the chair. “What now?”

Violet shook her head, waved a hand in the air, and appeared lost for words.

Alarmed, Elizabeth said sharply, “For heaven's sake, Violet. Spit it out. What is it?”

“It's Martin,” Violet spluttered.

Having already guessed that, Elizabeth curled her fingers in frustration. “Is he missing again?”

“No, he's in his room. He'll be here any minute for his supper.”

“Then you'd better hurry up and tell me what's got you in such a dither.”

“I found a pair of knickers in his room.”

Stunned, Elizabeth could only stare at her.

“I went in there this afternoon.” Violet picked up a large butcher's knife from the kitchen counter and began furiously chopping a beetroot into thin slices. “The old fool refused to tell me where he'd been all night, and I thought there might be something in his room that would tell me.”

Bloodred juice spurted across the chopping board and onto the floor. Ignoring it, Violet went on chopping. “Right there on his dresser.
Right there in the open
”—she smacked the knife down hard—“bold as brass, was a pair of my best drawers.”

Elizabeth shut her mouth, swallowed, then said calmly, “I'm sure there's an explanation—”

“Oh, there's an explanation all right.” Violet reached for another beetroot and began chopping again. “He's gone blinking bonkers, that's the explanation. He's the one been stealing the drawers off the line outside. I told you this would happen. I could see it coming a mile off.”

She turned to face Elizabeth, the dripping knife held in her hand. “We have to get him out of the house. We have to put him in an asylum. We've got two young ladies to worry about. We can't have a demented old fool going around stealing their unmentionables. God knows what he'd get into next. I hate to think, honest I do.”