Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder (12 page)

She hurried off, leaving him to bask in the presence of her heritage. It took her just a few minutes to retrieve the map from her room and return with it. She found him contemplating a portrait of her great-aunt Rebecca, a stern-faced woman laced painfully into a restrictive gown of the Victorian era.

"Tough-looking dame," he commented when she reached his side.

"She was. She brought up nine children single-handedly. She was fifty-two when she died in prison."

"Prison?"

She almost laughed at his shocked expression. "She was a suffragette. She was arrested and put in prison,
went on a hunger strike, and starved to death. I was only about three years old at the time, but I vaguely remember all the fuss when she died."

His intense gaze on her face made her squirm. "Interesting family you have there."

"You don't know the half of it. One of these days when you have more time I'll tell you all about my great-great-uncle Matthew. His adventures at sea would make a wonderful novel."

The crinkles at the corners of Major Monroe's incredible eyes deepened. "I'd like that. You've got a date."

Flustered, she didn't know how to answer him. To cover her confusion she began walking rapidly toward the master suite. "You should be able to fit some cots in here." She threw open the door. "There's the bed, of course. I don't know what you want to do about that."

She stood to one side so he could look in at the heavy four-poster bed that had been in her family for more than a century.

"I reckon I'll be able to make good use of that."

Quickly she banished the image of the major lying full length on the bed from her mind. "Good. Then we have three more bedrooms, but they each have one bed in them. Unless your men don't mind sleeping together, I suppose you'll have to supply the other beds."

"We'll take the beds down and bring in our own cots." He glanced down the hallway. "You have one bathroom, right?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Is that going to present a problem?"

"No, ma'am. Not at all. The men will appreciate having a real bathroom again."

"Well, I should warn you," she said as she closed the bedroom door and headed down the hall, "the pipes make
a bit of a noise. I haven't been able to find a plumber since Brian Finch went into the navy. He used to do all our work in the manor." She didn't add that she couldn't have afforded Brian's services even if he'd been there, thanks to Harry Compton and his despicable gambling habit.

"Please quit worrying so much about us, Lady Elizabeth. The men are used to far worse, I promise you."

"I want things to be comfortable for you."

He smiled, destroying her composure once more. "Just being allowed to stay in a house like this is a privilege. Believe me, we'll be more than comfortable."

She let out her breath. "All right, then. So, when will you be moving in?"

"Next week. Monday, if that's okay with you?"

Elizabeth did some frantic calculations in her head. "I think we can be ready by then."

"Lady Elizabeth, I'm begging you, don't make a big deal out of this, okay? I feel guilty enough as it is, having to dump my men on you like this. I'll do my level best to see they don't take advantage of your great hospitality."

"It's no trouble at all," Elizabeth assured him, thinking about the fireplaces to be swept. Thank heavens it was still warm, though with only a month until September, the winds from the North Sea would turn the nights chilly soon enough.

She dug a hand into her pocket and contacted the smooth folds of paper. She'd forgotten about the map. "Oh, here's the map I was telling you about." She drew it from her pocket and handed it to him. "I am right, aren't I? It did come from your base?"

Major Monroe examined it, turning it over in his hands. "Sure looks like it. Where did you get it?"

"Well, that's something I rather wanted to talk to you about." She started walking with him back down the great hall, conscious of their footsteps echoing from the vast ceiling above them. "I'm afraid we've had a tragic turn of events in the past couple of days. A young girl was found strangled on the beach."

"Yes, ma'am. I heard about it. Lousy business. I hope it wasn't a friend of yours?"

"The daughter of a friend," Elizabeth said quietly.

"Aw, gee, I'm sorry."

"Thank you. Anyway, this map was found in the saddlebag of her bicycle, and I was just wondering . . . " She let her voice trail off as she saw his expression change.

"If one of my men did it," he finished for her, his voice turning distressingly harsh. "Just because she had a map from the base? She could have gotten this map anywhere and from anyone."

Aware that she was treading on sensitive ground, Elizabeth hastened to reassure him. "Yes, of course, Major. I'm not accusing anyone. As far as I know, there are no suspects in the case. I was merely trying to establish if Beryl was acquainted with someone from the base, and if so, perhaps the man could in some way help us find out what happened the day she was killed."

They reached the end of the great hall, and the major paused at the head of the stairs. "Correct me if I'm wrong, ma'am, but it seems to me that this is a job for the police."

It was a mild rebuke, but a rebuke nevertheless. Dismayed by the sudden tension that she sensed between them, Elizabeth did her best to make amends. "Major Monroe, I do hope you don't think I was singling out one of your men. A young girl has died at the hands of a killer, and so far no one seems to have any clues as to
the identity of the murderer. Her mother has begged me to find out what I can, and as lady of the manor, it is my duty to help my people. I'm simply trying to do my duty."

She'd expected that he, of all people, would understand her obligation, but apparently her plea fell on deaf ears.

"Then I wish you luck with it," he said dryly. "Now I really should be getting back to the base."

She followed him down the stairs, berating herself for the way she'd handled things. If they were all to survive the invasion of the Americans in the Manor House, it was imperative that she remain on good terms with their leader. Communication was going to mean everything in the weeks or months ahead.

She waited for him to retrieve his cap from the drawing room, then accompanied him to the front door. "Thank you for calling in, Major. We shall expect you next Monday, then?"

He pulled on his cap, then gave her a casual salute. "Next Monday, Lady Elizabeth. Bright and early."

"Bright and early," she muttered under her breath as she closed the door. They'd probably arrive at the crack of dawn. It wasn't until she was halfway across the entrance hall before she realized that Polly never did bring the tea and biscuits.

Still smarting from the awkward encounter with the major, she took the map back to her room. Before putting it back in the box with the other things, on impulse she opened it and spread it out on the bed.

After a moment or two she found Wyoming on the western half of the map. Such a big country, she thought, idly tracing her finger across to New York, which was
the first place most British people thought of at the mention of America. Either that or Hollywood.

Something caught her eye, and she moved her finger back. A small red circle had been drawn near the east coast on the map. She took a closer look. The circle enclosed a town called Camden, in the state of New Jersey.

Elizabeth stared at the circle. If Robbie was an American, could this be his hometown? If so, it could be a way of finding him. She couldn't just go wandering onto the base, however, asking questions about a man named Robbie from Camden, New Jersey. She would need help. Major Monroe's help. The question was, in view of the recent disagreement, if one could call it that, whether or not the major would consent to help her at all.

She felt sad, as if she'd lost something special. Which was ridiculous, of course. One couldn't lose what one had never had. Nevertheless, she couldn't shake the vague feeling of depression, and that worried her more than anything.

She decided to cure her misplaced melancholy by paying Amy Watkins a visit. Amy was Beryl's best friend. If Major Monroe wouldn't help find Robbie, then maybe Amy could tell her where to find him. It was worth a try, at least, and it would give her something else to think about, other than a tall, vital American with entirely too much charisma for her peace of mind.

CHAPTER
10

Early that afternoon, as Elizabeth sat in her study attempting to organize her filing cabinet, she heard the clanging of the doorbell echo through the hallway. She waited, poised to rise, should Martin not reach the front door in a reasonable amount of time.

A few moments later a noisy commotion erupted, and upon investigating, she found Martin braced on the front doorstep insisting the visitors hand over their calling cards.

Ted Wilkins, who suffered from asthma, no doubt due to residing in the thick fog of cigarette smoke that incessantly filled his pub, wheezed so alarmingly Elizabeth considered ringing Dr. Sheridan, while Deirdre Cumberland argued in a shrill tone most unbecoming for a vicar's wife. The third member of the little group seemed more interested in the stray wisps of her hair tugged free by the brisk wind. Rosie Finnegan worked at the clothing
shop in the High Street and was constantly absorbed by her appearance.

After reassuring Martin and sending him on his way, Elizabeth showed her guests into the library and prepared herself for the worst.

Ted Wilkins, having regained his breath now that he'd calmed down, opened with the first shot. "We've been holding some meetings in the town hall, Lady Elizabeth, and we three have been elected to represent the rest of the villagers. They want you to do something about those Yanks. They're causing nothing but trouble in Sitting Marsh."

"They really are becoming a nuisance." Deirdre glanced around the room as if she were inspecting the furniture for dust. "You can't go anywhere now without seeing them lounging around on the street corners, molesting any young girl who happens to walk by."

"Bloody lecherous they are, m'm," Rosie agreed. "Think they're all blinking Casanova."

Elizabeth rather suspected that this was the usual case of sour grapes. Ted had always fancied himself as a ladies' man, in spite of being vastly overweight. Until the Americans moved onto their base, he'd had little competition from the few men left in town. Dierdre, although well past the age of fifty, still dressed in girlish frocks and hats as if trying to recapture her lost youth, while Rosie, a divorcée whose lack of morals had always been a source of gossip, was most likely competing with girls half her age for attention.

"I really don't see what I can do about it," Elizabeth said, trying to sound reasonable. "The Americans are here to stay until this war is over, and we must all remember they are here to help us, and they deserve our compassion and respect."

"It's a little hard to respect a bunch of hooligans when they are whistling and shouting obscene remarks to every woman who passes," Deirdre said stiffly.

"They are young boys, most of them. No different from our own boys at that age."

"They're in a foreign country," Ted said, beginning to wheeze again. "They should respect our women."

"Perhaps they would," Elizabeth said quietly, "if those women didn't deliberately lead them on. I've seen the girls in the village, and frankly, the way some of them dress and behave, I'm surprised these young men have as much restraint as they've shown so far."

"I hope you're not looking at me when you say that, m'm," Rosie said indignantly.

Trying not to think about wearing the shoe that fits, Elizabeth said firmly, "I'm not inferring anything at all, Rosie. I'm trying to be fair, that's all. I do believe that instead of finding fault and making accusations, we would all benefit if we welcomed these young men and made allowances for their high spirits. After all, considering the dreadful risks they are taking in order to help us, I should think the least we can do is try to get along with them. Most of them are lonely, scared, and incredibly brave. They deserve our compassion and our friendship."

"Well, what about this murder, then?" Ted demanded. "Does the murderer of a young girl deserve our compassion and friendship?"

Elizabeth straightened in her chair. "There is no evidence at all that points to an American being responsible for this terrible crime. Until we know more about the matter, I think it would be very unwise to assume anything about anyone."

"Well, I wouldn't trust those Yanks farther than I could throw them," Rosie said, tossing her bleached curls.

"But that's exactly what we have to do if we're going to live in harmony with them. To that end, in fact, I've agreed to house several of the American officers here at the Manor House."

Three pairs of shocked eyes stared at her.

"Oh, dear," Deirdre muttered, "that will put the cat among the pigeons for certain."

"With all due respect," Ted mumbled, "I hope you know what you're doing, m'm."

Rosie simply sat there, apparently stunned by the news and probably green with envy, Elizabeth thought smugly.

"I'm quite confident everything will run smoothly," she assured Ted. "Well, now, is there anything else I can help you with?"

For the next twenty minutes or so she listened to the various minor complaints and concerns of the three delegates and promised to do what she could, even though she knew the main purpose of their visit had not been resolved. As long as the Americans remained in the vicinity of Sitting Marsh, it seemed likely there would be some dissent among the villagers. All she could hope was that things wouldn't get out of hand to the point where drastic measures would have to be taken. And pray that Beryl's murderer was not stationed on the American base.

Later that afternoon Elizabeth rode her motorcycle out along the coast road to where a small group of thatched cottages ringed the harbor. Mickey Watkins would still be out on the ocean, and Elizabeth wanted to talk to his daughter before the sour-tempered fisherman returned.

When she arrived, Jessie Watkins was hanging sheets
on the line to dry. The fisherman's wife nervously greeted her visitor and invited her into the cramped sitting room.