Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (20 page)

But that was before the accident. Before he'd found out she'd lied about her age. Before he'd started treating her like a little girl instead a grown woman, the way he had before.

Her heart ached to have those days back again. He looked so stern now, so miserable. And she didn't know how to get the old Sam back.

The lights came up, dazzling her. She hadn't realized the film had ended. She stood up for the national anthem, standing to attention as they played "God Save the King." Sam stood at her side, and she could almost feel the wall he'd put up between them.

She followed him out of the cinema, her heart thumping with apprehension. Something told her this wasn't an evening out for pleasure. Something was wrong. Sam just wasn't acting the way a boyfriend does when he takes out his girl.

She sat silently by his side as they roared along the main road back to Sitting Marsh, then headed along the coast road. She expected him to drive her straight home. She was already bracing to hold back the tears until she reached the safety of her bedroom. There was no way she was going to let on how miserable she was.

Then again, there was always the hope he'd kiss her good night. A very tiny hope, she had to admit. Maybe she could take him by surprise and plant one on his lips. Then he'd start remembering what a lovely time they used to have and he'd kiss her back and . . .

She was startled when Sam braked and came to a screeching stop on the grass verge overlooking the beach. The silence, after the loud roar of the engine, seemed strange. She waited, her heart thudding against her ribs so hard she could feel the vibration right through her blouse and cardigan.

He didn't say anything for the longest time. Just about the moment she thought she would scream from the awful anxiety, he turned to her. Her heart skipped. This was it. Somehow she knew that what he was about to say would govern the course of her life forever. This was a moment that would live in her memory for a lifetime. She fastened her gaze on his face and waited for him to speak.

"I have to be getting back to the base," Earl said, as he rose from the rocking chair. "It's getting late."

"It is, indeed." Elizabeth glanced at the small ornate clock on the table at her side. "I had no idea it was so late." They had been enjoying a glass of sherry in the conservatory, and she hadn't realized the time passing by on its inevitable march forward. These moments were so precious to her. And so very fleeting.

He grinned. "Time flies when you're having fun." He held out his hand. "This has been real nice."

"I've enjoyed it, too." She rose swiftly, putting her hand in his. "Thank you for joining me for dinner. It was a lovely evening."

"The pleasure's all mine, believe me. Violet outdid herself tonight. That meat pie was real good."

"Well, she'll be the first to admit she's not the most accomplished of cooks, and the rationing makes things even more difficult." Elizabeth accompanied him to the door. "But now and again she really puts herself out and the results can be quite surprising."

"Hey, I'll take one of Violet's home-cooked meals over the chow in the mess hell anytime."

She smiled at that. "Take care of yourself, Earl."

"Yeah. I'll let you know if Joe turned up anything at the pub."

"And I'll talk to Sadie. I think we would have heard by now though if anything significant had happened."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Guess we'll have to try again sometime." He looked down at her hand for a moment, then turned it palm down and brought it to his lips.

He'd kissed her hand before, but this time the gesture seemed to be more intimate, more disturbing. She withdrew her fingers, afraid he would feel them trembling. The tremors didn't stop until long after he'd left the room.

Knowing she wouldn't sleep until her qualms about Sadie had been eased, Elizabeth hurried down the steps to the lower hallway on her way to bed and paused outside of Sadie's room. Her light tap on the door was answered almost immediately.

Sadie was in the process of getting ready for bed. With her face scrubbed clean and her hair scraped back and
wound around a host of metal curlers, she looked young and immensely vulnerable. She was obviously shocked to see Elizabeth and clutched her dressing gown around her throat as she stared at her.

"Is something the matter, m'm?" she asked fearfully. "It's not the invasion, is it?"

"Good Lord, no." Elizabeth put out a hand and patted her arm. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I was just concerned about how things went tonight."

Sadie's lips tightened. "Well, I tell you, m'm, if you were hoping to trap them musketeers into trying something on Joe because he was with me, I'm afraid it ain't going to work. Joe acted as if I had the bleeding plague. No one down there would ever believe we were going out together."

"Oh, dear." Elizabeth could read the disappointment in Sadie's eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing! That's the point. Maybe I'm not his type. I dunno. He seemed friendly enough yesterday afternoon when we were talking about it, but when it came down to us getting cozy in public, he jumped back like a horse from a firework. I finally gave up and left him in the pub."

Elizabeth clicked her tongue. "I'm sure he didn't mean to do that. Perhaps he's just a little shy."

Sadie shrugged. "P'rhaps. Whatever it was, I don't think it did any good down there. I'm sorry, m'm. I didn't mean to let you down."

"You didn't let me down at all," Elizabeth assured her. "I shouldn't have asked you to do this. I had my doubts about it from the beginning. I should have listened to them."

"Aw, that's all right, m'm. I got an evening out, didn't I. No harm done."

"Well, thank you, Sadie. I'll let you get some sleep
now." Elizabeth heard the door close as she walked back up the hallway to the kitchen. Poor Sadie. Her pride had received a nasty blow. Elizabeth felt a moment's anger toward the young lieutenant who had acted so thoughtlessly. Her opinion of him had gone down considerably.

It was just as well the three musketeers had not paid a visit to the Tudor Arms that night. Elizabeth wasn't at all sure that Lieutenant Joe Hanson would have had the gumption to protect her companion from harm.

The problem was, she was no closer to finding out the identity of these dangerous criminals, and until they were apprehended, that meant every red-headed American in the vicinity of Sitting Marsh was in danger. It was a sobering thought.

Polly shivered in the cool draft that wafted around the back of her neck. She wasn't sure if it was the ocean breeze, or the look on Sam's face that made her feel so cold.

She could see him clearly in the moonlight, his scars barely visible in the soft glow. His eyes were sad, though, and he had trouble looking at her. Her spirits sank all the way to the ground.

"Polly," he said, his voice hushed with pain. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought we could have a good time together, without either one of us getting in too deep."

Her lips were so dry she had difficulty making them move. "You never meant to marry me," she said dully.

He looked away, across the ocean. "I cared for you a lot. I enjoyed being with you. You're a wonderful girl, Polly. Someday you'll find someone else and you'll make him a great wife. He'll be a very lucky man to have you."

"I don't want anyone else!" The words had burst out of her, louder than she'd meant them to, and they seemed to
echo all the way down the lonely beach. She wouldn't cry, she told herself fiercely. She would not let herself cry. "I want
you
," she whispered quietly. "I could make you a good wife, Sam. Just give me the chance."

"You wouldn't be happy in the States, Polly. It's not like England—"

"Yes, I would!" She clutched his sleeve. "I could be happy anywhere as long as I was with you."

"Polly—"

"You don't have to decide right now, Sam. Let's just go out together, the way we used to. You said yourself we had a good time together."

"Polly—"

"I won't nag you about getting married, I promise. I'll just be happy to go out like we did before and—"

"Polly, listen to me."

Something in his voice stopped her flow of words. She put her hand over her mouth to hold back a sob.

"Polly," Sam's voice broke, then he cleared his throat. "They're shipping me back stateside," he said quietly. "I leave next week. I won't be coming back here."

"N-o-o-o-o!" The word bubbled out behind her hand. She was crying after all. Helpless, hopeless tears that rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto her arm. "I . . . c-can't live without you, Sam! Take me with you. I can't go on without you."

"Yes, you can." His voice harsh now, he turned to her. "Polly, you deserve someone better than me. You deserve a man who will love you the way you need to be loved. You're young and you have your whole life in front of you. You don't need me. You can do so much better."

Words, she knew now, would be a waste of time. She could never make him understand. He would never know
how much she loved him, and would go on loving him until the day she died. Even if he had broken her heart.

She just wanted to die.

Everyone was deserting her. Marlene, and now Sam. She felt as if the whole world had landed on her shoulders, pressing her into the ground. Her life was over. She would never ever be happy again. She might as well join the convent and be a nun.

CHAPTER

14

If there was one thing guaranteed to start Elizabeth's day off on the wrong foot, it was to run into Rita Crumm. Anywhere. What compounded it was to confront that lady in the normally peaceful confines of Bessie's bake shop.

Elizabeth had attended a committee meeting of the town council that morning, to discuss the summer garden fête at the vicarage. An annual event, it was the subject of a great deal of anticipation for the villagers of Sitting Marsh.

The tradition dated back several hundred years, to when the fête was actually a summer marketplace, where various merchants traded their wares. Over the centuries it had gradually transformed into the modern-day version of a garden fête, and had been moved from the town square to the vicarage, where the assorted stalls could display their
offerings amid the delightful gardens full of summer blossoms.

Last year Elizabeth had judged the local talent contest, with the help of a somewhat reluctant Earl. She remembered it as one of the nicest days she had spent in his company, and was looking forward to repeating the pleasure this year.

She was relieved to learn that she had been released from her duty as contest judge, no doubt because she had chosen a young child as the winner in favor of Rita's horrendous presentation of the Housewives League.

She happily agreed to judge the bake sale this time around. She was rather looking forward to persuading Earl to assist in the task. Not that she expected much reluctance on his part.

Earl had long and quite loudly extolled the virtues of English baked products. He was particularly partial to buttered scones, layered with Devonshire cream and strawberry jam, a treat that was hard to come by in these days of rationing.

Staring at the plate of Chelsea buns in front of her now, she smiled in anticipation. Yes, Earl would enjoy helping her judge the bake sale. In her mind she could see him now, tasting the buns, tarts, pies, pastries and cakes with that expression of sheer bliss that she found so endearing.

Engrossed in her daydream, she was startled when a familiar voice banished her thoughts.

"Lady Elizabeth. I wonder if I may join you for a few minutes?"

Looking up into the sharp features of her nemesis, Elizabeth forced a smile. "Good morning, Rita. Please, sit yourself down."

Rita Crumm lowered herself onto the edge of the chair
as if it were smothered in horse dung. "Thank you. I happened to run into Captain Carbunkle this morning. He tells me he's planning a wedding."

"Yes. Isn't that divine?" Elizabeth kept her smile firmly fixed on her face, while she wondered what the real reason could be for Rita's intrusion on her pleasant morning. "He tells me he's marrying Priscilla Pierce. Such a surprise."

"Not really." Rita sniffed. "They've been carrying on in secret for months."

Elizabeth bit her tongue. Priscilla had confided in her several months ago about her association with Wally Carbunkle, and Elizabeth had promised to keep it secret. She might have known Rita would ferret it out. Nothing escaped that woman's sharp nose.

"Anyway," Rita said, "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, your ladyship. I also heard that you will be judging the bake sale at this year's fête."

Elizabeth promptly lost her appetite. As far as she knew, Rita was as incompetent at baking as she was at nearly everything else. "Yes," she said carefully. "I have agreed to judge the bake sale, but—"

"I just wanted you to know that the members of the Housewives League will be entering their baked goods as usual, and would like to donate whatever's left to the American base. I was wondering if you'd ask that major of yours if that is all right with everyone. We always have so much left over, it's a shame for it all to go to waste. Especially since the Americans are kind enough to help us out with the ingredients."

This was news to Elizabeth, but she wasn't entirely surprised. A great deal of trading went on between the villagers and the American airmen. Deciding to ignore Rita's allusion of intimacy between the major and herself,
Elizabeth said pleasantly, "I'm quite sure the men will be delighted with the offer, but I will certainly confirm it with Major Monroe."

"Thank you, your ladyship. Maisie Parsons has already offered to make an extra batch of gingerbread for the Americans. I'm sure the others will do the same, once they hear about it."

"That will be lovely. I thank them all on behalf of the American forces." Elizabeth reached for the sugar tongs, carefully selected a sugar lump from the bowl, and dropped it in her tea. "I understand Mrs. Parsons's gingerbread is quite delectable."

Rita sniffed. "Some people seem to think so. Personally I prefer a rock cake. Something to sink one's teeth into."