Death Is in the Air (3 page)

“Perhaps your major will run her home in his Jeep,” Violet said, giving her a sly look.

“He’s not my major.” Elizabeth pulled her cardigan from the back of the chair and slipped it on. “I’ll let you break the bad news to Polly. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“So what am I going to do about dinner?”

“Buy the meat. If the major can’t join me, it will keep overnight in the larder. It’s getting quite cool at night now.”

“All right. But I’d hate to waste good meat. If he doesn’t come by tomorrow night, we’ll have to eat it all ourselves.”

“We can always make sandwiches for the Americans.”

Elizabeth almost laughed at Violet’s dour expression. She might have done so if her mind wasn’t still on a frightened young man hiding in the woods in fear of his life. Somewhere a mother was anxiously waiting, not knowing if her son was dead or alive. That was the trouble with war; the innocent on both sides suffered.

Martin met her in the upper hallway and peered at her above the thin gold rims of his glasses. Ever since he’d first worn the spectacles several years ago, Elizabeth had never seen him look through them. “Are you leaving, madam, or returning home?”

“I’m leaving, Martin. You didn’t happen to have seen Major Monroe about this morning, I suppose?”

The wrinkles on Martin’s crumpled face deepened. “Major? I don’t remember ever seeing a major about here. You don’t mean that scoundrel, Colonel Hartleigh, do you? He’s not here, I hope.” Martin’s head swiveled from side to side.

“No, no, I don’t mean Uncle Roger. I meant the American major. Have you seen any of the Americans?”

Martin drew himself up as straight as his spine would allow. “No, madam. Nor do I care to see them.” He raised his hand and placed it over his mouth, then
whispered around it, “They are the reason he came back, you know.”

Elizabeth frowned. Martin’s remarks often didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, she hated to ignore them just in case he was trying to say something important. “Who came back?”

“Your father. I saw him as clearly as I can see you. He doesn’t like these foreigners in his house. That’s what he’s trying to tell us.”

The sounds of muffled engines caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she instantly forgot about Martin’s ghost. She reached for the massive door handle, but Martin uttered an exclamation and shuffled forward.

“Please, allow me, madam.”

Elizabeth forced herself to wait until he grabbed hold of the handle with both hands and slowly tugged the door open. She could hear the slamming of doors outside and guessed the Americans were about to leave. If she hurried, she might just catch Major Monroe before he left.

The gap between the front door and the frame widened, and she squeezed herself through, earning a look of reproof from Martin.

“I say, madam!” he protested.

“Sorry, Martin, but I’m in a bit of hurry. Don’t close the door for a moment. I won’t be but a jiff.” She sped down the white marble steps and across to the courtyard, where a Jeep was already rolling across the gravel to the long, curving driveway.

The young men saluted her as she rushed by, and she returned the greeting with a cheerful wave of her hand. One Jeep stood alone in the shadows of the ancient walls, engine revving as the man behind the wheel prepared to pull out.

To Elizabeth’s relief, she recognized the rugged features of Major Monroe. Hurrying forward, she called out to him. “Major? I wonder if I could have a moment?”

He turned his gaze on her, and as always she felt a
quiver deep inside when she confronted his steel-blue eyes. “Ma’am?”

She felt awkward looking into that penetrating gaze and instead concentrated on the doors of the stables behind him. “I was wondering, Major, if you would care to have dinner with me tonight, here at the manor. There are several things I’d like to discuss with you, and I thought you might enjoy some home cooking for once, since you’re always eating at the base and that must get really tiresome, although Violet isn’t exactly a gourmet chef—actually she’s not even a very good chef—but she does her best, and it should be a fairly decent meal, that’s if—”

“Ma’am?”

Relieved to have an excuse to draw breath, Elizabeth returned her gaze to Major Monroe’s face and found amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I’d be delighted to have dinner with you, Lady Elizabeth, and I’d enjoy sampling Violet’s home cooking. On two conditions.”

She eyed him warily. “All right. What are they?”

“One, this would be an informal dinner, and two, you stop calling me Major and start calling me Earl.”

She would dearly love to call him by his Christian name, but somehow when she tried, the name seemed to stick in her throat. Maybe because she had never known anyone called Earl before, and it seemed so odd to give a commoner, and an American yet, a title of nobility. After all, she was the daughter of an earl, and one did not take that lightly.

If she were truly honest with herself, however, she’d be forced to admit that the reason she had so much difficulty referring to him by his first name was the air of familiarity such a procedure evoked. Though she’d die rather than admit it, Major Earl Monroe of the United States Army Air Force was far too attractive to risk sharing the least bit of familiarity.

Besides, the man was married. Which was none of
her concern, of course, but it did sort of rule out any prospects she might have been entertaining. Which she wasn’t, of course.

“If it takes that long to make up your mind, perhaps we should make it some other time.”

Startled, she glanced at his face but couldn’t really tell from his expression if he was teasing or not. “No, of course not. I would prefer an informal meal. Actually, we can’t do much else with the little rations we’re allowed.”

“Well, perhaps I can help out with that. I might be able to rustle up some steaks.”

Aghast, she hurried to reassure him. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She had already compromised her convictions by accepting a bottle of sherry from him. Accepting gifts from the Americans made her feel as if she were accepting charity, even though she knew that was not the intention.

Since her ex-husband’s gambling habits had left her without her inheritance and deeply in debt, she was overly sensitive to anything that smacked of a donation. The Hartleighs had always fended for themselves over the centuries, and she was not about to break the tradition now.

“I guess the name thing is not going to happen, either.”

On the defensive now, she lifted her chin. “I’ve already explained our customs to you, Major. I don’t feel we know each other well enough to be on a first-name basis.”

He grinned. “Well, maybe we can remedy that tonight over dinner. What time?”

The remark had been perfectly innocent. Nevertheless, she was so flustered, she stuttered. “S-s-seven o’clock?”

He glanced at the door as three of the officers strolled out into the sunlight and headed their way. “I’ll be there,” he said and touched the peak of his cap,
managing to make the polite gesture seem incredibly intimate.

She was already regretting the invitation as she watched the Jeep roar down the tree-lined driveway and disappear around the bend. In the first place, she didn’t particularly care for the sensations she experienced every time she came into contact with the thoroughly charming major. After her marriage had ended in a beastly divorce, she had vowed that never again would she form any kind of attachment toward a man. Major Monroe had a way of making her forget that promise.

In the second place, the major belonged to another woman. In these days of uncertainty, it had become common for people to snatch whatever moments of happiness were available. One never quite knew what was waiting around the corner, and it was difficult to ignore the sense of urgency that demanded she live for the day and stop worrying about tomorrow. Especially when she might never see another tomorrow.

There were certain codes that she must adhere to, however, and harboring lascivious thoughts about a married man was definitely forbidden. To do so would only bring heartache to too many people.

Nevertheless, as she climbed aboard her shiny red motorcycle, she couldn’t help smiling at the thought of dining alone with the major that night. His conversations were always fascinating and amusing. Surely it couldn’t hurt to enjoy his company for one evening.

Her smile faded as she chugged down the driveway. If Marlene was telling the truth that morning, and the German pilot had brutally killed a young woman, she was going to need someone to make her feel better.

CHAPTER
3

The police station was tucked behind a row of shops at the very end of the High Street. The small, white-brick building had once served as a stables when horses were the popular mode of transport. Although the renovation into headquarters for the local constabulary had taken place at least twenty years ago, Elizabeth swore she could still smell horses whenever she walked into the damp, musty room used as the front office.

The chair behind the deeply scarred desk was empty, but voices could be heard muttering behind the closed door of the back room. Whatever the conversation was about, it had to be meaningful, since no one, apparently, had heard the tinkling of the bell on the door.

Elizabeth coughed loudly. The voices continued without a break. Growing impatient, she peeled off one of her gloves and rapped on the desk with her knuckles.

The voices stopped abruptly, and a second or two later
the door opened. P.C. George Dalrymple’s round, benevolent face appeared in the gap. Upon sight of his visitor, the door widened, and he hurried forward. “Lady Elizabeth! I’m so sorry, m’m. Didn’t hear you come in. Have you been waiting long?”

“Not too long.” Without waiting to be asked, Elizabeth plopped herself down on the visitor’s chair. “I tried to ring you, but there was no answer.”

George’s eyes slid sideways. “Oh, yes, well, we just got back, Sid and I. Had a bit of business to take care of in town.”

“That business wouldn’t have anything to do with a young lady from the Macclesby farm, by any chance?”

George’s gaze snapped back to her face, and he drew a hand across the shiny bald dome of his head. “Ah, well, I’m not at liberty to say, m’m.”

Elizabeth crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. “Now, George, you know perfectly well that you can’t keep anything a secret in this village. I heard that the body of a land girl has been found in the woods. Am I correct?”

“I’d like very much to know how you found out about that, m’m, if you don’t mind me asking?”

So it was true. Elizabeth’s heart sank. “I found out the same way one finds out about everything going on in Sitting Marsh.” She fixed a stern eye on George’s worried face. “You might as well stop worrying about giving me information, George. The local grapevine is only a half step behind you.”

“That may well be, m’m, but I’d be breaking the rules if I told you anything about the investigation at this point.”

Elizabeth sighed. She had played this game so often. She’d have to pry the information out of him. Fortunately that wasn’t as difficult as George would have her believe. “So you do admit there is an investigation going on, then?”

George lifted his face to the ceiling. “I think we can safely say that.”

“And the dead body of a land girl was found in the woods?”

“I’m not denying that.”

“From the Macclesby farm?”

“I believe that might be so.”

“Do you know her name?”

“I believe we do.”

“Can you at least give me her first name?”

George laced his fingers across his chest. “She had a hankie with her initials embroidered on it. First two letters of the alphabet.”

“AB?”

He nodded.

“Do you have any suspects?”

He lowered his chin. “If I did, m’m, it might be a little difficult bringing him to justice. Since he’s disappeared, if you get my meaning.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Are you talking about the German pilot who escaped yesterday?”

“Seems that way.”

“What makes you think he’s the killer?”

He shrugged. “Right place at the wrong time, mostly. Can’t be too many dangerous criminals running around Hawthorn Woods.”

“So you have no real proof.”

George looked uncomfortable. “Who else would want to cut open a young girl’s head with an axe? Only someone who didn’t want to be taken prisoner, that’s who. She was killed some time last night. The same day a German pilot lands in the village and escapes into the woods. Too much of a coincidence if you ask me.”

Elizabeth thought about the young man standing shivering on the village green. “You found the axe?”

“No, m’m. Not yet. We reckon he buried it in the woods. We’re asking the army blokes to help us find it. They’re already looking for him, so it’ll just be a matter
of time—” He broke off and slapped a hand over his mouth. “You didn’t hear me say any of that.”

“I heard you bloody say all of that,” Sid’s deep voice said from the back room.

Elizabeth rose. “Don’t worry, George. I won’t pass any of it on. Has anyone been out to the farm to inform Sheila Macclesby?”

“Not yet, m’m. The next of kin have to be informed first. Then we have to make arrangements to recover the body.”

“Well, why don’t you do that, and I’ll run over and let Sheila know. If she doesn’t know already.”

George looked doubtful, and Elizabeth forestalled any objections he might raise.

“I’m going out that way, anyway,” she said firmly as she crossed the room to the door. “I’ll save you the trip. I’ll tell Sheila you’ll be out to ask her some questions later.”

“Well, I don’t know as if that’s a good idea—”

“I think you should get on the phone right away and ring those poor parents,” Elizabeth said gently. “I’m sure they’ll want to make arrangements to come down here.”

George’s expression changed, and Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy. It had to be so difficult to break such beastly news. She left quickly, before George could come up with a good reason why she couldn’t go out to the Macclesby farm. She very much wanted the chance to talk to Sheila before George added the woman to his official investigation. People tended to talk more freely if they thought they were simply gossiping.

On the way out there, Elizabeth did her best to curb the feeling of anticipation. A young girl had been brutally murdered, and this was no time to rejoice in the fact that she was hot on the trail of a murderer. Yet she couldn’t contain the feeling of excitement at once more being involved in a murder case.

Ever since her parents had died two years earlier, she had struggled to take her father’s place in the village.
Having lived in London until then, it had taken a great deal of effort to overcome the mistrust of the tenants in Sitting Marsh. She could understand their reluctance to accept her as their new administrator. The vast estate of the Manor House, which included the cottages in the village and the land upon which the High Street and its shops were built, had been overseen by earls for centuries.

This was the first time the village’s main benefactor and protector had been a woman, and the daughter of a commoner, no less. Although Elizabeth had grown up at the Manor House, she had always been aware of a certain undercurrent whenever she had been in contact with the villagers. From the moment she inherited the Manor House and its holdings, she’d been determined to wipe out that aura of distrust.

She had worked hard, forming committees and making sure she was accessible to everyone who lived on the estate. She had literally gone from house to house, meeting all her tenants face-to-face, doing her best to answer all of their concerns. Her dedication had paid off, and with the exception of one or two dissidents, she now felt reasonably certain of being accepted and respected by the villagers of Sitting Marsh.

The two world wars had changed many things, including the place that nobility had once held. No one was more aware of that than Elizabeth. She used it to her advantage, establishing her rightful place in the village without the traditional barriers. Yet her ancestral home stood as a symbol of the old world, and she knew that most inhabitants of Sitting Marsh found comfort in that.

She had pledged her life to serve her people, but her struggle to maintain the Manor House, thanks to the squandering of her inheritance by her ex-husband, was painful and often thankless. Helping the constabulary to solve a murder gave her something meaningful—a sense of achievement and an excitement in her life that at
times seemed so dreary without her parents.

Reaching the farmhouse, Elizabeth parked her motorcycle outside of the main gates. No one was about in the yard as she approached the weathered porch. The land girls were already out in the fields, and no doubt Maurice, Sheila Macclesby’s son, would be busy in the cowsheds.

Elizabeth lifted the lion’s head door knocker and let it fall with a loud rap. It was some time before the door opened and a tousled head peered around it.

“Good morning!” Elizabeth said brightly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Oh, my.” The woman clutched the neck of her faded dressing gown. “Lady Elizabeth! Whatever is the time?” She twisted her head to look back into the room. “I had no idea it was so late. Please come in, if you’ll excuse the mess.”

She pulled the door open wider, and Elizabeth stepped past her into a large living room dominated by a low-beamed ceiling.

“I do apologize,” Sheila Macclesby said, closing the door again. “I think I’m catching a cold or something. The only time I oversleep is when I’m ill.” She glanced across the room to where a large mantel clock sat above a roomy fireplace. “I wonder why Maurice didn’t wake me.”

“Perhaps he wanted you to rest,” Elizabeth said kindly. She was being diplomatic. Maurice Macclesby had fallen from the roof of a barn when he was four years old. The accident had left him lame in one leg and damaged his brain. Maurice’s mind had never progressed much beyond childhood. Even so, he managed to do his fair share of the farm work, and Elizabeth admired him greatly for rising above his limitations.

“He must be wondering where I am.” Sheila waved a hand at a roomy couch. “Sit down, Lady Elizabeth. Would you care for some tea?”

“Thank you, no.” Now that she was here, Elizabeth
was feeling decidedly uneasy. The bad news she had brought was bound to be a great shock to Sheila. “Have you heard from Walter lately?”

Sheila sat down on a dining room chair with a thump. “Wally? I got a letter from him a few days ago, from Belgium. He’s all right, isn’t he?”

Annoyed with herself, Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. “As far as I know. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then, if you don’t mind my asking, m’m, why
are
you here?”

Sheila still had that drawn look on her face—and a pallor that suggested she might be right about catching a cold. Feeling immensely sorry for the poor woman, Elizabeth said gently, “I’m afraid I do have bad news, Sheila. One of your land girls was found dead in the woods this morning.”

“No!” Sheila’s hand flew to her throat. “My God. Who would do such a thing?”

“That hasn’t been determined yet. P.C. Dalrymple will be along a little later on to ask you some questions, but I wanted to let you know what had happened to her. You must be wondering.”

“Wondering?”

“Why she didn’t come home last night. The constable believes she was killed last night.”

“Oh.” Sheila shook her head, as if trying to clear her mind. “Well, I wouldn’t know, would I. Since I haven’t been outside the house yet this morning, I wouldn’t know one was missing, and they often come in late at night after I’m asleep. As a matter of fact, I heard Amelia talking to someone outside my bedroom window late last night long after I’d gone to bed.”

“Amelia?”

Sheila looked confused again. “Amelia Brunswick. She’s one of the land girls. Arguing with someone, she was.”