Death Is in the Air (17 page)

An hour later Elizabeth arrived at the Macclesby farm.

Maisie hailed her as she crossed the yard to the farmhouse.

Elizabeth returned the greeting. “Is Mrs. Macclesby in the farmhouse?” she asked as Maisie turned away.

“No, your ladyship.” Maisie hooked a thumb in the direction of the cowsheds. “She’s in there, shredding up mangolds. Kitty was supposed to do it, but she took sick. Something she ate, I think.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope she soon feels better.” Elizabeth hurried over to the sheds, where she could hear the sound of the hopper. Inside one of them she found Sheila, busily turning the handle of the large wooden box, while the beets bounced and rattled around before the blades shredded them to pulp.

Sheila looked surprised to see her and immediately let go of the handle, brushing her hands down her stained apron. “Lady Elizabeth! You always seem to catch me when I’m looking my worst. Can I offer you a cup of tea or cocoa?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Sheila waved a hand at the hopper. “It’s almost done, and one of the girls can finish it off later. I don’t want you standing around a drafty old shed. It’s getting really cold out there. Come inside, and I’ll make a nice cup of tea.”

Elizabeth followed the farmer’s wife into the house and accepted a seat on the armchair Sheila offered her. “Please, don’t bother with the tea just now,” she assured her. “There’s something rather important I want to talk to you about.”

Sheila’s face immediately turned wary, and she sat down on the edge of the settee, twisting her hands in her apron. “What about, your ladyship? No trouble, I hope?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Sheila, the first day I was here, after Amelia’s body was discovered in the woods, Maisie told you she’d left a spade outside the night before, and when she’d gone to retrieve it the next morning, the spade had vanished.”

Sheila violently shook her head. “I don’t remember—”

“You told her it was back in the shed where it belonged,” Elizabeth continued. “Later on that day Maisie thanked you for cleaning the spade for her. You denied doing so.”

“Did I? I can’t recall—”

“The medical examiner believes that the killer might have used a spade to kill Amelia. A spade that was probably left out overnight . . .”—she deliberately paused—“and later cleaned.”

Sheila’s hand closed over her throat. “So that’s how that German killed that girl. He used one of my spades and cleaned it off afterwards—the murdering sod. Beg your pardon, m’m.”

“That’s quite all right.” Elizabeth looked down at her gloved hands. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. You said you heard Amelia arguing beneath your window, but you decided not to go down to investigate.”

“That’s right, your ladyship. How glad I am now that I didn’t. I could have walked right into a murder and been struck down myself. Lucky escape, that’s what I had.” Sheila started fanning herself with the skirt of her apron.

“If I remember, you told me you hadn’t been out of the house the next morning when I arrived. Yet you knew that the spade that had been left out overnight had been put back in its proper place in the shed. How could you have known the spade was back in the shed, unless you saw it there after Amelia was killed?”

Sheila appeared to have no answer to that question. She sat as if turned to stone, staring at Elizabeth without a flicker of expression in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sheila,” Elizabeth said gently. “I think you heard Amelia arguing with your son right under your window that night. By the time you got down there, it was too late. He’d killed her. You took the body into the woods and hid it, hoping to put the blame for her
death on the German pilot. Then you cleaned off the spade, put it back in the shed, and later burned Maurice’s bloodstained reefer jacket.”

Sheila’s voice sounded strangled when she spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said hoarsely. “My son isn’t capable of killing anyone. You know that. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He liked Amelia—he would never have hurt her.”

“He probably didn’t mean to,” Elizabeth said, her heart aching for the poor woman. “Maybe Amelia was teasing him, and he just wanted her to stop. People whose minds have not fully developed are not capable of reasoning like normal people. Maurice was just trying to defend himself.”

“He would never have hurt her. Never.”

Elizabeth leaned forward and patted the trembling hands. “Sheila, you know I have to tell the constables. There’s no guarantee that something like this won’t happen again. I came to you first, because I wanted to give you the chance to prepare Maurice for what will happen to him. I’m quite sure, given the circumstances, that he won’t be put in prison. The jury will most likely find him insane, and he’ll be sent to an asylum where he can be watched and protected for his own sake. You’ll be able to visit him—”

“No!” The words were wrung from Sheila’s lips. She leapt to her feet and walked over to the window, where she stared out at the shadows creeping across the farmyard. “Maurice didn’t kill Amelia,” she said bleakly.

“Sheila—” Elizabeth rose just as the farmer’s wife turned to face her.

“My son did not kill that woman.” Her voice was stronger now, with a note of defiance. “I did.”

CHAPTER
17

Elizabeth stared at the white-faced woman, unable to comprehend what she’d just heard. The possibility that Sheila Macclesby had committed murder had never occurred to her. “Why?” she asked at last.

Sheila came back to the settee and sat down. She had lost all her defiance now and looked unspeakably tired. “Maurice was . . . fond of Amelia. He followed her around like a little lost sheep, practically begging her to notice him. She either ignored him or shouted abuse at him.” Sheila shivered. “How I hated that girl. She was so cruel.”

She sat staring down at her hands for several seconds. When she looked up again, tears glistened in her eyes. “Lady Elizabeth, do you have any idea what it’s like to watch your son being constantly tormented and bullied? All through his school years, my Maurice had to put up with it. I’d find him sitting on the front doorstep, crying
his heart out because he couldn’t understand why all the other kids hated him. I tried to explain that he was different, and that made him special. That the other kids just didn’t understand him, that was all.” She shook her head. “I could tell I wasn’t getting through to him.”

Elizabeth swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It must have been difficult for both of you.”

“Difficult?” Sheila lifted her hands and let them drop in her lap again. “It was heartbreaking, m’m. That’s what it was.” She paused for several more painful seconds before continuing. “I thought that once he left school and I could keep him here on the farm with me, that it would all be over. That nobody would ever torment Maurice again. But then Amelia came, with her blond hair and her blue eyes and that soft laugh of hers—as soon as my Maurice set eyes on her, he was smitten. I could tell.”

“So he followed her around.”

“Yes.” Sheila sighed. “I tried to stop it, of course, but the more I tried, the more determined he got. I’d never seen Maurice like that. . . . It frightened me. I knew there would be trouble.”

“So it
was
Maurice you heard arguing with Amelia that night.”

Sheila nodded. “He must have been waiting for her to come home. As soon as I heard them I rushed downstairs and out the door. I heard her as I came around the corner. She was yelling at him. Terrible things.” Sheila shuddered. “She called him filthy names, told him he was never to come anywhere near her again. Told him he wasn’t fit to be around girls. I won’t repeat everything she said to him, but I could see what it was doing to him. When I got to him, he was crying. Big tears just rolled down his face.”

The silence in the room grew more ominous as Sheila relived the memory of that night. Elizabeth could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears. Part of her ached with sympathy for the mother who’d had to watch her
son suffer so much. Yet she couldn’t condone the murder of a young woman, no matter how provoked.

“When I saw my son cowering like a beaten puppy,” Sheila said, her voice cracking with the effort to speak, “something inside my head seemed to snap. I just couldn’t take it anymore. The spade was leaning against the wall. I picked it up and I smashed it into that cruel, cruel face.” She raised her hands and covered her face. “I didn’t mean to kill her. I just wanted to shut her up. But the spade slipped in my hands, turned sideways and sliced into her head. As soon as she went down, I knew she was dead.” She began to cry—softly, like a baby kitten mewing for food.

Elizabeth waited until the pitiful sound stopped then asked gently, “So you took the body to the woods?”

Sheila nodded and wiped her eyes with a large handkerchief she’d taken from her apron pocket. “When Amelia fell to the ground, Maurice held her in his arms. He was crying so hard I felt sure he’d wake everyone up. His coat was soaked in blood, and I knew I’d have to get rid of it. I took it off him and made him go to bed. Then I put Amelia into the wagon, hitched up Daisy, and went to the woods.”

“And you burned Maurice’s jacket.”

Sheila nodded. “I’d already told the girls to burn the sacks. I put the jacket inside one of them, then I went and bought him a new one.” Her face crumpled again. “I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for what I did.”

Elizabeth reached out a hand, then drew it back. “I’m sure he will,” she said. “In time.”

Sheila let out her breath in a long sigh. “What happens now?”

“I’ll have to notify the constables.” Elizabeth rose. “I’m sorry, Sheila. If there was any other way—”

“No, Lady Elizabeth. I know I have to accept my punishment for what I did. It’s Maurice I’m worried about. Who’s going to take care of him?”

“I’ll see what I can arrange.” Elizabeth paused at the
door. “Try not to worry about Maurice. You have to think of yourself now.”

Sheila’s smile was filled with sadness. “I’ll always worry about him. He’s a good boy. He can’t help being different.”

It was with the greatest reluctance that Elizabeth paid a visit to the constabulary. George and Sid were shocked, and although they tried hard not to show it, suitably impressed that Elizabeth had uncovered the real murderer.

“I don’t know how you worked that one out, your ladyship.” George smoothed a hand over his bald head, a sure sign that he was embarrassed at having accused the wrong man. “Much less have her confess the whole story.”

“There really wasn’t much else she could do once I presented her with the evidence,” Elizabeth said modestly. “I think she was mostly concerned that Maurice might be blamed.”

“Well, m’m, Sid and I certainly appreciate your efforts in this matter.” He raised a warning finger. “I must advise you, however, that it is not a good idea to go poking around where a murder has been committed. You could very well get yourself into hot water that way.” He glanced self-consciously at Sid, as if suddenly realizing whom he was lecturing. “If you’ll excuse me, your ladyship. It’s just that we wouldn’t want anything happening to our lady of the manor, now would we, Sid?”

“Oh, no, George. Can’t have that.” Sid beamed at Elizabeth. “Don’t know what we’d do without you, m’m.”

“Well, that’s very reassuring to hear.” Well pleased with herself, Elizabeth got up from her chair. “One thing I do want to impress upon both of you. I promised Sheila I would make arrangements for someone to look after Maurice. I want to be sure that’s taken care of before you arrest her.”

George nodded. “Don’t you worry about that, m’m. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Wally was sent home to take care of his son until something better can be arranged.”

“That would be a big help. I’ll see if I can pull a few strings in Whitehall.”

“Appreciate it, m’m.” George hurried across the room to open the door for her. “Thank you again for your help.”

“Not at all. I’m not happy to see Sheila Macclesby go to prison, but I wouldn’t want to see anyone pay for a crime he didn’t commit.”

George looked embarrassed again. “No, m’m. Neither would I.”

Violet plied her with questions when Elizabeth returned to the manor. “What made you think of that spade being put back in the shed?” she asked after Elizabeth had told her the whole story.

“It was when you told me about the vacuum cleaner.” Elizabeth put her teacup down on its saucer and leaned her elbows on the kitchen table. “You said that the last place Polly would look is where something should be. I remembered Sheila telling Maisie the same thing. That’s when I realized that if she was telling the truth about that night, she couldn’t have known the spade was back in the shed. She said she didn’t go down after she heard Amelia arguing, which meant, of course, that Amelia was still alive at that point.”

“And when you went over the next morning, she said she hadn’t been out of the house.”

“Exactly. So the only way she could have known about the spade was if she put it back in the shed herself or saw who did. Then again, if she’d seen the German pilot put it back there, why would she lie? It seemed obvious that she was covering up for someone, and that could only have been Maurice.”

“You never thought it might have been her who killed Amelia?”

“Not for a moment,” Elizabeth admitted.

Violet opened the oven door and drew out a cherry pie that looked as delicious as it smelled. She carried it over to the windowsill and sat it down in front of the open window to cool. “Do you think she really did it, or is she still covering up for her son?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I asked myself that question a dozen times on the way to the police station. There’s no question that Maurice loved Amelia in his own way. I’ve seen him with the creatures he’s cared for, and I really don’t think he has the temperament or the emotional strength to hurt someone he loved. Then again, I could well be wrong. I suppose it’s up to the jury to decide.”

“Well, all I can say is, I don’t envy them their job.”

Elizabeth met her gaze. “And neither do I.”

Later that evening, unusually restless, Elizabeth decided to take a short walk around the grounds to clear her head. Soon it would be too cold for her nightly strolls, which had become rather rare of late. Before her marriage she had often joined her parents on their nightly habit of walking the grounds, but now that she was alone she didn’t care to be out there after dark.

There were just a few days left now before the daylight savings time ended, and already the dusk had darkened into night shadows among the trees. Her mind dwelling heavily on the tragedy she had seen unfold, she started violently when a shadow detached itself from a thick grove of beech trees and moved toward her.

For an instant her heart stopped beating then resumed at a rapid pace when she recognized the chunky frame of Major Earl Monroe. She hadn’t seen him since that ridiculous moment when she’d blurted out her permission for him to call her Lizzie. She didn’t quite know how to face him now. She could only pray she hadn’t given anything away in her foolishness.

To her relief, he greeted her as he always did, with just the right amount of respect in his voice. “Evening, ma’am. Mind if I join you for a minute or two?”

Adversely, and quite ridiculously, she was shattered that he hadn’t used her pet name after all. “Good evening, Major. I wasn’t expecting to see you out here. How’s the leg?”

Moonlight spilled across the lawn, illuminating his handsome face. Behind him the Manor House rose dark and still, its windows hidden by the blackout blinds. As she waited for him to answer, somewhere deep in the woods she heard an owl hoot a warning.

“It’s doing a lot better, thanks.” He moved closer, and she noticed his limp was less pronounced tonight.

“I’m glad. And the others?”

“All recovering nicely.”

“I’m happy to hear it.” Her heartbeat slowed in disappointment. They were talking to each other like strangers. What had happened to the easy companionship she had so enjoyed in recent weeks? Had she spoiled everything by that ridiculous outburst last night? Her heart ached with regret.

He continued to watch her as if expecting her to say something else. She cast about for a topic and came up with the one uppermost in her mind. “I don’t know if you heard, but we have discovered who killed Amelia Brunswick.”

He nodded. “The farmer’s wife. I heard.”

“Ah.”

“I also heard you were responsible for her being arrested.”

She shrugged. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“And what’s this I hear about you fighting off a horde of angry housewives to save the German kid from being lynched?”