Manor House 04 - Dig Deep for Murder (15 page)

Her voice broke, and she struggled to hold back the sobs. He looked so helpless lying there. If only she could see his face, and give him a quick kiss. If only he'd open his eyes, just to let her know everything was going to be all right again.

She leaned forward and gently laid her forehead on his chest. "I love you, Sam. Just don't die, all right? I couldn't bear to live if you die now. Please, don't die."

The door opened behind her, and a voice hissed, "Sister's coming. You've got to go."

Polly lifted her head, kissed the tips of her fingers and laid them gently against the bandaged cheek. "I'll be back, Sam. Wake up soon."

She managed to hold her tears until she was in the lift again, then she bawled like a baby, much to the obvious concern of an orderly who rode down with her. By the time she joined her mother, who waited impatiently at the door of the taxi, she'd composed herself enough to get through the ride home without crying again.

But in the privacy of her bedroom, she gave in to the
misery engulfing her. If Sam died, her world would end, too. She would go to her grave knowing that his last conscious moments on earth were spent being angry at her. That was something she couldn't bear to live with. If Sam died, the only way she could make up with him was to meet him in heaven. If Sam died, she would have to give up her own life, too. That's all there was to it.

CHAPTER

11

Elizabeth spent a great deal of thought on her outfit for the cocktail party and finally settled on basic black with a double string of pearls left to her by her mother. One of the few items of jewelry Elizabeth hadn't sold to help cover the debts left by her gambler ex-husband.

She left her hair unpinned, and used a touch of rouge to add color to her pale cheeks. In spite of the summer sun, the brims of her hats continuously shaded her face. Her mother had always maintained that too much sunshine made a woman appear unfeminine and unrefined. After all, appearance was everything.

Elizabeth smiled at the thought. Nowadays that seemed to be more important to her than ever. Especially now that she had a reason to primp a little.

Her hand shook as she applied the merest dash of red lipstick. It had been quite some time since she had attended anything as elegant as a cocktail party. She was
really looking forward to it. She studied her image in the mirror with a critical eye, aware that the prospect would not be nearly so inviting were it not for the anticipation of spending the entire evening as the guest of Major Earl Monroe.

He was waiting for her in the hallway when she descended the stairs. As always, the first sight of him, so tall and handsome in his dress uniform, churned her stomach so badly she was certain she was about to dispose of her afternoon tea in a most unbecoming manner.

"You look absolutely charming," he told her as she advanced a careful step at a time, for fear of turning an ankle on her slim heels.

"Thank you, and I'd like to return the compliment." She smiled up at him, feeling as giddy as a young girl. "Are we ready to go?"

He offered her his arm with a slight bow of his head. "Your carriage awaits, ma'am."

A gruff voice spoke from the shadows, startling them both. "I trust your father is aware of your intentions, young lady?"

Earl jerked his head around. "What the . . . ?"

Elizabeth peered at Martin, who was shuffling out from behind the library door. "For heaven's sake, Martin, what are you doing lurking about like that?"

Martin almost managed to straighten his body. His voice rang with indignation. "Lurking
about
, madam? I never lurk. I was merely waiting for you to appear in order to open the door for you, as is my duty." He eyed Earl with a skeptical frown. "I trust your intentions are honorable, Major?"

Embarrassed, Elizabeth started to protest, but Earl cut in. "Perfectly honorable, Martin. I'm just escorting Lady Elizabeth to a cocktail party at the base. All very innocent and aboveboard, I promise you."

Martin seemed unappeased. "Then, sir, where is your chaperone, may I ask?"

Earl appeared at a loss for an answer to that. Elizabeth
stepped forward, into the light of the crystal chandelier. "Look at me, Martin. Do you really think I need a chaperone?"

Martin blinked his watery blue eyes. "Every decent young woman needs a chaperone, madam. Ask your father. He would not allow you to compromise your reputation this way. I'm sure he will be most displeased when he hears about this."

"He's not going to hear anything," Elizabeth said firmly. "My father is dead, Martin. Surely you remember that. He's dead, and so is my mother. I am a divorced woman. There isn't much I can do that would besmirch my image any more than it is already. In which case, I think we can dispense with the chaperone, don't you?"

Martin, who had listened to her somewhat terse statements without blinking, nodded rather sadly. "Very well, madam. If you say so."

"I do say so. Now kindly open the door and let us be on our way."

She saw Earl hide a grin as Martin obediently opened the door with a great deal of straining and puffing, then stood back to direct a dark look at the major. "I shall hold you personally accountable for the lady's welfare," he muttered.

Earl stooped to whisper in his ear words that Elizabeth couldn't catch. Whatever he'd said, it seemed to satisfy Martin, who nodded affably as he began the task of closing the massive door. His last words drifted out to them as they descended the steps. "Do have a good time, madam."

"Just as long as you don't besmirch your image," Earl teased, as they walked down the steps. "Is that really true?"

"Is what true?"

"That being divorced is such a crime?"

"For a woman here in England, anyway, it's considered quite shocking. Particularly if one happens to be the lady of the manor. There's a stigma attached to the word 'di
vorcée.' No matter who's at fault. Isn't it the same in your country?"

"I guess so. I hadn't really thought about it."

"Grossly unfair, of course."

"Don't you ever get tired of having to uphold that kind of image?"

"Constantly." She sighed. "There are times when I'd like to forget who I am, and just do whatever I feel like doing, without having to worry about what people think."

Their footsteps echoed across the courtyard, and one of the dogs in the kitchen barked when Earl slammed the door of the jeep. "What was it you whispered to Martin?" Elizabeth asked, as she settled herself on the front seat.

Earl swung himself in next to her and fired the ignition. Above the roar of the engine she was almost positive she heard him say, "I promised him that if you were compromised in any way, I'd make an honest woman of you."

Speechless, she pulled a silk scarf from her pocket, draped it around her head, and tied it under her chin. The jeep rolled forward in the clean, fresh air of the summer night. She became acutely aware of the sweet smell of newly cut grass and lifted her face to enjoy the damp breeze from the ocean.

They were almost at the end of the drive when Earl said, his voice teasing, "What, no comment?"

Elizabeth struggled to regain her composure. "I was thinking," she said carefully, "that under the circumstances, you would find it difficult to keep that promise."

"Reckon I would, but since you're unlikely to be compromised by me—or anyone else, for that matter—I figured I was safe."

She thought that over for a while. "How do you know?" she asked at last.

He sounded wary when he answered. "How do I know what?"

"That I won't be compromised by anyone else?"

His pause was unnerving. By the time he finally answered, she was on pins and needles, wishing she hadn't
pursued this dangerous line of conversation. "You are an exceptionally strong woman, Elizabeth. I can't see you allowing yourself to be compromised by anyone. Whatever you choose to do, it will be only after you've considered every angle and have fully convinced yourself it's the right thing to do. I admire that and I respect it. I'm not sure I could be that honorable."

Little bumps began popping out all over her arms. "Given the right circumstances," she said, with reckless daring, "I'm not sure I could be, either."

"Well, now, that's an interesting thought."

Her lungs hurt with the effort to breathe normally. She would never know if they were talking about the same thing. Nor dared she ask. But somehow she was certain that for the rest of her life, she would never forget this night—the wind in her face, her body alive with the excitement of something magical just out of reach and the tantalizing possibility of its drawing ever closer.

She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed when Earl changed the subject. "In all the excitement," he said, as they turned onto the coast road, "I almost forgot. I've got some good news."

Eagerly she turned to him. "Sam Cutter?"

"Right. He's out of the coma. The doc thinks he's on the mend, though it will take some time."

"Oh, Earl, that
is
good news." She gave his arm a little squeeze with both her hands. "Polly will be ecstatic."

"I'm not so sure about that." Earl's voice sobered. "Not when she gets the whole story."

Dismayed, Elizabeth peered at his shadowed face. "What's wrong? He's not crippled, is he?"

"Not as far as I know. He's a tough guy, and the doc seems to think he'll be good as new. Except. . . ."

She waited with dread for him to finish the sentence. When he didn't, she prompted, "Except for what? What is it?"

"It's his face." Earl sighed. "Sam was a good-looking guy. It's gonna be tough on him now."

"Oh, no." Elizabeth sank back in her seat. "Will he be badly scarred?"

"The right side of his face was ground into the road. Took most of his cheek and broke a couple of bones. He'll mend, but they won't get all the gravel out, and the doc says his face will probably be sunken in on that side. The scars will be pretty obvious."

Elizabeth's excitement faded at this disturbing news. "Poor Sam. He's still so young."

"The good side of it is, they saved the sight in that eye. Other than the scars, he'll soon be as fit as the rest of us."

"Will they send him home?"

"That'll be up to the Army medics to decide. If all goes well with him, they may just patch him up and send him back up in his plane. It's what he wants, according to the doc."

"Then let's hope that's what they'll do."

"What about Polly? She might change her mind about him when she sees him. I sure hope she doesn't. That young lady could really help him get through this. If she turns her back on him now, he might never look at himself in a mirror again."

"I understand what you're saying." Elizabeth touched his arm. "Don't worry, Earl. I've seen Polly's face when she talks about Sam. She adores him. She'll stand by him. Actually, I was going to talk to her about that. I don't think her mother is aware of their relationship. I was going to insist that Polly tell her mother the truth. Now that this has happened, Edna just might be able to understand Sam's need, and accept the fact that her sixteen-year-old daughter is in love with a man almost ten years older."

"Polly's only sixteen?" Earl whistled softly through his teeth. "That does put a different light on things, I reckon."

"I don't see why. I think it's up to the individuals concerned. When two people love each other, it's amazing the obstacles they can overcome if they truly want to be together."

"Well, well, well. The lady is a liberal after all. You
surprise me, Elizabeth. I had you pegged as a true conservative."

"Me?" Elizabeth had to laugh. "In some things I have to be, I suppose. But as I've said, underneath this proper, conventional image of the lady of the manor lives a rebel who has been known to rear her militant head every once in a while."

"Don't I know it." He laughed—a rich sound that warmed her blood. That warmth stayed with her throughout the evening. Though she didn't have much chance to talk with him again, it was enough for her to know he was close by while she exchanged pleasantries with the officers and local dignitaries.

Several times throughout the evening she met his gaze briefly from across the room, and the smiles he sent her made her feel as if she could conquer the world single-handed.

Although she enjoyed tasting the unusual hors d'oeuvres and listening to the various accents against a background of recorded band music, she was eager for the evening to end and allow her to be alone with the major once more.

At last they were speeding back along the coast road, exchanging amusing anecdotes about the various people who had attended the party.

They were almost home before she remembered what she'd wanted to ask him. "I've been asked to judge the talent contest at the garden fete on Saturday," she said, as they drove up the hill toward the manor. "I don't suppose you'd care to give me a hand? I'm not terribly good at this sort of thing. I feel awful when I can't choose everyone to be a winner."

He chuckled. "I can believe that. I'm not sure I'd be any better at it. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who stands up and performs in front of an audience deserves a prize for sheer guts."

"Exactly. But perhaps between the two of us we could at least come to some kind of decision."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do. I can't promise anything, though."

Well satisfied, she accepted that. He'd do his best to be there, she knew, and that was enough for her. "I had a wonderful time," she told him when he drew up in front of the manor. "I can't remember when I've enjoyed an evening quite so much."

Although she couldn't see his expression, his voice teased her once more. "Are you telling me that this tops the night I rescued you from a brawling mob at the Town Hall Massacre?"

She had to laugh. "That
was
rather a fiasco. I had really hoped that a dance at the town hall would help improve the relationship between the British and Americans in the village. I failed dismally, I'm afraid."

"It wasn't your best idea. But the cricket match turned out all right."