Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder (14 page)

Now that she could see the Yank better, she realized he was older than she first thought. He wore the uniform of a squadron leader or something, and he had gorgeous brown eyes and thick, dark hair. He was much better-
looking than anyone she'd ever met in her life.

Still clinging to his hand, she tried to sound grown-up and seductive like the film stars when she murmured, "Hello, there. My name's Polly. This is my sister, Marlene."

Her voice had come out wrong. She'd sounded as if she had a bad cold. Marlene looked at her as if she'd said something daft, and Polly cleared her throat in embarrassment.

"Sam," the Yank said, giving her a grin that totally took her breath away. "Where are you girls going? Need a ride?"

Polly glanced at the jeep and for the first time noticed another GI behind the wheel. "We're going to the Tudor Arms," she said, finally letting go of Sam's hand. "And we'd love a lift, wouldn't we, Marl."

Marlene took a good look at the driver of the jeep. "That's very kind of you, I'm sure," she said, and started walking toward him.

"It's the least we can do," Sam said, taking Polly by the arm, "after almost running you down. We still can't get the hang of driving on the other side of the road."

She loved his voice, Polly thought dreamily. What a lovely accent. He sounded like a film star. He looked like a film star. All told, he was a right smasher. Just wait until she walked into the Tudor Arms with
him
. Every girl in the place would be drooling. She just hoped Lilly Crumm was in there. She'd show her she wasn't the only one who could get a Yank.

Sam introduced his friend, Clay, who wasn't as good-looking as Sam, but he had nice eyes. "You two old enough to drink?" he asked as Polly settled herself in the back next to Marlene.

"Course we are," Polly answered promptly. "Marlene's
eighteen and I'm—" She couldn't possibly tell him how old she really was. He'd think she was too young for him. He had to be at least twenty-four, maybe older. "I'm twenty," she said boldly.

Marlene made a small, strangled sound in the back of her throat.

Sam twisted his head around. "Twenty? You sure don't look it."

"That's what our ma's always saying, isn't she, Marl?" Polly nudged Marlene in the side. "She's always saying as how Marlene looks older than me, when it's the other way round."

The engine roared as the jeep took off. Both girls were jerked backward. They clung to the sides and screamed in unison, "Wrong side of the road!"

"Oh, shit." Clay swung the wheel over, and the vehicle leapt to the other side of the lane, rocking on two wheels.

"So, where do you two work?" Sam asked, when things had calmed down again.

"I'm a hairdresser," Marlene said, patting her ruffled red curls.

"Hey, how about that!" Sam nudged Clay hard in the arm, sending the jeep bouncing across the lane and back again. "We might get a free haircut if we're lucky."

You might get a lot more than that
, Polly thought daringly. She was beginning to feel like a film star herself, doing exciting things in exciting company and living dangerously for once. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. All the Yanks she'd spoken to up until now had been young and silly. All they wanted was to get a girl behind a barn. They had no class, no polish. Not like Sam. He was a real man. There was no doubt about it. For the first time in her life, she was in love.

She closed her eyes and imagined herself living with
Sam in Hollywood. She'd have a beautiful house with a swimming pool, and she'd drive a big red car, like in the films. She'd have beautiful clothes and servants . . .

"What about you, Polly?" Sam asked, breaking into her dream. "What do you do?"

She couldn't tell him she was a maid at the Manor House. She just couldn't. She searched her mind for something glamorous, while Marlene stared at her with the same look Ma got on her face when they got home late. "I'm a secretary," she said at last.

"Secretary," Sam repeated, sounding impressed. "Wow. So who do you work for, then?"

Polly pulled in a breath of fresh sea air. "I'm secretary to Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton, up at the Manor House."

"No kidding!" Sam swiveled around in his seat to look at her. "Then I reckon we'll be seeing a lot of each other. I'm moving into quarters at the Manor House next week."

Speechless for once, Polly could only stare at him.

"Now you've done it," Marlene muttered. "Get yourself out of this one."

CHAPTER
11

Winnie seemed a little less overwrought when Elizabeth arrived at the house the next morning. "Lady Elizabeth! Any news?" she asked eagerly the second she opened the door.

"I do actually, but I'm not sure it helps all that much." Elizabeth followed her into the familiar parlor. "Though I have an appointment at the Land Army recruitment center this afternoon. I'm hoping the woman there can tell me something useful. And I talked to Amy." She accepted the cup of tea Winnie handed her and sat down on the sofa, which was strewn with clothes.

"I was just going through Beryl's things," Winnie said, gathering up the garments. "Thought I'd give them to the Red Cross. Help those poor people bombed out of their homes."

"That's very thoughtful." Elizabeth paused. "Maybe you should hang onto them for just a little while longer.
Until the person who killed your daughter has been apprehended. Just in case there's something we might have missed."

"Oh, right." Winnie looked depressed again. "I didn't think about that. I just wanted to get it over with, that's all."

"I can understand that." Elizabeth took a sip of the hot tea. "Have you heard from Stan?"

"Not a word. I've got no idea when he'll turn up."

"Yes, well, these things take time, I suppose." Elizabeth put her cup down carefully in the saucer. "Winnie, did Beryl ever mention a soldier by the name of Steve?"

Winnie wrinkled her brow. "Not that I remember. Why? Is he the one who gave her the badge?"

"I think he might be. Amy said he was stationed in London. I think he's the one who sent her the train ticket."

"I thought she bought that herself."

"No, unless she went to London to buy it." Elizabeth took the train ticket out of her purse. "If you look at it, you'll see it was purchased in London, two weeks ago."

"Well, I never. I never noticed that."

"Neither did I until last night," Elizabeth admitted. It wasn't often she felt unsure of herself, but this was the first time she'd been involved in anything as serious as murder. "I'm not terribly good at this detective thing," she admitted. "Perhaps it might be better if we give everything to George and Sid and let them sort it all out."

"Not on your life." Winnie got up and poured herself another cup of tea. "They'd make a blooming mess of it. They'd never have bothered talking to Amy, for a start." She came back to the table. "So, was it Amy who told you about this Steve, then?"

"Yes, she told me Beryl had been writing to him."

"Hmm. Beryl did get some letters from London, but she said they were from a girlfriend of hers who moved up there. Little cow. It looks as if she'd been lying to me all along, doesn't it." She broke off and pressed a hand to her lips, tears welling in her eyes.

Elizabeth waited, at a loss for words for once.

"I'm sorry, m'm. Just keeps coming over me. I'll be all right in a minute. If only her father hadn't had to go away, I swear none of this would have happened. She never did listen to me. Our Stan knew how to handle her. Put the fear of God in her, he did."

"You mustn't blame yourself, Winnie," Elizabeth said firmly. "This could well have happened even if Stan had been here. The war does strange things to people."

"And brings strange people to town," Winnie said darkly. "I don't know about this Steve person, but I wouldn't mind betting that one of them Yanks is at the bottom of this."

Elizabeth thought about the red circle on the map. She was reluctant to mention anything about it to Winnie. There was no point in getting her all stirred up about something until she knew more herself. And she wasn't going to know more if Major Monroe refused to help her.

"Do you have the letters Beryl got from London?" she asked, relieved to see that Winnie seemed to have collected herself again.

The other woman lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. "They're nowhere around here, or I would have seen them. And they're not in her room. You searched it yourself."

"Yes, I did." That brought up an interesting point. Apparently Beryl had either destroyed the letters or hidden them outside of the house. Yet Robbie's note had been
tucked inside her pillow, as if she couldn't bear to part with it. That would seem as though Robbie's note meant more to Beryl than Steve's letters. If that were so, why would she plan to leave home to be with Steve? It didn't make sense. Right then, nothing at all made sense.

"I wonder what she did with them," Winnie said thoughtfully. "She must have thrown them away, but—" She broke off as the loud rap of the door knocker echoed from the front door. "Now who can that be? Excuse me, m'm. I won't be a minute."

She left the parlor, and Elizabeth heard her muffled exclamation, then George's booming voice. Apparently she invited him in, as a moment later Elizabeth heard him inside the sitting room. She didn't hear what he said, but she heard Winnie cry out, and she rose swiftly from her chair. Whatever it was, it had been a shock to Winnie. Surely something hadn't happened to Stan?

Unable to contain herself, she hurried out into the sitting room. Winnie sat on an armchair, rocking herself back and forth, both hands pressed to her mouth. George's face looked even more ruddy than usual as he nodded at Elizabeth. "Good morning, Lady Elizabeth. Pardon me for intruding, but I thought Winnie should know right away."

"Know what right away? What is it, George? Is it Stan?"

George sent a wary glance at Winnie, who lowered her hands and burst into tears. "Oh, Lady Elizabeth, you'll never guess what. Our Beryl was . . . having a baby."

"A baby?" Elizabeth whirled on George. "Is this true?"

"Yes, m'm." George cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling. "The medical examiner just told me a little while ago. Beryl Pierce was at least two months along."

Elizabeth stared at him. This latest development brought
up some very interesting questions, the most important of which was the identity of the father. Was it Evan, Steve, or the elusive Robbie? Even more significant, could this pregnancy be the reason Beryl was killed? Now it was even more important that she track down Steve and Robbie. Somehow she had to find a way to persuade Major Monroe to cooperate with her—a task that seemed as distasteful as it was formidable.

George finally left after promising to let Winnie know if there were any further developments in the case. The second the door closed behind him, Winnie burst out, "I knew that Evan was up to no good with our Beryl. I just knew it. I told her she was too young to tie herself down to one boyfriend, but she wouldn't listen to me. No, not her. Knew it all, she did."

"Winnie," Elizabeth said gently, "we don't know for certain that it's Evan's baby."

Winnie's head shot up. "He's the only one she knew well enough to do
that
with, that's for sure."

Desperately trying to tread delicately, Elizabeth sat down next to the distraught woman. "Winnie, Beryl apparently knew Steve well enough to plan on moving to London."

"I suppose so."

"And what about the note from Robbie? They weren't exactly strangers, were they?"

Winnie gulped. "Oh, my Lord. What if it was someone else, and Evan found out she was having someone else's baby? He's got a jealous streak, that boy. I wouldn't put it past him to have throttled her."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't think it was Evan, Winnie."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because Beryl was alive on Sunday morning. You
said yourself that you heard her come in that night and that her bed had been slept in."

"Yes, I did, but—"

"Evan never left the house after he got home Saturday night, except to work with his father in the fields. His mother was quite definite about that."

Winnie looked unconvinced. "Maybe she's lying, m'm. Wouldn't put it past her. After all, Evan's the only one they got left at home. The other two are in the army. I'd do the same thing myself if it was me."

"I might have agreed with you," Elizabeth said slowly, "if it wasn't for one thing."

"What's that?"

"When Mrs. Potter told me that Evan never left the farm, we didn't even know at that point that Beryl was dead. It was assumed that Beryl simply hadn't turned up for a date. Daphne Potter would have had no reason to lie."

Winnie looked as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her. "You're right, m'm. I hadn't thought of that."

"No, I think we must look elsewhere for our killer." Elizabeth rose to her feet, doing her best to sound more confident than she felt. "I do think I'll have a word with Evan, though. He might be more forthcoming in light of this news."

Winnie looked hopeful. "You think he knows something he doesn't want to tell you?"

Elizabeth sighed. "I think there are a lot of people around here who know more than they are willing to tell. The trick is to find a way to get them to talk."

"You'll do it, I know you will." Winnie got up and headed for the front door. "I have the utmost confidence in you, m'm. As everyone around here's always saying,
once Lady Elizabeth makes up her mind to do something, the devil himself couldn't stop her."

"I'm very much afraid," Elizabeth murmured as she took her leave, "that this time I might very well be up against the devil himself. Or someone close to him."

Upon arriving at the Potter farm, she was greeted by Daphne Potter, who opened the door to her. Obviously surprised to see her, the farmer's wife invited her in and offered her a cup of tea.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, giving the woman her most charming smile, "but actually I came to see Evan. I'd like to have a word with him."

"He's out in the wheat fields," Daphne Potter said, nodding at the window. "Been hard at it since dawn. I'm worried about him, to tell you the truth. He's been moping about ever since last weekend. Losing Beryl like that has hurt him dreadfully. He never hangs around the house as a rule. He and Jim don't get on very well. They've been at each other's throats ever since Timmy and Billy went off to war."