Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (13 page)

"Thank you, m'm." Desmond heaved the brush into the fireplace and began nudging it up the chimney, while Elizabeth watched in concern as thick black flakes of soot began to fall. The long handle gradually disappeared, and Desmond paused to screw in the extension. "Shouldn't be long now, m'm," he said, a little breathlessly.

"Good show." Elizabeth looked at Violet, whose expression suggested that at any minute total disaster was about to strike. "Keep an eye on Martin, Violet," she said, giving her an encouraging nod. "Let us know the second he signals."

Violet glanced out of the window. "I don't know how the old fool's going to see anything with his glasses perched on top of his head. In any case, he's looking at the wrong chimney."

Elizabeth sighed. "Maybe you should go down there with him. Polly can stand by the window. Desmond appears to be managing quite well by himself."

Violet huffed her annoyance, but hurried out of the room.

"I don't know as that is strictly true, m'm," Desmond said, his voice barely intelligible. He went on grunting and pushing, and Elizabeth peered into the fireplace at him.

"What isn't strictly true, Desmond?"

"That I'm managing by meself."

More grunting and pushing ensued, while Polly muttered, "Oh, crikey."

"Is there a problem, Desmond?" Elizabeth crossed her fingers and tried not to hear Violet's voice saying,
I told you so
.

"Just a slight one, your ladyship. I do believe I could use a little of that help you were talking about, so to speak."

Polly groaned.

Elizabeth eyed the black flakes snowing down on Desmond's back. Reluctantly, she asked, "What can we do to help?"

Desmond grunted again, and eased himself out of the fireplace. Polly gasped. Elizabeth could hardly blame her. Desmond looked as if he were taking part in a minstrel show. The peak of his cap was thick with soot, and his pale eyes seemed to glow eerily in his grimy face. "It's stuck, m'm," he said with a note of defeat. "Can't budge it at all."

"Oh, dear." Elizabeth glanced at Polly, who glared at Desmond as if she'd like to throttle him. "Well, I suppose we'll have to help. Maybe if all three of us pull on it?"

Polly gave her a look of desperation. "What, with me best jumper on and all?"

Elizabeth wasn't too keen on wading into that filthy fireplace wearing one of her good silk blouses, either, but right then she could see no alternative. "It's all for a good cause," she told Polly. "Try to remember that."

"Can't we wear something over our clothes, m'm?"

Elizabeth thought for a moment. "I think Violet has some of my father's old nightshirts tucked away in the oak chest. I'll see if I can find them. Polly, you go down to the hall stand and collect some scarves and gloves. That old felt farmer's hat will help, and I think there's a beret down there."

Polly rushed from the room, and Elizabeth bent over to look at Desmond, who was still crouched in the fireplace. "We'll be back in a tick," she told him. "Meanwhile, do your best to get the dratted thing loose, there's a good man."

"I'll do what I can, your ladyship."

Obviously he didn't have much hope of success in that quarter, judging by the tone in his voice. Hoping for the best anyway, Elizabeth hurried up to the east wing, where the oak chest was stored.

Several minutes later she returned to the library with the nightshirts. Polly was already there, a beret crammed on her head to protect her hair. Desmond was still tugging fruitlessly on the handle of the brush, dislodging more soot with every grunt.

Elizabeth handed Polly one of the long red flannel gowns, and pulled the other one over her head. Polly had brought the soft felt farmer's hat and Elizabeth pulled it down over her hair, then tugged on the gloves Polly gave her. Feeling somewhat like an overstuffed scarecrow, she smiled at her grim-looking secretary. "Ready?"

Polly squared her shoulders. "Yes, mum."

Beginning to enjoy the little adventure, Elizabeth said heartily, "Then to battle!"

She edged into the fireplace and grasped the handle of the brush just above Desmond's grimy hands. Polly squeezed in beside her and grabbed hold of the remaining visible part of the handle.

"Thank heavens this fireplace was built several centuries ago," Elizabeth said, her voice echoing up the chimney. "If this had been a modern fireplace, we wouldn't have managed to get Desmond in here, much less all three of us."

"If I may suggest, m'm," Desmond said, "on the count of three we all pull together."

"Good idea," Elizabeth took a firm grip on the brush. "You count off, Desmond."

"Right, m'm. Are we ready, then? One, two,
three
!"

The last word squeezed out of his lungs as he put his weight on the handle. Elizabeth tugged and tugged, while Polly made a straining sound in her throat.

Soot fell thicker, and Polly spat, then hastily apologized. "Sorry, m'm."

Elizabeth had no breath to answer her. She was afraid to breathe in, and the effort of holding the air in her lungs while hauling on the handle was making her head spin.

Then the handle gave a little shudder and a jerk. "It's coming, m'm," Desmond panted and then, all at once, indeed it came—in a swirling, choking, blinding cascade of soot.

Polly shrieked and leaped out of the fireplace, sending Elizabeth sprawling. She couldn't see, and tugged off her gloves to wipe the black dust out of her eyes.

Struggling to sit up, she heard an all too familiar voice. "Excuse me, Lady Elizabeth? I couldn't find anyone so I. . . What the—? Are you okay?"

Miserably she looked up into the concerned face of Earl Monroe.

For a long moment he stared at her in disbelief, then, much to her mortification, he threw back his head with an unrestrained roar of laughter.

She sat there, face grimed with soot, an old felt hat dragged over her hair, shapeless red flannel gown bundled up around her knees, and felt like howling.

"We made a bit of a mess, m'm," Polly said unnecessarily.

Elizabeth tightened her mouth and glared at Earl. "Don't stand there giggling at me, you idiot. Help me up. Please."

Earl stopped laughing and held out his hand. "Sorry, your ladyship."

Elizabeth grabbed on tight, and with what little dignity she had left, scrambled to her feet. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it? At least we got the brush out."

Earl studied the fireplace, where Desmond was unscrewing the extension on the brush. "Good thing you moved the rugs out of the way." He looked back at her feet. "I suggest you not walk across them in those shoes, though."

The door flew open just then and Violet marched in. "Polly! Why weren't you watching out the window? There I am, jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box and you're . . . not . . . there . . ." Her voice gradually trailed off as she surveyed the three would-be chimney sweeps. "Goodness gracious me! What in the world happened?"

"We were sweeping the chimney," Elizabeth said calmly. "One's bound to get a little grubby, Violet. It's only to be expected."

For once Violet had no answer. In fact, right then the only sound in the room was Earl's raucous laughter.

CHAPTER

10

Violet, in her usual bossy way, quickly took command of the situation. In no time at all she had the filthy nightshirts bundled up under her arm, ordered Polly to collect the hats, gloves, and shoes, and marched along the hall with her to the laundry chute.

Desmond, after removing his own shoes, announced that he could manage the rest of the chimneys on his own. "I know what I was doing wrong now, your ladyship. Wrong size brush, that was it. Now that I know what I'm doing, I think I'll manage it all better on me own."

"Well, Elizabeth said doubtfully, "if you're sure."

"I'm positive, m'm. Don't you worry." He trudged out of the room, the blackened brush under his arm.

Elizabeth looked around the library and sighed. "Now I'll have to get help for Polly. She'll never get all this cleaned up by the weekend." Aware that Earl was watch
ing her with amusement still brimming in his eyes, she self-consciously wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "I'd better get this mess cleaned off my face."

Earl tilted his head and regarded her with a quizzical expression. "Oh, I don't know. Kind of suits you."

She made a face at him, but before she could come back with a retort, the telephone jangled on her office desk. She waited a moment or two to see if someone would pick it up, but when it continued to ring, she said with a sigh, "I'd better answer that."

He nodded. "I've gotta run, anyway."

It wasn't until after he'd left the room that she remembered he hadn't said why he'd been looking for her in the library.

The voice that answered her breathless greeting on the telephone was something of a shock. "Just wanted to confirm things with you, Lady Elizabeth," Brian Forrester announced. "I'm estimating our time of arrival on Saturday at roughly one o'clock. Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours to tour the Manor House, do you think?"

Taken off guard, Elizabeth took a moment to compose her thoughts. "That sounds about right, Mr. Forrester." She hesitated for a moment. "By the way, a gentleman was asking for you. I think he was an officer from the American base here in Sitting Marsh. Did he get in touch with you?"

Her heart skipped a nervous beat when the pause went on too long, then Forrester said carefully, "As a matter of fact, your ladyship, he just left. Asked me a lot of questions about the night that Yank was murdered. Unfortunately, I was unable to help him. Didn't see a thing."

"I see." Disappointed, Elizabeth realized she'd been hoping that Forrester would be arrested, thereby clearing Sam Cutter of suspicion. Since it appeared that Forrester
wasn't a suspect after all, prospects did not seem too optimistic for Polly's boyfriend.

Elizabeth could not shake the niggling guilt that maybe she wasn't doing enough to find out what happened that night in the bell tower. She had more or less promised Earl she would ask questions in the village, and she'd been far too lax about it.

Immediately after lunch she rode her motorcycle into town, determined to make amends for her lack of effort in the investigation. Although Earl hadn't said anything, now that he was officially ordered off the case, she was the only chance he had left to help clear Sam Cutter. That's if the young officer really was innocent.

Both Polly and Earl had seemed convinced that the young man hadn't killed Kenny Morris, but she had only their word to go on. She needed more information, and there was only one way to get it.

She spent most of the afternoon talking to various people in the village, most of whom had never met Sam Cutter or Kenny Morris. When she stopped by the hairdresser's shop, however, she had better luck.

Marlene Barnett, Polly's sister, was eager to talk to her. Leaving her customer seated under the hair dryer, she gave Elizabeth her version of the fight in the Tudor Arms.

"If Sam hadn't been there that night, Lady Elizabeth," Marlene declared, "I don't know what would have happened to Polly. That Kenny Morris was scaring us both, that I do know. Sam took care of him, though." She caught her breath, then hurried on, "Oh, I didn't mean he killed him or nothing like that, your ladyship. Sam would never be that mean. Our Polly knows him really well, and she wouldn't go with no one that was mean."

"Did you happen to see Sam the night of the murder?" Elizabeth asked her. "Before you saw him at the church, that is."

Marlene shook her head. "No, m'm. The first time I saw Sam was when we all went down there. He was with the rest of the Yanks. I did see Kenny Morris, though. I was letting the cat out before I went to bed that night and I heard a jeep coming down the road. It was Kenny. The moon was really bright that night and he passed right by me. He must have been on his way to the church."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Do you know what time that was?"

"Not exactly." Marlene glanced at the clock on the wall. "Must have been around two o'clock, though. I was up late that night, reading my library book. I fell asleep in the armchair. I must have been really tired. I don't usually do that. Anyway, I woke up and the fire had died down. I noticed the time then, it was a quarter to two. I made meself some Ovaltine and then put the cat out. Couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes."

"And Sam's jeep wasn't outside the house when Kenny went by?"

"No, m'm. I would have seen him sitting there."

"What did you do after you let the cat out?"

"Went to bed, m'm, didn't I. Not that it did much good. An hour later we was all up chasing down to the church, scared to death there was an invasion."

"And you didn't hear the jeep come back again?"

Marlene frowned. "Well, I thought I heard it, but I was half asleep at the time, so I can't be sure."

"Well, thank you for your help, Marlene." Elizabeth glanced at the row of women seated under the hair dryers, all of whom, she suspected, were pretending to read their magazines while straining their ears to overhear her conversation with the hairdresser. "If you should hear anything at all about that night that you think might be of interest, please ring me at the Manor House."

Marlene nodded. "I'd tell Polly, in any case. She could pass it on."

"Oh, of course."

Elizabeth turned to go, then paused as Marlene said quietly, "Lady Elizabeth, I hope you find out who did it. Sam Cutter's a good bloke and our Polly thinks the world of him. I know he's not the one that did it. Please help him."

Elizabeth smiled. "I'll do my best, Marlene. That's all I can promise."

Marlene seemed relieved. "That's all I can ask, m'm."

It could have been Sam's jeep that Marlene heard as she was falling asleep, Elizabeth thought, as she left the little shop. Then again, Marlene could have imagined it in her anxiety to help clear Sam's name. So far, all she had were words, opinions, speculations.

The one person who had a definite motive and opportunity was Sam Cutter. The only other person who might have had a reason to want Kenny dead had apparently been cleared by the investigators. Unless she came up with some solid proof, Sam could be in serious trouble.