Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (7 page)

BOOK: Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery)
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Squatting down behind the bonnet of the Jeep, she tried not to think about the pain in her knees. It seemed hours before they moved off. By that time they'd cut every one of the tires on every Jeep in the car park. Eight of them all told. Looked as if the Yanks would be walking home.

Just before the masked men left one of them chalked a
message on the wall of the pub. Polly saw them running out of the car park and down the road. Even though her knees hurt and her legs were cramping, she waited until their footsteps had faded away into silence before she crept out from her hiding place.

She hobbled over to the pub to see what they'd scribbled on the wall. It was a message she'd seen a lot already.
Yanks go home!
And underneath, three distinct Ms, linked together. The three musketeers had been at work again.

CHAPTER

5

"Did you find Martin's glasses yet?" Elizabeth asked the next morning. She sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Violet to finish stirring the stodgy porridge that had become a regular offering for weekday breakfast. With eggs and bacon rationed, that particular treat was reserved for Sunday breakfast.

Now and again Violet managed to buy some smoked haddock, but Elizabeth didn't care for it without the customary poached eggs on top, and reluctantly settled on the porridge as a way to fill her stomach until the more palatable lunchtime menu.

"Can't find hide nor hair of them," Violet announced, as she dished up the steaming oatmeal onto the remaining china plates that were part of the second best service. "I
sent Sadie all over the house looking for them. I'll have Polly help look for them today. Sadie won't go up into the attic rooms by herself. Not that I think that old goat climbed the stairs to the attic, but you never know with him nowadays."

"I thought the attic doors were locked," Elizabeth murmured. She was glancing at the headlines, disturbed to see the announcement that the Allies were expected to invade Sicily, and that bombing raids had already begun. As always, her thoughts were on Earl, and how involved he would be in the campaign.

"They are, but you know Martin has a set of keys to all the doors. I think we should take them away from him. Heaven knows what he's been up to lately."

"I don't think that's really necessary, do you?"

Violet dumped the plate of porridge in front of her. "I think we should lock him in his room, but I suppose that's too much to ask."

Elizabeth tore her gaze away from the newspaper. "Why? Has something happened?"

"I wondered when you were going to pay attention to me." Violet glanced up at the clock. "Where is he, that's what I want to know. He knows what time I serve breakfast. If he can't get here on time he doesn't deserve to eat it."

The door swung open at that instant and Martin shuffled slowly into the kitchen.

Violet gave him a sharp look. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"Good morning, madam," Martin said, pausing by Elizabeth's chair. "May I be permitted to join you at the table?"

"You certainly may, Martin." Elizabeth smiled at the old man. He looked so different without his glasses perched on his nose. "I see you haven't found your glasses yet."

"I haven't?" Martin fumbled at his forehead with shaky fingers. "Bless my soul, no wonder I can't see to tie my shoelaces."

Obviously irritated at being totally ignored, Violet snapped, "You never look through them anyway, you old goat. You see just as well without them. I don't know why you bother to wear them at all."

"Perhaps you should try wearing spectacles yourself," Martin said huffily. "Then perhaps that fuzz on top of your head would look more like real hair and less like a bird's nest."

Violet looked taken aback. "What's got into you, this morning? Bit liverish, aren't we?"

Sensing another noisy argument brewing, Elizabeth said firmly, "I have to go into the village this morning, Violet. Could you please tell Polly to finish writing out the rent notices, and there's two letters that need answering. Rita Crumm is organizing a scavenger hunt. Most likely some members of the Housewives League will be calling on us to contribute."

"Contribute what?" Violet demanded. "What have you let us in for this time, Lizzie?"

"A scavenger hunt?" Martin looked horrified. "I trust those infernal housewives won't be tramping all over the house, madam? The master will be most displeased. He is upset enough as it is with all the comings and goings of our guests. He told me he is worried that what with all the strangers in the Manor House, an enemy spy could infiltrate and we'd never know he was here."

"Listen to him," Violet said with disgust. She slapped a plate of porridge in front of him. "Blinking barmy he is. What on earth would an enemy spy want with us?"

"I can't imagine," Martin said, rather dryly. "But I do
suppose one of those blighters might be rather interested in the Americans."

"He has a point." Elizabeth patted his hand. "Don't worry, Martin, I'm sure we'd know if a stranger happened to be wandering around the Manor House."

"I fail to see how if I'm not wearing my glasses." Martin shook his head. "Anyone could sneak by me. The girl with the saucy mouth does it all the time."

Elizabeth looked inquiringly at Violet.

"Sadie," she said, shaking her head. "I have to admit, that girl gives him the devil of a time."

"Well, don't worry, Martin." Elizabeth reached for her cup of tea. "I'll have Polly and Sadie look for your glasses today. I'm sure we'll find them somewhere."

"He's probably flushed them down the lavatory," Violet said. "Wouldn't put anything past him." She tilted her head on one side and peered at the unfortunate butler. "Didn't exchange them for a bunch of raffle tickets, did you?"

Martin blinked at her in owlish innocence. "Raffle tickets?"

Violet picked up Elizabeth's half empty plate and tipped the remaining porridge into the sink. "You know what I mean. All those raffle tickets you got hidden away in your drawers."

"How do you know what I have in my drawers?"

"I saw them when I was looking for your glasses." Violet swished water around the sink, and it gurgled noisily down the drain. "You keep buying them off that woman. What's her name? That Carr woman."

"If you are referring to Beatrice," Martin said coldly, "I'll thank you to refer to her as Mrs. Carr."

Violet sniffed. "Don't get all hoity-toity with me, you old fool. I don't know what you've been up to, Martin
Chezzlewit, but I do know it can't be much good. Buying raffle tickets indeed. Whatever next? Bet you don't even know what's being raffled. I should think you'd have better things to do with your money. If you ask me, that woman is only after what she can get, you mind my words."

"Mrs. Carr happens to be a very charming lady." Martin put down his fork, dabbed his mouth with his serviette, then struggled painfully to his feet. "Which is far more than I can say about some people in this room." He nodded at Elizabeth. "Present company excluded, madam."

"Thank you, Martin." Elizabeth caught Violet's eye and gave her a swift shake of her head.

Violet snapped her mouth shut and turned back to the stove.

Martin leaned his gnarled hands on the table. "May I have the horse and carriage brought around for you, madam? Or will you be riding that dreadful mechanical monster?"

"I'll be taking the motorcycle, thank you, Martin." Elizabeth had long ago given up trying to convince her butler they no longer owned any horses, having sold them to help out with the mounting debts.

"Well, all I can say, I sincerely hope the master doesn't catch you astride that infernal machine. He would be aghast. Can't say I'd blame him."

"I can promise you, my father will not see me," Elizabeth assured him.

"Not unless he can see you from the grave," Violet muttered. She waited until Martin had shuffled slowly from the room before adding, "Did Rita say what her members would be looking for?"

"Not specifically, no." Elizabeth got to her feet. "Just common everyday knick-knacks I assume. The sort of
things one has lying about. I suspect that none of them know what they will be asking for until they actually get the list. Otherwise it wouldn't be fair, would it."

"I don't know what we'd have lying about that they could want." Violet carried the empty porridge pot over to the sink. "If you ask me, they could find more useful things to do than waste our day with their silly games. I don't have time to hunt for what they want, and neither does Sadie."

"I wouldn't waste much time on it." Elizabeth headed for the door. "If you can't lay your hands on an item then simply tell them we don't have it."

She left Violet still grumbling to herself and closed the door on her housekeeper. Sometimes Violet could have quite a dampening effect on the day.

On the way to the stables, where she housed her motorcycle, Elizabeth spotted Desmond, the gardener, pruning the rosebushes behind the fountain. She hailed him, and waited for him to amble over to her. Like most of the men left in Sitting Marsh, Desmond was elderly and somewhat ineffective, but he kept the grounds under control, and was willing to accept a mere pittance for doing so, and for that Elizabeth forgave him a lot.

He came trudging up to her, pulling a shabby cap from his head as he reached her. "Morning, m'm. Looks like it be a nice day, today."

Glancing at the sparse clouds scudding across the sky on the wings of a fresh sea breeze, Elizabeth murmured, "I certainly hope so, Desmond."

"Going out are we, m'm?"

"Yes, Desmond. I'm going into the village, but I wanted to ask you something before I left."

Desmond's heavily wrinkled face took on a look of
dismay. "Not going to ask me to tinker with your motorcycle, are you, m'm? Don't know much about engines, I don't. Grew up with horses, you see. Now I could tell you anything you wanted to know about cart horses—"

"No, thank you, Desmond, it's not about my motorcycle." Elizabeth glanced over at the bushes growing on either side of the stone steps that led to the front door. "What do you know about daphne?"

Desmond's brow wrinkled even deeper. "Daphne? Don't know as I'm acquainted with anyone of that name, m'm."

"No, it's not a person," Elizabeth said patiently. "I'm talking about those bushes over there." She pointed to the dark green leaves sprinkled with delicate pink flowers. "Isn't that daphne?"

"Oh, is it, m'm?" Desmond stared at it for a moment or two. "Wouldn't know the name of it, m'm, but I do know you can't eat them orange berries on it. Got some juice from them on me fingers once, and wiped me mouth without thinking. Burned me lips like acid it did. Never go near them bushes now without me gloves."

"So it doesn't seem likely than anyone would actually eat the berries, then?"

"Not unless they want to burn their guts out. Begging your pardon, m'm, but I can't see anyone actually swallowing them things. Bitter as drain cleaner they be."

Elizabeth frowned. "More so than bitter ale or stout, would you say?"

Desmond gave her a wide display of uneven yellowed teeth. "Depends how much you have of it, m'm, if you get my meaning."

"Yes, I suppose so." Elizabeth pulled a rose-pink silk scarf from the pocket of her cardigan and arranged it over
her hat, tying both ends securely under her chin. "Well, I'm off. Thank you, Desmond. I must say, you are doing an excellent job with the roses."

"Thank you, m'm." Desmond gave her a quaint, old-fashioned bow from the waist, then hobbled back to his task.

Elizabeth sighed. How she missed the skilled gardeners and maintenance men that once kept the manor and its grounds in sparkling order. Most of them were in the military now, of course, but in the aftermath of her parents' death and her subsequent divorce, she'd had to sack the remaining staff. All but Violet and Martin. Polly and Sadie were recent additions, and she could barely afford them.

So much needed to be done in the house. She and Violet had managed makeshift repairs, with the help of Desmond and in spite of the hindrance of Martin who, more often than not, insisted on giving a hand.

They'd cleaned chimneys and repaired lighting fixtures, hung blackout curtains and unplugged lavatories. So far, however, they hadn't managed to solve the problem of loudly gurgling water pipes, or the occasional leaks in the roof during a heavy downpour.

Earl had found a young man at the base who had training as a plumber but the poor fellow, when faced with an alarming array of ancient pipes and an antiquated system that ran throughout the vast manor, had confessed that the task was far beyond his capabilities, and suggested Elizabeth call in an experienced plumber.

All very well said and done, Elizabeth thought, as she wheeled her motorcycle out of the stables. But the only plumber to be found in the village was serving in the navy somewhere in the Pacific, and being able to afford a competent plumber from North Horsham was out of the question.

So the pipes merrily gurgled, groaned and hissed away, no doubt giving rise to the persistent rumors that the Manor House was haunted by its previous inhabitants. Including her own father and mother.

Elizabeth thought about her parents as she sped down the hill toward the main street of Sitting Marsh. She missed them both dreadfully, and at times her sense of loss was almost overwhelming.

Taking over the sprawling mansion and its vast acres of land was difficult enough, but inheriting the title of lady of the manor, sole heir of the last earl of Wellsborough, had been daunting at times. Especially since it was common knowledge in the village that the late earl's wife had been nothing more than a kitchen maid when he married her. Elizabeth's claim to aristocracy had been severely hampered by that fact. At least to some people. Rita Crumm in particular.

Her thoughts on the impending scavenger hunt, Elizabeth roared down the high street, graciously acknowledging the scattered villagers on the street by returning their waves with a quick flick of her wrist.

Her sparse response was necessitated by her need to hang onto the handlebars with both hands. Much as she enjoyed the stir she caused when entering the village on her mechanical steed, she had no wish to crash the darn thing and end up with her feet in the air and her skirts around her head. Rita Crumm would feast on that spectacle for the rest of her born days. Thanks to the sidecar, which helped maintain her balance, the chance of that happening was remote. Unless she lost control of the vehicle, of course.

BOOK: Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery)
13.33Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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