Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (6 page)

Henrietta looked up. "One lump or two, Lady Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth felt decidedly foolish. She had totally forgotten until that moment that Violet had told her Henrietta Jones was stone deaf. No wonder the poor woman hadn't answered her. She held up two fingers to indicate two lumps, then took a biscuit from the plate Henrietta offered her.

"Thank you," she said loudly, mouthing the words
with exaggeration so that Henrietta could understand. "This is very nice."

The old lady looked pleased. "I hope you like the biscuits, your ladyship."

Elizabeth took a small bite out of the biscuit, then exclaimed in surprise, "These are wonderful! What are these little round things imbedded in them? They taste like chocolate." She examined the biscuit closely before taking another bite, this time savoring the morsel before swallowing it. "It
is
chocolate. How divine! I've never seen anything like this before. Little chunks of chocolate inside a biscuit. Where did you get them? I must tell Violet about them. These are absolutely delicious."

Henrietta stared at her in confusion, and impatient with herself, Elizabeth tried again. She pointed at the biscuit, and rubbed her stomach with a rapturous look on her face.

Henrietta nodded, her face wreathed in smiles.

Elizabeth tried mouthing and using gestures, but she couldn't seem to make Henrietta understand that she wanted to know where she could buy the biscuits, and in the end she gave up. She thought about writing the question down for her, but Henrietta started talking about how much she appreciated the provisions and how difficult it was to get into town to shop, what with the bus stop being so far to walk and she didn't have a car, and even if she did, she couldn't drive it.

Elizabeth soon forgot about the biscuits in her efforts to make Henrietta understand that she would arrange for someone to take her into town once a week in order to get her shopping done.

In spite of her handicaps, Henrietta was a lively companion, and amazingly cheerful under the circumstances. Although she understood little of what Elizabeth tried to tell her, she rattled on about her experiences in the Blitz, during which she'd apparently lost her hearing when a bomb exploded just yards from her house.

By the time Elizabeth was ready to leave, she was full of admiration for the feisty old lady, and made up her mind that she would personally see that Henrietta got into town at least once a week.

As she stood to leave a flash of light from the mantelpiece caught her eye. Moving closer, she saw a pair of gold cufflinks, each with a tiny diamond in the corner. She picked one up to examine it, then put it down again when she realized Henrietta was watching her.

"Those are my grandson's," Henrietta explained in her raspy voice. "Charlie's been ever so good to me since my Albert died. Not many young men like him would bother with an old lady the way he does. Our Charlie has a heart of gold, bless him. Comes down every now and again to see me, he does. He's a good boy, is our Charlie."

Elizabeth smiled and nodded in agreement, then said good-bye to the charming little widow. "I'll be back soon, I promise," she told her, hoping Henrietta could understand. "I'll see if I can get Dr. Sheridan to bring you something for that rheumatism."

She wasn't sure if the old lady understood or not, but Henrietta nodded her head and thanked her profusely before closing the door.

Making her way back to her motorcycle, Elizabeth thanked her lucky stars that she was healthy, and prayed that the good Lord would see fit to allow her to stay that way for many years to come. She rode back to the manor at a leisurely pace, wondering how on earth she was going to get past the stony-faced American posted at the door of the bell tower.

CHAPTER

5

"Peaches?" Elizabeth exclaimed, when Violet put down the dessert plate in front of her. "Where on earth did you get peaches? I haven't seen a peach since before the rationing began."

"I don't like them," Martin mumbled, staring at his plate with deep suspicion. "Too much fuzz on the skin. I might as well be eating my dressing gown." He poked at the offending peach with his spoon. "Are you sure these are real? They look like ornaments, such as the wax apples on the sideboard."

Ignoring him, Violet grabbed a dish towel and began wiping the kitchen counter with it. "I don't remember where I got them. They were sitting in the larder and I thought you'd enjoy them with your lunch. Tell me how you got on with Henrietta Jones this morning. Didn't you have a hard time talking to her? I know I did—"

"Violet." Elizabeth gave her housekeeper's back a
hard stare. "Where did you get the peaches?"

Violet opened a cupboard door and banged it shut again. "Where does it matter where I got them from? Why can't you just enjoy them instead of worrying about things that don't concern you."

"This does concern me, Violet. It concerns me very much. Earl gave them to you, didn't he? I've told you again and again I won't have you accepting gifts from the Americans."

Violet swung around, eyes sparkling with fire. "Major Monroe did not give the peaches to me, Lizzie, so get off your high horse. Even if he did, I don't understand what you're making such a fuss about. If a gentleman is nice enough to give a lady a gift, the very least she can do is accept it with good grace."

"Speaking of Grace," Martin said, peering over the top of his spectacles, "there are puddles in the drawing room again."

Violet clicked her tongue. "I told Polly not to let them in there."

Elizabeth's lips tightened. "You know very well how I feel about accepting gifts from the Americans, Violet. I won't have people saying we're taking advantage of our guests just because they happen to be billeted at the Manor House. There is enough gossip going around as it is. You know how the villagers love to talk. After all, I have to set an example, or everyone would be grabbing everything they could get from the Americans. That's if they don't already."

"And just how are people going to find out what we do in our own home? Violet poked herself in the chest with her thumb. I'm certainly not going to tell them."

"I should hope not!" Martin exclaimed. "What will people think if they heard that we have guests who use the drawing room for a bathroom?"

"You won't have to tell them anything," Elizabeth said dryly. "You can safely leave that to Polly. Where
is she, anyway? I haven't seen her this morning."

"I sent her to clean the bathrooms. Bloody disgrace they are. She keeps whining that she doesn't have time to do them now that she's working in the office. I told her that the housework is supposed to be her first concern, and that she only helps out in the office if she has time after that."

"Perhaps that's why Grace doesn't use the bathroom," Martin observed. "It's not clean enough."

Violet finally lost her patience. "Will you listen to me for once, you silly old fool." She banged the table with her fist. "I keep telling you, George and Gracie are dogs, not people. Dogs, Martin. Animals with four legs that bark and pee around table legs."

Martin looked offended. "Well, why didn't you say so? I hope Polly gets it all cleaned up, or Grace will get the blame. Wouldn't do to offend our guests, you know."

Violet threw her hands up in despair and turned her back on him.

Elizabeth dug her spoon into a juicy peach, then lifted the dripping sliver to her mouth. It tasted every bit as wonderful as she remembered. For a moment she forgot she was supposed to be cross with Violet. "I suppose we should try to find someone to help out with the housework, now that Polly spends so much time in the office. I really can use her help. Things have been so much more organized since she started working in there."

"What surprises me is that anything Polly does is organized," Violet said crisply. "Anyhow, can we afford to hire someone else?"

Elizabeth made a face. "Not really. The money from the tour will help for a while, though, and by the time that's gone, I'll think of something else. I suppose I could have a go at cleaning the chimneys myself—"

Violet's shocked gasp interrupted her. "Elizabeth Hart
leigh Compton, whatever next? You know very well you can't clean the chimneys. That's what we have chimney sweeps for."

"Quite right." Martin nodded his head in agreement.

"All of whom are serving in His Majesty's forces," Elizabeth reminded her.

"No, madam." Martin shook his head. "They are much too young to be serving in the forces. Though if you ask me, sending little children up into those sooty chimneys can't be much good for their health."

"They stopped doing that forty years ago." Violet rolled her eyes and shook her head at Elizabeth. "Getting worse, he is. Going blooming barmy, if you ask me."

Elizabeth glanced at Martin, who had apparently forgotten he didn't like peaches and was happily munching on the juicy, syrupy fruit.

"He seems perfectly fine to me."

"Well, don't expect him to help you sweep the chimneys, that's all I can say."

"We won't need his help. After all, how difficult can it be to sweep a chimney? We simply spread sheets over everything, push the brushes up the chimney and pull them down again. I've seen the sweeps do it plenty of times. It doesn't look that hard. Grubby perhaps, but Desmond can help us."

"Desmond is a gardener, not a sweep. He's not going to like being asked to mess about with the chimneys."

"Now that the summer is over, there isn't a lot to do in the grounds. He'll have plenty of time."

Violet tilted her head to one side. "And where, may I ask, are you going to get the brushes?"

Elizabeth waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh, Desmond will find some. He's very good at ferreting out all sorts of things."

"Ferrets?" Martin dropped his spoon in his plate. "I say, madam, you will have to be careful with those little perishers. They'll take a nip out of you as soon look at
you. I hope you're not going to let them run loose around the drawing room. Grace won't like that at all."

Elizabeth smiled at him and patted his hand. "Don't worry, Martin. We won't let anything loose in the drawing room." She pushed her chair back and stood. "I'll see if I can find Desmond and ask him about the chimney brushes, then I'm going to pop down to the cricket pavilion. I'd ask Polly to go, but since she's busy with the bathrooms, I'd better go myself. The sooner I get a list together of what needs to be done before the cricket match, the better."

Violet shook her head. "I still think you're crazy trying to get those Americans to play cricket. They are never going to beat our boys, then when our lads win, they'll crow over the Yanks and that'll start a fight and—"

"Crows now," Martin muttered. "We're turning the manor house into a zoo. The master is going to be most displeased about that. Most displeased."

Elizabeth sighed. "You worry far too much, Violet. I'm quite sure the men have learned their lesson after the fiasco at the town hall. They all got into so much trouble, they'll think twice before engaging in battle with one another again."

Violet sniffed. "Didn't stop them having a go at one another down the Tudor Arms on Saturday night, now did it?"

"I'm sure that was nothing compared to the one at the town hall." Elizabeth reached the door and looked back at her housekeeper. "Wait and see, Violet. The men will all be on their best behavior at the cricket match. I'm really quite sure of it."

She closed the door quickly, before Violet could answer with one of her sharp retorts. She wasn't about to let her housekeeper cast doubts on her great idea. The match had to be a success. It just had to, if they were ever going to have peace in the village between the Brit
ish and the Americans. Dismissing her misgivings, she went in search of Desmond.

The gardener was surprisingly eager to help with the chimney sweeping project. He stood by the angel fountain on the back lawn, twisting his cap in his hands while he listened intently against the noise of the cascading water to Elizabeth's proposal.

"Well, I've never attempted to clean a chimney before," he said, when she was finished explaining what she wanted, "but I think I know where I can get me hands on some brushes. Just leave it to me, mum."

"Thank you so much," Elizabeth exclaimed, delighted at how simple things were turning out. "Violet and I would really appreciate any help you can give us. This really is most generous of you, Desmond. It is so gratifying to have help we can trust."

The gardener nodded, his craggy face turning pink with the unexpected compliment. "My pleasure, m'm. Don't you worry, now. We'll have these chimneys clean in no time."

Relieved that everything had been so simple after all, Elizabeth felt her confidence mounting as she rode her motorcycle through the town. Several housewives in the high street waved to her, heaving their loaded shopping baskets onto one arm to free the other.

She waved back, feeling a sense of well-being. One of the joys of her inheritance was the respectful recognition she was given by the residents of Sitting Marsh. She loved the village and its people. Her greatest pleasure in her work came when she was able to contribute something toward their comfort and welfare. Now, if only she could solve the murder case for Earl, she could really enjoy the prospect of the cricket match.

The cricket pavilion was situated on the outskirts of Sitting Marsh, on the edge of the woods. The field had been sadly neglected in the past year, and would have
to be mowed before anyone could play a match on it.

She would have to discuss that with Desmond, Elizabeth reflected, as she climbed off her motorcycle. After tugging at her skirt to straighten it, she climbed the steps to the door of the pavilion.

The green walls of the long, wooden, rectangular building were desperately in need of paint. Elizabeth touched a dry, loose chip and watched it float to the floorboards. That was something they'd just have to live with for now, she decided. Moving on, she used the keys that had been in the councillors' possession ever since the pavilion had been closed down, and opened the door. With any luck the rooms would at least be salvageable.