Manor House 04 - Dig Deep for Murder (3 page)

Worried now, Elizabeth hurried toward the small crowd, wondering what new calamity she was about to encounter. She had almost reached the group when one of the women turned her head. Elizabeth's spirits sank when she recognized Rita Crumm. "Here she is now,"
Rita declared, leaving Elizabeth in no doubt that the women had been talking about her.

Her feud with Rita had started shortly after she'd taken over the reins of the Manor House and its estate. Rita had made it abundantly clear that she considered Elizabeth unsuitable and unqualified for the role formerly held by her father. After all, Elizabeth's mother had been nothing but a lowly kitchen maid when the future Earl had married her, thus diluting considerably the noble blood of the Wellsborough heirs.

In her eagerness to convince the villagers that her opinion was valid, Rita constantly attempted to surpass Elizabeth's efforts at every opportunity. This more often than not manifested in bold and significantly ill-advised ventures under the guise of contributing to the war effort.

It was Elizabeth's considered opinion that Rita's aim was to win the war single-handedly, earning the undying gratitude of a beleaguered nation and putting down once and for all that common upstart calling herself the lady of the manor. It was also her considered opinion that Rita had taken on one of the plots for the sole purpose of spying on the Manor House and its occupants, which was uncharitable, to say the least. Particularly since Rita's Victory Garden outproduced everyone else's. Naturally.

"Do we have a problem here?" Elizabeth asked cautiously, as heads turned in her direction.

One woman separated herself from the group, and stepped forward. Elizabeth recognized Edna Barnett at the same moment she spotted Polly on the ground behind her. Polly's knees were hunched most unbecomingly under her chin, and she rocked back and forth, moaning and crying in quite an alarming manner.

"Whatever's the matter?" Elizabeth exclaimed, hurrying forward. "Did you cut yourself with the spade?" It appeared to be the most likely cause of Polly's behavior, since the spade apparently had been flung some distance from the plot.

Edna seemed to be having difficulty forming words.
Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came forth. Her face looked drawn and ashen, and her eyes were wide with fear.

Much against her better judgment, Elizabeth turned to Rita Crumm for an explanation.

Rita, of course, had no trouble obliging. "There's a dead body in the garden," she announced, with obvious relish.

Suspecting some kind of macabre joke had been played on poor Polly, Elizabeth was not amused. "I should think that we all have better things to do with our time than play pranks on one another," she said, more tartly than she'd intended. "For one thing, considering everything that's going on in this country, it's in beastly poor taste."

Edna's shaky voice spoke from behind her. "It's not a prank, m'm. There really is a dead body. It's right there. Our Polly dug it up . . . ooh, I think I'm going to be sick."

Elizabeth froze to the spot. Her sense of duty insisted that she take a look and satisfy herself that the women were telling the truth. Her natural instincts urged her to run home and let the constables take care of it.

She could not, however, walk away from this group of women, all of whom were staring at her as if she could resurrect whoever might be buried in one of her vegetable plots, and leave Polly sobbing on the ground. Someone had to take charge.

Her legs felt as if they were encased in ice as she forced them to move. She saw a bundle of filthy rags lying among the weeds, and a brief glance confirmed the shocking news. It was, indeed, a dead body. She aimed a second glance at the face, and her stomach immediately revolted. The features were completely unrecognizable, smashed to a pulp like a slab of raw meat. "I think you should all go home," she said faintly, and prayed they all did so before she made a spectacle of herself. "I'll ring the constables."

"Who do you think it is, then?" Rita asked, her voice sharp with avid curiosity.

"I doubt if anyone can answer that question right now."
Elizabeth shuddered, unable to get the image out of her mind. "Please, Rita, take your friends home with you. No doubt as soon as the body is identified everyone will learn who he is." Gossip, as Elizabeth well knew, traveled like wildfire in the village. News like this would be a lightning strike.

Rita apparently agreed with her, for she rounded up her little entourage and led them to where their bicycles lay in a heap on the driveway.

Elizabeth bent over Polly and patted her trembling shoulders. "Go home with your mother," she said gently. "Have a nice cup of tea and take some aspirin. You'll soon feel better."

The buxom girl standing behind Polly reached down for her hand. "Come on, Pol," Marlene said, her voice unnaturally loud, "ups-a-daisy then."

Polly, still sobbing, scrambled to her feet.

"It's the shock," Edna said, looking as if she were about to faint. "She'll be all right when we get her home."

Elizabeth nodded in sympathy. "Do let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Thank you, your ladyship."

Her stomach churning uncomfortably, Elizabeth followed them as they stumbled over to their bicycles. She waited until they were all well down the driveway before restarting the engine of her motorcycle. A few moments later she pulled to a halt in front of the stables.

Desmond would put the motorcycle away, she assured herself. Her first order of business was to talk to Sid and George. It would take them a while to get out to the mansion. After that, she could have Violet make a pot of tea. Maybe a dash of brandy in it would help her stomach.

The ancient bell echoed through the depths of the halls when she tugged on the rope. She waited impatiently for Martin to open the door, and wished she'd gone to the back door, where she could have let herself in with a key.

One day, she vowed, she would have proper locks put on the massive front door instead of the heavy bolts and
latches that secured it now. Her desire to hold on to as much of the original trappings of the mansion as possible was being swiftly outweighed by the need for more modern conveniences, particularly now that Martin had become so feeble in both mind and body.

The object of her thoughts apparently arrived on the other side of the door. Well-oiled bolts slid across, latches scraped up, and at last the door slowly opened.

It occurred to Elizabeth at that moment that should George and Gracie, her boisterous bloodhounds, escape to freedom, they would no doubt find their way to the vegetable plots. She shuddered to think what might happen when they spotted the grisly remains.

Instead of waiting for Martin's wrinkled face to appear, she bounded through the door, brushing heavily against her butler's arm in her haste.

He spun around, arms floundering, his feet sliding on the polished floor. " 'Pon my soul!" he exclaimed in his wavering voice. "Now where did that blessed door go?"

Thankful that the dogs were nowhere in sight, Elizabeth gasped an apology. "So sorry, Martin, but I'm in a dreadful hurry. Please tell Violet to put the kettle on. I'll be down in a tick."

As she sped up the stairs to her office, she heard him mumbling behind her.

"A tick? What kind of tick? Is that some kind of evening attire?"

Making a mental note to stop using Polly's modern idioms, Elizabeth hurried into her office and reached for the telephone. Her call went unanswered at the police station, and she replaced the receiver with a grunt of annoyance. Ever since George and Sid had been dragged out of retirement to replace the village constables now fighting abroad, law enforcement in Sitting Marsh had deteriorated considerably.

George did what he had to in order to get by, and Sid appeared to be there for the sole purpose of annoying him. Unfortunately, several years of retirement, plus the fact
that neither of them cared to be gainfully employed again, made their efforts lackluster at best.

There was nothing for it, Elizabeth decided. She'd have to go down to George's house and report the find. The tea would have to wait.

She flew down the stairs again and along the hall to the kitchen stairs. The moment she burst through the door, the two dogs leaped to their feet, tails wagging and tongues hanging from their mouths.

Violet's frizzy gray hair appeared to be standing on end as she spun around from the stove. "Whatever's got into you?" she demanded. "What's your blinking hurry?"

"Can't explain now." Elizabeth panted, striving for breath. "I have to go into the village. Just don't let the dogs out until I get back. I'll tell you all about it then."

"What about the tea? I just made it."

"Sorry." Elizabeth waved a hand as she dived for the door. "I won't be long."

Her knees felt as if they had lead weights attached to them as she hurried back up the stairs to the main hall. It was times like these when she realized she was getting older. Not that thirty-one was all that old, but she wasn't twenty-one anymore.

Her world had changed unbelievably in a few short years.

The thought momentarily depressed her, but then, as she hurried across the courtyard on her way to the stables, her melancholy vanished in a wave of relief. A jeep was parked close to the back door. Climbing out of it was a familiar figure.

"Earl! How good to see you!" She pulled up, and lifted a nervous hand to straighten her hat. The brim was definitely lopsided.

"Evening, ma'am." He raised his hand in casual salute. "Nice to see you, too."

She drew close, forgetting her own concerns at the sight of deep lines at the corners of his mouth. "You must have been busy. I haven't seen you for a while."

"Things have been pretty hot lately." He grinned at her, making light of his words, but she could see no humor in his eyes.

She could imagine how awful it must be for him, sending his men out on missions and knowing that some of them would almost certainly not return. Her greatest fear for him was when he joined them on a mission, as he seemed to do more and more often these days. Sometimes, when she lay in the dark of a soundless night, the dread of hearing that he'd been shot down was almost too much to bear.

She tried, so often, to remind herself how much worse it must be for his wife and daughters, waiting in a far-off country with little word from him, never knowing what he was doing or if he was safe. At least she could see him now and then, and reassure herself.

It was poor consolation, however, when deep in her mind she knew there would come a time when she would have to let him go. When he would return to his life and his family, and she would never see him again.

"Why so glum?" He tipped his head to one side. "Bad news?"

As always, she pushed away all thoughts of tomorrow. This was today, or rather, tonight, and she had to make the most of every moment she could steal with him. Right now, however, she had more important matters to take care of.

"Terrible news, actually," she told him. "Polly found a dead body in the vegetable plot."

Earl stared blankly at her, as if trying to make sense of her words. "The dead body of what?"

Stated like that, she had to admit it did sound awfully bizarre. "A human being, I'm afraid. A man. Impossible to tell who it is, even if I knew him. His face has been pummeled quite badly. His own mother wouldn't recognize him now."

At the memory of it, a wave of nausea took her by
surprise. She swayed on her feet, and Earl reached out to grasp her arm.

"Hey, you okay? You'd better sit down."

She shook her head. "Can't. I have to report this to the constables. I mean, he's just lying. . . ." She waved a hand in the direction of the plot. To her dismay, a sob lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

"You're going down to the village?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Not on that bike, I hope?"

Again she nodded.

Earl reached for the door of the jeep and pulled it open. "Hop in. I'll take you down there myself."

Finding her voice at last, Elizabeth hurried to protest. "Oh, no, you can't. You're much too tired. You need to rest while you can. I couldn't possibly—"

"Are you gonna quit yakking and get in, or do I have to pick you up and put you in there myself?" He raised an eyebrow at her, then added belatedly, "Your ladyship."

Much as the thought of being swept up in his arms appealed to her, she decided it would be far more prudent to do as he suggested and get in the jeep. Actually, his commanding manner rather took her breath away. Did wonders for settling her stomach. She scrambled into the passenger seat and tugged the narrow skirt of her frock over her knees.

"Hang on to your bonnet," Earl said, giving her hat a rather critical glance. Then they were off, roaring down the driveway at an alarming speed.

George's house was at the far end of the village. Actually, Sid's house was closer, but since George always took charge of a situation, while Sid merely looked helpful most of the time, George was the lesser of the evils.

Earl insisted on accompanying her to the door, and the two of them waited on the tiny porch for someone to answer the loud rap of the door knocker. "Is Polly okay?" Earl asked, as the wait dragged on for a minute or two.

Elizabeth thought that was awfully nice of him to ask.
Before she could answer, however, the door opened, and Millie, George's wife, peered out at them. "Oh, good heavens, it's you, your ladyship." She clutched the neck of her blue flannel dressing gown and seemed quite flustered. Even more so when she caught sight of Earl. "Oh, dear. Whatever's happened?"

Elizabeth did her best to give her an encouraging smile. "Is George here, Millie? I'm terribly sorry to bother him, but I need to speak to him for a moment."

"He's just finishing his supper, your ladyship. Would you like to come in for a minute?" She glanced nervously at Earl. "You, too, sir, if you'd like."

"Thank you." Elizabeth ducked under a tangle of ivy and stepped into the tiny parlor. Earl followed her and pulled his cap from his head.