Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (21 page)

"Of course." The reverend waved her to a chair. "Make yourself comfortable."

She sat down, wondering how best to phrase the question she needed to ask. She didn't want to alarm the vicar unnecessarily, but if what she surmised was actually true, she would need his help.

He returned in record time and handed her the cup and saucer. "I won't join you this time. Two cups in one morning are more than enough for me."

She laughed to be polite and took a sip of the tea, then put the cup and saucer down on the wide arm of the chair. "Vicar, I was wondering, what do you keep in the basement of the church?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Keep? I don't keep anything down there, your ladyship. Well, some old records, I suppose. A couple of statues. Both broken, of course. They lost their heads when the oak tree came through
the roof during that windstorm we had two years back. That's about it."

"And that's all?"

He sat down on a chair opposite her and frowned. "To be honest, I don't exactly remember what's down there. No one's been down to the basement in more than five years. We kind of let things go down there for a while, then it got to the point when neither Deirdre nor I cared to venture down there."

Elizabeth took another sip of her tea. "Any particular reason?" she asked, as she replaced the cup in its saucer.

"Well, to be perfectly honest . . ." The vicar dropped his voice as if he were imparting a dreadful secret. "I'm afraid of rats, and my wife is afraid of dirt."

Suspecting he was poking fun at her, Elizabeth smiled. "So you've not been down to the basement in the last five years."

"That's right." The vicar narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"What about the window in the basement?"

"There's a window? Well, yes, I suppose there must be. What about it?"

"Reverend," Elizabeth said, rising to her feet, "I wonder if you'd mind accompanying me to the church basement right now."

"Now?" The vicar sent a harried glance at the grandfather clock solemnly ticking away in the corner of the room. "Well, I was going to get my hair cut—"

"It
is
rather important."

"Oh, very well, your ladyship. If you insist. Though I must confess, I can't imagine why you would want to go down there. The last time I looked, it was damp, full of cobwebs, and crawling with all kinds of nasty things. Not the sort of place a lady such as yourself would want to be." He peered at her. "Not thinking of using it for some kind of meeting, were you? I can assure you, it's far too cold—"

"I'll explain when we get down there." Elizabeth crossed her fingers in the hope that her suspicions would prove to be justified, otherwise she would have a great deal of explaining to do.

CHAPTER

16

The vicar nodded, though obviously still mystified. "Just give me a minute to fetch my coat." He ambled over to the door. "Can't imagine why everyone seems so interested in my church basement all of a sudden."

"Everyone?" Elizabeth repeated sharply.

The vicar opened the door and without looking at her mumbled, "Oh, you're not the only one to ask me about that basement. I just don't understand it."

He disappeared before she could ask him who else had asked about the basement. By the time he returned, she decided to hold the question until she'd satisfied herself that her assumptions about the place were correct.

Walking by his side across the gravel courtyard to the church, she listened to him chatter on about the badly needed repairs to the roof, while part of her mind went over everything she had learned during the past few days. The more she thought about it, the more certain
she was, and by the time the vicar had reached the door of the church, she was in a fever of impatience to find out if her deductions were correct.

The reverend led the way down the chilly hall between the vestibule and the dressing room where the choirboys changed into their angelic-looking gowns. Just beyond that he paused at a heavy door banded in steel and hesitated with a hand on the thick latch. "Are you quite sure you want to do this?" he asked, obviously hoping she'd changed her mind.

"Quite sure," Elizabeth assured him. Now that she'd come this far, she wasn't about to turn back.

"Very well." The reverend withdrew a ring of keys from his pocket and selected the only rusted one on the chain. He had to struggle to get it to turn in the lock, but finally, with a loud groan and an ugly creaking sound, the door swung open on its corroded hinges. "It's been so long since any of us have used this door," he muttered. "It's a miracle I managed to budge it at all."

Elizabeth glanced apprehensively at the steep stairs descending into the dark hole of the basement.

"I'll lead the way," the vicar announced, producing a torch from his pocket. "These steps can be somewhat tricky, your ladyship, so please be careful."

The narrow beam swept the wall on the left, then roamed over the handrail on the right to reveal part of the gloomy, cavernous room before swinging back to the stairs.

"Hold on tight as you go down," the vicar warned.

Elizabeth needed no urging on that point. She gripped the iron handrail, thankful for her leather gloves as she eyed the patches of rust and decay.

The vicar chattered cheerily as he descended one slow step at a time. Elizabeth couldn't tell if he was attempting to keep up her spirits or his own. Gingerly she followed him, being careful not to catch the heels of her sensible shoes on the edge of the uneven steps.

The church had been built several centuries earlier, and the stone staircase had been worn down by generations of feet. She tried not to think about the possibility of ghosts as she stepped down behind the stooped figure of the vicar.

Martin's rambling about seeing the ghost of her father in the great hall was giving her strange ideas. Impatient with herself, she concentrated on the more concrete possibilities that might lie ahead.

At long last she reached the bottom step and then the firm, flat stone floor of the basement. The reverend had been right about the cold. It rose from the floor and seeped from every wall in a chilling mass of foul, damp air.

As the beam from the vicar's torch roamed over the spacious room, a scuttling sound made her blood run cold. As if reading her thoughts, he said abruptly, "Well, I assume you've seen enough. Shall we go back to civilization?"

Shivering as the cold penetrated her thick coat, Elizabeth said quickly, "Not just yet. I'd like to see what's over by the window."

"My dear lady," the vicar murmured, "there's nothing over there but cobwebs, mold, and more than likely a hungry rat or two."

"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what lies under all those tarpaulins?"

The beam moved in her direction. "Which tarpaulins are you talking about?"

"The ones by the window." Elizabeth stepped past him and gestured at the far end of the room, where the small, square window allowed a murky shaft of light to penetrate the gloom. "Those tarpaulins, over there."

The beam followed the direction of her hand, but couldn't reach that far. Muttering under his breath, the vicar moved forward. The wide swath of light cut through the dark shadows, then rested on the tall, irreg
ular shapes Elizabeth had spotted through the window.

"Bless my soul!" The vicar halted, staring at the shrouded objects. "I have no idea what they could be. I certainly don't remember seeing them here when I was down here last. Of course, that was more than five years ago, and my memory isn't what it used to be."

"Then perhaps we should refresh it, Vicar." Elizabeth walked bravely down the length of the beam and grasped one end of a tarpaulin. The pool of light brightened as the vicar came up behind her. With one swift tug the heavy cover slid to the ground.

She let out her breath in triumph. Clearly visible in the beam of the light the letters on the stack of crates could easily be read. U
NITED
S
TATES
G
OVERNMENT
I
SSUE
.

"Oh, my," the vicar said, sounding breathless. "How in the world did that get here?"

For answer, Elizabeth reached up and pushed on the window. It opened out easily, on well-oiled hinges.

The reverend gasped. "Goodness gracious. Someone came in through the window?"

"That's what I think." Elizabeth closed the window again. "There must have been two of them. One inside, to take the crates from the other person who handed them through the window. Probably in the middle of the night. Any footprints on the paved path outside would be covered up by other people walking by, or washed away in the rain. It would have been easy to carry the crates up the path from the lane, where the lorry was most likely parked, out of sight from the coast road. The perfect place to store stolen goods from the American base."

"Yes, I should say it is." The reverend's face looked worried in the glow from the torch. "Do you think this has something to do with the murder of that young American in the bell tower?"

"I'm almost certain of it." Elizabeth pulled the collar
of her coat closer around her neck. "Vicar, do you think you could keep all this to yourself for a little while? I need to talk to someone before we report to the authorities. If anyone else hears about this in the meantime, the culprits could get away, and I'm sure you wouldn't want that."

"Oh, no, not at all." The vicar directed the light beam over the other tarpaulins. "There does seem to be rather a lot here. Do you think they'll come back for it?"

"I'm sure they plan to, just as soon as the guards move out of the bell tower. I imagine they are just waiting for that to happen."

A look of alarm crossed his face. "That's tomorrow. The guard told me tomorrow was his last day."

"Then we have to move fast." Elizabeth started for the steps. "Please, Vicar, not a word."

"You have my solemn oath on that, your ladyship. Not a word. Not even to Deirdre."

Satisfied, Elizabeth started back to the vicarage to retrieve her scarf. "By the way, Vicar," she said, as they retraced their steps, "who else was it asking about the basement recently?"

"It was that nice little old widow, Henrietta Jones." The vicar stopped short. "Good Lord, you surely don't think
she
was the one crawling in and out of that window, do you?"

Her suspicion confirmed, Elizabeth laughed. "Of course not. Though she's certainly slim enough, at her age the feat would be quite extraordinary. Not to mention her rheumatism. Don't worry about it, Vicar. I'm sure we'll get it all sorted out by tomorrow."

She headed back to the Manor House, her mind working out what she needed to do. First, she must talk to Earl. She would need his help if she wanted to bring this case to a positive conclusion. If all went well, she might just possibly know the identity of Kenny Morris's killer by tomorrow.

Elizabeth had to wait until after the dinner hour before the American officers finally pulled into the courtyard in their jeeps. Having kept watch for an anxious hour or two, Elizabeth abandoned protocol and wasted no time in hurrying along the great hall to catch Earl before he retired to his room.

Conscious of the curious glances from the other officers, she caught his arm the second he strode through the door. "I wonder if I could have a word with you," she announced, much to the unmasked interest of the burly American who barged in close behind him.

"Sure." Earl handed the briefcase he was carrying to his companion.

The officer took it with a smirk that made Elizabeth cringe. "How come you deserve special privileges?" he asked, giving Elizabeth a disrespectful and totally lascivious wink.

"Cut it out, Madison," Earl growled.

She should have sent Violet or Martin to summon him, Elizabeth thought belatedly. If her mother could see her fraternizing like this, she'd come back and haunt her, too. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you like this, Major Monroe," she said loudly, in a belated attempt to create a more appropriate image, "but I'm afraid that something has come up that needs your immediate attention."

His gaze sharpened. "Lead the way, Lady Elizabeth. I'm all yours."

She hurried back down the hallway, trying not to dwell on the context of his last statement.

He waited until they were out of earshot before demanding, "What's happened?"

She raised a cautioning finger to her lips. "I'll tell you when we get to the conservatory. How was your day?"

He seemed surprised by the abrupt change of topic, but answered readily enough. "Pretty good. I guess we gave the Jerries something to think about, and for once everyone came back in one piece."

She shivered, thinking about the news broadcasts on the wireless. Every time someone announced the latest figures of German planes shot down, she had to wonder how many British planes had been lost. Most of the time all they were told was that British losses were light. Whatever that meant. Even one plane down could not be considered "light" in her opinion.

She was glad to reach the cozy comfort of the conservatory. The blazing fire in the library fireplace had heated the adjoining wall, keeping the tiny conservatory snug and warm. The sherry decanter that Violet had brought up two hours ago still sat untouched by the divan, and she accepted Earl's offer to pour her a glass.

She waited until he had settled down in his favorite chair before saying warily, "This is becoming a nightly habit. I hope it's not causing any discomfort for you?"

His gaze met hers, amusement flickering across his face. "In what way?"

The question unsettled her. "Well, I suppose I meant the reaction of the other officers."

"Like just now, you mean?"

She dropped her gaze to her glass. "Yes. I don't want anyone to misunderstand our relationship."

She could almost feel the thick silence between them. After much too long a pause, Earl asked quietly, "What are you trying to tell me, Elizabeth?"

Distressed now, she hastened to reassure him. "Nothing, really. You know how people talk. I was concerned you might be put in an awkward position with your fellow officers."