Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (12 page)

"They're growing fast," he said, heaving Gracie up above his head. "Getting heavy, too."

Fool! She was such a fool. Had she given away her feelings in her expression? She sincerely hoped not. She didn't want anything to spoil this fragile friendship she had with the major. If he knew how she really felt about him, she was quite certain he would feel honor bound to withdraw, and she would lose what had become a treasured part of her life.

Still trembling inside from the impact of that pregnant moment, she managed a light laugh. "They are, indeed. It won't be long before they have outgrown their space in the scullery. I'll have to find them a bigger room. They have a preference for the drawing room, or the library whenever they can escape Violet's clutches, but I'm afraid Martin would never tolerate having them underfoot all the time."

"What about the stables? They'd have plenty of room there. At the rate they're growing, they'll need more room than you can give them in the house."

"Oh, I hate to put them out there. It gets so cold in the stables in the winter."

Earl laughed. "Their coats will keep them warm. They're outside dogs, Elizabeth. They need to roam. Give them a home in the stables, somewhere sheltered and dry to sleep, plenty of food and water, and they'll be perfectly happy to patrol your land for you. They'll make great watchdogs."

She wrinkled her brow. "You don't think they'll wander off and get lost?"

"Not if they know there's a bowl of chow waiting for them when they get back."

"I suppose you're right."

She must have communicated her doubts, as he sat back on his heels and studied her face. "If it will make
you feel any better, I'll build a fence for them so they can't get out unless someone is with them. At least until they get used to their freedom. If it's cold, you can always bring them into the house at night to sleep."

She let out a sigh. "All right, I'll try it. But at the very first sign that they are unhappy out there, I'm bringing them right back into the house."

He grinned at her, warming her as no roaring fire ever could. "Attagirl! Give me a few days to get the fence up, and we'll move George and Gracie into their new home."

She forgot about her concerns over Polly and Sam Cutter. She forgot about Percy's illicit dealings in black market goods. She forgot that the chimneys needed to be swept and a host of strangers would be invading the Manor House at the weekend. All she could think about right then was the way the breeze ruffled Earl Monroe's hair, and how intensely she longed to smooth it back with her fingers.

CHAPTER

9

In the end Elizabeth decided to wait until the evening before tackling Earl on the subject of Sam's arrest. She dressed with care for her engagement with him, in a dress of soft rose wool that had always been one of her favorites. She even allowed her hair to settle on her shoulders, instead of secured in a twist as she normally wore it.

Martin spied her on her way to the conservatory and raised his eyebrows. "I hardly recognized you, madam. For a moment I thought it was Lady Wellsborough walking down the hallway toward me. Gave me quite a start."

Elizabeth smiled. "Why, thank you, Martin. How very gallant of you. That is quite a compliment."

Martin cleared his throat. "Quite. Violet informs me you will be dining in the banquet room tonight, with a guest."

"Yes, I have invited Major Monroe for dinner this
evening. He has been very generous of late with his gifts of wine and spirits, not to mention, I suspect, other items for Violet's larder. I thought it time we repaid him."

Why on earth, she wondered, was she defending herself to Martin? It was none of his business why she had invited Earl to dinner. There was absolutely no need for her to be making excuses.

"I see, madam." Martin's eyelid dropped in what suspiciously resembled a wink. "I'm sure it will be a pleasurable experience."

"Yes, well," Elizabeth said lightly, "one has to do what one can under the circumstances."

"Precisely, madam." He shuffled off, leaving her with the uncomfortable feeling that she was the only one in the household who believed her unfortunate fascination with the major was a secret.

Unsettled by the notion, she was somewhat restrained with her greeting when Violet showed Earl into the conservatory that evening. Her housekeeper's frown of disapproval did nothing to ease her discomfort. She waited until Earl was seated with a glass of sherry in his hand before saying what had been on her mind all afternoon.

"Do you think Sam Cutter is guilty of murder?"

His answer was swift and decisive. "Hell, no." He shot her an apologetic glance. "Excuse me, Elizabeth. It's just that holding Sam for that murder is such a load of bunk. I know my men, and Sam would no more strangle a guy than I would."

"I'm sorry, Earl. It must be awful for you to have someone in your charge suspected of such a horrible crime."

"The tough part is not being able to do much about it. I don't suppose you've heard anything that might help?"

"I'm sorry, not a thing." Because she'd been far too busy worrying about Percy and his black market goods, she thought with a pang of guilt.

"Ah, well, I've been ordered to stay out of the investigation in any case."

Elizabeth stared at him in surprise. "Really? Why?"

Earl shrugged. "Those blockheads Johansen and Wiles didn't want my help. More or less told me I was interfering in business that didn't concern me. What the heck do they know about Sam Cutter? They've got the wrong man, and they're too darn bullheaded to see it."

"They have no real proof that Sam killed Kenny Morris, do they?"

"I don't know what they've got. Circumstantial, I guess. Enough to hold him confined to barracks, anyway."

"It's really unfortunate he fought with Kenny at the Tudor Arms, then again at the card game. That doesn't help his case, I'm afraid."

"Don't I know it." Earl gazed gloomily into his glass. "Except he wasn't the only one involved in the fight at that card game."

"Perhaps, but he was the only one with a grudge against Kenny Morris, wasn't he?"

Earl's dark gaze flicked up at her. "Sounds as if you agree with the investigators. Do you know something I don't?"

She shook her head, smiling to dispel his concern. "I'm simply trying to see things from every angle, that's all."

He took a sip from his glass. "Well, as a matter of fact, there was someone else there that night who had a beef against Kenny. Some civilian who Kenny had smuggled onto the base for the card game. I guess the guy had come down from London for the weekend. Anyway, both Sam and Kenny lost a bundle of cash to this guy, and Morris accused him of cheating. That's what started the fight."

Elizabeth sat up straight. "Really? The investigators didn't mention him this afternoon."

Earl grunted. "You don't expect them to tell you anything, do you? They wouldn't even talk to me. In fact, I had to sneak in to talk to Sam, which is how I found out about this Forrester guy."

Elizabeth blinked. "Forrester?
Brian
Forrester?"

It was Earl's turn to look surprised. "Yeah, you know him?"

"Well, I think I do. If it's the same Brian Forrester—and I can't imagine there being two men with that name from London—then he's accompanying a group of elderly citizens on a tour of the Manor House this Saturday."

Earl smiled. "Small world, isn't it?"

Worried, Elizabeth said nervously, "Do you think he might have strangled Kenny Morris?"

Earl shrugged. "Who knows. From what I've heard, there were more than a few people gunning for Kenny. I'm surprised he made it this long without a knife being stuck in him in some dark alley. Not too popular, our Kenny."

"So I gather."

"Anyway, Sam swears he saw a car close by the church the night Kenny was murdered. He thought it might be one of his guys . . . er . . . you know, smooching in the backseat with one of the locals."

Elizabeth nodded, and tried to resist the image of herself snuggling in the backseat of a car with Earl.

"Well, apparently the car was empty. No one in it. Sam thought that was kind of strange, leaving a car on the side of the road like that."

"Very few people actually own a car in Sitting Marsh." She frowned. "What kind of car was it?"

"He wasn't familiar with the model and didn't think to look, but he says it was a black sedan."

Elizabeth's mind flashed back a couple of days, to when she stood at the window, watching a black sedan
pull away down her driveway. "Oh, my. Brian Forrester drives a black sedan."

Earl's gaze sharpened. "Is that right? Well, we've got his address. As a matter of fact, an officer is on his way to London right now to talk to this Forrester. Maybe something will come of it, maybe not. Right now, I'd say Sam is in a pretty tight spot."

"What about the knife? Do they know to whom it belonged?"

Earl sighed. "It was Kenny's knife. Several guys said they saw him with it, and it had his initials on it. Looks like he tried to use it on whoever killed him, and they turned the tables on him."

"Then surely it was self-defense."

"Maybe. I guess it depends on the reason someone was meeting Kenny that late at night in a churchyard."

"Kenny Morris could have lured Brian Forrester there to get his money back."

"It's possible, I guess. We'll just have to wait and see what the investigating officer has to say when he gets back from London."

If Brian Forrester was guilty of murder, Elizabeth thought ruefully, there would be no tour of her home on Saturday. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. One thing was certain: Polly would be ecstatic.

"So tell me about the cricket match," Earl said, mercifully putting an end to what had become a harrowing conversation. "What's the latest on that?"

Eager to cast her mind onto a more pleasant subject, Elizabeth said brightly, "Well, Polly contacted the army camp in Beerstowe. The commanding officer there was quite accommodating, and promised us a cricket team for next week. He seemed quite eager to take up the challenge. What about your chaps?"

Earl nodded. "Got about a dozen guys all raring to go. Though I don't think any one of them knows a darn thing about cricket."

"Well, I think we can help out there. A few of the villagers have volunteered to teach your team the rudiments of the game. I'm not sure how much they can teach you in one evening, but if you could have your men on the cricket field as early as possible on Monday evening, they can certainly do their best to give them an idea of what it's all about."

Earl rubbed his chin. "I guess we can manage that. I'll check it out when I get back and let you know. What about the game itself?"

"Well, we've set it for next Wednesday afternoon. Two o'clock. Can you manage that?"

"I guess so. We'll put it down for then, but remember there are no guarantees that we can make it. This is wartime, after all."

"I understand. If it doesn't work out, I suppose we can postpone it, and perhaps your men will be back in time to help us finish up the food, instead." Since they probably provided much of it in the first place, she reflected.

"Well, let's hope we'll be able to give the Jerries a break next week." Earl looked up as Martin knocked discreetly on the door and opened it.

"Dinner is served, madam," he announced.

Elizabeth stood, and smiled at her guest. "Come, let's see what magic Violet has managed to conjure up from our rations tonight."

He grinned and rose to his feet. "Lead the way. I'm beginning to like this English food, even if you guys have never heard of spices and herbs."

"We've heard of them," Elizabeth said, remembering Violet's peppery dish the night before. "We've just never learned how to use them. I hate to admit it, but when it comes to cooking, the French definitely have the upper hand."

She led the way to the dining room, certain of one thing. No matter what Martin brought to the table that
night, the very fact that Earl was there to share it with her would make it a feast for the gods. Right now, she couldn't ask for anything more.

The following morning the entire household staff was put to the task of cleaning the chimneys. Desmond arrived on the kitchen doorstep, weighed down by the long-handled circular brushes and extensions. Violet and Polly had already covered the furniture in all the main rooms with sheets and blankets—most of which had been pulled from the beds and would have to be replaced by nightfall.

The fireplaces in the empty bedrooms had been blocked by sheets of newspaper. Those chimneys would have to wait until another time to be cleaned. Polly had waited until everyone had left the officers' quarters in the east wing, then scurried around to get everything covered up before the major operation began.

Finally, they were all ready. Assembled in the library, Elizabeth, Polly, and Violet stood by as Desmond approached the first chimney.

Martin had been stationed outside to signal when he saw the brush appear through the chimney on the roof. Violet stood close enough to the window to see him, while Polly and Elizabeth were poised to help Desmond with whatever he needed.

"All right, your ladyship," Desmond announced, sounding a lot less confident now that he was actually faced with the daunting project. "I think we're ready."

Looking at his frail, bowed shoulders, Elizabeth wondered for the first time if the old man had the strength to push those wicked-looking brushes all the way up the chimney. Maybe she should have asked around the village for someone to take on the task after all. It would have meant paying them, of course, but remembering some of her disastrous attempts at managing her own
repairs, she was uncomfortably reminded that sometimes it cost her more money in the long run.

"Now, your ladyship," Desmond announced, his voice muffled as he stuck his head inside the fireplace, "all I have to do is shove this here brush all the way up to the top and then pull it down again, giving it a twist or two on the way down."

"Very well." Elizabeth smiled at Polly to reassure her. "Polly and I will be here should you need help." Thought what help they could be, she hadn't the faintest idea.