Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder (10 page)

She just wasn't prepared to accept personal favors from the Americans, putting herself and her household in their debt. The Hartleighs had always taken care of their own, in good times and in bad. Just because there was a war on didn't mean she had to compromise her family's principles. Her father would never forgive her if she did. She would stand firm on her conviction. No matter what happened.

There were times when she missed her parents with an aching loneliness that nothing could appease. This quiet summer evening, with its deceptive air of calm and peace, was definitely one of those times.

CHAPTER
8

"Polly? Where is that girl?" Edna Barnett peeled the silver cap off the milk and rinsed it under the tap, then dropped the flattened disc into an Ovaltine jar that was already half full of tinfoil.

The young woman slouching at the kitchen table didn't bother to look up from the magazine in front of her. "She's upstairs, getting ready to go out."

"What again? She should be in bed, a girl her age, not gallivanting around town with all those bloody Yanks about."

"She's fifteen, Ma. She's a big girl."

"Not as big as she thinks she is, Marlene. I remember you at fifteen. That's what gave me all these blinking gray hairs." Edna carefully measured milk into a saucepan, then lit the gas underneath it.

" 'Ere!" Marlene lifted her head at that. "I never brought home no trouble."

"More by luck than judgment, I'd say. But then, you never had no Yanks hanging around you like a bunch of hungry wolves."

Marlene grinned. "What makes you think I don't now?"

Edna reached for a packet of rice. "You're eighteen. Old enough to know what you're doing, I hope."

"So's Polly, so stop worrying. Women grow up faster these days."

"Don't I know it." Edna measured rice into the bubbling milk. "Still, I don't want her hanging around them Yanks. Not a young girl like her. That's asking for trouble. Look what happened to that poor Beryl Pierce. Got herself blinking murdered, she did. That had to be a Yank."

"Who says so?" Marlene scowled at her mother. "Why does everyone blame the Yanks for everything what goes wrong around here?"

"Well, you tell me who else could have done it. All the English men have been called up. You know what Beryl was like, always throwing herself at the men. Though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead."

"Not all the men have been called up. Besides, what about the army camp in Beerstowe? Lots of them soldiers come to the village hall dance every month. Could have been any one of them. Could have been that Evan Potter she was going out with, for all we know."

"Evan?" Edna shook her head. "Don't make me laugh. He doesn't have the gumption for it. Couldn't even get in the army, could he. Nah, more likely to be one of them Yanks, that's what I say. And our Polly shouldn't be out late at night on her own. Her father would put a stop to it if he was here."

"Well, he ain't here, is he." Marlene folded up the
magazine and stood up. "He's in the bloody army. In any case, Polly's not going to be alone, is she. She's coming to the pictures with me."

Edna looked up in surprise. "With you? Why didn't you say so, then?"

Marlene grinned. "I like to see you get all worked up over nothing."

Footsteps clattered on the stairs, then Polly burst into the kitchen. "Come on, Marl, the picture will be starting before we get there if we don't hurry."

"I like that! You're the one what's been dithering about up there. I was ready ages ago."

"I had to draw the lines on me legs, didn't I. Are they straight?"

Marlene stared at the wavering seam lines painted down the back of her sister's legs. "Looks just like you're wearing real stockings."

"Wish I had real ones. Maybe I can get some off the Yanks when they move into the Manor House."

Marlene uttered a yelp. "The Yanks are moving into the Manor House? When?"

"Next week." Polly grinned. "And aren't I going to have a good time? Bet you wish you was me now, don't you. Surrounded by Yanks all day long. Pure blinking heaven."

"I can be around Yanks without having to work at the Manor House. All I have to do is go down the Tudor Arms on a Saturday night. Or the dance at the village hall. Or the High Street Odeon theater. I can have all the Yanks I want."

"Yeah? Well, none of that is like being in the same house with them."

"Well, I've been to the cricket pavilion with them, and that's as good as being in a house."

Edna threw her spoon down on the stove with a clatter loud enough to get both girls' attention. "Marlene Victoria Barnett! If I ever catch you talking about being in that cricket pavilion with a Yank again I'll lock you up every night for a month."

Marlene laughed. "You worry too much, Ma. They're just young boys. No different to English boys."

"Yeah," Polly agreed, "except they talk like Yanks and look gorgeous like Yanks and spend money like Yanks."

Both girls dissolved into giggles.

Yanks again. That's all she heard about nowadays. Edna sighed and gazed at her daughters. Polly took after her side of the family: skinny as a rat, pretty face, and jet-black hair. Marlene was more like her father, with her red hair and pale skin. She'd have a problem keeping her weight off when she got older, but right now she was well filled out. Just what the men went for these days.

The girls had grown up so fast. Didn't seem that long ago they were little, running around the kitchen getting under her feet. They'd been no trouble then. Now Polly was going to be working in a house full of trouble. Didn't bear thinking about.

"Bye, Ma!" Polly blew her mother a kiss.

"Won't be late," Marlene added, and the two of them disappeared into the hall.

Edna turned back to the stove and wished she'd had boys instead. But then she'd be worrying about them fighting the Germans. No one was safe these days. No one. Not even in a tiny village like Sitting Marsh.

Alone in her room, Elizabeth opened the wide windows that overlooked the back lawns. Thanks to double summertime, dusk settled late in the dying sunset, turning
the birch trees into black silhouettes against the bloodred sky.

Beyond the tangled woods that bordered the Hartleigh land, the grassy slopes swept down to the cliffs, which rose steeply above wide, smooth stretches of golden sand. Three years ago summer visitors crowded the beaches, daydreaming in deck chairs or paddling in the gentle waves of the North Sea. Now the beaches lay empty year round. Ever since the fall of France and Belgium, in view of the serious threat of invasion from the Germans, the entire east coast had been heavily mined and the once-pristine cliffs disfigured with the ugly rolls of barbed wire.

On a night like this, however, with a fresh sea breeze filling her room with the salty fragrance of the ocean, Elizabeth could almost forget the unpleasant reminders of wartime. Closing her eyes, she listened to a distant blackbird warbling its late-evening song and imagined she was a child again, chasing Brandy across the lawns and into the woods.

That's what she needed, she decided, with a little rush of excitement. A dog. Two dogs. There hadn't been a dog in the Manor House since she'd left to marry and move to London. Dogs would give her the companionship she so sorely missed now that her parents were gone. She would see about it tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. She closed the windows with a snap and pulled down the black blinds. Major Monroe would be coming over tomorrow.

Banishing the little lift she felt at the thought, she plonked herself down on the bed and snapped on the bedside lamp. Clues. She needed to take another look at everything Winnie had given her before handing them over to George and Sid.

She opened the top drawer of her chest and drew out the box in which she'd carefully packed Beryl's belongings. Once more she spread them all out on the bed. The regimental pin gleamed in the soft light from her lamp, and she picked it up. The closest army camp was the Royal Artillery at Beerstowe. She'd seen the soldiers from there many times in the village. There could also be a Royal Engineers regiment stationed nearby. If so, she would have to find out where it was situated.

The map of America was badly creased and torn in one corner. It also, she discovered, had tiny holes around the edges. Apparently it had been pinned up on a wall. Not Beryl's, obviously, or Winnie would surely have seen it before. A wall at the American base? That seemed most likely. Someone must have given this map to Beryl. Robbie?

She picked up the letter. Two hearts had been drawn in the top right-hand corner, linked together, and underneath Robbie had scrawled,
"Be mine, and I'll be yours forever."

Elizabeth laid the letter down and picked up the train ticket. Had Robbie also given Beryl a ticket to London? But that didn't make sense if he was stationed in Sitting Marsh. Unless he'd planned a romantic weekend. But then why a ticket for one way? And why would Beryl plan to go to London if she was thinking of joining the Land Army? The application stated quite clearly that she could expect to work on farms in the North Horsham area. Here in Norfolk. Not London.

Idly Elizabeth reached for the Land Army form and turned it over. A smudge of blue ink stained the blank sheet. It looked as if numbers had been scribbled there, but she could barely distinguish them. The form appeared
to have been soaked by rain, washing out what might actually be a telephone number.

Excited at the prospect of another clue, Elizabeth held the sheet of paper under the lamp. The figures were so faint and smeared that she could only make out some of them. At least two of the numbers were illegible. Tomorrow, she decided, she would ring the various combinations and hope she connected with the right one.

Tomorrow, which now seemed full of possibilities.

With everything that was on her mind she really didn't expect to sleep well and was quite surprised when she woke up to find the morning sun streaming through the leaded windows. Anxious to begin her plan of action, she hurried through her usual routine. After much thought, she picked out a cream silk shirt to wear and her best linen skirt. Then she picked up the application form and stuffed it into her skirt pocket.

When she ran down to the kitchen, she found Violet sitting at the table, enjoying a cup of tea with the newspaper spread in front of her.

"What are you doing up with the lark?" she demanded when Elizabeth cheerily greeted her. "Got trouble sleeping?"

"I've got a busy day," Elizabeth reminded her. "I've been neglecting my duties. I still haven't paid the last week's bills, I have letters to write, and I should try to get down to the town hall this afternoon for the Ladies' Sewing Group meeting."

"Not to mention the meeting with the grievance committee."

Elizabeth stared at her in surprise. "What grievance committee?"

"I forgot to tell you." Violet folded the newspaper. 'Ted Wilkins called early this morning. He wants to talk
to you about a problem in the village. He's bringing Dierdre Cumberland and Rosie Finnegan up here this afternoon."

Elizabeth pulled a face. "Oh, Lord. I can imagine what that will be about. It seems there's only one grievance on everyone's mind lately."

Violet got up from her chair. "Just wait until they find out the Yanks are moving in here."

Deciding to ignore her flash of irritation, Elizabeth sat down at the table. "Is there any tea in the pot?"

"Just made it. Read the paper while I get you a cup. Not that there's any good news. Looks like the Yanks are still fighting for their lives in them Pacific Islands."

Elizabeth scanned the headlines. It was hard to realize that the war was being fought on the other side of the world. It was all too easy to isolate oneself, concerned only with what happened on one's own doorstep. This madness wasn't confined to Europe anymore. The entire world was at risk, and that included a country as vast and as powerful as the United States of America. It was a sobering thought.

What was it Churchill had said after the Battle of Midway? The end of the beginning, and the beginning of the end. At times that end seemed very, very far away.

"I suppose you'll want me to prepare a meal for Major Monroe?" Violet placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Elizabeth. "We don't have much in the way of meat, but I could ask John Miller if he'd let me have one of his chickens. If you don't mind me indulging in a spot of black marketing, that is."

Noting the sarcasm in her housekeeper's voice, Elizabeth rattled the newspaper. "Not if you take him some of Daddy's best gin. Exchanges among friends are quite acceptable, I should think."

"Unless they're Americans, I take it."

Elizabeth sighed. She wasn't quite sure why she made such a sharp distinction between the locals and the Americans. Maybe it was the way the young girls threw themselves at the airmen, forsaking their boyfriends who were overseas, fighting for their lives in the trenches.

Maybe it was the resentment in the village from some of the older women, and especially from the men who were left, who considered the Americans a threat to every woman in Sitting Marsh.

Overpaid, oversexed, and over here
. It was the battle cry all over the village, and probably in every other village, town, and city paying host to the American military. It wasn't fair, of course, but understandable. The British girls were being swept off their feet by the glamorous Yanks, and there didn't seem much anyone could do about it.

Yet these same men—boys, most of them—were putting their lives on the line every day for the very people who condemned them. Every day the planes flew out from the base, and every day less and less of them came back. For that reason alone, she would do anything she could to see that the American officers were as comfortable as she could make them. But she would not accept favors from them.

The Hartleigh pride was at stake, she assured herself. It had absolutely nothing to do with her sworn vow never to lose her head over a man again. All right, so there was something about the Americans that she found intriguing. Or at least one in particular. Nevertheless, she was not about to join the hordes of adoring women who apparently were desperate to keep company with any man wearing the irresistible uniform of the United States Army Air Force.