Fire When Ready (Manor House Mystery) (3 page)

Polly tugged her arms out of her heavy overcoat. "What if he has?"

Sadie's jaw dropped. "Go on! You're not going to take him up on it, are you? What will her ladyship do without you?"

The other girl shrugged. "Don't know. I'm thinking
about it, though. It's more money than I'm making here, and now that Marlene's gone, Ma could use the extra shillings."

Sadie nodded. "Ain't that the truth. Have you heard from Marlene lately?"

"Not since Christmas." Polly pulled the wooly scarf from her head, letting her thick hair fall to her shoulders. "I still can't believe she's in Italy, driving an ambulance in the war zone. It's like a bad dream, it is. I don't think Ma's ever going to get over it. I hear her crying in the night sometimes, and I know she's afraid for our Marlene."

Sadie's eyes were full of sympathy. "You must miss her, too. What with your dad in the navy as well; that makes it twice as hard."

"Well, at least I don't have no one telling me how to dress and pinching me lipstick. The only thing I miss Marl for is her telling me if me seams are straight."

Sadie grinned. "Well, maybe your new boyfriend can help out there."

Polly pulled a face at her. "I've got to get back up to the office. I've got Mrs. Pettiscue's rent here, and her ladyship will be wondering what I did with it."

"Me, too. I've still got the Yanks' lavatories to clean." Sadie got to her feet. "If I don't get them done before they get back from the base, I'll never get in there. I never seen no one use toilets as much as them Yanks, I swear."

Polly nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. Any mention of the Americans billeted in the manor reminded her of Sam. Everything about the manor reminded her of Sam. She'd spent so much of her time hanging around the officers' quarters in the hopes of bumping into him. Now she did her best to avoid being anywhere near the east wing.

It was one of the reasons she was thinking about taking
a job at the factory. Maybe the biggest reason. Though she wasn't looking forward to telling Lady Elizabeth she was leaving. That was going to be hard all right. She stomped up the stairs, wondering why life had suddenly turned on her. Nothing seemed to go right lately. Nothing since Sam had left, anyway. Maybe working at the factory would help her feel better. That and Ray Muggins. It was nice to have a boyfriend again. Even if he wasn't Sam. Shoving away the tinge of doubt, she headed for the office.

The morning of the grand opening of Farnwell's Ltd. dawned with a scattering of snowflakes that quickly dispersed as the sun broke through the clouds. Aboard her motorcycle, bundled up in a thick wool reefer coat and white angora scarf, Elizabeth roared into the car park of the factory amid a greeting of applause and a whistle or two from the gathering crowd.

A quick glance around assured her that so far Rita Crumm and her entourage had not assembled, though she had no doubt it was only a matter of time. With one hand holding her skirt at a respectable angle, she climbed off the motorcycle and graciously waved at her villagers. Made up mostly of women, since all able-bodied men had been summoned to the war front, the small crowd waved back.

The building was quite unimpressive, Elizabeth decided. It was longer than the Manor House, but not as wide and only one floor. With its stark beige walls and tiny windows, it looked more like a prison camp than a factory. Although the official grand opening was today, the factory had already been in full production since before Christmas.

At each end of the building, a short flight of steps led up to an entrance. Standing in a doorway at one end, flanked by a couple of scared-looking young women, stood the sturdy
figure of the man who had brought this controversial aberration to the picturesque countryside.

Elizabeth had first met Douglas McNally when he was scouting for suitable land for the factory. Although she had been against the project from the first, she rather liked the dour Scotsman. He spoke his mind, and she admired that. Too many people trod on eggshells around her, as if afraid to say the wrong thing.

That had been one of the things that had attracted her to Earl. Having been brought up in a country that had far less regard for class distinction, Earl had no compunction about saying what he thought, even if his opinion made gentle fun of her standing in society. It was refreshing, and oddly comforting.

He'd made her feel as if she were a woman, any woman—part of and accepted by the masses, enabling her to forget at times that she was an impoverished aristocrat with enormous responsibilities. It had all been rather wonderful.

Watching Douglas McNally hurry down the steps to greet her, Elizabeth thrust her memories from her mind. Right now she had far more important things with which to concern herself. She was becoming increasingly aware of a sound in the distance. A sound that could not be attributed to a passing vehicle. A sound that, if she wasn't mistaken, meant trouble.

Elizabeth smiled at McNally, trying to ignore the flutter of apprehension. She had dealt with Rita Crumm and her earnest band of followers plenty of times in the past. She would do so again. She could only hope that the man standing in front of her was as indomitable as he appeared. She would need all the help she could get.

"Lady Elizabeth!" Douglas McNally gave her a gentlemanly tilt of his head. "I'm so happy you are honoring us today with your delightful presence."

Elizabeth beamed at him. She had always enjoyed the way the Scots rolled their r's, and McNally's brogue was particularly pronounced. "Thank you, Mr. McNally. I have a short speech prepared. Where would you like me to stand?"

McNally nudged his head in the direction of the building. "At the top of the stairs, if ye will, your ladyship. We have a ribbon across the door, and a sharp pair of scissors for you to cut it."

Grateful that her companion had the foresight to sweep the snow from the front of the building, Elizabeth made her way to the steps and mounted them. She murmured a greeting to each of the young ladies, then turned to face the crowd. As she did so, the distant sound gradually intensified, drawing ever closer. She could identify it now. The crashing and banging of saucepans. Rita Crumm was on the march.

Tightening her lips, Elizabeth turned to face the hushed crowd. If she spoke really fast, she might be able to get the whole speech done before Rita's mob drowned her out. Heads were already turning in the direction of the racket, people murmuring among themselves.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Elizabeth began. "Behind me, in this building, arms and ammunition are being manufactured for the use of our military personnel fighting this dreadful war. This work presents a wonderful opportunity . . ."

She paused as the sound of crashing pans intensified enough to intrude. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a ragged procession of women enter the car park. They
trudged behind the stork-like figure of Rita Crumm, who held a couple of saucepan lids like cymbals and marched with a ridiculous lift of her knees reminiscent of the German army's infamous goose step.

Rita, in fact, appeared to be the only one in the group with any animation. The rest of her troops looked ready to drop to the ground. Given that they had apparently marched all the way from the village, a distance of at least two miles, Elizabeth wasn't too surprised to see them so exhausted.

The procession made its way across the car park, heading for the steps where Elizabeth stood. The crowd drew back to let them pass, obviously intimidated by the large frying pans and heavy pots wielded by the bedraggled women, most of whom were listlessly banging their weapons with spoons.

Rita clashed her saucepan lids even louder as she reached the bottom of the steps and came to a defiant stop. "Halt!" she screamed.

She needn't have bothered. The women behind her, red-faced and puffing, had already decided they'd had enough. They had come to a full stop several yards behind their leader.

Rita glared at McNally, who stood slightly in front of Elizabeth as if ready to protect her against the wrath of the devil. "We are here," she bellowed, "to protest the opening of this factory on the grounds that it was built without taking into consideration the wishes of the people who live here and will have to put up with this . . ." She waved her hand at the offending building, then, apparently at a loss for a suitable description, added, ". . . despicable outrage. We charge that you, Mr. McNally, are subjecting the people of Sitting Marsh to extreme danger by erecting this. . . ."
Again she sought for a word and finally came up with one. ". . . monstrosity, thus inviting Hitler's bombs to destroy it, and all of us with it."

At her words a soft muttering of concern rippled through the crowd. Apparently Rita was less than pleased with the response. She turned to her stalwart followers and raised her hand sharply in the air to encourage them. A ragged cheer or two was all she could muster, however, and her scowl promised retribution for her troops later on.

Elizabeth held up her hand, and the murmuring died down. "Good morning, Rita," she said, when she was sure she had the attention of everyone. "How nice of you to bring such a turnout to our little ceremony."

Rita raised a trembling hand and, abandoning all attempts at good manners, pointed an accusing finger. "Shame on you, Lady Elizabeth! Shame on you for allowing this man to place the people of Sitting Marsh in the path of death and destruction. You, of all people, have betrayed us."

Beside her, McNally uttered a soft groan. "Oh, good God."

A louder murmur arose from the crowd, then died again as Elizabeth once more lifted her hand. "Please, everyone, listen to me. I admit I had my reservations about the factory at first. I agree that this building is a blight on the landscape. But after talking to Mr. McNally here, I am convinced that a year or two of inconvenience will be well worth the results. Our men and women in His Majesty's forces are in desperate need. There is only so much the government and the military can do. This isn't only their war, it is ours, too. Every man, woman, and child in this country is fighting for survival. If we are to win, if we are to beat back the terrible forces that seek to destroy us, if we are to save
England and restore our country to its former glory, then we must stand together, shoulder to shoulder, all for one and one for all."

Obviously stirred by this rousing call to arms, the crowd burst into cheers and wild applause, led with great enthusiasm by the Housewives League.

Rita waited, her cheeks growing red, for the din to die down. After a scathing glance at her disloyal army, she raised her voice again. "How can we stand shoulder to shoulder, if we're being blown to kingdom come by Hitler's bombs?"

More muttering greeted her words. A belated call came from her group of protestors. "You tell them, Rita!"

McNally stepped forward. "If I may—" he began, but boos from the crowd, drowned him out.

Elizabeth moved to stand beside him. "Let him speak," she commanded. "He has a right to defend his enterprise."

"Not if he's trying to get us all killed, he doesn't," Rita yelled back.

"I can promise," McNally roared above the growing rumble of dissent from the crowd, "Hitler won't even know we are here. We've camouflaged the roof, and as long as everyone keeps quiet about what we're doing here, he'll never know. Remember, loose lips sink ships."

"What if he does find out?" Rita demanded. "What then?"

McNally lifted his hands in appeal. "We're a very small enterprise compared to the big factories. The Germans are not going to risk getting shot down for a wee business like this one. Not with an airfield of American fighter pilots just a few miles away."

"He's right," Elizabeth added. "The Americans are
always on the alert for enemy planes, as is the British Army in Beerstowe. We have all the protection we need."

This time the muttering from the crowd seemed a little less hostile. Apparently sensing she was losing the fight, Rita rallied once more to the cause. "What about the people working here? Who's going to take care of things in the village if everyone's working in this place?"

"A lot of the workers are from North Horsham," McNally answered. "Not too many are from Sitting Marsh. Certainly not those who are needed in the village, I'm sure."

Doubting voices were raised once more from the worried throng.

Elizabeth decided it was time for her final argument. "Just think," she called out, "what this could mean. The rifle that is made here next week could save the life of your husband. The machine gun this factory produces could prevent a massacre in the trenches that are sheltering your sons. This is our chance to contribute to the war effort in a far more meaningful way than has been possible before."

She gestured at Rita, who showed no sign of giving up. "Rita Crumm and her Housewives League have contributed so much with their knitting and their collection of milk bottle caps and cigarette wrappers. Their constant efforts are vastly appreciated by the government, I can assure you all of that. But now we have the chance to take this one step further. A huge step further. Now we can help to save lives. Now we can help to bring our men and women home. Isn't that worth putting up with an ugly building for a while?"

McNally, taking advantage of the crowd's indecision, spoke up. "It will only be for a year or two. Once the war is over, we can change it into something else. Maybe a theatre, or a club house where ye can all have some fun."

"Or pull it down," someone yelled.

"Yeah, it's too bloody ugly," someone else added.

"We'll remodel it," McNally promised them. "Once the boys come back from the war they'll be glad to give us a hand. Between us we'll make this building so grand no one will ever remember what it was before. We'll call it Victory Hall, or Victory Theatre, or whatever it turns out to be. It will stand as a memorial for all the sacrifices and hard work you people will have put into it."

The voices in the crowd were now tinged with excitement. Rita, however, was not about to give up. Shouting to be heard above the crowd, she yelled, "You haven't heard the last of this, Douglas McNally! We will not put our children in danger! We will not rest until we shut you down!" She gestured violently in the air and managed to raise a weak cheer from her group.