Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (4 page)

Polly straightened her shoulders as if she were ready to take on the world. "Yes, m'm."

Sensing that the young girl had nothing useful to add,
Elizabeth changed the subject. "Well, let's get on with the work, then. I'd like to get these taken care of before Mr. Forrester arrives."

She sorted through the invoices, wondering what was so important that Earl Monroe couldn't have waited until he got back to the Manor House that evening to tell her.

She didn't have too much time to worry about Earl, since Brian Forrester arrived shortly before eleven, taking her away from the task of making arrangements to tour the cricket pavilion. Since the pavilion had been out of use for so long, she was concerned about the state of the establishment. If they were going to have a cricket match in the next week or two, no doubt there would be some pretty drastic cleaning to be done.

When Martin announced the arrival of her visitor, she was somewhat irritated at being disturbed.

It didn't help when Martin muttered out of the side of his mouth as he opened the door of the library, "Bit of a pompous ass, madam, if you ask me."

"No one did, Martin," she reminded him. "Ask Violet to send up some coffee and biscuits, please."

"Yes, madam." Martin's expression suggested that Violet's coffee was far superior for the likes of Brian Forrester, but he had the good grace not to voice his opinion.

Elizabeth fixed a smile on her face and swept into the room, while Martin announced in his quavery voice, "Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton. Mr. Forrester, your ladyship."

A thick-set man rose from his chair and turned to face her. She couldn't help noticing the raw redness of his cheeks and nose, suggesting that the man had a strong attachment to alcohol. His sandy hair was sprinkled liberally with gray, and his light blue eyes seemed to disappear beneath heavy, drooping lids.

His pale gaze was quite insolent as it lingered over
her from head to toe, leaving her with the unpleasant feeling of having been violated in some way. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, your ladyship," he said, giving her an old-fashioned bow that seemed only to ridicule her.

"Mr. Forrester. Nice of you to come."

"Nice of you to invite me, your ladyship. Very nice home you have here. Very nice. I especially like the dark paneling." He threw out his hand in an expansive gesture. "Very effect—" He broke off with a wince and rubbed his shoulder.

Elizabeth felt compelled to ask, "Something wrong?"

Forrester shook his head. "Slight sprain, that's all. I was moving some furniture for one of the old-agers. Old age creeping up on me as well, I suppose."

His loud laugh irritated her, and she said quickly, "I understand you want to escort a tour of my home."

"That's right, Lady Elizabeth. That
is
the right title, is it not?"

Elizabeth inclined her head in graceful acknowledgment. "So, when can we expect you, and how many?"

Forrester rubbed his pudgy hands together. "Ah, well, I have a busload of elderly people just dying to see your beautiful home, your ladyship. Just dying. You'll like our old-agers. Terrific group of people they are. So grateful for everything I do for them. Makes it a pleasure to take them out. That it does, indeed."

The unexpected revelation surprised her. "You take them out often?"

"As often as I can. I like to get them out of London now and then. For most of them I'm the only person outside their homes who cares whether they live or die. Sad, isn't it?"

Elizabeth had to agree. "Very sad. I'm glad that we can provide a respite for them."

"Of course, if they could all meet you personally, that
would really mean a lot to them, your ladyship. I'm sure they won't be any trouble."

"Regretfully, Mr. Forrester, my duties prevent me from socializing with the sightseers. My private quarters will be off limits, I'm afraid, and I should warn you that the war office has billeted several American officers with us, which will mean the east wing is also out of bounds."

Forrester's bushy eyebrows raised. "Americans? In the Manor House? Surely you can't be serious?"

"Perfectly serious, Mr. Forrester. One has to make sacrifices nowadays. Providing accommodations for some of the heroes who are fighting our war in the skies is a small thing to ask, under the circumstances."

"I'd say that having to put up with those loudmouthed, insolent troublemakers is asking far too much from a lady such as yourself. What in damnation is the war office thinking? Don't they have any respect for the aristocracy these days?"

Elizabeth lifted her chin. "I can assure you, Mr. Forrester, the Americans are perfect gentlemen, and will have no adverse effect on your tour, apart from eliminating the east wing, that is." She longed to tell this obnoxious man that it was none of his business whom she entertained in her home, but good manners compelled her to refrain.

Instead, she informed him, "A vast section of the Manor House will be open to you, however, and the gardens are quite beautiful, even at this time of year. Since your clients are elderly, I think they will find the experience strenuous enough as it is."

"Well, I suppose you're right." Forrester glanced at his watch. "I don't like to push them too hard, you know. They enjoy these outings so much, they tend to overdo things sometimes. I just hope we don't run into any of the American chaps, though. Might get the old dears a little too excited."

"I'm quite sure the American officers will be far too
busy trying to stay alive in the skies to interrupt your tour," Elizabeth said dryly. "Now, if you will just give me the date you wish to come, I'll have my secretary write out an invoice for you. Payment is due by the day of the tour."

"Not to worry." Forrester pulled a checkbook from his jacket pocket with a flourish. "We'll be down next Saturday, if that's all right with you. Just tell me the amount and you'll have your money today."

Elizabeth could feel her cheeks burning as she returned to the office. Martin was right in his estimation. Brian Forrester was a pompous ass. How she hated being beholden to a man like that. Still, he seemed to genuinely care about his elderly charges, and as she had told Violet several times already, they really did need the money.

She sent Polly back with the invoice and an apology, saying her duties prevented her from returning that day. A few minutes later she heard the growl of a motorcar engine. Glancing out of the window, she saw, with relief, a black sedan retreating a little too fast down the driveway. At least she wouldn't have to deal with the man again.

Violet would be conducting the tour, with the help of Polly, and no doubt Martin, who would be prowling in the background keeping an alert eye on everything. Martin might not be able to move too swiftly, but he could sound quite imperative when provoked.

Thus satisfied that she had fulfilled her obligation to the cause, she spent the rest of the day wondering what it was that Earl Monroe was so anxious to tell her.

Elizabeth had to wait until after dinner that evening before she had a chance to talk to Earl. She was seated on her white wicker divan in the conservatory, when Violet announced that the major wished to see her.

Elizabeth was rather pleased with her timing. She had
been hoping that Earl might visit her while she was enjoying an after-dinner sherry in her favorite sanctuary. The glass walls overlooked the vast lawns of the Manor House grounds, affording a magnificent view of the gardens in daylight. Desmond had stocked the room with tropical plants, and their fragrance filled the air, evoking visions of exotic islands in far-off seas. At night, with the thick blackout curtains at the windows obliterating the view and the wind rustling the poplars, one could almost imagine palm trees swaying outside under velvet skies, with gentle waves lapping on a warm beach just a few yards away.

Spending time here was like escaping to another world, and there was no one with whom Elizabeth enjoyed the retreat more than Major Monroe. After ordering Violet to bring the remainder of the sherry and another glass, she settled back to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Earl seemed even more tense than usual when he entered the room. An energetic man, he appeared to have great difficulty in relaxing, even under normal circumstances. Elizabeth knew that he missed the wide-open plains and vast, empty skies of his home in Wyoming, and at times felt constricted by the tiny, winding lanes and neat, checkerboard fields of Sitting Marsh.

Also, the stress of his job had to be horrendous. Having to be responsible for sending young men into life-threatening situations every day was a constant source of worry for him, and Elizabeth took great pride in her ability to smooth away the frowns that marred his pleasant face.

There were times, however, when she failed to erase the agony that tormented him when an airplane failed to come home, or crash-landed full of holes on the base. And it happened far too often lately. By the look on Earl's face tonight, this was one of those times.

"Sit down," she said, after he'd greeted her with a
tired smile. "A nice glass of sherry will help chase that unflattering scowl away."

"Sorry, was I frowning?" He took the glass from her hand and waited until she was seated again before dropping into his favorite rocking chair. "I reckon that's becoming a permanent expression these days."

She searched his face, trying to read his mood.

"Bad day?"

"No more than usual. How're George and Gracie?"

"Driving Violet crazy. She has them penned in the scullery at night so they can't run all over the house. I'm afraid it's taking time to train them. They seem to think the library and the drawing room are the appropriate places to relieve themselves."

"Oh, Lord. I reckon I've given you all a mess of trouble with those dogs."

"Not at all. We adore the puppies. They've brought new life into this house. Even Martin manages to stoop down to pat them on the head when he thinks no one is looking."

Earl looked surprised. "I didn't think anything got to that old boy."

"Not much does," Elizabeth admitted. "There are times when I really worry about his senility, but somehow he always manages to rise above it." She paused, then voiced the question uppermost in her mind. "Have you heard any more about Kenny Morris?"

Earl shook his head, and sipped at his sherry before putting the fragile glass down on the marble-topped table between them. "Not much, anyway. The investigating officers did find a knife stained with blood, but they have no idea who it belongs to."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "He was stabbed? I thought he was strangled with the bell rope."

"He was. The bloodstains didn't come from Morris—there wasn't a mark on him from a knife. Which means
whoever killed him probably got cut in the fight. There were signs of a pretty violent struggle."

Elizabeth shuddered. "How awful. Poor man. I can't help feeling sorry for his parents, too. What a dreadful shock this must be."

"Yeah, I heard they took it pretty bad. I guess it might have been easier for them if he'd gone down in the Channel. Losing him this way is so damn senseless." He shot her a guilty glance. "Sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean to curse."

"You curse away, Major," Elizabeth said cheerfully. "As I've told you before, I've been known to mutter a swear word once or twice myself."

He leaned forward, his hands thrust between his knees. "Elizabeth, I need you to do something for me, if you will?"

She would promise him the earth as long as he went on calling her by her first name. They had agreed some time ago that he could drop her title as long as they were alone, but it was the first time since then that he'd done so. The small token of familiarity pleased her as nothing else could.

"I'll do whatever I can, of course."

"The villagers won't talk to our investigators. You know how they are."

She did indeed. The people of Sitting Marsh had made no secret of their animosity toward the Americans. Loath to trust any outsiders in their midst, the villagers viewed the Yanks with as much confidence as they would visitors from the moon.

"You want me to talk to them, is that it?"

Earl's frown deepened. "I don't want you involved in the murder in any way, but we're getting nowhere, and the villagers trust you. They'll tell you what they won't tell us. I just want you to keep your ears open and pass along anything you think might be helpful."

"Of course I will." I'll do a lot more than that, she
added inwardly. She was becoming quite experienced at solving murders, having brought two killers to justice already. Since she couldn't rely on George and Sid to unravel the mystery of poor Kenny Morris's death, she would conduct her own investigation. There was no point, however, in alarming Earl with that decision.

Instead she turned the conversation to more mundane matters. "I'm hoping to arrange the cricket match for next week. Will your men be able to get away to play?"

Earl clasped his hands across his chest. "I'm pretty sure it can be arranged. Our CO thinks it will do the men good to have a break, so he's all for it. As long as our duties don't get in the way, I don't see why we shouldn't be there."

"That's wonderful!" She leaned forward eagerly. "Will you captain the American team?"

He looked startled. "I've never played cricket."

"I would imagine that few of your men have played the game. But what about baseball? Didn't you tell me you played in high school?"

Earl shrugged. "I guess."

"Well, then, it's the same principle. The local men are willing to hold a rehearsal and teach all of you the rudiments of the game. None of them are expert, so it shouldn't be too one-sided."

He laughed, warming that special place in her heart. "I appreciate your optimism, but I have to tell you, from what I've seen, the difference between baseball and cricket is like comparing hamburgers with fish and chips. They're both food, but that's about all they have in common."

Elizabeth sighed. "I suppose it is a silly idea."

"I didn't say that. I reckon the guys would enjoy learning how to play, on one condition."