Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (2 page)

Polly shrugged. "Don't worry. I'm not going to let a bighead like Sam Cutter spoil my evening. Who needs him, anyway?"

Marlene squinted at her sister. "You do. You've been seeing him every chance you can for weeks. I thought he was the love of your life."

Polly swallowed hard. "So did I."

Marlene took a sip of her gin. "Well, if you ask me, it's just as well. You know what them Yanks are like.
You can't trust 'em for one flipping minute. Besides, Sam's too old for you."

Polly blinked back a tear. "He's not neither."

"He's at least twenty-three."

"Twenty-four."

"You're only fifteen."

"He doesn't know that. He thinks I'm twenty."

"Which makes it all the worse. What was the fight about, anyway?"

"None of your business."

Marlene shrugged. "Okay, but all I can say is good riddance to bad rubbish."

Polly opened her mouth to hurl back a retort, but at that moment a skinny Yank with scars on his face leaned across the table almost nose to nose with her.

"Hi, beautiful." He bared uneven teeth in an unpleasant grin. "Where've you been all my life?"

Polly pulled back, out of range of his beery breath. "Dodging creeps like you."

"Aw, come on, you don't mean that." The Yank perched a hip on the table. "Tell you what, sugar. How about showing me the sights of this little town? We could take a beer on the beach—"

"You can take a bloody jump off the cliff," Marlene butted in. "She told you, she's not interested."

The airman's slitted gaze slid over Marlene. "Who asked you, bigmouth?"

Something about the look in the Yank's eyes made Polly's skin crawl. "Here," she said, doing her best to put some authority in her voice, "why don't you just sod off and leave us alone."

The airman leaned over her again. "What's the matter, sugar, not good enough for you, is that it? Well, maybe I should show you just how good I can be."

He put his hand on Polly's shoulder and she shook it off. "Bugger off, or I'll tell Alfie. He'll throw you out on your bloody ear."

"Aw, honey, you know he's not gonna do that—"

The Yank's words ended in a gasp as a large hand from behind him closed over his mouth. "Maybe not, but I sure will," said a gruff voice.

Polly felt a rush of excitement at the sight of the tall American standing behind her tormentor. "Sam!"

Sam ignored her, his grim gaze fixed on the man in his grasp. "Get lost, Kenny. Go find someone else to bug."

Kenny's chin lifted. "Who's gonna make me?"

"I am." Sam pushed his face into Kenny's. "So make it easy on yourself, okay?"

Afraid there might be trouble, Polly said quickly, "It's all right, Sam. He wasn't doing no harm. He was just leaving."

"See?" Kenny bared his teeth in another grin. "She liked it. You're outta luck, soldier. Find yourself another girl. This one's mine."

Polly straightened her back. "Here, I never said that."

Sam grabbed Kenny by the collar. "You lay one hand on her, Morris, and you're dead."

"Tell him, sugar," Kenny sneered. "Tell him how you've been begging me to put my hands on you."

Polly gasped, then gasped again when Sam brought back his fist and smashed it into Kenny's leering face. With a howl Kenny leaped forward and the two men went down, throwing wild punches at each other.

The Yanks at the piano stopped singing and surged torward them. Polly jumped to her feet, but lost sight of Sam as the men crowded around the two wrestling on the floor.

Marlene grabbed her hand and gave it a sharp tug. "Come on, Polly, we'd better get out of here. If Ma hears about this, she'll kill us both."

"Wait, I want to talk to Sam. I've got to see if he's all right." Polly struggled to see what was going on inside the circle of shouting and gesturing men.

"Come
on
," Marlene yelled, and dragged her unwilling sister toward the door. "We'll catch hell from Ma if we don't get out of here now."

There wasn't much Polly could do but go along with her. Marlene was right, she'd be up to her neck in trouble if Ma found out they were down there and started a fight. In any case, she couldn't very well speak to Sam while he was scrapping. All she could hope was that he wouldn't get hurt.

A warm feeling crept over her as she scurried along the street in an effort to keep up with Marlene. Her Sam had fought for her. That was the best thing anyone had ever done for her. That was something she'd never forget her whole blooming life.

Sundays in Sitting Marsh were usually quite peaceful. People got up late, went to church, tended their gardens in the summer, and hibernated indoors in the winter. Occasionally a fete or a garden show would break up the monotony, but for the most part, Sundays in the village were pretty much guaranteed to be uneventful.

This Sunday was no exception. Elizabeth spent the day catching up on her correspondence—blissfully without the distraction of Polly's chatter. Sundays were her part-secretary, part-housemaid's day off, and Elizabeth made the most of it.

Early that evening she exercised George and Gracie, exerting more energy than both puppies combined chasing them away from the piles of raked leaves, and out of the flower beds and ornamental shrubs. Desmond, her gardener, had already expressed his outrage at having to clean up after the dogs. Damage to the gardens would certainly add fuel to his fire.

Now that the nights were drawing in, she had less time to spend outdoors. The chill in the air was becoming more pronounced, and if she didn't organize the cricket match soon, it would be too cold to play.

She fell asleep that night thinking about the match, and was woken up out of a dream where she was umpiring a game played entirely by dogs. At first she couldn't think what had awakened her, until she heard the distinct sound of bells. She recognized them instantly. The church bells in the spire of St. Matthew's.

Sleepily she reached for her bedside lamp and switched it on. The hands on her alarm clock pointed to five past three. While she was still struggling to make sense of why church bells would ring in the middle of the night, a heavy pounding startled her into full consciousness.

"Lizzie!" Violet's voice called out urgently. "Lizzie, get up! It's the bells."

Elizabeth stumbled out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown from the back of a chair, and tugged it on as she crossed the thick carpet to the door. She had never locked her bedroom door until a contingent of American airmen had been billeted at the Manor House by the war office. Although she was quite sure that the American officers were all perfect gentlemen, the sense of security the locked door gave her allowed her to sleep more peacefully.

Violet's thin face was chalk white when Elizabeth threw open the door. Her frizzy gray hair stood out straight from her head. Obviously she hadn't had a chance to brush it.

Alarmed by the sense of urgency, Elizabeth demanded sharply, "What is it? Is it an air raid? What's happened?"

Violet clutched the neck of her pink candlewick dressing gown. "It's the signal, Lizzie. Don't you remember? The signal for an invasion. It's the Germans. They've come for us. They're invading the village."

CHAPTER

2

Martin had insisted on getting fully dressed in his usual dark suit and waistcoat, and by the time Elizabeth had convinced him he was safe at the house with Violet for the time being, it seemed quite likely the entire village would be overrun with gun-waving German soldiers.

She was immensely relieved, therefore, upon reaching St. Matthew's, to discover that the disoriented crowd milling around the churchyard consisted of mostly villagers and a handful of Americans huddled together next to their jeeps.

The bells had ceased their mournful summons, and the full moon cast an eerie glow over the scene, throwing the tall spire of St. Matthew's into a dark silhouette against the clear night sky.

Elizabeth spied Rita Crumm, dressed in baggy slacks and a thick sweater, bellowing orders to a shivering group of housewives. Every one of them held some kind
of garden implement in her hand. Rakes and shovels seemed the most popular, though Florrie Evans, the most insipid of Rita's homegrown army, clung to a frying pan with all the determination of potted shrimp.

Rita, who fancied herself as a sort of self-made general, was apparently doing her best to organize her reluctant troops into a feasible barrier against the advancing enemy. Rita was under the mistaken impression that given enough determination, she could tackle the entire German army single-handedly. She made no secret of her inherent belief that her war efforts would exemplify every glorified heroine in history.

Right now all she appeared to be achieving was a sore throat from yelling at her confused entourage.

The few men left in the village, those too old, too unhealthy, or too valuable for civilian life to join the military, were assembled at the far edge of the crowd and seemed to be earnestly discussing the proper procedure for withstanding an invasion.

As yet there were no signs of the only real official form of authority—the constabulary, which wasn't all that surprising considering the entire police force of Sitting Marsh consisted of two elderly and somewhat dense constables dragged out of retirement after the army had snagged the vast majority of England's able-bodied men.

Not too far from where Elizabeth parked her motorcycle—her sole means of transportation—Polly and her sister, Marlene, stood arguing with their mother, who was no doubt insisting that the girls return to the security of their home.

No one seemed to know what was going on, and deciding that someone needed to take charge, Elizabeth went in search of Major Earl Monroe. As lady of the manor, she was duty bound to supervise proceedings until the police arrived. She wasn't quite sure why she felt that the commanding officer of her enforced houseguests would be the most help under the circumstances, but it
was an awfully good excuse to seek him out. She hadn't seen the major alone in almost a week, and she missed his enjoyable company.

It wasn't until she caught sight of him climbing down from a jeep—in the same moment he saw her—that she realized she probably wasn't looking her best. She hadn't had time to do much with her hair, which, instead of being neatly arranged on her head in its accustomed French roll, was tucked rather haphazardly into a hairnet.

Her face was completely naked of powder and lipstick, she had been unable to find clean stockings that weren't laddered, and the pleated black skirt she wore under her gray wool coat needed ironing. Her mother, the late Lady Hartleigh and pinnacle of good taste, would turn in her grave.

It was too late to worry about her appearance now, however, since Major Monroe was already striding toward her. He greeted her with his usual casual salute. "Glad you're here, Lady Elizabeth. People are sure getting jittery."

A tremendous feeling of well-being washed over her as she answered his greeting. Somehow Earl Monroe always made her feel on top of the world, no matter what disaster was rocking it at that moment. In fact, such was the effect he had on her, she was constantly reminding herself that the major had a wife and family back in the States, and could be of no possible importance in her life. Not that it seemed to help much.

"Does anyone know what's going on?" She gestured at the crowd. "Apparently everyone's talking about an invasion. If the Germans are indeed invading us, they obviously haven't reached the village yet."

Earl peered up the road in the direction of the beach as if he expected a battalion of tanks to come rolling around the bend. "That's what I heard. That's why we're here. I sent a couple of guys to check out the coast road. They should be back any minute."

Elizabeth glanced at the church. "Does anyone know who rang the bells? Have you seen the vicar?"

"I saw him a minute ago talking to that woman with the loud voice." Earl nodded in Rita's direction. "She's some lady. I could hear her a mile down the road."

Elizabeth sighed. "Take no notice of Rita. . . . she's quite harmless, actually."

She winced as Rita screeched yet another order. The housewives shuffled into an uneven line, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Earl grinned. "Rakes and brooms against bayonets. You gotta admire their guts."

"Or pity their stupidity," Elizabeth said briskly. "I—" She broke off as the roar of an engine echoed from farther down the road.

The sound effectively silenced everyone, even Rita, as they all turned to face the coast road. For a moment Elizabeth felt sick with fright, until she realized that the German army would hardly advance with a single vehicle. The travelers had to be Earl's men.

Nevertheless, she held her breath as she watched the jeep approach. From somewhere behind her she heard a quavery voice wail, "Oo, 'eck," and Rita's sharp voice answering, "Hush! Stand your ground, ladies."

"You stand it," someone muttered. "I'm going back to my kids."

A chorus of "Me, too" followed the statement, and a clatter suggested the weapons had been cast to the ground as the women scurried out of the line of fire.

Rita's howl of protest died as the jeep pulled to a halt in front of Earl and two American officers jumped out.

Elizabeth recognized one of them as Sam Cutter, the young man who was responsible for Polly's constant state of bemusement these days. He lifted his hand in a sloppy salute. "Nothing going on down there, sir. False alarm, I reckon." As he turned his head, Elizabeth noticed a dark bruise just under his left eye. Or maybe it
was a shadow. In that light she couldn't be sure.

"That's what I figured," Earl said. "Thanks, Sam."

Elizabeth relaxed her shoulders. "That's a relief." She turned and waved at the silent crowd. "All right, everyone, back to your beds. There's no invasion tonight."

"Are you quite sure, your ladyship?" Rita demanded.

She actually sounded disappointed, Elizabeth thought sourly. "Quite sure, Rita. The invasion would have come from the beach, and there's only one road into town. If the Germans have launched an invasion, they are not advancing on Sitting Marsh."