Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (4 page)

Alfie tucked the basket under the counter, then said a little awkwardly, "Don't let him get you upset, your ladyship. He's not a bad chap, really. It's his daughter what got him like that. I heard as how some GI got her . . ." he paused, cleared his throat, then mumbled, "gave her a bun in the oven, so to speak. She went to some quack in North Horsham. He botched the job and she died. Annie, that's Dick's wife, hasn't been the same since. Dick don't have a good word for the Americans now."

Having heard all she wanted to for the time being, Elizabeth slipped off her stool. "Well, while the poor man has my deepest sympathy for the loss of his daughter, I do wish he would remember that it takes two to tango."

Alfie's lips twitched. "Yes, m'm."

"You will let me know if anyone else should fall ill, won't you, Alfie?"

"That I will, m'm."

She paused at the door, looking back at him. "Oh, and if you should learn anything more about these musketeer people, I'd be obliged if you'd give me a ring. I'd like to
know who it is harassing our American military so that I can take steps to put a stop to it. It's bad enough that we have this kind of trouble in the village, but when the source comes from as far away as London, that is a matter of grave concern."

"I quite agree, m'm." Alfie lifted his hand. "If I find out anything at all, you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you, Alfie." She stepped out into the bright rays of the setting sun, a deep feeling of unease unsettling her. It was one thing to deal with the villagers, with whom she was familiar and understood their ways, but Alfie's mention of a gang of hooligans from London was a different matter altogether.

George and Sid did what they could, but they were reluctant constables at best, having been dragged out of retirement to replace the younger men called up for the military. As for the local inspector, he had been absent so long Elizabeth had more or less forgotten what he looked like. He would be no match for a determined band of vigilantes from London. It would be up to her to take care of the matter, and she wasn't sure if she was up to the task.

Then there was the matter of Dick Adelaide. It had occurred to her that he had a very strong reason for hating the Americans. Enough to kill? It was a sobering thought.

It wasn't often she felt vulnerable, but right then, she would have given the world to see Earl's reassuring figure striding toward her.

The thought scared her. She was beginning to depend on him. That wouldn't do at all. The problem was, she couldn't seem to help it. And that could only mean trouble for her, and eventually, maybe for Earl, too.

CHAPTER

3

When Polly arrived at the Manor House, Sadie had finished her chores and was in her room. The moment Sadie opened the door to Polly's knock, she grabbed the younger girl's arm and dragged her inside.

"What's the matter with you?" Polly demanded, staring at the housemaid with wide eyes.

Sadie's face was flushed with excitement. "You'll never guess who I saw," she said, as Polly flopped down on the narrow bed. "Right in front of my bloody eyes, he was. I couldn't believe it."

"Cary Grant," Polly said promptly.

Sadie dropped onto the only chair in the room. "Don't be daft. What would Cary Grant be doing in Sitting Marsh?"

"Making a film, that's what." Polly wriggled her bare
toes, enjoying the freedom of her new sandals. They had platform soles, with just two thin straps holding them on her feet. They weren't too comfortable, and made pedaling her bicycle a little dodgy, but she loved the look of them. She'd used up all her clothing coupons and waited two months for weather warm enough to wear them. It had been worth it. It made her feel like Betty Grable in
Moon Over Miami
.

"Making a film? In this dump? Not bloody likely, is it." Sadie peered in the mirror. "Do you think my hair looks better tied back in bunches or around my face?"

Polly stared at the other girl's reflection in the mirror. Sadie's hair was a shiny dark brown and too short to be worn in bunches. They stuck out from the sides of her head, and from the back she looked like the Pekingese Polly's Aunt Mathilda used to have.

"Around your face," she told Sadie. "Makes you look more glamorous. Who did you see then?"

"Guess!" Sadie spun around and hugged herself. "You'll never get it in a million years."

"Well, tell me if he's a film star."

"Nah, better than that."

"King George, then."

Sadie grinned. "You're getting warmer."

Polly glared at her in frustration. "Why don't you just tell me."

"All right." Sadie pulled in a deep breath. "I saw Winston Churchill. Right here on the coast road."

Polly stared for a moment longer, then broke into peals of laughter. "Winnie? Here in Sitting Marsh? Did he have his bulldog with him?"

"No, he didn't," Sadie said stiffly. "He was walking along the cliffs, staring down at the beach."

"All by himself?" Polly giggled again. "What did you do? Ask him if he was lost?"

"I said good morning. I was on my bicycle. Violet sent me out to the Miller's farm to get some rhubarb, and I was on my way back when I seen him."

Polly shook her head. "Sadie, what would Winston Churchill be doing here when he's supposed to be in London fighting the war? It must have been someone what looked like him."

"It was him, I tell you. I know it sounds strange, but I swear it was him."

"Well, don't swear too hard or Violet will be after you." Polly got off the bed. "I came here to ask if you wanted to go down the pub with Marlene and me tonight."

"All right. Don't believe it. But I know what I saw." Sadie peered in the mirror again. "What time are you going to the pub tonight, then?"

"I don't know. About half past seven, I suppose. It only takes a few minutes to get there on our bicycles."

Sadie got up from her chair. "You seen Sam lately?"

"Not lately, no."

"Is he going to be down the Arms?"

Polly shrugged. "Don't think so. He hasn't been there since he smashed up his face in that accident. He don't like going out with all them scars on his face."

"Silly bugger. He's the only one what worries about his face. No one else cares about it."

Polly hurried to the door. The subject of Sam was still painful and she didn't like talking about it. "See you tonight, then." She started to close the door then poked her head around it. "You can bring Winnie if you like." She shut the door just before the box of face powder that Sadie threw could hit her in the face.

Sadie's room was on the lowest floor of the mansion, just down the hall from the kitchen. It was always quiet on a Sunday. It was Polly's day off so she wasn't there much on Sundays anymore. Not like when she used to be the housemaid.

Polly used to like being in the Manor House on Sundays. Martin always rested in his room in the afternoons, and Violet, having cooked a large meal midday, usually took a nap in her quarters.

Right now most of the American airmen billeted in the east wing were either at the base or spending the day in North Horsham. By that evening, though, a lot of them would be back for the talent night at the Tudor Arms. It was closer to the base, and they wouldn't have so far to drive. Which was just as well if they'd had too much to drink. Most of them had trouble remembering to drive on the left side of the road, even when they were sober.

Polly and her sister had come close to being run over many times on the way back from the pub. In fact, that's how she'd met Sam. He'd put them both in the ditch while driving on the wrong side of the road.

Polly smiled at the memory, but her smile soon faded. Things had been really good between them until Sam had found out how old she was. She'd lied about her age because she was afraid he'd think she was too young. Then, when he found out the truth, he was so flaming angry he'd driven around a bend too fast and overturned the Jeep. He hadn't wanted anything to do with her ever since.

Polly climbed the huge curving staircase to the second floor, her heart heavy with the pain of it all. He'd come to Sunday tea once, but she'd hardly seen him since then. Sadie and Marlene thought he was staying away from her
because of his scars. Polly wanted very badly to believe that, but a niggling worry deep inside her whispered that Sam didn't want her anymore because she was too young for him. Sam was going to be twenty-five this year. It might as well have been forty-five, the way he felt about it.

Polly reached the top of the stairs and paused, struck by the sudden icy chill that seemed to close in around her. The sun was still high in the sky, and would be for several hours, thanks to double summertime. Even so, the great hall was thick with shadows, most of the sunlight obscured by heavy velvet curtains and the thick dust on the towering windows.

In her thin sleeveless blouse, Polly shivered. Ahead of her the great hall stretched the length of the manor, its walls peppered with solemn portraits of former earls of Wellsborough and their ladies.

About midway down, a massive suit of armor kept guard over the silent walls. It was just beyond there that Polly thought she saw the shadow of a man, moving stealthily along the right wall.

Goosebumps raised themselves all the way down her arms. Rumors that the Manor House was haunted had been passed around the village ever since Polly could remember. No one had ever actually seen a ghost. Except Martin, of course, and everyone knew that Martin had a screw loose.

But now Polly wasn't so sure. Someone was moving down there, and she could see right through him. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Frozen in one spot, she could only stare as the shadowy figure seemed to merge with the curtains, then disappear.

In that moment another movement from the end of the hall caught her eye. Her breath came out in a rush of relief
as she realized the man heading toward her was solid flesh and bone, then she lost her breath again when she saw it was Sam.

He barely limped now, and the angry red patches of scars had faded to a light pink. Every day he was beginning to look more and more like the old Sam. Her heart contracted with pain. It was too bad he didn't act like the old Sam. How she missed being with him.

He greeted her with a raised hand as he drew close. "Hi there. What are you up to?"

He paused in front of her, and she ached to rush up to him and fling her arms around him and never let go. "Hello, Sam. You'll never guess what I just saw."

His eyes were wary as he studied her face. "Okay, I give up. What did you just see?"

"A blinking ghost, that's what." She pointed at the window further down the hall. "Right there. He walked right into them curtains and disappeared."

Sam shook his head. "You sound like that old clown, Martin. I thought he was the one seeing ghosts."

Unsure herself now of what she really did see, Polly let it drop. "It's nice to see you, Sam. I was hoping I'd bump into you. I wanted to ask you something."

Her stomach seemed to drop as the dreaded remote look crossed his face. "Like what?"

"Well,
The Philadelphia Story
is on at the cinema in North Horsham and I was wondering if you'd like to go with me to see it?"

"Sorry, I've already seen it."

"Oh." Her disappointment was crushing, but she struggled to seem unaffected by the brush off. "Well, then, how about the war movie that's on at the Odeon? I can't remember what it's called, but—"

"I've seen that, too." Sam looked at his watch. "Look, I'm sorry Polly, but I gotta run. I'll catch up with you later, all right?"

Miserably, she watched him stride away from her. At the last minute, just before he reached the stairs, she called out after him. "I'm going down the Tudor Arms tonight with Marlene. Are you going to be there?"

"Sorry. Can't make it." His answer floated back to her, and then he was gone.

She felt like crying, but bit back the tears. So it was going to take some time, that's all. Sooner or later she'd wear him down, and then things would get back to normal between them. She just had to keep working at it, and not give up. Ever.

Instead of returning to the Manor House, Elizabeth decided to pay a call on the new tenants of the dairy farm. After all, she assured herself, it was only common courtesy to welcome them to Sitting Marsh, even if it was a trifle belated.

A flock of crows erupted from the branches of a gnarled oak tree, cawing their displeasure as her motorbike shattered the peaceful countryside with its harsh roar. Guiltily Elizabeth shut off the engine. The gruesome noise was the only drawback to her chosen method of transportation.

She loved the freedom of riding head on into the salty wind fresh from the ocean, and the sense of being somehow adrift from the bounds of earth. At times it made her feel as if she were flying, and she loved the idea that in an odd way, she was experiencing similar sensations as Earl might feel in his airplane. As if they shared something very special.

Laughing at her foolish notions, she climbed off her
noisy steed and straightened her skirt. It was rather a nuisance to be hampered by skirts when she rode the motorcycle. She'd have much preferred wearing those baggy trousers that the Land Army girls wore. So much more accommodating, even if they were ghastly unattractive. But a lady of the manor couldn't be caught dead in such atrocious attire.

Protocol demanded that she be dressed properly in public at all times, which meant a frock and a beastly hat, which had to be heavily anchored with pins and ribbons and did dreadful things to her hair. More often than not the hat would become dislodged and flap around in a most annoying manner.

She'd lost more than a few hats completely when they had sailed from her head and disappeared over the cliffs. Consequently she learned to choose hats with a short brim. Or no brim at all. Which left her face exposed to the elements and would no doubt age her before her time.

Pondering on the miseries of being too poor to buy an automobile, Elizabeth trudged up a stony path to a delightful porch wreathed in fragrant clematis. The house was built of white stone, and the thatched roof overhung almost to the top of the latticed windows.