Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (9 page)

"Well, first you'll drink your tea," Elizabeth said crisply, "then you are going home. There's nothing that you can achieve by sitting here crying, and your mother will be getting worried. We'll just have to see what we can do in the morning. Until then, you must do your best not to worry. I'm sure everything can be straightened out."

"I can't stop worrying," Polly wailed.

"Yes, you can, my girl," Violet said, stooping to retrieve the mug from the hearth. "Here, drink up. Then
get yourself home before your mother starts calling here looking for you."

Polly obediently sipped the tea, pausing every now and then to utter a dry sob.

"When did they take Sam away?" Elizabeth asked, addressing Violet.

"About an hour ago." Violet reached for a cup and saucer in the cupboard. "Polly saw him being led out. She's been in hysterics ever since."

"I'm all right now." Although still white-faced, Polly managed to sound more like her old self when she added, "I'll be getting along now, your ladyship. Thank you."

"Don't worry, Polly." Elizabeth patted the girl on the shoulder. "I'll call the base first thing in the morning."

"You won't have to," Violet said grimly. "Major Monroe told me the American investigators will be here tomorrow to question everyone. Not that any of us can tell them anything, except Polly, that is."

Polly looked as if she would burst into tears again, and Elizabeth said hurriedly, "I promise, Polly, I won't let them question you without me being there."

"Thank you, m'm." Polly walked a little shakily to the door and disappeared.

Violet opened the oven door, emitting the most heavenly aroma. "Do you think he did it?"

Elizabeth suddenly realized she was hungry, after all. For a while there she'd lost her appetite. "I sincerely hope not, for Polly's sake. I don't know the young man very well. Did Earl—Major Monroe give any indication how he felt about it?"

"He sounded really disgusted, but he didn't say one way or the other what he thought about it." Violet pulled a bubbling casserole dish from the oven and set it on top of the stove. She peered at it closely for a moment or two, then said warily, "I think it's done."

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

"It's an American recipe," Violet said, sounding defensive. "One of the officers gave it to me. Chicken and dumplings. He said it's his mother's favorite recipe. I thought if we had some left over, I'd send up a plate for him."

Elizabeth tried not to smile. "I thought we weren't going to feed the Americans. Wasn't it you who said how impossible it would be to feed all those extra mouths with everything on ration? I seem to remember you mentioning something about the Americans probably wanting you to kill a cow."

Violet shrugged her thin shoulders. "That was before."

"Before what?"

"Before . . . never you mind."

Elizabeth was tempted to keep asking questions, but she wisely refrained. Somehow she had the idea she might not like the answers.

The chicken tasted as excellent as it smelled, though Martin spent some time prodding the dumplings before trusting himself to eat one. The meal was more peppery than they were accustomed to, and Martin swallowed three glasses of water while devouring his food, but for once he uttered not one complaint about Violet's cooking. In fact, he wore a very satisfied expression on his face when he dabbed his mouth with his serviette for the last time.

Violet watched him expectantly, though she should have known that waiting for a compliment from Martin was as fruitless as waiting for her hair to turn black again.

As for Elizabeth, apart from a delighted murmur of appreciation at the beginning of the meal, she made no further comment. She was too busy worrying about the coming interview with the American investigators. She
would have liked to talk to Earl before they arrived, but it was too late now. He would have already retired to his room, and she could hardly pay him a visit there. She could only hope that Polly wouldn't say anything that might make matters worse, though at this moment, it didn't seem as if things could be much worse for Sam Cutter.

CHAPTER

7

The following morning Polly arrived at the Manor House with the haggard appearance of someone who hadn't had a wink of sleep all night. Observing the dark circles under her secretary's eyes, Elizabeth decided she needed something to make her feel better.

"I've been thinking, Polly," she said, as she helped the girl sort through the morning post. "Nowadays it seems that I spend more time out of the office than in it, which means there's a lot more work for you to do now. It might be a good idea to hire someone else to do the housework, and that will give you more time to get the work done in here."

Much to her dismay, instead of making Polly more cheerful, her announcement produced more tears. "That would be wonderful, your ladyship," the young girl said, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Of course, if you'd rather do the housework," Eliz
abeth assured her, feeling confused, "I can always find someone to help out in the office."

"Oh, no, m'm, no." Polly sniffed and hunted for the handkerchief she'd tucked up the sleeve of her red cardigan. "I just love working in the office, that's all. It's been my dream. I'm just so happy I don't have to do housework no more . . . " She burst into tears, and sobbed into her handkerchief.

Elizabeth was at a bit of a loss as to how to handle such hysterics. She sat down opposite the girl and covered one of her trembling hands with her own. "Polly, I don't think it's good for you to get yourself so upset about this business with Sam Cutter. After all, he is an American, and sooner or later he will be returning to his own country." Maybe sooner, she thought, if he's convicted of murder. She didn't voice that thought to Polly, however.

"Yes, m'm." Polly blew her nose loudly. "It's just that I know he didn't do it but I don't know who did and it looks like he'll get the blame and I can't do nothing to help him and I keep thinking it's my fault because he had that fight in the pub and I don't know what to do-hoo-hoo!"

Elizabeth waited until the burst of weeping had subsided before saying gently, "Polly, whatever went on in that bell tower, whether Sam had anything to do with it or not, had nothing to do with you. You can rest assured you are in no way to blame for what happened."

Polly appeared unconvinced. "I'm scared about what them investigators are going to ask. What if I get him into more trouble? I'd never forgive myself. He'd never forgive me. Oh, Lady Elizabeth, do I have to talk to them?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you do." Elizabeth sighed. "I know it can be scary, Polly, but just remember, you must tell the truth. Even if it seems that you might get Sam into
trouble. If you don't tell the truth, you could both be in a lot more trouble later on."

"I know, m'm. That's what me mum and Marlene told me. Just tell the truth."

Relieved that the girl had confided in her family, Elizabeth was about to ask how they felt about Sam when the shrill ring of the phone cut her off. Startled, she jumped nearly as violently as Polly.

Polly stared at her, her eyes looking huge and black in her white face.

"Perhaps I should take that." Elizabeth stretched out her hand but Polly snatched at the receiver.

"No, m'm. It's my job." Putting on her best accent, she said politely into the mouthpiece, "This is the Manor House, and this is Lady Elizabeth's secretary speaking."

Any other day Elizabeth would have smiled at the transformation, but she was far too tense right now to enjoy Polly's metamorphosis. Instead, she waited, watching the young girl's face as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, sir," Polly said finally. "I'll inform Lady Elizabeth. Thank you very much." She hung the receiver back on its rest, then said in a voice that barely trembled, "That was one of the investigators from the base. They'll be here this afternoon."

Elizabeth nodded. "Good. That will give me time to run an errand this morning. Meanwhile, the rents have to be entered into the book, and there are still some to be collected. If you feel like some fresh air, I could give you a lift in the sidecar and let you off in the village. You can collect the rents on the list while I take care of my business, then I'll pick you up on my way back."

Polly looked as if she'd been handed a reprieve from a prison sentence. "That would be smashing, Lady Elizabeth. Thank you. I'll get my coat."

"Right. Then meet me outside on the steps. I'll have Desmond fetch the motorcycle from the stables."

Happy that she'd brought a smile to the poor child's face, Elizabeth retrieved her coat and hat from the hall stand. She was winding her scarf around her neck when Martin appeared at the top of the stairs, wheezing and gasping for breath.

"Why didn't you wait for me, madam," he complained, between gasps for air. "I should be fetching your coat for you."

"Well, you are here now," Elizabeth said soothingly. "You can open the door for me."

"Yes, madam." Still looking affronted, Martin pulled open the door.

Elizabeth paused on the step, deciding she had better warn Martin of the forthcoming events. "We will be cleaning the chimneys tomorrow, Martin. That's if Desmond has managed to get hold of some brushes."

"Yes, madam."

"And there will be a Stately Homes tour on Saturday."

Martin blinked. "You are going on a tour, madam?"

"No, Martin. People will be coming here to tour the house."

"Oh, no, madam, that won't do. The master won't like that at all."

"The master is dead, Martin. I doubt if he'll complain." Elizabeth stepped outside and lifted her face into a light breeze that smelled of dying leaves and damp grass.

"He'll complain to me." Martin shuffled into the doorway and looked accusing. "He always complains to me. He doesn't like all these strange people in the house. Not to mention all the animals running around."

Stabbed by an unusual bout of irritation, Elizabeth said sharply, "Well, he'll just have to put up with it, won't he. If he hadn't been foolish enough to insist on going to a concert in London in the middle of the Blitz, he'd be alive now to take care of things. And so would my mother."

Martin's face closed up like the visor on a suit of armor. "Yes, madam."

Immediately contrite, Elizabeth touched Martin's wrinkled hand. "I'm sorry, Martin. To be perfectly honest, I don't care for strangers roaming around the Manor House, either. I wish there were some other way to find the money we need, but right now I can't think of one. Just try to put up with it, there's a dear. Violet will be escorting them around, and all you have to do is stay out of their way. Polly has promised to help, so everything should go quite smoothly."

"If you say so, madam."

He still wore his hurt expression, and Elizabeth descended the stone steps with a heavy heart. Poor Martin seemed to slip further and further into senility with every passing week. His insistence that the ghost of her father walked the great hall was the most disturbing of his delusions, and one that played on her mind a great deal.

The untimely death of her parents had devastated everyone and, as their only child, Elizabeth most of all. But there was no doubt in her mind that Martin missed her father even more than she did, which explained his hallucinations of Lord Wellsborough's ethereal return to his ancestral home.

She could only hope that the rumors went no further than the walls of the Manor House. Already some of the American officers had mentioned seeing apparitions in the great hall, though Elizabeth was inclined to think that such sightings had been manifested by a combination of beer, the eerie sound of noisy water pipes, and Martin's habit of confiding in anyone who would listen.

Another indication of Martin's failing mind, she thought soberly. There was a time when wild elephants wouldn't have dragged the slightest hint of such nonsense from his lips.

Polly burst out of the front door just as Elizabeth reached the bottom step. She leaped down the steps with
such speed, Elizabeth was certain the young girl would plunge headfirst to the ground, but she landed lightly on her feet with an agility that Elizabeth envied with all her heart.

Although barely past thirty, she was beginning to feel the constraints of reaching her third decade, though she did her best to remain agile. Romping with the puppies helped, and no doubt the energy involved in the chimney sweeping would test her muscles, she thought wryly.

Shading her eyes with her hand, she surveyed the wide landscape of the Manor House grounds. Rolling lawns led down to a thick green fringe of trees that edged the woods. On one side a tall, prickly hedge hid the large plot where Desmond tended to the vegetables.

The residents of the Manor House had always enjoyed their own homegrown vegetables, centuries before the victory gardens had become essential to the war effort. Nowadays, however, the vegetable garden helped a great deal toward lightening the household bills.

"I don't see Desmond anywhere," Elizabeth said, squinting against the morning sun. "Do you see him, Polly?"

"No, your ladyship. I can't see him at all." Polly had crammed her long dark hair into a bright red woolly beret, which she'd pulled down low on her forehead in anticipation of the drafty ride into town. She reminded Elizabeth of the pictures of evacuees in the newspaper. The poor children had been pushed out of their London homes and deposited with strangers in the country in the interests of their safety.

Judging from some of the stories Elizabeth had heard, even if they were embellished by the press, some of those children would have been safer dodging the bombs at home. She had been struck by the look of abject misery on the faces of the little ones. Polly wore that look right now.

That worried Elizabeth a great deal. The child was far
too immature to be deeply attached to any young man, much less one who was considerably older than she, lived on the other side of the world, and at the moment was being held on suspicion of murder. She would have a long talk with her protégée, she decided. Though not right now.