Fire When Ready (Manor House Mystery) (19 page)

Violet gasped. "You're saying someone wanted Douglas McNally dead?"

"A lot of people wanted him dead," Martin said, making them both jump.

"What do you know about it?" Violet demanded. "Have you been talking to that raffle lady again?"

"If you are referring to Beatrice Carr," Martin said haughtily, "then please say so and refrain from referring to her as a raffle lady."

Elizabeth shook her head at Violet, then asked Martin, "What did Beatrice say about Mr. McNally?"

The butler carefully pushed the last piece of sausage onto the back of his fork and lifted it to his mouth. He chewed for agonizing seconds before swallowing, then he said smugly, "Mrs. Carr told me that most of the villagers wished that Mr. McNally had never come to Sitting Marsh. They were worried that he would change the village into a town like North Horsham, with all those infernal motorcars belching out smoke and deafening people with their horns and noisy engines. They were also afraid the Germans would bomb us out of existence."

"But did Mrs. Carr say anything specific about the fire?" Elizabeth persisted.

"She said it was a pity the fire brigade got there so soon. She would rather the whole building had burned to the ground rather than just the roof."

Elizabeth stared at him. His words had triggered that odd feeling again, though she couldn't imagine why. Martin hadn't told her anything she didn't already know.

Then again, that was usually the way things turned out. So many times when she'd been investigating a murder, the missing piece of the puzzle was something she already knew and just hadn't put it all together. She had that same feeling now. Somewhere in all the information she'd gathered was
the missing piece of the puzzle. All she had to do was put a finger on it.

"Well," Violet said, as she reached for the empty plates, "I just hope you don't get yourself in trouble again,
Lizzie
. You have a bad habit of putting your nose where it doesn't belong. One of these days you might get it bitten off if you're not careful."

"I'm always careful." Elizabeth got to her feet. "Besides, I'll have the major with me this afternoon when I go up to take a look at the factory. So you can stop worrying about me, Violet. I'll be in good hands."

"That's a matter of opinion," Martin muttered, struggling to get out of his chair.

Elizabeth gave him a stern look. "Really Martin, I fail to see that it's any of your business."

"Quite right, madam. Quite right. I was merely making a comment. Please excuse me if I was out of place."

"You're always out of place," Violet said, rolling her eyes at Elizabeth. "Even if you are right."

For once Elizabeth could not let things lie. "I'm getting extremely tired of defending my relationship with Major Monroe," she said sharply. "I'll thank both of you to remember your position and keep your noses out of my business."

Violet seemed startled, while Martin simply looked tired. "Lizzie," Violet began, but Elizabeth interrupted her.

"Enough. I really don't feel like discussing the subject any more. I shall be gone this afternoon and will return in time for supper. If anyone needs me, please tell them I shall be available this evening." She left the room quickly, before she gave in to the impulse to apologize for her outburst. For once she felt justified, and she could only hope
that both Violet and Martin would think twice before making such adverse comments again.

She was in the office when a light tap on the door broke her concentration. Polly lifted her head and gave her an enquiring look.

"It's all right, Polly," Elizabeth said, rising from her chair. "That will be Major Monroe. He's taking me out to look at the factory. Just finish those letters to the residents for me, and then you can leave."

Polly nodded. "Thank you, m'm. There's something important I have to do tonight. I'll be glad of the extra time to get ready."

Elizabeth barely heard her. She was already halfway out the door, her heart thumping with anticipation. It didn't seem possible that such a short time ago she was contemplating life without ever seeing Earl again. And now here he was, standing right here in the hallway, looking at her with a smile that made her heart sing.

"Hi there," he said softly. "How's my girl?"

She closed the door quickly, afraid Polly would hear. "Your girl," she said, with mock severity, "would prefer that you not address her as such in front of the servants."

He held up his hands. "Sorry, I forgot."

She smiled up at him. "It's good to see you."

"It's always good to see you." He linked his arm though hers. "Ready for our tour of the factory?"

"Indeed I am. Just let me get my coat and scarf. Riding in that Jeep of yours can be so ghastly chilly."

He raised his eyebrows. "It can't be any worse than riding on that motorcycle of yours."

"Perhaps not, but then I don't travel with such reckless speed on my motorcycle."

"Are you criticizing my driving?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Elizabeth assured him as they descended the stairs together. "Let us just say that the British drive with far more decorum and a greater respect for the correct side of the road."

"More decorum." He appeared to think about that. "I guess that's because you're more used to driving a horse and cart than a motor vehicle."

She uttered a sigh. "This is why I enjoy a discussion with you. You have such an antiquated and biased view of the English people. I find it quite refreshing."

He burst out laughing. "Elizabeth, you are the only person I've ever met who can make an insult sound like a compliment. You'll have to teach me how to do that sometime."

"I will, if you promise to teach me how to drive that deplorable Jeep."

"I seem to remember you handling that particular skill quite well on your own."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "If you are referring to the mad dash I took after a certain spy, I must remind you that I had no inkling of what I was doing. If you remember, I overturned the wretched thing and ended up in a ditch."

"I remember it well." He squeezed her arm with his. "You scared the heck out of me."

"So you will teach me to drive it properly?"

"You've got a deal." He held the door open for her. "Now let's go take a look at that factory before it get's too dark to see."

She stepped out into the weak sunlight of the wintry afternoon, happy to be going anywhere with him.
In fact
, she thought ruefully,
I'd follow him to the ends of the earth, if only I were anyone else other than Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton, renowned lady of the manor
.

CHAPTER

13

"All right, ladies!" Rita Crumm clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "It's time to hand in your signatures for the petition. Marge Gunther will add the numbers up for us, then I'll take it down to the next council meeting and present it to the councilors."

"I got twenty-six names," Marge boasted, waving a sheet of paper at the women sitting around Rita's front room. "I bet not many of you got that much."

"Twenty-nine," Nellie Smith called out.

"Thirty-one!" someone else shouted.

Marge looked put out. "All right, show-offs. Who else?"

"Sixteen!"

"Twenty-three!"

"Nineteen!"

"A hundred and four," a meek voice warbled.

A stunned hush filled the living room. Marge's hand slowly descended and she turned to the frightened-looking woman huddled in a corner. "Florrie? Florrie Evans, was that you?"

"Yes," Florrie admitted. She shot a wary look at Rita, who treated her to her stoniest stare.

"How many did you say?" Marge demanded.

Everyone stared at Florrie with varying degrees of expectation. Everyone knew that Rita had made signature collecting a competition, though no such words had actually been spoken.

Everyone also knew that Rita had collected forty-three names on her list, and that it would cost someone dearly if they dared to outdo this number. For that someone to be the most timid member of the Housewives League was even more impressive.

"I got a hundred and four names," Florrie said nervously. "Look, they're all here." The sheets of paper she held up rustled in her trembling hand.

"A hundred and
four?
" Marge's eyes appeared to be bulging from her head. "Where in heaven's name did you get that many signatures in two days?"

Florrie swallowed and stared around for help. Every woman in the room hastily looked away. "I'd rather not say," she said weakly.

Deciding it was time to take matters into her own hands, Rita strode across the room until she was practically standing on the unfortunate woman's toes. "You
have
to say," she said, fixing Florrie with a fierce glare. "We can't just accept names willy-nilly! You can't just walk in here and say you have a hundred and four names and not expect us to ask
where you got them!" Despite her best efforts, her voice rose to a shriek. "Tell us where you got the blinking names!"

Florrie's mouth opened and shut like a baby sparrow's beak, but no sound came out.

"There's not that many grown-up people in the entire village," someone muttered.

"And we got most of them," Marge declared. "My full count is a hundred and eighty-seven counting Rita's forty-three. That's more than half the village."

Rita towered over the shaking woman, while Florrie seemed to shrivel up. "Florrie Evans, either you tell us where you got these names, or I tear up all these sheets." She snatched them from the woman's trembling hand and peered at the first page.

After scanning the first two or three names on the list, she wrinkled her brow. "Wait a minute. I don't recognize any of these people. Sydney Watkins? Jocelyn McTavish? Percy Codwall? Who are these people?"

"I went to North Horsham," Florrie said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aware of several pairs of eyes on her, Rita swallowed hard. Forcing the words through her gritted teeth, she said slowly, "You went to North Horsham?"

Florrie nodded.

Rita's voice rose to a howl. "Who in blazes told you to go to North Horsham?"

Florrie looked as if she would burst into tears any minute.

"You never said not to," Marge pointed out helpfully.

Rita turned on her. "Mind your own bloody business!"

Marge simply shrugged, while the rest of the ladies appeared to be struggling to keep their faces straight.

With a great effort, Rita managed to get her temper under
control. Nobody outdid Rita Crumm. Nobody. But for now she would have to accept this measly little twerp's list, and make the best of it. After all, the more signatures they had, the better. "Very well, Florrie," she said painfully, "I will accept these signatures. "But next time, make sure you know all the rules before you go off doing things on your own."

The entire group broke into wild applause, only to be silenced almost immediately by Rita's baleful glare. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and not one she was likely to forget. She'd get even with that miserable twit in her own way. It would be a very long time before Florrie Evans dared to cross her again.

In spite of her warm scarf, the wind whipped across Elizabeth's face as Earl drove the Jeep along the coast road. White horses rode the greenish blue waves of the ocean, and a gray pall hung over the horizon, signaling another storm. It couldn't get there fast enough, as far as she was concerned. Storms kept the airmen grounded, and safe.

It was a miracle he hadn't had a mission that afternoon, considering the skies were fairly clear. She sneaked a glance at him. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. They rarely discussed his duties at the base. It was an unspoken agreement between them that she didn't ask questions. Now and again he'd volunteer whatever he wanted to tell her, but he always omitted details and specifics.

Churchill was constantly reminding the people that spies were everywhere, and it was essential not to discuss military or defense matters in case of being overheard. Idle chatter about such things could be helpful to the enemy.

She had to wonder how successful the people of Sitting Marsh would be keeping quiet about a munitions factory in their midst. With so many of the villagers working there, it
would have been almost impossible to keep anything secret, given the proficiency of the village grapevine. Perhaps the arsonist had done them a favor, after all.

She immediately dismissed that notion. Two people had died in that fire. No matter what Douglas McNally had been up to, he hadn't deserved to die in that gruesome manner. As for Jessie Bandini, she was an innocent victim. Such a dreadful tragedy. Thinking of Zora and little Loretta, Elizabeth's heart ached for them.

"You're looking very serious."

Earl's raised voice made her jump. They had to shout to be heard above the engine and the wind that whipped words from their mouths the instant they were spoken.

"I was thinking about the fire," she called back.

He sent her a brief glance. "Any ideas yet who might be responsible?"

She shook her head, one hand holding onto her hat. "Lots of people had motive enough to set the fire, but so far all my suspects appear to be innocent."

"You don't think it's possible it could be an accident after all, like the fire chief says?"

"Anything's possible at this stage. That's why I want to look for the key. If it's there, that will destroy my theory of someone locking Mr. McNally into his office. On the other hand, there's something I haven't told you yet."

He swung the wheel over to turn into the lane that led to the factory. "What is it?"

"I went to visit Jessie Bandini's daughter this morning. She told me her mother overheard rumors that someone was planning to steal military weapons and ship them to London."

This time his glance held concern. "Elizabeth, I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

She shrugged. "At the moment I really don't know much about anything."

Having reached the fence that guarded the factory, Earl slowed the Jeep and cut the engine. "If there's something like that going on, this could be very serious business." He turned to her. "You're not just talking about a prank getting out of hand. This is big time. With some pretty heavy criminals involved."