Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (11 page)

Actually, she rather liked the things they said about her and Sam. Made her feel as though they belonged together, like Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon. One day Sam would feel the same way about it, too.

She stood back in a doorway until Sam climbed out of his Jeep, then she sauntered across the courtyard as if she'd just that minute arrived. Sam was talking to one of the men with him and didn't seem to notice her. But then she saw his companion nudge his arm and nod his head in her direction.

Sam looked at her then and she waved to him, giving him her widest smile. "How are you, Sam?" she called out.

"Better now that he's seen you," his friend answered. He grinned at Sam. "Guess I'd better leave you two alone."

Sam growled something Polly didn't catch, but the other man hurried off, leaving Sam alone with her in the courtyard.

She advanced toward him, worried by the set look on his face. "I was just passing by," she said, as she reached him. "On me way back to the office. I just had lunch."

He nodded, turning his face away from her so she couldn't see the bad side.

Desperate to get some word out of him she blurted out, "You're back early. I hope you don't have to go up tonight."

"You've gotta stop worrying about me."

She could have cried at the cold words. "I'll never stop worrying about you, Sam. Never."

He faced her then, his face bleak, his eyes so full of
misery she thought her heart would break. "Polly, we can't go on like this. It's tough on both of us."

Terrified he was going to cut off her contact with him, she said quickly, "I won't bother you, Sam, honest. All I want is to talk to you now and then. That's all."

"It's not all." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. "You want a lot more and I can't give it to you."

The ache started in her throat again, so bad she could hardly swallow. "Just tell me one thing. Is it because of your face or is it my age?"

He tilted his chin and closed his eyes. "Polly—"

"Cos if it is your face, well, you know I don't care one bit about your scars, and if it's me age, I'm getting older every day. In a year or two you won't even notice the difference. Honest."

He just stood there with a sort of lost puppy look on his face. The ache spread to her heart. "I have to know, Sam. It's not fair to treat me like this when I don't know why."

After a long moment he said quietly, "You're right. It's not. You said something about a movie you wanted to see?"

She nodded eagerly, willing to go anywhere with him. Anywhere in the world. "
The Philadelphia Story
. But you said you'd seen it."

"I guess I can see it again. I have a weekend pass. I'll pick you up at your house tomorrow night. Around six-thirty?"

"I'll be waiting!" Wild with excitement she hesitated, wanting desperately to seal their date with a hug. She was disappointed when he gave her a brief nod and hurried off, leaving her no choice but to follow more slowly.

By the time she reached the back door and climbed the stairs, he had disappeared into his quarters. She would just have to wait until tomorrow night now. That was two
whole days to get through. How in the world was she going to wait that long?

Hugging herself, she wandered down the great hall, knowing that nothing mattered anymore except the fact that Sam had asked her out again, and that she was going to spend a whole evening with him in North Horsham, cuddling up with him in the back seat of the pictures. It was a dream come true. At last.

When Elizabeth returned to the house with the dogs it was to find the kitchen door securely locked. Wondering why Violet hadn't mentioned she was going out, Elizabeth made her way around to the front door, the dogs at her heels, hoping that someone was around to let her in.

Martin was probably sound asleep in his room, and wouldn't hear the bell ring. Polly was in the office, but if she had shut the door she wouldn't hear it either. That left Sadie, who could be anywhere in the depths of the manor too far from the door to hear the bell.

Just as soon as she could afford it, Elizabeth promised herself, she would have an electric bell system installed in the manor, so that anyone anywhere in the house could hear when someone was at the front door. Goodness knows how many visitors they missed because of the old-fashioned bell pull.

It was all very well to want to keep the traditions and trappings of the Manor House the way they had always been, but modem technology certainly had its advantages.

Sighing heavily, Elizabeth tugged on the bell rope. She could barely hear the muffled jangle of the bell on the other side of the solid oak door. Gracie wandered down the steps again, and George chased after her, ignoring Elizabeth's commands to stay.

It took her a few minutes to corral both dogs and urge them back up the steps. The door still hadn't been opened. She waited until her patience gave out, then tugged on the rope again with both hands. Not that it made the bell ring any louder, but it made her feel better.

The dogs looked longingly down the steps, tongues hanging out the sides of their mouths, and she sternly ordered them to stay put. Again she waited. If Martin had heard the bell, it would take him several minutes to climb the stairs to the hallway. She would just have to be patient a few minutes longer.

Marge Gunther puffed and panted as she reached the top of the hill. Time was running out, and she still hadn't got half the things on her list. It didn't look as if she was going to win any prizes.

Throwing caution to the winds, she plunked herself down on the wooden bench that sat close to the railings at the edge of the cliffs. Might as well catch her breath. No sense in killing herself for a packet of lemonade powder and a bottle of lavender water, though the nylons would have been nice.

She was just a few minutes away from the Manor House now. Still time to go up there and ask for donations, and get back to the village in time for tea. Going downhill was faster. In the old days she could run up and down this hill in a matter of minutes. Now she was lucky to make it up here at all.

The view was nice from this spot. Long sandy beaches, completely deserted, the sweep of chalky cliffs around the cove, and little fluffy white caps on the waves. Far out to sea she could see the gray smudge of a ship, and for a moment wished she was on it, on her way to America.
They had no bombs in America. Or land mines on the beaches. Not like here. It had been so long since she'd sat on the sand warming herself in the sun. So long since the kids had run back and forth, in and out of the water, carrying their little buckets and spades. How she missed those days.

Lost in her memories, she didn't hear the footsteps until someone stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the ocean. She started up, then sank back when she recognized Nellie Smith.

"I've just been up the Manor House," Nellie said, before Marge could speak. "Look at what I got up there!" She held out her basket, which was a lot fuller than Marge's.

Trying not to show the resentment that gripped her, Marge peered in the basket. That settled it. She didn't have a hope in hell of getting that much by tea time. "What's that?" She pointed to a pretty pastel pink package.

"It's scented soap." Nellie picked it up and held it out to her. "Go on, have a sniff."

Marge sniffed. "Smells lovely."

"It's orange blossom. Really exotic. I got it from the butler. He had it in his pocket. I couldn't believe he was carrying something like this around in his pocket." Nellie took back the packet and held it to her nose. "I know we got soap on the list, but if Rita thinks she's getting her paws on this she's got another think coming. This is mine."

Marge was immediately seized with a burning desire to have a packet of scented soap. "Did he have any more?"

Nellie gave her a sly look. "Perhaps. Anyhow, you won't have much time to go up there and get back to the village in time for tea. You'll be disqualified if you're late."

"I'll make time." Marge surged to her feet and took a firm grip on her basket. A packet of that soap was worth a
dozen bottles of lavender water. "I'll see you at Bessie's bake shop."

Nellie looked put out, but Marge was past caring. If Lady Elizabeth's butler was giving out scented soap for free, she was going to get hers. With grim determination, she set out for the Manor House.

CHAPTER

8

Elizabeth stood impatiently at the front door, still waiting for someone to open it for her. She was about to give up and go down to the back entrance when the sound of bolts being slid back brought a rush of relief. It was a long walk to the other end of the manor, and without their leashes the dogs would have been difficult to control.

Elizabeth knew, from the agonizingly slow movements of the bolts, that it was Martin on the other side of the door. She waited, tapping her foot and making warning noises at the dogs, while the final bolt slid out of its socket, and the door began to open.

Both dogs, no doubt anxious to get at their water bowls, charged the door together. It flew inward, amid a flurry of
thumps, yelps, and curses. Wincing, Elizabeth stepped into the hallway.

Martin was flat on his back, one hand grimly holding onto Gracie's tail, while George circled anxiously around the two of them.

Elizabeth leaned over Martin's prone body and asked anxiously, "Are you all right?"

Martin blinked up at her. "Run for your life. We are being attacked by a herd of hungry wolves."

Relieved that he appeared not to be injured, Elizabeth said mildly, "It's just George and Gracie, Martin. You can let go now."

As if to echo her words, Gracie turned her head until her mouth was an inch or two from the wrinkled hand that held her, and uttered a soft growl of protest.

Martin hastily let go.

Elizabeth helped him to struggle up, while he muttered fiercely to himself. "There you are," she said, when he was finally on his feet. "You're not dizzy, are you?"

"I'm always dizzy these days." He slapped his trousers with his palms then apparently realized whom he was addressing. "I do beg your pardon, madam. I was under the mistaken impression that you were that other woman."

"There's another woman?" Elizabeth looked around. "To whom are you referring, Martin?"

Martin looked confused. "She was here a minute ago. I'd just gone back to my room when I heard the dratted bell again. I thought she'd come back to ask for something else."

"Something else?"

"Yes, madam." He shuffled over to the door and began sliding the bolts back in place. "Something else on that dratted list."

Elizabeth wrinkled her brow. "I think I'd better help you
back to your room, Martin. You can lie down for a while and I'm sure you'll feel better."

"I tried lying down." He grunted with the weight of the thick iron latch as he lifted it into its slot. "Every time I lie down someone rings that pesky bell and I have to come all the way back up here."

"Oh, dear," Elizabeth said, feeling guilty. "I'm afraid that was me. I had to go back down the steps after the dogs. You must have opened the door while I was down there."

Martin stared at her. "That was you, madam? I don't understand. You didn't look at all yourself. You looked shorter and . . . ahem . . . younger, if I may be so bold." He shook his head. "And why would you need a list?"

"I don't have a list, Martin."

"Well somebody had a list. That was the reason I gave her the soap."

"Gave who the soap?"

Martin lifted his hands and let them drop. "I'm afraid I don't remember, madam. You say she was you, but I didn't think she was you because she didn't look in the least like you and if I'd known she was you I most certainly wouldn't have given you the soap since you have a whole box of it downstairs."

Without warning, the bell jangled again.

Elizabeth looked at Martin, who stared back at her as if she'd performed a miracle and rang the bell from the outside.

"Who in the world can that be?" he exclaimed.

"I suggest we open the door and find out," Elizabeth prompted gently.

Grumbling under his breath, Martin began sliding the bolts back one by one, while Elizabeth waited with great
curiosity to see who had come calling in the middle of the day.

To her surprise, Marge Gunther stood on the doorstep, a large basket hooked over her arm. "Good afternoon," she began, addressing Martin, who was looking most irritated. Then she caught sight of Elizabeth standing behind him. "Oh, good afternoon, your ladyship." She sounded breathless, and her bosom heaved in distress as she held up a sheet of paper. "I'm so sorry to bother you, m'm, but the Housewives League is holding a scavenger hunt, all proceeds go to our servicemen, and I was wondering if by any chance you had anything on this list you could donate."

"Good great heavens, woman!" Martin waved a feeble arm at her. "I've already given you a packet of very expensive soap. Be grateful for what you have and please refrain from annoying us anymore."

Marge looked startled. "T'weren't me what got any soap. Look!" She held up the basket. "That must have been Nellie. I saw her on the way down."

Martin appeared lost for words, and Elizabeth stepped forward. "If you care to wait here a moment," she said, "I have some of the soap in the kitchen. I'll be happy to send a packet up to you."

Marge's face was wreathed in smiles. "Oh, that's very kind of you, m'm, I'm sure."

"Not at all. Martin, have Mrs. Gunther step inside the hallway while I go down to fetch the soap."

"No need, madam." Martin fumbled in his trousers pocket and pulled out a yellow packet. "I just happen to have a tablet of it here." He held it out to Marge, who rather rudely snatched it from his hand.

"Thank you so much, m'm." She dropped it in her basket.
"Now I must be off. I have to be back in the village by three, or I'll be disqualified." Without waiting for an answer, she fled down the steps and set off at a run.

"What in heaven's name is a scrounger hunt?" Martin demanded, as he once more began shooting the heavy bolts back in place.