Death Is in the Air (10 page)

Reaching her office, she sat down at the heavy oak desk and dialed the number of the farm. A young female voice answered her on the second ring, sounding breathless. “Macclesby farm!”

“This is Lady Elizabeth from the Manor House. I’d like to speak to Mrs. Macclesby, please.”

“Oh, Lady Elizabeth! This is Pauline. Mrs. Macclesby’s in the cowshed, trying to stop the soldiers from mucking about with the cows.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What are soldiers doing in the cowshed?”

“They’re looking for that German, that’s what. He’s been hiding in the barn. Maurice found some food up there, stolen from the kitchen. There was a scarf up there, too, with a swastika on it. He’s not there now, though. I reckon he scarpered in the night.”

While Elizabeth was still digesting the news, Pauline added, “Oh, wait a minute, here comes Mrs. Macclesby now!” There followed a babble of conversation too low for Elizabeth to hear, then Sheila Macclesby’s clear voice rang in her ear.

“Good afternoon, your ladyship. Thank you for ringing. I just wanted you to know that Maurice found evidence that the German pilot has been hiding in our barn. The soldiers are looking for him now.”

“So Pauline tells me. Is Maurice all right?”

“He’s a little upset by all the excitement, but he’s not hurt or anything. I wouldn’t let the soldiers talk to him. You know how he gets. But at least now we know that the German killed Amelia. She must have seen him lurking around the farm, and he killed her to keep her quiet.”

It was quite possible, Elizabeth had to admit. But then, if he’d killed to make good his escape, why would he go to all the trouble of dragging the body to the woods? “I have to go to a council meeting now,” she told Sheila, “but as soon as it’s over I’ll come out there. Perhaps Maurice will feel more comfortable talking to me.”

“I don’t think he will, Lady Elizabeth. He won’t talk to the constables and he knows them really well.”

“George and Sid are there?”

“I think everyone in town is here,” Sheila said, her exasperation sounding clearly in her voice. “Rita and her mob arrived a little while ago. They’re all out in the fields looking in the haystacks. Don’t know what they expect to find out there, but they are making a blooming mess, I can tell you. Begging your pardon, m’m.”

“Oh dear.” Elizabeth glanced at the small, pendulum
clock on her desk. “I’ll be out there as soon as I can get there.”

“Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. I need someone out here to take care of this mess. What with Rita Crumm and her lot, and the soldiers making trouble for the land girls, and all Sid and George can do is wander around wondering what to do next.”

“I’ll be there,” Elizabeth promised and dropped the phone. The sooner she got the meeting over with, the sooner she could be out at the farm. Someone had to restore order out there before poor Sheila went out of her mind. Besides, she really wanted to talk to Maisie about the disappearing spade.

The other council members were already there when she arrived at the town hall a short while later. Deirdre Cumberland, the vicar’s wife, dressed to kill as usual, was the first to greet her as she entered the dark, musty meeting room.

Returning the greeting, Elizabeth stepped up to the platform and took her seat at the head of the table. The acrid smell of burning tobacco wrinkled her nose. Captain Wally Carbunkle, long retired from the sea, puffed at a pipe while he listened to Percy Bodkins grumbling about all the extra accounts he had to deal with in his grocer’s shop now that everything was on ration.

The fourth member of the council, a rotund, middle-aged woman whose red apple cheeks dimpled in a permanent smile, waved a hand at her from the opposite end of the table. “It’s so nice to see you again, your ladyship,” she called out. “How is poor old Martin getting along? All right, is he?”

“Thank you, yes, Bessie.” Elizabeth smiled fondly at her. Bessie Bartholomew, proprietress and master baker at Bessie’s Bake Shop, was always a delight. Elizabeth had never heard the woman say a bad word about anyone, and she was always the first to offer help when needed. She had lost her husband during the first months of the war, and both her sons were fighting overseas, yet
she always had a smile and a cheerful word for everyone. It was a pleasure to buy bread and buns in her spotlessly clean and bright shop or sit in her warm, cozy parlor enjoying a spot of afternoon tea.

“I’d like to know why we are here,” Deirdre demanded in her whiny voice. “I was supposed to join the Women’s League knitting group this afternoon. I trust this issue is important enough to summon us in the middle of the week?”

Wally took his pipe out of his mouth and waved it at her. “Settle down, Deirdre. Her ladyship would not have called this meeting if it weren’t important. Now ain’t that so, your ladyship?”

“Quite so, Captain Carbunkle.” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I’ve called you all here because of the unpleasant hostility that prevails in the village toward the Americans. I believe the matter is serious enough that it’s time to do something about it. Apparently the Tudor Arms was badly damaged last night when a fight broke out between the British soldiers and the Americans. I find this situation unacceptable, and we have to come up with ways to improve matters.”

“I told you this would happen,” Deirdre muttered.

Elizabeth sighed. “It’s true, Mrs. Cumberland and her grievance committee discussed the matter with me a while ago, but nothing has been done about it, and the situation is simply getting worse. Does anyone have any ideas of how we can alleviate the problem?”

“Close down the aerodrome, that’s what I say,” Percy declared. “Bloody Yanks are causing more trouble than they are worth. Sorry, your ladyship, but I’ve had it up to here with them.” He drew his hand across his throat.

“I think we all have to remember just why the Americans are here.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders, prepared to fight if needs be. “Every day those young men risk their lives in the skies to help us win this war. Some of them die. Some of them are horribly disfigured. In my opinion, we should be going down on our knees to
thank them, instead of blaming them for everything that goes wrong in the village.”

“Hear, hear, m’m,” Bessie murmured. “They’re good lads, they are. Just a long way from home.” She sent Deirdre her beautiful smile. “I hope and pray every day that if my sons end up in a strange town in a foreign country, someone will be kind enough to take care of them for me. I wouldn’t mind betting there are plenty of mothers in America praying for the same thing.”

Deirdre sniffed, but Wally clapped his hands. “Well said, Bessie, me old mate. So how can we help the poor blighters feel at home?”

“I was thinking we should offer some kind of entertainment that both the English and the Americans could enjoy together.” Elizabeth looked around the table. “Something that will take them out of the pub every night.”

“Like a concert?” Percy shook his head. “Begging your pardon, m’m, I can’t see the Yanks sitting still that long. Energetic lot, they are. Always on the go. I’ve seen them in my shop. Can’t stand still a minute, they can’t. Always jiggling about, shuffling their feet like they want to dance all the time.”

“That’s it!” Elizabeth snapped her fingers. “We’ll hold a dance for them.”

The expressions on the faces of the council members didn’t look encouraging. Even Bessie looked doubtful at the suggestion.

“We have the monthly dance at the village hall,” Deirdre said stiffly. “I suppose we could invite them there.”

Wally let out a roar of laughter. “Can you see them jazzed-up Yanks trotting around the village hall to the music of Ernie’s Entertainers? What with Wilf wheezing on the mouth organ and Ernie’s caterwauling on his trumpet, and poor old Priscilla Peeble playing on the cracks between the piano keys, there’d be a flipping riot before the first song came to an end.”

“Not at the village hall,” Elizabeth said impatiently.
“I mean here, at the town hall. We have enough space out there in the ballroom to accommodate everyone. We could decorate it ourselves, and Ted Wilkins could supply beer and wine from his pub. Maybe the Americans could bring some spirits from the base. I’m sure someone could arrange that.”

Wally nodded. “You might have something there, your ladyship. But what would we do about music? Ernie would be booed off the stage.”

“We could play records!” Bessie announced. “I’ve got a whole pile of band music—American and English. I’ve got nearly all of those Glen Miller tunes. My Philip collects them. We could use my gramophone, and I know Philip wouldn’t mind if we used his speakers. Oo, it’s going to be lovely!”

Her enthusiasm rippled around the table. “I’ll be master of ceremonies,” Wally offered, “and Percy here can run the gramophone.”

“I suppose I could ask the Women’s League to decorate,” Deirdre said rather wistfully. “It might be quite enjoyable. It has been a dreadfully long time since Roland and I danced together.”

“I’ll make some sausage rolls and Cornish pasties.” Bessie sent a sly glance at Percy. “’Course, it would help if I could get my hands on a little of that black market stuff.”

Percy nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, though I can’t promise, mind.”

Bessie clapped her hands. “Ted can get some crisps and nuts. Oo, I can’t wait.”

Well pleased with herself, Elizabeth beamed at everyone. “That’s settled, then. We’ll do it.”

“When shall we have it?” Wally asked. “I’ll need to rehearse a bit.”

“As soon as possible.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “This Saturday.”

A chorus of dismay met her words.

“That’s only two days away!”

“We can’t get everything done by then!”

“That’s impossible!”

This last was from Deirdre. Bessie, Elizabeth noted, said nothing, though her smile had faltered.

“Nothing is impossible if we put our minds to it.” Elizabeth straightened her back. “This is a war effort to improve relationships between the allies. It has top priority over everything else. If we all work together we can get it done.”

“Well,” Deirdre said, “it might be an idea if Rita Crumm and her cohorts stop looking for Nazis and give us a hand. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Well satisfied, Elizabeth nodded. “I intend to do just that. This dance will be just the thing to take their minds off that German pilot.”

“I imagine you will be there to greet everyone at the door, Lady Elizabeth?”

“Of course I’ll be there.”

“You’ll be bringing your American officers, then?” Wally asked, puffing furiously on his pipe. “Might be a good idea. They can keep their chaps from getting out of hand.”

“Who’s going to keep our lads from getting out of hand?” Percy demanded.

All four pairs of eyes turned in Elizabeth’s direction. She gave them all a weak smile. Violet’s words echoed in her head. All she could hope was that they were not prophetic and that she wasn’t taking on more trouble than she could handle.

CHAPTER
10

When Elizabeth arrived at the Macclesby farm a few minutes later, it was to confront utter chaos. Pigs ran around loose in the yard, chased by red-faced soldiers carrying rifles, while a female voice, unmistakably belonging to Rita Crumm, could be heard from the cornfields screeching curses at the top of her lungs. George stood on the bottom rung of a gate, hollering orders that no one seemed to hear, let alone obey.

Elizabeth saw Pauline over by the cowshed, arguing with an army officer, and in the distance a group of women brandishing what she fervently hoped weren’t carving knives advanced in a solid line upon the only haystack that appeared to be intact. The rest were torn apart and scattered to the winds.

As she crossed the yard to the house, the unpleasant smell of burning wool caught her attention. A thin column of smoke arose from behind the farmhouse, and
she hurried back there to investigate, half afraid that Rita in her enthusiasm had set fire to the barn.

Much to her relief, the smoke drifted from a smoldering bonfire. She was about to turn away when she caught sight of something glinting in the afternoon sunshine. Sparks sprayed from the ashes when she poked them with her shoe, and she saw the sunlight glance off several small pieces of metal. After a few more nudges at them with her foot, she managed to separate them from the embers.

While she waited for them to cool down, she crouched down to examine the pieces more closely. They were round, brass buttons, embossed with some kind of emblem. She waited a moment longer, then picked up the still-warm buttons and slipped them into the pocket of her cardigan.

Frowning, she straightened. Why would Sheila burn clothes, when the village was in the middle of a huge clothing drive for the victims bombed out of their homes? There was only one way to find out, and that was to ask her.

As she rounded the house, Elizabeth caught sight of Pauline striding across the yard with a bucket in her hand. She hailed the young woman, who paused, obviously irritated by this further interruption.

“Good afternoon, m’m,” she mumbled, when Elizabeth approached.

“Pauline, I was wondering about that bonfire at the back of the house,” Elizabeth said, coming straight to the point. “I couldn’t help noticing that some clothes had been burned. Do you know anything about that?”

Pauline’s face seemed to close up. “Yes, m’m. I was the one what lit it, wasn’t I. Mrs. Macclesby gave me some old sacks to burn, but there weren’t no clothes on there. Not that I put there, anyhow.”

Elizabeth took the buttons from her pocket and held them out on her palm. “Then how do you think these got into the fire?”

Pauline stared at the buttons for several seconds. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “They could have been there already when I set light to the sacks. We burn a lot of stuff on that bit of ground.”

“But you didn’t notice them there when you put the sacks on the ground?”

Pauline looked her straight in the eye. “No, m’m. I didn’t.”

Satisfied, Elizabeth nodded. “Well, thank you, Pauline. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thank you, m’m. Though I don’t know what work’ll get done with all these army blokes running around here. Anyone can see that German ain’t here. That’s the army for you, always wasting someone’s time.” She stomped off, leaving Elizabeth to wonder if the girl’s bitterness toward the military stemmed more from the loss of her boyfriend than the unwarranted interruption of her day.

Sheila opened the door to Elizabeth’s summons a minute or two later, though barely more than a crack. When she recognized her visitor, however, she widened the gap and urged Elizabeth inside. “So good of you to come, Lady Elizabeth,” she said, as she slammed the door shut, “though I don’t really know what you can do about all this. The P.C.s have been out there for an hour trying to get rid of everyone.”

Elizabeth gave her a sympathetic smile. “Well, perhaps I can at least talk to Rita. I have some news to give her anyway.”

Sheila looked concerned. “Her Bert’s all right, isn’t he?”

“Yes, as far as I know.” Elizabeth seated herself on the couch. “Don’t worry, this is good news. We are holding a dance on Saturday at the town hall. I’m hoping Rita and her group of ladies will be able to help us.”

“A dance?” Sheila’s face brightened just a little. “What sort of dance?”

“Well, we’ll be playing records—band music, of course—and we’ll have drinks and refreshments. We’re
inviting the British soldiers as well as the Americans.”

“Taking a bit of a chance there, your ladyship. Our boys don’t get on with the Yanks too well.”

“That’s just the point. We want to create an environment where both sides can get to know each other and appreciate each other’s point of view.”

Sheila still looked doubtful. “And you’re sure that can happen at a dance where there’s drinking and girls?”

Elizabeth felt a stab of apprehension. Now that she really thought about it, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. In the next instant she chided herself. She couldn’t let a few niggling doubts get in the way. The die was cast now, and she would see it through to the bitter end. Never say die; that was the Hartleigh motto. Those words had given her ancestors courage and conviction through wars and battles in the past, and it would get her through whatever lay ahead.

Remembering the buttons, she pulled them from her pocket. “I found these lying near the bonfire around the back of the house,” she said, holding them out for Sheila’s inspection. “I was wondering if they belonged to the clothes you burned on the bonfire.”

Sheila looked startled. “Clothes? I haven’t burned any clothes. I gave Pauline some old sacks to burn, but there weren’t any clothes. I give all our old clothes to the village clothing drive.”

“Ah, that was what I wanted to mention,” Elizabeth said hurriedly. “I didn’t know if you were aware of the drive.”

“Everyone knows about it, m’m. There are notices all over the town.” Sheila glanced at the clock. “I’m so sorry, Lady Elizabeth. You’ve been here for ten minutes, and I haven’t even offered you some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“That’s very kind of you,” Elizabeth said, rising to her feet, “but I think I’ll get out there and talk to Rita before her ladies do any more damage to your haystacks.”

“Thank you, m’m, I’d appreciate that. Nothing I say does any good. When I told them they were trespassing, Rita kept telling me it’s wartime, and the rules don’t count anymore. What I say is that no matter if there’s a war on or not, a person’s property is private, and I should be able to order them off my land.”

“Quite right, Sheila. I’ll see to it right away.” Elizabeth turned to leave, then paused. “Before I go, though, I wonder if you’d mind taking a closer look at these buttons? They are rather distinctive, and I’d like to know if you remember seeing them anywhere before.”

She held out the buttons, and Sheila took them into her hand as if afraid they would burn her skin. She turned them over, then hastily handed them back to Elizabeth. “Sorry, m’m. Never saw them before in my life. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“That’s all right.” Elizabeth opened the door. “Maybe one of the girls will recognize them. I hope you won’t mind if I have a word with them?”

For a moment or two Sheila looked as if she might argue, but then she shook her head. “Not at all, your ladyship.”

“Thank you, Sheila. I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Elizabeth closed the door, then jumped as Sid’s grating voice said behind her, “Lady Elizabeth! I thought I saw you a little while ago. Come to help us find that bloody German, have you?”

“Not exactly, Sid.” Elizabeth gave him her brightest smile. “I’m sure I can leave that to you and George.”

“That you can, m’m. That you can.” Sid puffed out his chest and beamed all over his face.

For a moment Elizabeth was tempted to show him the buttons then thought better of it. It had already occurred to her that if clothes had indeed been burned on the bonfire, they could possibly belong to the killer and would no doubt have been stained with Amelia’s blood. It was also possible the clothes had been hidden among
the sacks by the killer, knowing they would soon be destroyed.

Then again, the clothes could have been discarded by the German pilot, simply to avoid being recognized, though so far no one had reported any clothes stolen, and Elizabeth doubted that the German would be running around the countryside in his underwear. In any case, even if the clothes had been evidence, they were in ashes now and therefore not much use.

As for the buttons, if she handed them over now, she would lose any chance of finding out to whom they belonged. All in all, it seemed prudent to hang on to them for the time being.

She found Maisie in the cornfield, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to the elbows, stubbornly refusing offers from two young soldiers to help her stack sheaves. The young girl’s face glowed red with exertion as she heaved a heavy load of the corn on its end.

“Cor, look at them muscles,” one of the soldiers said, poking his grinning companion in the shoulder. “I’d watch it if I were you, Doug. She could pick both of us up with one hand.”

“Yeah, right bruiser, this one is.” The second soldier gave Maisie’s shoulder a light punch. “How about a wrestling match then, darlin’? First one on the ground loses.”

Maisie looked as if she were about to cry.

Elizabeth thinned her lips and marched over to them. “Young man, why aren’t you with the rest of your regiment? I was under the impression you were ordered to search for an enemy soldier, not harass the young ladies.”

The soldier named Doug gave her a dirty look. “So who are you then? The sergeant major’s girlfriend?”

Maisie gasped and stared at the soldier in horror at this audacious affront.

Undaunted, Elizabeth drew herself up to her full
height. “I’m Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh. May I ask whom I am addressing?”

The soldier appeared taken aback.

“His name is Private Doug McDaniel,” Maisie said helpfully, earning a black scowl for her efforts.

“Well, Private McDaniel,” Elizabeth said grimly, “I suggest you apologize to this young lady and then get back to your duties this very minute, or I shall have no alternative but to report your boorish behavior to your commanding officer, whom, I might add, is a very good friend of mine.”

The soldier’s scowl changed to concern. “Sorry, m’m,” he muttered, “I didn’t mean no harm.”

Maisie just nodded, while the soldiers backed away then turned tail and raced across the field. “Thank you, your ladyship,” she said when the men had climbed over the fence and disappeared from view.

“Not at all.” Elizabeth dusted her gloved hands together. “You have to be firm with these young men today, or they will take advantage of you.”

Maisie’s cheeks turned red again, and she looked down at her boots. “Yes, m’m. I’ll try.” She peeked up again. “Are you really a great friend of their commanding officer?”

“Never met him,” Elizabeth said cheerfully, “but I’m not above telling a little fib or two when it’s absolutely necessary.”

Maisie smiled, transforming her rather plain face into something quite pleasing. “Thank you, m’m.”

“Yes, well.” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Maisie, I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

“I’ll try,” Maisie said, apparently eager now to return the favor.

“Well, it’s about the spade you left leaning against the house the night Amelia died. You found it in the tool shed the next day, is that right?”