Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (16 page)

George did his best to look innocent. "Help with what, m'm?"

"You know very well what." She paused, then keeping her tone as indifferent as possible, she added, "I don't suppose you noticed the color of the Americans' hair?"

George blinked. "Beg your pardon, m'm?"

"Their hair, George. What color was it?"

"I'm not sure I know what you're getting at, your ladyship."

"She wants to know what color their hair was!" Sid piped up from the back.

"I heard her, you nitwit!" George yelled back, then cleared his throat. "Sorry, m'm. That Sid gets on me blasted nerves sometimes."

"Quite." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Did you happen to notice the Americans' hair?"

"Can't say as I did, m'm. Is it important?"

"Not at all. I just wondered if you'd noticed, that's all." Deciding that she was getting in a little too deep, Elizabeth rose. "One way or another, I intend to find out the identity of these three musketeers, as they call themselves, and put a stop to all of this."

George's face registered alarm. "If they're down from London, m'm, they could be a bit hard to handle. Rough bunch, they are up there. It looks as if they're only after Yanks, so I say we should let the Yanks take care of it."

Elizabeth paused at the door and looked back at him. "These men are criminals, George. They are committing crimes against young men who are risking their lives to help us win this war. I will not tolerate such behavior in my
village. If my father were here he would be the first to agree with me. Rest assured, I shall find out who they are, and when I do I expect you to do your duty and arrest them."

"Yes, m'm." George's expression clearly indicated his lack of enthusiasm.

"Oh, and speaking of arrests, I don't suppose you've heard anything from the inspector as to the whereabouts of that doctor in North Horsham?"

George blinked. "What doctor was that, your ladyship?"

Elizabeth sighed. "The man who was responsible for the death of the Adelaides' daughter. As far as I'm concerned, he's just as guilty of murder as is the person or persons who poisoned those poor men. I should think the inspector would be only too eager to apprehend him and put him in prison."

"I'm sure he is, m'm. I'll have a word with him about it next time I see him."

With another sigh, Elizabeth made her way back to her motorcycle. Conscious of George's earlier remarks about the noise the machine made, she'd parked it at some distance from the police station.

As she marched down the High Street, several people nodded and smiled at her in greeting. She acknowledged them with a regal wave of her hand. Her thoughts were concentrated on her conversation with George. As usual, it very much looked as if she was on her own with this investigation.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was dealing with some very dangerous individuals. She could only hope she was up to the task.

The clock in the town square chimed eleven times as she got on her motorcycle and rode down to the Tudor Arms. The ringing of the bells echoed across the valley, and a flock of crows answered the sound with harsh cries of their own as they swooped and dove among the tall poplars that lined the budding cornfields.

They reminded Elizabeth of the planes that took Earl into danger just about every day. She couldn't wait to see him that evening. She was looking forward to sharing a nice meal and a glass of her favorite cream sherry, talking about everything under the sun—everything except his life in America and the family awaiting his return.

That was a subject she had deliberately avoided ever since he'd told her that his marriage was not all it should be. She'd been unable to quell the faint hope that someday there might be a chance for them to be together. A false hope, nevertheless. Dwelling on the state of his marriage only fostered impossible dreams.

Still, she had to admit, even the faintest possibility lent excitement to life, which had become all too predictable until the War Office had commandeered her house for the American officers' quarters.

There were times when she wished she'd never met the handsome major, and compromised both her reputation and her heart. And then there were the other times, like right now, when she would not have missed the exquisite, tantalizing moments she'd spent with him. No man had ever made her heart race so, or had conjured up such enticing fantasies in her bewitched mind.

Violet was right. She was a fool. But oh, what joy to be foolish in the midst of all the adversity that surrounded her, to snatch those stolen moments and hold them forever in
her memory. What was the quote? "T'is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Oh, how true. How very true. It was as if she could literally hear her heart singing as she soared into the fresh sea wind.

CHAPTER

11

In spite of the task awaiting her, Elizabeth's spirits were high as she entered the pub through the rear door. As she expected, Alfie was busy getting ready for the lunchtime customers. He seemed pleasantly surprised to see her back so soon, and sat her down with a glass of sherry at the deserted bar.

"What brings you back here, your ladyship?" he asked, as she sipped the burning liquid and allowed it to slide its delicious way down her throat.

She put down the glass and looked earnestly at him. "Alfie, I have a huge favor to ask of you."

He looked a little wary, but nodded all the same. "Anything for you, Lady Elizabeth. You can be sure of that."

"I assume you are acquainted with my housemaid, Sadie Buttons?"

"Yes, m'm. Sadie comes in here quite a bit. Got a good voice, she has. Gives us a song now and again on a Sunday night. The lads like her, too. She gives them a good game of darts, that girl."

Elizabeth smiled. "So I've heard. Anyway, she's coming here tonight with a young man. An American. In view of recent events, I'd appreciate it very much if you would keep an eye on her. She's a very capable young lady, but one never knows, and I'd feel so much better if I knew someone was watching out for her."

Alfie nodded. "New boyfriend?"

"Something like that."

"Ah, well, I wouldn't worry too much, m'm. Most of the GIs are pretty decent chaps, just far from home and looking for a bit of company. There's a few bad eggs in the bunch, but so there is in our lads, too. They're few and far between. I'd say your Sadie'll do all right. You'll see."

"I'm not as much concerned about the Americans as I am these three musketeers that are causing so much trouble." She sipped some more of her sherry. "Did you hear what happened last night on the coast road?"

Alfie pulled out a cloth from under the counter and began wiping down the bar. "Yes, m'm. I did. Nasty business that. Everyone's going to breathe a little easier when they're caught, that's for sure."

"Well, at least they didn't kill anyone this time." Elizabeth glanced up at the clock. Any minute now the first visitor would be coming in. "Alfie, have you seen any RAF boys in here lately?"

Alfie looked surprised. "Can't say as I have, m'm. We
get a lot of soldiers from the camp at Beerstowe, but I don't remember seeing any limey flyers around."

The familiar creak of unoiled hinges told Elizabeth that the first customer had arrived. She lifted her glass and drained it, smiling at Alfie as she set it back down. "That was lovely, Alfie. Thank you so much. You won't forget my little favor now, will you?"

"You can rely on me, m'm." He looked past her, to the man who had come up behind her to the bar. "Morning, Dick. What can I get for you this morning. Usual pint?"

Elizabeth felt a chill run down her spine. She'd been concentrating so much on the three musketeers, she'd completely forgotten about the Adelaides and their mysteriously missing daphne berries.

"You remember her ladyship?" Alfie said, as she turned to face the newcomer.

Dick Adelaide's face seemed carved in stone as he greeted her. "Your ladyship," he murmured, then turned to Alfie. "The usual mild and bitter, Alfie. Thanks, mate."

"Coming right up." Alfie reached for a glass tankard, stuck it under one of the pumps and pulled the brass handle. He filled the tankard half full of the dark brown liquid, then moved it under the next pump and topped it off with bitter ale. In typical barman fashion, he slapped the tankard down on the counter, sending a trickle of its foam collar down the sides of the glass. "That'll be a bob to you, mate," he said.

Dick Adelaide fished a shilling out of his pocket and laid it on the counter. "Cheap at half the price," he said, and lifted the tankard to his lips.

"Mr. Adelaide," Elizabeth said clearly, "I had the pleasure of meeting your wife the other day."

The man's cold eyes stabbed at her face. "Yeah, she told me your ladyship had come poking around."

Something about the way he'd said it gave her an unpleasant feeling. She stared him straight in the eye. "I realized I hadn't paid my customary call to a new resident. I'm not normally so tardy with my duties."

He gave her a brief nod that told her he didn't believe for one moment that her visit had been without purpose.

"Your wife told me all about your daughter's death." Elizabeth kept her gaze firmly on his face. "I'm so very sorry. It must have been an unbearable time for you both."

Alfie cleared his throat. "Another sherry, your ladyship?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Alfie." Elizabeth briefly transferred her gaze to the barman, and when she looked back, the venom in Dick Adelaide's eyes was unmistakable.

"We don't talk about it anymore," he said gruffly.

Elizabeth privately thought that both he and his wife would do a great deal better if they did talk about what happened more often. She kept silent on that score, however, saying quietly, "I quite understand. Losing a child must be the very worst tragedy anyone can suffer."

He seemed somewhat mollified by her genuine sympathy. He drank deeply from his glass, then muttered, "I blame that girlfriend of hers. Barb was never interested in the Yanks until Vera took her to the base. If it hadn't been for that little slut, my girl would still be alive."

Elizabeth's interest sharpened. "Vera?"

"Vera Stutworth. Lives down by the bay."

Of course, Elizabeth thought. The Stutworths. They had been tenants for almost two years now. Several children if she remembered correctly. She vaguely remembered the eldest daughter. That had to be Vera. Maybe she could tell her the color of Barbara Adelaide's boyfriend's hair. It was certainly worth paying her a visit. After all, even though
Annie Adelaide had said her husband hadn't met Buddy, she wouldn't be the first wife to be ignorant about her husband's activities.

"By the way," she said, as Dick Adelaide started to leave, "I happened to notice some daphne bushes in your back garden. They appear to have lost their berries. I do hope you're not losing them to some dreaded disease."

The dairy farmer's face was inscrutable when he answered her. "I picked them off," he said. "They're deadly poison, and I didn't want the dogs eating them."

"Very wise," Elizabeth said evenly. She slid off her stool. "Well, I really must be going. Violet gets so upset if I'm late for a meal. Do give my regards to your wife, Mr. Adelaide." Before he could answer, she waved at Alfie and hurried to the door.

Once outside she quickly mounted her motorcycle. Dick Adelaide's answer about the berries seemed feasible enough. Nevertheless, with any luck she could talk to Vera Stutworth that afternoon and find out if the elusive Buddy had red hair.

Though she would have to allow herself plenty of time to get ready for her dinner appointment with Earl. She wanted to look her very best for him. Her excitement intensified as she rode back to the Manor House. Dinner with Earl. What could be more exciting? Or more bittersweet?

Polly sat at her desk, taking great pains to copy down the rent amounts in a large ledger. She was proud of her neat columns of figures, and took great care to fit them inside the tiny boxes allotted to them. After each entry, she dipped her pen into the bottle of ink, shook it over the blotter to remove any drips, then wrote another amount down opposite a tenant's name.

She had almost reached the bottom of the page when the door flew open and Sadie hurtled into the room in her usual hurry. "Can't stop," she panted. "I've got another bathroom to do before lunch and I still haven't dusted in the great hall. The mighty knight will have dust up his nose if I don't get to his visor with me feather brush."

Polly grinned at her. "You talking about that rusty old suit of armor out there? It's a wonder it don't fall apart with you swiping at it with a feather duster every day."

" 'Ere, don't talk about my boyfriend like that. He's sensitive about his tin clothes, he is."

Polly burst out laughing. "You talk about him like he's real."

"Well, he is to me." Sadie slumped down on the chair behind her ladyship's desk. "After all, there was once a man inside that thing. I like to pretend there still is. Brightens up my dull day."

Polly shivered. "I hate that thing. I keep imagining a skeleton inside it."

"Well, anyway, tonight I'm going out with a real flesh-and-blood man." Sadie looked pleased with herself. "So how d'you like that?"

"You are?" Polly dipped her pen in the ink. "Who is he? The vicar?"

Sadie snorted. "Very bleeding funny, I'm sure. No, silly. I'm going out with a Yank, aren't I."

Polly's jaw dropped. "Go on! You don't like the Yanks. You said you'd never go out with one."

"I blinking play darts down the pub with them all the time, don't I?"

"That's different to going out with them."

"Yeah, well . . ." Sadie's voice trailed off.

Polly narrowed her eyes. Sadie had an awfully funny
look on her face. "So what's so special about this one?"

"Oh, nothing." Sadie sent a deliberate glance at the clock. "I best be off. Violet will be howling at me if I don't get me jobs done before lunch."

"Wait a minute." Polly twisted around on her chair. "What's going on, Sadie Buttons?"

"Nothing." Sadie laughed, but it didn't sound like her usual laugh. "I just came in to tell you I'm going out with a Yank tonight. That's all."