Death Is in the Air (8 page)

She’d make it last as long as possible, she silently vowed, because the sooner Sam fell in love with her, the sooner she could tell him the truth about her age. In a few months she’d be sixteen and old enough to work
in the factory. Then she could buy lots of fancy clothes and shoes and perfume and makeup, and she wouldn’t have to worry about skulking around the Manor House, frightened someone would see her cleaning the loo.

“There was a big fight in the pub tonight,” Sam said as they pulled out onto the coast road. “The British army were there and got into a brawl with our boys.”

Polly gasped. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Nope. We got out as soon as it started, but judging from the noise going on in there, I bet there were a few bloody noses and black eyes.”

“Oh, my. I bet Ted Wilkins was fit to be tied. He keeps threatening to shut down the pub if they keep having fights in there.”

“Well, I reckon it was worse than usual because of all the army boys in town looking for the murderer.”

“They still haven’t found him yet, then?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” He sent Polly a sideways glance that thrilled her to bits. “Can’t say I’m sorry if it gives me an excuse to take a gorgeous dame like you home.”

His words made her sigh. He’d called her gorgeous. He made her feel like a real woman. She knew what it was like now, to be really in love. Not like those silly little crushes she’d had on the English boys. They all seemed so childish now. Now that she had a real man to love. Hugging herself, she leaned closer to him, tingling with the anticipation of his goodnight kiss.

Sleep eluded Elizabeth until the early hours of the morning, and when she did finally drift off, her dreams disturbed her with images of a headless woman chasing German soldiers through the woods.

Her lack of sleep made her feel out of sorts as she made her way down to the kitchen that morning, and the news that the British army had spent the entire night combing the woods without finding any trace of the German pilot did nothing to settle her brittle nerves.
Violet, who had heard the news from Polly, also informed her that Rita Crumm was rounding up her troops to hunt for the escaped pilot.

“They’re supposed to meet at the village green at ten this morning,” Violet said, putting a steaming plate of porridge in front of Elizabeth. “Polly’s mother’s going with them.”

Elizabeth looked at her in alarm. “Someone could get badly hurt with all those soldiers searching the woods.”

“I’d worry about the soldiers if I were you. Polly said the women will be carrying butcher knives.”

“That’s got to be illegal. Someone has to stop them before things get out of hand.”

“Seems to me things are already getting out of hand. Ooh, that’s something else Polly told me.” Violet went to the door and stuck her head into the hallway. “Martin!” she yelled. “Your porridge is ready!” She came back shaking her head. “That man. I swear he’s going deaf.”

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. After all, he’s in his eighties. Something’s bound to wear out at that age.”

“If you ask me, it’s his blinking mind that’s wearing out,” Violet muttered. “He keeps nattering on about the master being back. He’s giving me the willies now.”

Remembering the major’s words, Elizabeth decided it was time to change the subject. “What was it that Polly told you?”

Violet picked up a large wooden spoon and stirred the rest of the porridge. “There was a big fight down at the pub last night. Our lads and the Yanks got into it, according to Polly. Made a right mess of the place before it was over.”

Elizabeth stared at her plate. “We have to do something about that. I think I’ll call a meeting of the town council. Perhaps we can come up with some ideas of how to end this resentment of the Americans.”

“It’s going to take more than a council meeting to do that if you ask me.” Violet ladled porridge into a bowl.
“At least this time they can’t blame the murder on a Yank.” She carried the bowl over to the table and set it down. “I wonder what Rita Crumm and her lot would do if they came across that German.”

“Probably run for their lives,” Martin said from the doorway. “That’s if they’ve got any sense. That blighter would run them through with a bayonet if they got anywhere near him.”

“He’s not carrying a bayonet,” Elizabeth remarked. She lifted a spoonful of porridge in the air. “He must be pretty hungry by now.”

“Not thinking of taking him your porridge, are you?” Violet asked as she filled a third bowl with the oatmeal.

Martin gasped. “I should say not! I would hope madam has far too much prudence than to consider such a dangerous venture.”

“Madam does,” Elizabeth assured him. “I was just wondering if the poor boy is hungry enough to give himself up.”

“That poor boy killed a young woman, so stop feeling sorry for him,” Violet said, seating herself at the table. She looked up at Martin, who hovered by his chair. “Are you going to sit down, or are you waiting for your porridge to get cold first?”

Martin cleared his throat. “May I have your permission to join you at the table, madam?”

Elizabeth answered automatically. “You may, Martin.”

“Thank you, madam, but if I may say so, your proper place is in the dining room at the dining room table. The master is very unhappy to see how badly proprieties have been neglected at the Manor House.”

“Then I should think he was delirious last night,” Violet said crisply. “Especially when you nearly dropped the soup all over Lizzie. If you ask me, she’s a lot safer right here in the kitchen.”

Martin was too busy concentrating on getting his creaking body down on his chair to answer her.

Elizabeth glanced at her. “How did you know about the soup?”

“I was watching from the doorway, wasn’t I. The old fool insisted on taking it in, and I was holding my breath all the way. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it slipping, until your major caught it.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Once and for all, Violet, he’s not
my
major, and I do wish you would stop calling him that.”

“Methinks you do protest too much,” Violet murmured.

Ignoring her, Elizabeth cleared her plate, then laid down her spoon. “I have to go down to the police station this morning. Would you ring the council members for me and have them meet me at the town hall at half past two this afternoon?”

“I’ll get Polly to do it. She likes using the telephone.” She tilted her head to one side. “You know, I’ve been thinking, maybe you should give some thought to her helping out in the office after all. With all the running about you’ve been doing lately, it must be hard for you to keep up with all the accounting.”

Surprised, Elizabeth rose to her feet. “Has she been talking to you about it?”

Martin painfully pulled himself up out of his chair, while Violet gulped down a spoonful of porridge. “Never shuts up about it. I’m tired of listening to her.”

“Did she ask you to mention it to me?”

“I sort of promised I’d say something.” Violet looked up at her. “Not that I’m saying you should take her on, of course. I don’t want to be blamed if she messes everything up.”

Elizabeth sat down again. “I suppose I could use some help in the office.”

Martin, who had frozen midway in his effort to rise, lowered himself on the chair.

“Well, it’s up to you, Lizzie. I’m not the one to tell you what to do.”

“Does she have any experience?”

Violet shrugged. “Not that I know of, but she seems intelligent enough to learn. You’d probably have to be behind her at first, but I think she’d do all right. It would get her off my back with her whining all the time.”

“Well, I’ll think about it.” Elizabeth got to her feet once more. “Though she’ll still have to find time to clean the house.”

Martin sighed, then struggled off his chair.

“She’ll have plenty of time,” Violet assured her. “She doesn’t have enough to occupy her now, and working in the office would stop her from hanging around the east wing all the time. She’s too blinking young to be running after men. Especially hot-blooded ones like those Yanks.”

“I say, Violet,” Martin protested.

“Well, we don’t have the right to supervise her private life.” Elizabeth looked at Martin. “You can sit down now, Martin. I’m leaving.”

“Yes, madam,” Martin murmured, remaining on his feet.

“I take it you enjoyed your dinner last night with your major,” Violet said slyly.

On her way to the door, Elizabeth paused. “Oh, I’m sorry, Violet, I meant to tell you how much we both enjoyed the meal. You surpassed yourself last night. Especially the trifle. It was quite your best effort ever.”

Violet looked immensely pleased with herself. “Glad to hear it, Lizzie. Only the best for you, that’s what I say.”

Elizabeth escaped through the door, before Violet’s questions could get any more personal. She didn’t want to talk about last night to anyone. It had been a special evening and hers to keep in her memory forever.

Right now, however, she had more serious thoughts to dwell on. There was the problem of the hostility in the village toward the Americans that had to be resolved. Even more pressing was the murder case, which was
why she was anxious to get down to the police station as soon as possible. Someone had to stop Rita Crumm and her troops before the search for the German ended in more tragedy.

CHAPTER
8

Both George and Sid were seated in the front office of the police station when Elizabeth arrived there a short while later. A light shower had dampened her Panama hat on the way, leaving the brim drooping dismally over one eye. The wet skirt of her wool dress flapped around her knees as she strode over to the desk, reminding her that there were definite disadvantages to utilizing a motorcycle as one’s sole mode of transportation.

All in all, she was not in her best mood when George greeted her in his usual brusque tones. “Morning, Lady Elizabeth! What can we do for you today?”

“You can put a stop to Rita Crumm’s ridiculous endeavor to get herself and her friends shot and killed, that’s what you can do.” Elizabeth sat down rather hard on the rickety chair in front of the desk.

Sid came over to stand next to George. “What she’s doing now then, m’m?”

“She’s taking her foolish little followers into the woods to hunt for that German pilot, knowing full well that the military is in there ready to shoot at anything that’s not wearing army boots and battledress.”

Sid tutted, and George shook his head. “Rita means well,” he muttered, “but she does get a little heavy-handed at times.”

“Means well? Is that all you can say?” Aware that she was sputtering, Elizabeth made an effort to sound more ladylike. “I insist that you do something to stop her. Someone could very well get killed out there.”

Sid nodded but obviously had nothing helpful to offer.

George looked worried. “Begging your pardon, Lady Elizabeth, but we can’t stop people going into the woods if they have a mind to go. It’s not like it’s private property or anything.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that. Since it is part of the Manor House estate, however, I can ask that you deem the area out of bounds until the pilot has been captured or the search has been called off.”

Sid nodded again then changed it to shaking negatively when George murmured, “I’m not sure we can do that, m’m. The first Lord Hartleigh made it very clear that the entire village and the surrounding lands, with the exception of the Manor House grounds, were to remain open and accessible to all residents of Sitting Marsh. No matter what. He signed and sealed it a hundred years ago. It’s hanging right up there on the wall of the town hall. Your own father was very protective of that law, if I remember rightly.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Why was it that lately everywhere she turned the specter of her father loomed in front of her? “I’m well aware of my great-great-grandfather’s decree, George. However, a hundred years ago I doubt very much if he envisioned young men, most of them recovering from a drunken brawl, running around the woods with rifles using helpless housewives
for target practice. I must insist that you take some action to prevent a possible disaster.”

George tapped a pencil on his blotter with maddening deliberation, while Sid looked sorrowful, reminding Elizabeth of a basset hound she’d almost purchased a while ago.

Finally George said heavily, “I suppose I could have a word with them.”

“I don’t think a word is going to stop Rita Crumm. You know how she is when she hears the call to battle. She takes up arms and charges into the fray like some inept Viking.”

“It’s all I have the authority to do, m’m. Until they do something unlawful, anyway.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin. “What if I were to tell you that they will be carrying carving knives with them?”

Sid gasped, while George looked alarmed. “Carving knives? Are you sure about this, m’m?”

“Well, no, not first hand,” Elizabeth had to admit. “Polly told Violet, who told me. But I’m sure—”

“Begging your pardon again, m’m, but I can’t see how I can arrest people even if they are carrying a knife. Not without murderous intent, that is.”

Elizabeth curled her fingers into her palms. “George, they are not going on a picnic. Why else would they carry knives?”

“To protect themselves? These are dangerous times after all, what with a murdering Nazi running around the woods. Then there’s the rest of his crew. What happened to them? What if they met up with our bloke, and now there’s a crowd of them out there, all gunning for us? We could all be stiff’uns before the day is out.”

“God save us all,” Sid muttered, clutching his chest.

Elizabeth had to admit she hadn’t thought of that. “All the more reason you should stop Rita before she takes those fools into the woods,” she snapped.

“That’s as may be, m’m, but if Mrs. Crumm is
determined to spend the day in the woods with her friends, there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it. My advice is to just let them be.”

She glared at him in frustration. How someone could manage to look like a saintly monk yet be so infuriating was beyond her. “George, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid of tackling Rita Crumm.”

“When it comes down to facing a bunch of hysterical women armed with bread knives, m’m, I’d say that a certain amount of prudence is called for,” George said carefully.

“Carving knives, George. There’s a difference.”

“Yes, m’m.”

“Lady Elizabeth’s right, George,” Sid said eagerly. “My Ethel’s bread knife has got little jagged edges on it, but the carving knife is bigger, and it’s got a strai—”

“I know what a bloody carving knife looks like,” George growled, “so pipe down Sid, and let me take care of this.” He glanced up at Elizabeth. “Please excuse us, m’m.”

“You’re excused.” Elizabeth folded her gloved hands in her lap. Obviously, as usual, she would have to take care of Rita and her troops herself. Abandoning the subject, she said tersely, “What about that army lieutenant, Jeff Thomas? Have you spoken to him?”

“Yes, m’m, I have.” George’s expression suggested he was doing his best to humor a particularly trying client. “Lieutenant Thomas has not left the base for the past week. He’s in quarantine in the sick bay. Chicken pox, I believe.”

Elizabeth straightened in her chair. Then obviously it wasn’t Jeff Thomas who was arguing with Amelia the other night. So who had spent the evening with the dead girl? Who had argued with her late at night beneath Sheila’s window? Could it have been Maurice after all?

Feeling disheartened, Elizabeth asked, “Did you question Sheila Macclesby yesterday?”

George’s face seemed to close up. “I’m not at liberty to say at this time, m’m.”

She leaned forward. “George, I’ll be seeing her sooner or later. She’ll tell me if you were out there.”

“Well, I suppose I can say that I was at the farmhouse, yes.”

“You can say you talked to her,” Sid said helpfully and received a glare for his efforts.

“Did you happen to question her son?” Elizabeth gave Sid an encouraging smile. Sometimes she learned more from Sid’s artless comments than from all of George’s ponderous reports.

“I spoke to him, yes.” George frowned. “For all the good it did. Wouldn’t say a word.”

“He’s not right in the head, m’m,” Sid put in. “That’s why he won’t talk.”

“I wish
you
wouldn’t bloody talk quite so much.” George glanced at Elizabeth. “Pardon me again, m’m.”

Elizabeth nodded. “What about the land girls? Did you talk to them?”

“Yes, m’m, I did.” George put his pencil down and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t wish to be discourteous, Lady Elizabeth, but if you ask me, all this questioning is nothing but a waste of time. We’re pretty sure this German bloke did it, and when we catch him we’ll prove it.”

“But what if he didn’t? What if someone else killed Amelia? All the time you are chasing after the German, the real murderer could be free to kill again or at the very least have time to cover his tracks. We have to consider all possibilities, George. We can’t just assume someone’s guilt because they happen to be in the vicinity.”

“Lady Elizabeth,” George began speaking very slowly and clearly, as if explaining something to an infant, “there are three things that a constable takes into account in a murder case.” He held up his fingers one by one.
“One, there’s motive. Two, there’s opportunity. Three, there’s alibi.”

Containing her irritation with remarkable constraint, Elizabeth said quietly, “As far as the German is concerned, there appears to be only one of the three you can count on—opportunity. But without the murder weapon you have no proof of anything. Have you found the axe yet?”

“No, m’m, we haven’t, but that doesn’t prove anything. According to the medical examiner, the victim was killed very late at night, and the body was then moved to its final destination. Since we have no way of knowing exactly where the victim was killed, we don’t know where to start looking for the axe.”

“That’s
if
she was killed with an axe,” Sid added.

Elizabeth snapped her gaze to his face. “There’s some doubt of that?”

Sid nodded. “The doctor doesn’t think it were an axe that split her head open. He thinks the Nazi hit her with some kind of garden tool with a blunt edge. Like a hoe or a spade.”

George sent a scathing glance at Sid. “That was supposed to be confidential information.”

“Sorry,” Sid muttered.

“Makes no difference.” George sighed. “Since we know the victim wasn’t actually killed in the woods, the German must have killed her somewhere else, then carried her into the woods after she was dead. Wherever he killed her, that’s where the murder weapon will be. He could have armed himself with a hoe or spade from any of the farms around here. Or any houses, come to that.”

“But most likely at the Macclesby farm,” Elizabeth said dryly, “considering that’s where the victim lived and had presumably arrived home late that night. Not to mention she was heard arguing with someone there. I should think that would be fairly obvious.”

George looked offended. “Naturally I conducted a search of the premises, and there were several tools in
the vicinity. None of which appeared to have been used as a murder weapon.”

Elizabeth didn’t answer. She was remembering Maisie’s missing spade that turned up later in the toolshed. If Amelia was killed at the Macclesby farm, it appeared more and more as if Maurice might be involved. On the other hand, there were also the questions of who had kept Amelia company on her last evening on earth and where she had spent her final hours.

“None of the tools I looked at,” George said, “had any signs of damage or bloodstains. That doesn’t mean the Nazi didn’t take it with him, to keep as a weapon. Then again, he could have found it anywhere. Then again, we don’t know for certain that the young lady was killed at the Macclesby farm.”

Elizabeth glanced at the large clock above George’s head. If she was going to talk Rita Crumm out of her foolhardy expedition, she had to leave now. Since both George and Sid seemed convinced the German pilot had committed the murder, there was no point in wasting her time or theirs until she had more information. In the meantime, she had a group of imprudent housewives to save.

“Well, I’ll pop in tomorrow to see if you have any more news,” she said, rising from her chair. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you would call me if there are any further developments. My housemaid has to cycle home past those woods. I’d like to know when the German is captured so that I no longer have to be concerned for her safety.”

“I’ll be sure that you get the message, m’m,” George said, stumbling to his feet. “Thank you for stopping by.”

“Not at all, George. Thank you for answering my questions.”