Death Is in the Air (13 page)

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Something startled me.” She smoothed her fingers down her skirt, even though there were no wrinkles to be seen.

“Wouldn’t happen to be the belching in those water pipes, now would it?”

She risked a guilty glance at him. Although she was
prepared for her reaction, her stomach still managed to complete a somersault. What on earth was it about the man that reduced her insides to limp spaghetti every time she looked at him? “I’m sorry. They do make a ghastly noise, I’m afraid.”

“So where’s the fire?”

Confused, she said uncertainly, “I beg your pardon?”

“Where were you going in such a hurry?”

“Oh!” She hesitated, reluctant to tell him she was actually looking for him. She didn’t want to give him the idea that she was in that great a hurry to find him. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I was coming to offer your officers an invitation.”

His quizzical look was almost comical. “You’re going to invite them all to dinner?”

“No, to dance,” she said hurriedly.

“You want to dance with my officers?”

No, just one of them.
She’d almost said the words out loud. “Not to dance, Major. To
a
dance. Saturday at the town hall. Actually I want to invite everyone on the base. Those who have passes, of course.”

His eyebrows raised. “You want to take on the entire outfit?”

“Well, not me personally.” She had the feeling he was making fun of her. Raising her chin, she said firmly, “We’re inviting the soldiers from Beerstowe as well. And the land army. Of course, most of the villagers will probably be there.”

“Sort of ‘meet the forces’ day in Sitting Marsh.”

“If you like. We are concerned about the brawling that goes on between the British army and the Americans. I’m afraid the villagers haven’t helped with their somewhat biased attitudes. We thought it might be a good idea to get everyone together in a social atmosphere so they can get to know each other a little better.”

“Hmmm.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, I guess we could give it a try, though I have to tell you, Lady Elizabeth, unless you hide the beer and liquor you could end
up with a heck of a battle on your hands. Those boys need to let off steam, and that’s one sure way of doing it.”

“Oh, dear.” Elizabeth’s hand rose to her throat. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to take that chance. Which is why I was hoping you’d be able to attend. Sort of keep an eye on things, as it were.”

Major Monroe’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Is that the only reason you’re inviting me, Lady Elizabeth?”

“Well . . . no, I mean . . . of course, I’d be delighted . . . er . . . I’d appreciate it very much if you could come.”

He nodded, his sharp gaze never leaving her face. “I’ll come on condition that you promise me a dance.”

If she’d been flustered before, it was nothing compared to her confusion now. Her hand gripped her throat until she was in dire danger of choking, while she struggled to regain her composure. When she deemed it safe to speak again, she said carefully, “I’d be delighted, Major.”

He inclined his head in a slight bow. “My pleasure. I’d be real happy, ma’am, if you’d allow me to escort you there in my Jeep.”

“Oh! Well, that would be very nice. Thank you.” She made a mental note to be sure and tie a scarf around her hair. “Shall we meet around eight in the library?”

“Eight it is.”

She couldn’t seem to stop smiling at him. Feeling quite foolish, she cleared her throat loudly. “Yes, well, that’s settled then. I’ll leave it up to you to invite the other officers. The more we have, the more likely we can keep everything under control.”

“The good Lord willing.”

He’d put so much fervor into that muttered phrase she had cause for alarm again. All she could hope was that they were not all making a terrible mistake. She was about to bid him good night when she remembered her other reason for seeking him out. “I do have one more
small favor to ask,” she said, smiling up at him. “I have a rather large pile of decorations that I need to take down to the town hall. I was wondering if you might spare a few minutes and give me a lift down there in your Jeep. There are too many to pile into the sidecar on my motorcycle.”

The major glanced at his watch. “As a matter of fact, I was just leaving for the base. I can drop you off on the way.”

“Splendid! I’ll meet you by the front steps, then. It won’t take more than a minute or two to pick up the box.”

“I have a better idea. I’ll come with you and get the box so you won’t have to carry it.”

“That’s terribly gallant of you, Major. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

She hurried to keep up with his long stride as they headed down the great hall to the main stairs. As they passed the suits of armor, she peered at them rather hard but couldn’t see anything unusual about them.
It all must have been a trick of the light just then
, she assured herself.

“I’ll round up a few bottles of Scotch for the dance if you like,” Monroe offered as they descended the staircase together.

Vastly relieved she hadn’t had to ask him after all, she exclaimed, “Oh, would you? That would be marvelous. We’ll pay you for them, of course, out of the proceeds.”

He nodded. “How will you get back from the town hall?”

“Pardon?” She sent him a startled glance. That thought hadn’t even occurred to her. Where was her mind wandering to lately?

“Well, you can’t walk all that way back. Especially at night with a murderer on the loose.” He looked sideways at her. “I guess they haven’t found the German yet?”

“No, they haven’t. Apparently he’d been hiding out at the Macclesby’s farm, but by the time the soldiers got there, he was long gone. I was talking to the army captain on the phone just now, and he thinks the German has probably left the area. I think they are calling off the search and leaving it to the police to handle.”

“Well, England is a pretty small country. There can’t be too many Germans wandering around. He’ll be picked up sooner or later.”

“I suppose so. It does leave things sort of up in the air, though, doesn’t it?” Elizabeth paused at the library door. “I suppose we shall never know now who killed poor Amelia Brunswick.”

The voice came from nowhere, startling them both. “What are you doing! Halt there, I say!”

The quavery command had come from behind them, and both of them swung around.

Looking a little like a giant ant in his black morning coat, Martin advanced upon them at the speed of a tortoise, brandishing what appeared to be the blunderbuss from her father’s collection of antique guns.

“What the devil—!” Earl Monroe immediately stepped in front of Elizabeth, shielding her from Martin’s sight.

Terribly gratified by this show of heroism, Elizabeth basked for a moment in the unfamiliar glow of feeling thoroughly cherished and protected. It had been a long time since anyone had acted so chivalrously toward her.

Major Monroe’s back was quite broad and hid Martin from view. His voice, however, could be heard quite plainly. “Unhand that lady this instant, sir, or I shall be forced to put a cannonball into your intestines.”

Elizabeth winced and stepped out from behind Earl Monroe’s comforting frame. “It’s all right, Major,” she assured him. “It isn’t loaded.” She took a step forward into Martin’s path and held out her hand. “Give me the gun, Martin. As you can see, I’m in no danger. Major Monroe is our guest.”

Martin peered over the top of his glasses. “I beg your pardon, madam, but I believe you’ve been misled. This is the German officer everyone is looking for. You can see his uniform is most certainly not British.” He raised the gun and jabbed it in the major’s direction. “Have at you, sir!”

“Are you quite sure it’s not loaded?” Earl Monroe asked with just a trace of uncertainty in his voice.

“Quite,” Elizabeth said confidently. “Even if it were it probably wouldn’t fire. It hasn’t been fired for centur—” Her words ended in a piercing scream as a deafening roar rattled the chandelier above her head.

At the same time a cloud of smoke billowed from the end of the gun, and Martin was lifted off his feet. Elizabeth just had time to see him land with a thud on his back when something hit her hard between the shoulder blades. The force of the weight behind her thrust her face down onto the carpet.

Momentarily stunned, she realized the heavy weight was still on top of her, pinning her down. Part of her mind registered the dust rising from the carpet under her nose, and she made a mental note to remind Polly to vacuum the carpet first thing in the morning.

Her mind cleared an instant later, and she realized she was in danger of expiring from lack of breath, since her lungs were crushed by the mysterious weight on her back. She heard a faint groan further down the hall then a pattering of feet running toward them.

Violet’s voice sounded incredulous when she exclaimed, “What in the world are you all doing on the floor?”

The weight on her back shifted, and Elizabeth raised her head. A few feet away, Martin lay on his back, the gun still in his grip and pointing straight at the ceiling.

“You okay?”

The major’s voice spoke directly in her ear, and she realized it was his body lying full-length on top of her.
Slowly she swiveled her head and met Violet’s amused gaze.

“Well,” the housekeeper said with a hint of smugness, “how nice to see you making the Yanks feel so much at home.”

CHAPTER
13

Martin, as it turned out, was relatively unharmed, despite his spectacular backspring. Apparently, as the major explained, the kickback of the heavy gun had knocked the aged butler off his feet. Fortunately he had managed to imbibe a goodly portion of the expensive brandy Major Monroe had brought with him the night before, which explained his confusion as to the major’s identity. The brandy had also relaxed him enough to survive the fall without any broken bones.

After examining him carefully, Dr. Sheridan pronounced the elderly man none the worse for wear, apart from a badly bruised shoulder and a considerable blow to his pride.

Much relieved, Elizabeth showed the doctor out then went back to the library to question Martin. “Where on earth did you get the gunpowder to load that thing?” she asked him as she helped him on with his coat.

“The master always kept a supply of it in the safe.” Martin struggled to fasten his buttons. “He used to take the gun out sometimes to shoot it in the woods.”

“Good heavens!” Elizabeth stared at him in amazement. “Did Mother know about that?”

“Of course not, madam.” Martin found the dozen or so hairs on his head with his fingers and smoothed them in place. “This was strictly between us men. Women have no business around guns.”

Elizabeth bristled at that but, under the circumstances, decided to let it go. “You could have killed the major,” she said sternly. “I do not want you to ever touch that gun again.”

Martin gave her a haughty look from under his brows. “It wasn’t loaded,” he said, managing to sound dignified in spite of his disheveled appearance.

“What do you mean it wasn’t loaded?” Elizabeth folded her arms. “What on earth was all that noise, then? Not to mention the smoke.”

Martin shook his head. “That was just the gunpowder going off. There wasn’t any ammunition in the barrel. I put the gunpowder in when I heard about the invasion, ready for loading in case we were attacked.” He frowned. “I’d forgotten it was in there. I just wanted to frighten the blighter, that was all. Take him captive until the police got here.” He twisted his head to look around the room. “Where is he, anyway? Blighter hasn’t escaped again, has he?”

“That man you attacked this evening was Major Monroe, one of the Americans billeted in our house. They are our guests. Martin, you really must remember these things. I can’t have you running around attacking the Americans with a blunderbuss.”

Martin flicked the dust off his jacket. “Excuse me, madam, but I was simply trying to protect you. If that had been a German officer, you would be thanking me for saving your life.”

“No doubt,” Elizabeth said dryly, “but right now I’m
thanking God you didn’t kill Major Monroe and put us on the wrong side of this war.”

She looked up as the door swung open and Violet hurried in. “How is he?” she asked anxiously.

“He’ll live.” Elizabeth sighed. “He was lucky this time.”

“Silly old fool.” Violet handed Martin a steaming mug of hot milk. “Here, drink this, then it’s off to bed for you. The shock is enough to kill you.”

Martin took the milk and sniffed. “Did you put brandy in it?”

“No, I did not.” Violet wagged her finger at him. “You’ve had far too much as it is. Running around drunk with a blimmin’ shotgun in your hands. Embarrassed us all, you did. You almost killed that nice major.” She shot a look at Elizabeth. “Where’d he go, anyway?”

“Major Monroe took the decorations down to the town hall for me.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece. “I should be getting down there. I told him to tell Rita I’d come down just as soon as the doctor left.”

“Well, you’d better get on with it, then,” Violet said, watching Martin gulp down his milk. “I’ll see the old badger gets to bed all right.”

Martin lowered his mug. His upper lip bore a white mustache of milk, which tended to deflate his dignity somewhat when he said pompously, “I am quite capable of getting myself to bed, thank you. If I wanted the services of a nursemaid, I’d hire a professional—someone much more youthful.” His bleary-eyed gaze drifted down Violet’s stick-like figure. “And with more bosom.”

“Well, I never!” Violet looked outraged, though Elizabeth could swear she saw the housekeeper’s lips twitch. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a bosomy young woman if you had one, you mangy old goat. No more brandy for you, mister. It makes your tongue flap too much.”

Martin raised his hand to his nose. “Where are my spectacles?”

“Here.” Violet fished them out of her apron pocket. “They fell off while you were performing acrobatics out in the hall. Though I don’t know why you bother to wear them. If you’d been looking through them properly you’d have recognized the major and wouldn’t have taken a potshot at him. You’re never going to see straight if you keep looking over the top of them.”

Martin took the glasses and rather shakily strung them over his ears. “Has it ever occurred to you, Violet, that being unable to see clearly can sometimes be a blessing?”

Violet raised her chin, obviously taking the comment personally. “You’re glad enough to see me when you’re hungry, though, aren’t you, you ungrateful old sod.”

Elizabeth chose that moment to slip out, leaving the two of them to fight it out on their own. The frequent skirmishes between Martin and her housekeeper were harmless enough, and, although neither would admit it, disguised a genuine if grudging affection for each other.

They had been battling with each other for as long as Elizabeth could remember, from the good days when they’d been in charge of a houseful of servants, through the bad days when they’d watched the domestic staff gradually dwindle down to just the two of them.

Polly and Desmond, the gardener, had been hired less than two years ago, when His Majesty’s service had claimed the resident gardener and the remaining maids had left to work in the military canteens. Martin and Violet were all Elizabeth had left now of her past life at the Manor House, and she loved them dearly. Even if they did drive her crazy now and again with their constant bickering.

Arriving at the town hall a short time later, Elizabeth found yet another form of chaos on her hands. Women appeared to be running hither and thither without any real design or destination. Rita Crumm stood on the
stage, her face almost hidden behind the huge microphone, which apparently wasn’t plugged in since not a word she spoke could be heard above the chattering of her crew.

Someone had draped an enormous Union Jack flag at the back of the stage, and Marge Gunther, easily the heaviest of Rita’s followers, balanced precariously on a ladder while she attempted to hang a red, white, and blue garland over the window. Boxes lay all over the floor, while a nearby table was strewn with a tangled array of colorful paper decorations.

Elizabeth heaved a huge sigh, then stashed her handbag under her coat in the vestibule and rolled up her sleeves. It was going to be a long night.

The following morning Elizabeth rose with a strange sense of foreboding that she couldn’t really pin down. The town hall had looked remarkably festive by the time she’d left, though not without a price. Tempers had been shortened and patience sorely tested, not to mention a strained muscle or two. All in all, however, she felt well satisfied with everyone’s efforts.

All that remained now was to confer with Bessie and make sure the refreshments would be taken care of and the records and gramophone delivered on time. Ted Wilkins had dropped by during the decorating to assure her that a large supply of beer would be available for the dance. The major had promised to bring half a dozen bottles of Scotch and whatever else he could find, and so far everything seemed to be working out really well.

Even so, she couldn’t quite dismiss the uneasiness that plagued her throughout breakfast.

She was thankful that Martin was unusually quiet, and even Violet seemed subdued.

“Tired,” she explained when Elizabeth inquired about her well being. “I waited up until I heard you come in.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.” Elizabeth looked at her in dismay. “I was perfectly all right.”

“You had to ride that motorcycle past those woods in the dark.” Violet rattled the dishes as she stacked them in the sink. “That German could still be loitering around there, waiting to jump out at you.”

“I doubt it very much.” Elizabeth glanced at Martin and was concerned to notice he looked unusually pale. “I’m quite sure he’s left the area by now. The army personnel think so, too. They have called off the search.”

“They can’t do that!” Violet looked put out. “He killed that young girl. He’s got to pay for it.”

“
If
he killed her.” Remembering the buttons, Elizabeth rose from her chair. “I’m going into town this morning. I was supposed to meet Polly in my office at half-past eight to show her how to do the filing. Please tell her I won’t be back until eleven, so we’ll have to do it then.”

Violet looked disapproving. “I still think you’re making a mistake letting that girl muck about in your office. Her head is too full of other things. She’ll never pay attention long enough to learn anything, you mark my words.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Elizabeth laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Are you feeling all right, Martin? You haven’t said a word this morning.”

Martin lifted his head, his eyes widening in surprise. “Good morning, madam! I didn’t see you come in. I do beg your pardon.” He started struggling out of his chair, and Elizabeth gently increased the pressure on his shoulder. “Don’t get up, Martin. I’m just leaving.”

“But you haven’t had any breakfast yet, madam. You can’t go out in this snowstorm with nothing in your stomach. Your mother will be most displeased. Has Geoffrey got the carriage ready yet? I told him the springs needed oiling. I do hope he saw to it.”

Elizabeth exchanged a look with Violet, who rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Silly old fool’s rambling again,” she muttered. “Don’t worry, Lizzie. You get on with what you have to do, and I’ll take care of him.”

“Perhaps we should have Dr. Sheridan take another look at him,” Elizabeth said worriedly.

Violet made a hissing sound through her teeth. “If we sent for the doctor every time Martin got confused, the poor man would be here every day. You know how he gets. Give him an hour or two, and he’ll be as good as new.”

“He did take a rather nasty fall yesterday,” Elizabeth said, unconvinced.

“I’ll keep my eye on him,” Violet promised. “Now get along or you won’t be back in time to teach Droopy Drawers how to put papers in alphabetical order. That’ll take you all day.”

Wisely ignoring this piece of sarcasm, Elizabeth sent one last concerned glance at Martin, then left.

Roaring down the High Street a few minutes later, she returned the hand waves from the villagers, mostly women on their daily shopping trips. Heavy black clouds billowed across the steel-gray sky, forewarning a storm out at sea.

Elizabeth glanced up at the leaden sky and wondered if Major Monroe would be flying up there that day. How difficult it must be to find a bomb target when the clouds were so thick and low. The planes would have to fly beneath the clouds to find the target, which put them in dire danger of being hit by flack. Just the thought of it made her feel ill.

She shook off her inexplicable melancholy and coasted to a halt in front of Rosie Finnegan’s clothes shop. Finnegan’s Fashions had been a focal point of the High Street for the last century and a half, ever since Joe Finnegan had emigrated from Ireland, bringing his large family with him.