Death Is in the Air (16 page)

“What? Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”

“As long as I can see that look in those beautiful
brown eyes, I don’t have to understand what you’re saying.”

She pretended not to understand him. “What look?”

He stopped and pulled her into his arms. Her heart melted when he gave her a long, lingering kiss. There was one thing about the Yanks, she thought happily as they continued on their way. They certainly knew how to make a girl feel good about herself. Even if they didn’t really mean a word of it.

Elizabeth dreamed about Earl that night. It wasn’t a good dream. It was vague and terrifying, filled with crashing planes and huge, leaping flames. She woke from it trembling and found it hard to go asleep after that. Part of her conscience insisted that the dream was her punishment for lusting after a married man. Not that she was really lusting after him, she hastened to correct herself.

She couldn’t help the way she felt about him, but surely, as long as she didn’t do anything about it, and never, ever let him know her feelings, what harm could there be in enjoying his company now and then?

None,
she assured herself. He was a friend, that was all. Clinging to that faint ray of comfort, she finally fell asleep.

The telephone pealed its shrill summons the next morning while she was enjoying a boiled egg for breakfast with Violet and Martin in the kitchen.

Violet had been telling Martin about the fight at the town hall, and he was suitably horrified, insisting that the master would come down heavily on his head for not protecting the womenfolk from such barbaric behavior.

The fact that had he been at the dance the night before he might possibly have been trampled to death did not occur to him, and far be it for Elizabeth to point that out and diminish his role as protector.

She welcomed the ringing of the telephone as an effective diversion and waited for Violet to answer it. She
watched the housekeeper’s face and knew at once something momentous had happened.

Violet’s replies were short and unrevealing, consisting mostly of “yes,” “no,” and “well I never.”

Elizabeth waited impatiently for her to hang up the receiver. When she did, it seemed to take her forever to turn around.

“Well,” she said finally, “you’ll never guess what happened now.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Elizabeth said impatiently, “so why don’t you just tell me?”

“That was George Dalrymple on the telephone.” Violet’s face took on a look of pure satisfaction. “He thought you’d like to know that the German is hiding in the old windmill out on Robbing Lane. Rita and her mob have the place surrounded. He’s on his way out there now.”

Elizabeth dropped her egg spoon with a clatter. “I must leave right away. It would be just like Rita to take matters into her own hands, and it will take George at least half an hour to get out there on his bicycle.”

“You be careful, Lizzie,” Violet warned. “You know how that Rita’s lot gets when they’re on the warpath. Never know what they’ll be up to, that you don’t. I don’t want you getting hurt if they decide to go after that German.”

“Save your worries for that poor boy.” Elizabeth flung the words over her shoulder as she rushed from the room. Her beige wool coat hung on the hallstand, together with her black beret and scarf. She threw everything on, just as Martin came shuffling out into the hall.

“Madam, you can’t fight the Germans empty-handed,” he said as she headed for the door. “Take the blunderbuss with you. That will scare the pants off them!” He looked shocked. “Begging your pardon, madam. I can’t imagine where I picked up that phrase.”

“You’ve been listening at the keyhole to them Americans again,” Violet said, hurrying down the hallway
after him. “That’s where you hear those things. Shame on you, Martin. You know what they say. Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves.”

“Well, that’s as may be,” Martin said haughtily, “but I can tell you that one hears no good of some other people, either.”

Violet pulled up short. “What the blue blazes does that mean?”

“I’ll be back as soon as I get things sorted out,” Elizabeth said hurriedly, and before Martin had a chance to start his shuffle, she’d pulled the door open and closed it again behind her.

It took her only a few minutes to reach Robbing Lane on her motorcycle. She was glad of her scarf as the chill wind whipped at her face. It would soon be time to light the fires in the fireplaces. She could only hope they had enough coal to keep the fires going throughout the winter. December and January could be cruel months in Sitting Marsh, sometimes burying the village in deep snow for weeks at a time.

She wondered if bad weather would ground the Americans. If so, the officers would have a respite from their dangerous missions. In spite of her former fears, so far her uninvited guests had made little impression on day to day life at the manor. They left early in the mornings and didn’t return until late in the evenings. Apparently they took all their meals at the base and generally kept to themselves.

If the bad weather grounded them, that could change. With time on their hands, the officers would become bored with sitting around the base or in their rooms in the east wing.

She couldn’t help wondering if she’d see more of Earl Monroe. He’d seemed stunned when she’d blurted out those unfortunate words last night.

She should never have uttered them. She should have kept things on a formal level, so that there would be no hint of anything but an acquaintance between them. By
allowing him to call her by her childhood name, she was putting their relationship on a much more personal level. Even though he didn’t seem to realize that.

After his initial surprise, he’d acted pleased and flattered by her request. It was the very first time she’d called him by his first name, and it had seemed strange on her tongue. Even so, she had been unprepared for the impact of hearing her special name spoken in his deep voice. Never had it sounded quite so intimate.

She hastened to warn him never to call her Lizzie in front of anyone, and he’d promised to do so. He’d seemed amused by the warning and didn’t seen to understand the significance. She hadn’t bothered to explain. Better that he should think it simply a whim, rather than a breach of protocol that could lead to some serious gossiping among the villagers. After all, the more casual she kept this new arrangement, the better.

She couldn’t help feeling, however, that she’d made a serious blunder in letting down her guard and that she would have to work very hard in order to ensure that it never happened again. That road could surely only lead to trouble and heartbreak.

CHAPTER
16

As Elizabeth rounded the curve on her motorcycle, she saw the group of women circling the dilapidated base of the old windmill. Rita stalked around, her strident voice too far distant to make out the words. The tone, however, was unmistakable. Rita was in her sergeant major mode.

Bracing herself for an inevitable confrontation, Elizabeth deliberately revved up the engine and roared onto the scene. Her spectacular skid halted her a few yards from where Joan Plumstone and Marge Gunther crouched behind a bush. They both leapt into the air when Elizabeth’s wheels kicked up the dust behind them.

“Sorry,” Elizabeth murmured as she cut the engine. “I didn’t realize I was going so fast.”

“Lady Elizabeth!”

The harsh voice made it sound more like a reprimand
than a greeting. Elizabeth grimaced as she watched Rita march toward her. “Good morning, Rita!” she called out. “Police Constable Dalrymple informed me that you have discovered the German pilot.”

The mention of the constable’s name appeared to take the wind out of Rita’s sails somewhat. She spluttered for a moment then said testily, “There was no need for George to bother you, your ladyship. I’m quite sure my ladies can handle the situation.”

Which was precisely why George alerted me
, Elizabeth thought wryly. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” she said, vigorously nodding her head. “I’m simply here to observe, that’s all. In my role as lady of the manor, of course. I feel it’s my duty to be on the scene when something of such significance is taking place.”

Rather childish of her to remind Rita of her position, Elizabeth reflected, but necessary at times. Someone had to keep that woman under control.

“Well, as you can see, we have the entire place surrounded.” Rita waved an arm to emphasize her statement. “He cannot escape now. In a moment I will give the word, and we will charge in there and get him. Isn’t that right, ladies?”

A faint and definitely half-hearted chorus of “Right” answered her. Obviously the group of wary ladies did not share their leader’s enthusiasm when it came down to actually tackling the poor boy.

“Might I strongly suggest that you wait until the constables arrive?” Elizabeth said firmly. “Even the most innocuous of animals can become vicious when cornered. I should hate to see any of you ladies hurt.”

Several of the women began muttering in concern and were immediately silenced when Rita held up her hand. “We had planned on taking him by surprise, your ladyship. Since the noise from your motorcycle has now rendered that impossible, we shall have to resort to a charge. There are more than enough of us to overwhelm any attempt of the German to offer resistence.”

Irritated now, Elizabeth climbed off her motorcycle and approached Rita. “I cannot allow you to do any such thing, Rita. Apart from the fact that the young man could be armed with a gun and could shoot you all on sight, you have no right to attack a human being unprovoked.”

“Unprovoked?” Rita’s voice rose shrilly in the cool air. “The man is a murderer! If you don’t think that’s enough reason to attack him”—she dropped her tone to acrimonious drawl—“
your ladyship
, then I have to respectfully question your sense of justice.”

“You have no proof that this young pilot killed Amelia Brunswick.” Elizabeth rashly went out on a limb. “In fact, evidence suggests that someone else was responsible for her murder.”

Rita seemed taken aback. “Evidence? What evidence?”

“That’s something you’ll have to take up with P.C. Dalrymple. He should arrive at any minute, and until then I must insist that you not attempt to approach the windmill.”

Several of the women muttered their agreement, apparently relieved the decision had been taken out of their hands.

Rita, however, became incensed with what she obviously considered mutiny. “All right, you miserable traitors!” she yelled. “You can all snivel on the sidelines if you like. But I’m not going to be called a coward. It’s our duty to capture this bloody German, and we will disgrace ourselves if we turn away from our duty. So who’s with me?”

She glared at poor Nellie, who, faced with choosing between the calm authority of the lady of the manor and the fevered rage of her fearless leader, sided with the person who could do her the most damage. “I’m with you,” she quavered, raising a shaking hand.

Rita glared at a few other women, all of whom dragged themselves reluctantly over to stand behind her.
A dozen pair of eyes fastened on Elizabeth’s face, pleading with her to stop Rita somehow.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but just then the door to the windmill opened a crack. It was enough to break the slim hold she had over Rita’s intentions. With an inhuman howl, Rita pulled a wicked-looking knife from under her coat and brandished it in the air. “Come on, ladies! Tally ho!”

The crack closed immediately, but that didn’t deter Rita. With her cohorts now hot on her heels, all feebly echoing that ridiculous war cry, she surged full tilt toward the windmill.

Elizabeth threw up her hands then determinedly gave chase.

Rita reached the door first. She shoved it open with her shoulder, raised the hand holding the knife above her head, and prepared to plunge inside.

Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes and prayed. When she opened them again, it seemed as if her prayer had been inexplicably answered. Rita appeared frozen in the doorway, while the group of women crowded silently behind her.

For a moment or two, Elizabeth was unable to move either. Whatever sight had met Rita’s eyes, it was enough to stop the avenging woman dead in her tracks. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what could be dreadful enough to achieve that miracle, and right then she wasn’t prepared to conjecture what Rita might have seen inside the windmill.

The shriek of rage shook her out of her stupor. The agonized sound had come from Rita, who had now disappeared inside the dark depths of the rotting building.

Galvanized into action, Elizabeth pounded forward as fast as her sensible shoes would allow. She skidded to a stop when she reached the silent group and thrust her way past them to the door. Peering inside, she half expected to see Rita dead on the floor. The sight that met her eyes, however, shocked her to the core.

Rita stood immobile, apparently staring into the dark shadows in front of her. Elizabeth could just make out the two figures inside. One was the German pilot, his back pressed up to the wall. Standing protectively in front of him, a half-eaten loaf of bread in her hand, defiance in every line of her young body, was Lilly Crumm.

“Apparently Lilly had been feeding him for the past two or three days,” Elizabeth told Violet when she returned to the Manor House later. “Her mother had no idea, of course. She was totally flabbergasted. She was all set to tear the poor boy apart with her bare hands. Luckily, George and Sid arrived to take him into custody before anyone could do him any damage.”

Violet looked up from the stove, where a pot of soup sat bubbling. “Lord knows what Rita Crumm will get up to next, but mind you, she’s got her hands full with that Lilly.”

“Like mother, like daughter, I’m afraid.” Elizabeth dropped her handbag on the table and sank onto a chair. “They are both very strong-willed women.”

“Well, I know someone else like that.” Violet coughed and hurried on before Elizabeth could protest. “Anyway, I’m so glad they caught that German. Now we don’t have to worry about a murderer running around the woods, and everything can get back to normal. Polly can go back to riding her bicycle home instead of bothering that nice American officer.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Well, I’ll make sure she doesn’t bother him,” Violet said, giving the soup a vicious stir with her wooden spoon.

“No, I mean that we don’t have to worry about a murderer running loose.”

Violet gave her a sharp look. “How’s that? George and Sid are going to keep him a prisoner, aren’t they? They’re not going to turn him loose? After all, he is a
German bomber pilot. The same kind who dropped the bomb on London that killed your parents, remember?”

Elizabeth gave her a wry look. “I’m not likely to forget that. And no, they won’t turn him loose. In fact, the last I heard, George was telling everyone that the prisoner would be hung for murder. What I meant was, I don’t think he killed Amelia Brunswick.”

“Then who did?”

Elizabeth met Violet’s curious gaze. “I’m pretty sure I know, but I can’t prove it. I really don’t want to say anything until I’m certain I’m right. At this point I’m afraid it’s all conjecture.”

Obviously disappointed, Violet shrugged. “Well, if you feel like that.”

“The thing is,” Elizabeth said slowly, “I keep getting the feeling that I know how to prove it. I just can’t quite pull it out into the open.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Something you saw, perhaps?”

Elizabeth thought about it. “No. It’s more like something someone said, I think. Darn, I wish I could remember.”

“Stop trying. It will come to you in a flash, you’ll see. Happens to me all the time. I wake up in the night sometimes shouting the answer. Good job I never married. I’d scare a husband to death.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Thinking so hard about it makes my head ache anyway.” She sniffed the air. “The soup smells good.”

“Oxtail. Lucky to get it. Jack Mitchem didn’t have much in the shop today—just some scrawny-looking chickens and some fatty pork. Maybe you could ask your Major Monroe if he can bring us some more steak.”

“He’s not my major,” Elizabeth muttered, relieved that Violet couldn’t see the way her heart jumped at the mention of his name.

“You never did tell me why he’s wearing a bandage on his head.”

“His plane went down in a field, and they had to get a lift back to base.”

“Oh, my!” Violet clutched her throat. “Poor man. What about the rest of them? Are they all right?”

“Just bruises and cuts, Earl said.” His name had slipped out without her thinking.

She saw Violet’s eyes widen with understanding. “Earl now, is it,” she said softly.

Elizabeth sighed. “I decided it was time to join the modern world, that’s all. Everyone seems to be on a first-name basis nowadays. Must be the war, I suppose.”

“The war changes a lot of things.” Violet tilted her head to one side. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Lizzie.”

“I’m not doing anything, so you can stop looking at me like that.” Elizabeth sought to change the subject. “I left Polly to finish entering the notes from the council meeting into the ledger. Do you know if she finished them?”

Violet looked frustrated at being robbed of what promised to be an interesting conversation. “I don’t know if she finished them or not. The last I saw of her she was looking for the vacuum cleaner. Said she’d lost it. How can you lose a vacuum cleaner, I ask you?”

“It isn’t lost,” Elizabeth murmured, only half paying attention. “I saw it standing at the end of the great hall last night, so I put it back under the stairs where it belongs.”

Violet sniffed. “Well, isn’t that just like that young lady. The last place Polly would ever think of looking for something is the very place where it should be.”

Elizabeth stared at her. “That’s it,” she said at last. “Violet, how long will it be until the soup is ready? I have an important visit to make, and I need to do it as soon as possible.”