Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder (13 page)

"Amy isn't home yet, m'm," she said in response to Elizabeth's query. "She shouldn't be too long, though. I have some fresh currant buns if you'd like one or two while we're waiting?"

She left Elizabeth alone to contemplate the flowered wallpaper while she made a pot of tea and toasted buns under the gas grill. Reminded of the incongruous pattern covering the wall in what would be Major Monroe's bedroom, Elizabeth wished heartily that her mother's taste had been less flamboyant.

When the fisherman's wife returned, she was carrying a tray bearing a pot of tea and a half dozen currant buns, which no doubt had taken up her entire ration of sugar and butter for the week. Having assured herself her visitor had everything she needed, she sat herself down on a faded velvet armchair and picked up a length of knitting from a footstool sitting next to her.

"I expect you've come about Beryl," she said, just when Elizabeth was about to broach the subject herself. "Terrible, that was. Such a young girl and all. Amy was with her just last week."

"It must have been an awful shock for Amy." Elizabeth put her empty plate down beside her cup and saucer. "They've been friends for so long."

"Most of their lives. Things will never be the same again for our Amy, that's for sure. What with her brothers in the navy now, and her best friend gone, she's feeling really alone. I worry about her. I don't want her turning to the Yanks for company. God knows what that will lead to. You hear such stories nowadays. Sitting
Marsh isn't the place it used to be, not with foreigners coming in and running around murdering people."

Elizabeth did her best to hide her resentment. It seemed that all she did lately was defend the Americans against unfair accusations. "We can't really blame anyone until we know for sure who did this ghastly thing."

"Well, who else would it be, m'm?" Jessie's needles clicked furiously. "We never had any trouble before those Yanks came into town. Nice and peaceful it was before they got here."

Time to change the subject, Elizabeth decided. "How are your boys? Have you heard from them?"

"Don't hear much from them. Not allowed to say much, are they. What they do say they tell me not to repeat. Loose lips sink ships. That's what they're always telling me."

"Very true." Through the open window Elizabeth heard the creak of Jessie's garden gate.

Jessie must have heard it, too. The clacking of her needles stopped. She folded her knitting and tucked it into the cloth bag. "That'll be our Amy now, m'm," she said, and got to her feet with an air of relief. "I'll tell her you're here."

Elizabeth waited while the soft murmur of voices wafted in from the hallway. Finally a tall, thin girl with short, stringy brown hair appeared in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, Lady Elizabeth." Amy kept her eyes down and ground the toe of her shoe into the carpet. "Mum said you wanted to speak to me."

"Come and sit down, Amy." Elizabeth patted the seat next to her on the sofa, but Amy threw herself down on the armchair her mother had just vacated.

"I don't know nothing about what happened to Beryl," she burst out.

Elizabeth could tell she was on the verge of tears. "You must miss her very much," she said gently.

Amy nodded, her thin lips pinched so hard they almost disappeared.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I know this is upsetting for you, but we have to find out who did this awful thing to her. Beryl would want that, don't you think?"

Amy nodded again.

"I know you don't want to talk to P.C. Dalrymple about this, but if I don't find out what happened to Beryl, sooner or later he'll be coming around asking questions."

This time Amy's eyes widened in dismay.

"Perhaps you can tell me something that will help me, so that he won't have to question everybody."

Finally the girl spoke, her voice trembling so violently Elizabeth felt quite concerned for her. "I'll try, Lady Elizabeth, but I don't know nothing. Honest."

The words were soft and indistinct, but it was at least an answer. "Amy, have you ever heard Beryl speak about someone named Robbie?"

A violent shake of the head accompanied Amy's answer. "No, m'm. I never heard of no one by that name."

"Did she ever mention going out with an American?"

"A Yank?" Amy looked shocked. "No, m'm, that I do know. Beryl would never dare go out with a Yank."

Surprised, Elizabeth stared at her. She didn't want to be uncharitable to the poor deceased girl, but surely Amy knew that Beryl would have welcomed with open arms an advance from any man. Literally. "Why wouldn't she be interested in the Americans?" she asked cautiously.

Amy uttered a shaky laugh. "Beryl was really interested in them. She would have loved to go out with one.
But she was afraid of her dad. Her mum told her that if she went anywhere near that base she'd tell Beryl's father, and he'd give it to her when he got home."

Elizabeth didn't think that would be enough to stop Beryl doing what she wanted.

She was about to say so when Amy added, "Besides, m'm, Beryl would never two-time Evan. He'd beat up anyone who looked at her."

Shocked, Elizabeth stared at her. "Evan? Did Beryl tell you that?"

Amy nodded. "Yes, m'm. He was so rough on Steve, Beryl said, Steve's face looked like a piece of raw meat when he'd finished with him. Evan told Beryl he'd do the same to anyone who came near her. That's how I know Beryl would never go out with a Yank. It would have caused too much trouble for everyone."

Elizabeth barely heard the last part of Amy's declaration. She was too busy concentrating on something else she'd said. "Steve? Is he a friend of Beryl's?"

Amy looked frightened. "I don't know his last name, honest. I never met him. He's a soldier. Stationed in London."

The owner of the regimental badge, perhaps? Elizabeth felt a stirring of excitement. "And Beryl was going out with Steve?"

"Well, I don't know as if you could call it going out, m'm. Beryl met him in North Horsham, around Easter time. He'd come down to visit a mate of his who was stationed out at Beerstowe. Anyway, Beryl started writing to him, then about two months ago, middle of June it were, Steve came down here again to see Beryl. Well, Evan found out about it, didn't he. Went looking for him and beat him up. When Beryl saw him, just before he
went back to London, she said she hardly recognized him, his face were that bad."

"I see." So that was why Evan had that peculiar look on his face when she'd mentioned the regimental badge. Especially since she'd called the soldier Robbie instead of Steve. Elizabeth found it impossible to believe that quiet, soft-voiced Evan could have give anyone a vicious beating. "Do you know where Steve was stationed?"

"No, m'm. Beryl never told me anything like that."

"Did Beryl see Steve again after Evan fought with him?"

Amy shrugged. "Not that I know of, but then, Beryl never told me everything. She was sort of secretive about what she did. I think she was afraid I'd tell her mum."

"I see. Well, thank you, Amy." Elizabeth rose to her feet. "I'm sorry if talking about Beryl has upset you, but if I'm to find out what happened to her, these questions are necessary."

"Will P.C. Dalrymple be coming here, then?" Amy asked, her voice quivering again.

"I suppose it all depends on how much I can find out first." Elizabeth drew on her gloves. "Don't worry, Amy. If the constable asks you any questions, just tell him what you told me."

"Yes, m'm. Thank you, Lady Elizabeth."

Elizabeth left the cottage feeling a little guilty. She wondered if what she was doing could be construed as interfering with a police investigation. Though all she was really doing was asking questions.
And withholding evidence in the form of clues
, her conscience reminded her.

Well, everything would be all right when she found out who strangled Beryl and threw the poor girl over the cliffs. George would no doubt thank her for saving him
all that time and effort. Clinging to that faint reassurance, she set off back to the manor.

On the way up the winding lane, it occurred to her that the soldier named Steve could have been the reason Beryl bought the train ticket. Perhaps Beryl intended to visit him. But a one-way ticket? If she was intending to move to London to be near Steve, then their relationship was much more significant than Amy seemed to realize.

Alone in her room again, she took out the ticket and examined it. She noticed it had apparently been purchased in London, so it seemed unlikely that Beryl had bought it herself. Had Steve bought it and sent it to her? She needed to talk to Winnie, Elizabeth decided, but since there was no telephone in Winnie's house, it would have to wait until tomorrow. She was much too weary to go out again tonight.

Detective work, she was beginning to discover, could be extremely tiring. And horribly frustrating. It seemed the more she learned, the more puzzling the entire business became. All that information kept buzzing around in her head, and none of it seemed to mean anything at all. If she had any sense she would just give up and hand everything over to the police. If it wasn't for Winnie and the poor woman's unshakable faith in her, that's exactly what she would do.

"You going out again tonight?" Edna Barnett hung the wet dishtowel over the edge of the gas stove to dry, then wiped her hands on her apron. "And what's that horrible smell?"

"It's flipping good pong," Polly said defensively. "I got it in Woolworth's. It's called Seven Eleven. What's the matter with it?" She stood in front of the mirror in the hallway and smeared bright red lipstick over her
mouth. After rolling her lips together to get the color even, she studied herself critically in the mirror.

"I hope you're not chasing after those Yanks," Edna said, sounding cross. "You're too young to be mixed up with the likes of them. Too quick with their hands, they are."

Polly gave her mother a sly look. "How'd you know that, Ma?"

"Rita Crumm told me." Edna dumped the saucepans down on their shelf in the cupboard.

"Rita Crumm?" Polly let out a shout of laughter. "You telling me that Rita Crumm is running around with Yanks? She's old enough to be their flipping mother. Besides, she's married. What's Bert going to say when he hears about it?"

"For God's sake, Polly, I didn't say Rita was going after the Yanks. She was talking about Lilly."

Polly made a face at herself in the mirror. "Lilly gets what she deserves, running around in those tight jumpers, showing off what she's got. But then, what can you expect with a ma like Rita Crumm?"

"You watch your tongue, my girl. You were taught to respect your elders."

Marlene clattered down the stairs just then, almost toppling over on her high heels. Grabbing the handrail to steady herself, she pulled her shoe back on. "You nearly ready, then, Polly?"

"Yeah." Polly scrutinized herself one last moment in the mirror, then snatched up her handbag. "Ma was just telling me I should respect Rita Crumm."

Marlene's incredulous laugh sounded more like a snort. "You should go down the Tudor Arms one night, Ma, and watch Rita in action. She could teach us a thing or two, I can tell you."

"I should certainly hope so. She's a lot older than you are. And I hope I never catch either of you hanging around that pub." Red-faced, Edna reached for the scouring pad and began scrubbing the sink. "Just make sure that you keep Polly out of trouble, that's all I ask. I'm holding you responsible for your sister, Marlene. You hear me?"

"Ma," Marlene wailed, "I told you, Polly's a big girl. She can take care of herself."

Polly nodded vigorously. "Yeah, Ma, I'm a big girl. You don't have to worry about me. Come on, Marl."

Before her mother could answer, Polly had dragged her sister out of the house and slammed the door.

"She'd have a bloomin' fit if she knew we were going to the Tudor Arms to meet Yanks," Marlene said as the two of them set out down the road.

"What she don't know won't bother her." Polly shivered as the cool breeze brushed her bare arms. Having spent all her clothing coupons, she'd cut the sleeves off one of her blouses to make it look different. The armholes were a lot bigger than on a proper sleeveless blouse and let in more of the evening air than was comfortable. She had to keep her arms pressed to her sides so that no one would see her brassiere. Luckily Ma had been too busy with the washing up to notice. If she had, she'd have made her change into something else.

"I never used to mind this long walk to the pub," Marlene said, as their heels clicked loudly on the rough pavement of the country lane. "But ever since Beryl was murdered, I feel funny about walking along here at night. What if the murderer's still lurking about, looking for someone else to kill?"

Polly shivered again, though not from the sea breeze this time. "Get on with you, Marl. The murderer won't
come down here. Too many people about. Beryl was killed on the coast road. Besides, it's not dark yet. Murderers don't usually kill people in daylight. They wait until it's dark."

"I bloody hope so." Marlene halted. "Listen, is that a lorry coming?"

Polly stopped, too, and turned around to face the lane they'd just come down. "Could be a jeep. Hope it is. If they're Yanks, we can ask them for a lift." The words were barely out of her mouth before an army jeep came careening around the corner on the wrong side of the road.

With a yelp both girls leapt for the ditch. The jeep barely missed them, then screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust.

"Gee, sorry, ma'am," a voice called out.

Seated side by side in the damp ditch, Polly and Marlene looked at each other. "Yanks," they both said together.

A tall, lanky GI appeared at the edge of the road, looking anxiously down at them. "You okay? Are you hurt?"

"Just our bloody pride," Marlene muttered. She picked herself up, then accepted the hand of the Yank, who hauled her out onto the road.

Polly waited until she was sure she had his attention then, as gracefully as she could manage, climbed to her feet. His fingers were warm and strong around hers as he pulled her out, and she felt the thrill right down to her bones. She was so enthralled she forgot all about her wide armholes.