Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (10 page)

"We had better fetch the motorcycle ourselves." Elizabeth fastened the top button of her coat. "It will be quicker than looking for Desmond. Besides, once he starts talking, it's hard to get rid of him."

"Yes, m'm." Polly trudged along at her side, head down. She seemed to have forgotten her momentary pleasure at being promoted to rent collector.

Elizabeth did her best to cheer her up. "The tour on Saturday should be rather fun, I think, showing off the Manor House. You and Violet should enjoy that."

"Yes, m'm. I just hope I can get it all clean by then."

Elizabeth felt a stab of guilt. She had put an awful lot on the shoulders of the young girl lately. "Polly, I promise you I will try to find someone to help out, at least until I can find someone permanent. It's so terribly difficult to find servants these days."

"Yes, m'm." Polly was quiet for a moment, and only the sound of their footsteps crunching on gravel disturbed the twittering of the birds above their heads. Then Polly burst out, "Maybe if you didn't call them servants, m'm, someone might be more inclined to take the job."

Astonished, Elizabeth stopped short. "Honestly? Are people really that sensitive nowadays?"

Polly stared at her boots. "Yes, m'm. That's what I think anyway. I never liked being called a servant, even though I am one, I suppose."

"Oh, dear." Elizabeth stared at her. "Is that why you wanted to work in the office, so that I wouldn't call you a servant?"

Polly looked up then, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. "Oh, no, m'm. It weren't that at all. I didn't
really mind doing the housework, and I do love working in the office, honest I do. It's what I always wanted. It's just that nowadays the girls don't like being called servants. It makes them feel . . . well, sort of cheap, if you know what I mean." Her blush deepened. "Not that I think working at the Manor House is cheap, m'm, I just . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she traced a path in the gravel with the toe of her boot.

"I think I know exactly what you mean," Elizabeth said quietly. "And you are right, Polly. Young women today have so many more opportunities open to them. Especially now, with all our men away from home fighting the war and women taking over their jobs. If I want to hire someone to help Violet with the housework, I shall have to make the job sound more appealing. What do you suggest? The trouble is, I can't afford to pay them much."

Polly looked so pleased that she was being consulted, Elizabeth congratulated herself. "Well," she said slowly, "I think if you were to offer the job to the women in London with room and board, I think they'd shove each other out the way to get down here just to be near the Yanks."

"Oh, my." Elizabeth clutched her throat. There was more behind that suggestion than she wanted to contemplate.

"It's just an idea, m'm,"

Elizabeth took a deep breath. She needed to find someone, and soon. One had to do what one had to do. "And it's a good one, Polly. I shall notify the London Labour Exchange as soon as I get back. Meanwhile I'll see if Bessie can loan me one of her girls to help with the housework in time for the tour."

"That would be very nice, m'm. Thank you."

"Yes, well, here we are." Elizabeth walked into the low-roofed building that had once stabled the horses that pulled the carriages for the occupants of the manor
house. There were no horses in the stables these days. They had all been sold to help pay Harry Compton's debts. Now there was nothing but a few bales of hay and some rusted and worn tackle hanging on the walls.

Doing her best to ignore the familiar melancholy she felt whenever entering the abandoned stables, Elizabeth made her way to the stall that housed her motorcycle. She stowed her handbag into the compartment behind the saddle, then grabbed the handles to wheel the machine out into the pale sunlight.

Thin clouds drifted across the sky, signaling rain on the way. Elizabeth hoped it would hold off until she returned home. Wet weather was a definite drawback to riding a motorcycle.

"Hop in," she told Polly, who was eyeing the narrow confines of the sidecar with doubt in her face.

"I've never ridden in a sidecar before, m'm."

"Oh, it's fun. You'll love it," Elizabeth assured her.

Looking entirely unconvinced, Polly hitched her skirt above her knees and climbed into the tiny compartment. Carefully she lowered herself onto the seat and tucked her legs into the space in front of her.

Elizabeth waited until she looked settled, then eased her leg over the saddle. "Hold tight," she said cheerfully, and slammed her foot down hard. The machine spluttered, then coughed, then let out a roar as it shuddered into life.

Polly let out a little squeal as Elizabeth gave it full throttle, and then they were away, bouncing over the rutted courtyard to the relatively smooth surface of the driveway.

As they swept down the hill, Elizabeth cast a glance at her passenger now and then, but the look of terror on Polly's face remained there until they came to a gentle stop in front of a row of cottages at the edge of the town.

Elizabeth silenced the roar of the engine and smiled at her secretary. "There. Nothing to it."

"Yes, m'm. Thank you, m'm." Polly heaved herself out of the sidecar and stood clutching her purse to her chest as if afraid she was about to lose it.

"You have the list I gave you?"

"Yes, m'm."

"It shouldn't take you too long to collect the rents. It largely depends on how many cups of tea you accept from the tenants."

"I could use a cup of tea right now." Polly gave a ghost of her usual grin. "Begging your pardon, m'm, but that was worse than riding in Sam's jeep. My legs feel like worn-out elastic, they do."

Elizabeth felt somewhat affronted. "You were perfectly safe, Polly. I'm very careful on the road."

"Oh, it weren't that, m'm," Polly said hastily. "It was just that I'd never ridden in a sidecar before, nor on a motorcycle, come to that. It takes some getting used to, I suppose."

"Yes, I suppose it does." Only slightly appeased, Elizabeth tucked the stray end of her scarf into her coat.

"I don't think I could ever ride a motorcycle on my own like you do," Polly said earnestly. "I think you ride it really, really well, m'm. That I do."

"Thank you, Polly." Reassured now, Elizabeth kick-started the engine again. "I'll pick you up at the crossroads about eleven o'clock." She rode off, forgetting all about Polly's frazzled nerves as she headed down the high street toward Bodkins the grocer's.

The queue outside the little shop stretched all the way around the corner when she got there. Parking her motorcycle across the street, she studied the straggly line of housewives with some trepidation.

It really wasn't fitting for the lady of the manor to queue up with the rest of the villagers to enter the shop. After all, it wasn't as if she were actually buying anything there. On the other hand, in these days of rationing
especially, it was tantamount to murder to walk past a line of people to the head of the queue.

Elizabeth squared her shoulders. Whether they liked it or not, she had a certain image to uphold, which she had already compromised on more than one occasion. Since she had spotted Rita Crumm in the queue, she would not give that woman another opportunity to take a stab at her with one of her well-aimed barbs.

Holding her head erect, Elizabeth strode across the street and into the shop, only pausing long enough to return several greetings from the queue with a regal wave of her hand.

Percy Bodkins was behind the counter, looking harassed and out of sorts. His usual smile was missing when he caught sight of her. In fact, he seemed even more distressed to find the lady of the manor standing in front of his counter. "Lady Elizabeth," he said, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. "This is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

Elizabeth cast an inquisitive eye over the contents of the glass-fronted counter. "Good morning, Percy. I was wondering if you had any of those little chocolate chips that one puts in biscuits these days. Violet will be coming down for our weekly rations tomorrow and I know she'd like to get some."

Percy looked blank. "Chocolate, your ladyship? All I have is those little bars of chocolate over there. I don't know anything about putting them in biscuits, though."

The little knot of customers in the shop had grown amazingly quiet. Elizabeth raised her hand and pinched two fingers together. "They're little round things. Chocolate chips, I think Bessie called them."

Percy shook his head, though he couldn't quite meet her gaze. "Sorry, your ladyship. Haven't the faintest idea what they are."

"Well, that's all right." She gave him a dazzling smile. "What about peaches?"

"Peaches?"

"Peaches," Elizabeth repeated firmly.

"Sorry, m'm. No peaches."

"That's a pity, Percy."

"Yes, m'm. It is."

"I was rather hoping you'd know where I could get some."

"Sorry, your ladyship. Can't help you, I'm afraid."

Realizing that this conversation was going absolutely nowhere, Elizabeth gave up. Obviously, if she was going to get any information from Percy, she'd have to find a better place and a better way to do it. "Well, I shall just have to tell Violet to find something else to put in the biscuits."

Percy frowned. "Peaches in biscuits?"

"No, Percy. Chocolate chips. Are you quite sure you've never heard of them?"

Percy's gaze rested about two inches above her head. "Quite sure, your ladyship."

"Very well. Thank you, and good day to you, Percy." Elizabeth nodded and smiled at the women standing behind her, then made her way past them to the door. As she passed the window display, something caught her eye. She paused, frowning at a brace of chickens residing on a bed of green straw. The same kind of straw she'd spotted in the cricket pavilion.

Obviously Percy wasn't being completely honest with her. Something else was going on at the pavilion, other than a haven for lovers or private parties. And Percy Bodkins apparently knew more about it than he was willing to admit.

CHAPTER

8

Elizabeth continued on her way, wondering what she should do about her discovery. She didn't like it one bit. On the other hand, dealing in black market goods wasn't really hurting anyone, and could very well benefit the villagers who had been sorely deprived of wholesome food.

She had been known to bend the rules a little herself in order to help out the less privileged. Maybe she should simply let it lie. It was doubtful that either Sid or George, being little more than reluctant remnants of Sitting Marsh's local constabulary, would notice that the villagers were eating a bit better nowadays. Even if they did detect an excess of formerly unobtainable edibles floating around town, it was unlikely they would do anything about it.

Still absorbed in the problem, Elizabeth almost missed the elderly lady emerging from the post office across the
street. By the time she recognized Henrietta Jones, the old woman was hobbling off at a surprising speed down the road.

Without thinking, Elizabeth called out after her, intending to invite her to share a pot of tea in Bessie's bakeshop. Henrietta, of course, failed to hear her, and Elizabeth watched her turn the corner and disappear. Someone, it seemed, had been kind enough to give Henrietta a lift into town. Perhaps she needn't have worried about her after all.

Polly seemed a little more cheerful on the way back, and even managed to carry on a shouted conversation as they rode sedately up the hill to the Manor House.

Everyone had paid their rents, much to Elizabeth's relief. She hated having to remind her tenants they owed money. It didn't happen very often, but when it did, she felt embarrassed by the fact that she needed the money every bit as much as they did. Since she had turned over more of the accounting to Polly, she had impressed upon the girl the need to keep her financial position a secret from everyone.

The villagers looked up to the lady of the manor, relying on her to take care of them in times of crisis, to offer them advice and solutions to their problems, and to protect their homes and their way of life. If they knew that she was struggling to keep the Manor House solvent in the face of mounting debts, they would lose confidence in her. She would lose their respect.

Since she had a tradition to uphold, established by a long line of noble ancestors, and in view of the fact that she was the first woman to hold such a position, she would go to great lengths to keep her unfortunate and, with any luck temporary, lack of funds a secret. Therefore Polly was on notice that should the news leak out, she would be immediately dismissed.

Major Monroe was the only outsider who knew about
her state of affairs, and she could trust him implicitly to be discreet.

Thinking of Earl, she wondered what he thought about his squadron leader's arrest. She was rather anxious to talk to him about that, but the meeting would have to wait for now. First she had to deal with the American investigators, and she wasn't looking forward to it at all.

When the two men were ushered into the library that afternoon by a disapproving Martin, Elizabeth was instantly reminded of the American movies she'd seen about the FBI.

Both men wore trilbies, which Elizabeth had recently learned were called fedoras by the Americans. They also wore raincoats over their uniforms, belted at the waist. She had never been able to understand why American men tied their belts instead of buckling them. Then again, she was beginning to realize there were many more differences between the two nations than she'd ever suspected, including the language.

She greeted the two investigators with her usual graceful charm, but unlike the American officers she'd previously encountered, these two looked particularly unimpressed.

"We'd like to talk to your secretary," the taller one said, after introducing himself as Captain Johansen.

"I've sent for her," Elizabeth said, somewhat haughtily. She was determined to keep up appearances, no matter what. "Please take a seat. Can I have Martin take your coats?"