Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder (18 page)

He flicked a glance at her. "Yes, ma'am, he did. But since he's not a suspect, I figure what he told me doesn't have to be a matter of record."

"You're quite right, of course. It doesn't." She sent him a look of appeal. "Whatever he told you, however, might help me. If I swear to keep whatever you tell me utterly confidential, would you consider sharing his comments with me?"

She waited, hardly daring to breathe, until finally the
major gave a curt nod of his head. "Very well, ma'am. I guess I'll have to trust you on that."

"Thank you, Major."

"I do have one question first."

"And what's that?"

"Why are you having so much trouble calling me Earl?"

Unsettled by the unexpected question, she thought about it before she answered. "I don't mean to be antisocial," she said finally. "I'm not aware of the customs in your country, but I think I can safely assume that they are a good deal more lax than those of the British Isles. A lady does not call a gentleman by his Christian name until she is very well acquainted with him."

His sharp gaze made her nervous. "I wouldn't want to violate any of your social customs, Lady Elizabeth, but it seems to me that in times of war like this one, if we waited to get to know someone before we felt at ease with him, that person might not be around by the time we called him by his first name. I'd be kind of disappointed if we never got the chance to be on a first-name basis."

The thundering sound in her ears, she realized, was her own heartbeat. There was something in his tone of voice that made the words seem so personal. Lifting her hand, she let it flutter around her throat. For several tense seconds it seemed as if the world had gone still, waiting for her to answer.

With an effort borne of practice, she recovered her composure. She would not allow this man to discomfort her to the point of foolishness. "You may very well be right, Major," she said evenly. "Nevertheless, I refuse to let the war or the people who caused it force me into abandoning my principles. One day this madness will be
over, and those of us who survive will have to go on with our lives the way they were before. How we behave during this time of turmoil will dictate how successful we are in that endeavor."

"And you really believe that?"

Try as she might, she could not meet that penetrating gaze. "Believe what?"

"That everything will be the same as it was before once the war is over."

"If I didn't firmly believe that, I'm not sure I could cope with everything." Even as she said the words, she knew the futility of the sentiment. How could things ever be the same? The war was changing everybody in ways they had never imagined.

"Then, for your sake, I sure hope you're right." He cleared his throat, then added, "Corporal Barrows told me that he met Beryl Pierce at a dance hall in North Horsham. He admitted to messing around with her . . . his own words . . . but then she'd caused some kind of trouble with his girlfriend, and he dumped her."

"Did he say what kind of trouble?"

Major Monroe sighed. "Yes, ma'am. Apparently Beryl Pierce called the corporal's girlfriend and told her that she'd spent the night with him."

"Oh, dear." Elizabeth quickly shifted her gaze to the wall of windows in front of her.

"The girlfriend dumped him, of course, and so he dumped Beryl."

"He got no more than he deserved, really," Elizabeth murmured. "After all, what could he expect when he was playing around with two girls at once?"

"Yes, ma'am." The major cleared his throat again. "All this happened about two weeks ago. So he couldn't have been responsible for the young lady's condition. Corporal
Barrows swears he never saw Beryl Pierce after that day. End of story."

"Not quite." Elizabeth turned her head and met his gaze head on.

"Ma'am?"

"You're forgetting someone. What about Corporal Barrows's girlfriend? That young lady must have been extremely jealous and very angry with Beryl Pierce. Certainly as angry as Robert Barrows must have been when Beryl broke up his association with this woman. Someone who might possibly have been angry enough to hurt her, wouldn't you say?"

Major Monroe looked uncomfortable again. "It's possible, I guess."

"I don't suppose he told you her name?"

The major sighed. "No, ma'am. He didn't."

"I see." Elizabeth let the seconds tick by while she watched the conflicting expressions cross his face.

Finally he said abruptly, "I guess you want me to ask him for her name."

She let out her breath. "Would you? Thank you so much, Major. That would be a tremendous help."

Earl Monroe shook his head. "I don't know what brand of sweet talk you're using, Lady Elizabeth, but I want you to know if it were anyone else asking me to do this, I'd tell them to go to . . . heck."

"You can say hell, Major," Elizabeth said cheerfully. "I often do." She felt wonderful, as if someone had turned on the sunshine inside the room. It was a warm, effervescent feeling of well-being and was caused entirely by the major's last comment. The knowledge she was advancing on forbidden territory only made it all the more exciting.

CHAPTER
14

Elizabeth had been taking her meals with Violet and Martin in the spacious kitchen ever since her parents' funeral, when sitting alone in the dining room had so depressed her that she'd been unable to eat.

It was Violet's idea, and it was meant to last only for a short while until Elizabeth recovered from the shocking death of her family. Although Martin had vehemently revealed his displeasure at this scandalous departure from protocol, Elizabeth had eagerly accepted the suggestion.

Despite Violet's broad hints and Martin's frequent muttering about lack of propriety, however, she had stubbornly refused to return to that solitary chair at the end of the vast table that could and often had easily seated forty guests.

She was enjoying her light supper that evening when the bell in the kitchen jangled, indicating a visitor at the front door.

"I hope they haven't come back for more saucepans," Violet grumbled as she got up from her seat. "I don't know how I'm supposed to cook meals without saucepans."

"I do believe it's my duty to answer the door." Martin struggled to his feet. "Give me a moment to find my glasses, and I'll be right there."

"Your glasses are on your nose as usual." Violet hurried across the floor. "I have to go upstairs for a moment, anyway, so I might as well answer the door while I'm up there." She sent Elizabeth a meaningful look and rolled her eyes up at the ceiling before disappearing.

Martin carefully lowered himself onto the chair again. "It isn't Violet's place to answer the door, madam. Doors are opened and visitors greeted by the butler. What will people think?"

Elizabeth leaned forward and patted his hand. "Don't worry about it, Martin. People make allowances nowadays."

"I don't want people to make allowances. Your mother would be most upset if she could see you sitting here in the kitchen with me while the housekeeper answers the door. What is the world coming to? That's what I want to know."

"That's something we all want to know." Elizabeth gave him a fond smile. "I'm quite sure Mother would be happy to know you take such good care of me. She was always telling me how utterly reliable you are, and how I could count on you to offer your services whenever they are needed."

For a moment Martin's eyes looked almost shrewd. "That was before senility crept in. Although I hate to admit it, Lady Elizabeth, I am not the man I used to be. Far from it."

Elizabeth felt uncomfortable. She and Violet assumed that Martin was not aware of their efforts to make him continue to feel indispensable. Martin had always had a great deal of pride, and justifiably so. It was heartbreaking to think that he might realize just how dependent he had become on them.

Her concern faded when he added, "For instance, I can't ride that pesky bicycle anymore."

"Martin, to the best of my knowledge, you have never ridden a bicycle in your life."

His face brightened. "I haven't? Well, that would explain it, then, wouldn't it. I was wondering why I couldn't get those pedals to go round."

Elizabeth frowned. "What bicycle are you talking about? You don't mean the one belonging to Desmond, do you? That's the only bicycle I've seen around here."

"I'm talking about the red one, madam, that's always by the wall out there. The one with the little carriage fastened to it. I must admit, none of the bicycles I've ever seen before had carriages attached to them. Must be one of those newfangled inventions that are always popping up nowadays."

"Martin, that's my motorcycle. The pedals don't turn around. There's an engine that drives the wheels."

"An engine?"

"Yes, an engine. You have to turn it on." To her immense relief Violet returned before she had to explain the intricacies of a kick-start engine.

"It's Prince Charming again," Violet said, making no effort to conceal her disapproval. "I left him in the library. Making a blinking habit of calling in, isn't he? Don't they have telephones at that base?"

Elizabeth jumped to her feet. In her hurry, her hand caught the edge of her cup and sent it flying off the sau
cer. She retrieved it and set it down with utmost care. "I imagine there isn't much privacy at the base."

"Why on earth should he need privacy?"

Elizabeth sighed. "He's the person helping me to find out who killed Beryl Pierce."

"Someone killed Beryl Pierce?" Martin shot to his feet with surprising speed. "When did this happen?"

"A few days ago, Martin." Elizabeth looked at Violet, who was staring at her with a stormy expression on her face.

"Why are you messing about with this murder?" she demanded. "Why aren't the police doing their job?"

"Murder? Good lord, we're worse off than I thought. We must have new locks and bolts put on all the doors at once. I'll see to it. I knew those Germans would get here sooner or later." Martin shuffled as fast as his fading agility would allow and disappeared through the door.

Elizabeth stared after him. "You don't think he'll try to change the locks, do you?"

"By the time he's halfway up the stairs he'll have forgotten where he was going. What I want to know is why you didn't tell me you and this American major have been poking your noses into police business. That's a good way to get into trouble, I'd say."

Sometimes, Elizabeth thought with faint resentment, Violet could sound like both her parents rolled into one. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd do exactly what you're doing," she said calmly. "I wanted to spare you the worry."

She could have said that it was none of Violet's business what she did, but if she did that, the housekeeper would go off in one of her huffs, and the tension would be unbearable for days. Besides, Violet meant well. And it was her own fault, Elizabeth reminded herself. Since
she'd always treated Violet like a member of the family instead of an employee, she couldn't really be too surprised if she acted like one.

"Spare me the worry? What about the worry I'd feel if this murderer knew you were chasing him and decided to get rid of you as well? How do you think I'd feel then?"

Elizabeth crossed the room to the door. "Please, Violet, try not to worry. I'm not doing anything the least bit dangerous. Really. I'm just talking to a few people, that's all."

"I'm not so sure. How do you know this Major Monroe is safe to be alone with?"

"Because I trust him." She looked back at Violet. "We have to start trusting these people sometime. Especially if they're going to be our guests for a while."

"Uninvited guests, I might say."

Elizabeth smiled. "Cheer up, Violet. It's not going to be nearly as bad as you think it will be."

Violet sat down with a thump. "I just hope and pray you're right."

So did she, Elizabeth thought, as she hurried up the stairs. The closer the time came to the Americans moving in, the more nervous she got about it. But there wasn't a great deal she could do about it now.

When she opened the door of the library, she saw Major Monroe sitting on a straight-backed chair by the fireplace, a book open on his lap.

He leapt to his feet as she entered, with an expression she could only describe as guilt. "Hope you don't mind," he said, holding up the book, "but it caught my eye, and before I knew it I was hooked."

She smiled. "You haven't read it?
Wind in the Willows
is required reading in our schools. It's one of my favorite books. You can borrow it if you like."

"Really?" He looked a little self-conscious. "You won't think I'm nuts for wanting to read a children's book?"

"Not at all. It's a classic and, from an adult's perspective, a very astute if somewhat ironic view of life. I think you'll enjoy it."

"I'll look forward to reading it." He waited for her to be seated before adding, "I hope you don't mind me coming back so soon. I didn't want to discuss this on the telephone."

"Of course not. Can I offer you some sherry? Or perhaps a martini? I think there's some gin left in the cellar."

"Nothing, thanks. I have to get back shortly."

"I assume you have some more news for me?"

"Yes." He sat down on the edge of the chair again. "I talked to Corporal Barrows again."

Elizabeth could tell that he was uncomfortable and did her best to put him at ease. "And he answered your questions?"

Earl Monroe stared down at the book in his hands. "Corporal Barrows was under the impression he could not be charged under British law. When I assured him that the British police would be allowed to question him, he was a little more cooperative."

"So what did he say? Was he aware that Beryl was expecting a child?"

"I have to ask for your promise not to repeat to the police anything I'm about to tell you. I gave my promise to Corporal Barrows that everything he told me would be confidential. If the police get a warrant to question him, then that's a different matter. I guess it will be up to him, then, what he tells them."

"I have one question for you first."

Major Monroe sighed heavily. "Okay, shoot."