Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder (20 page)

Carol rose, too, wariness on her face. "Are you going to tell the police?"

"If you're asking if I'm going to tell them about you and Robbie, the answer is probably not. Since it appears that they would be wasting their time by pursuing that particular line of investigation, I see no point in bringing it up. You might as well keep the letter, too."

When Carol Simmons smiled, she looked extraordinarily beautiful. In spite of her size, she was an attractive woman. Elizabeth found herself hoping that the young
lady would soon find herself someone more worthy upon whom she could bestow her affection.

Marlene stood at the corner sink in the rear of the narrow hairdresser's and stared at her sister's image in the mirror. Well pleased with her efforts, she laid down her comb and folded her arms. "There. I think it makes you look a lot older."

Polly leaned forward in her chair and frowned at her reflection. She studied the new hairdo for a moment or two in silence. Her long, straight hair was now pulled back from her face and fastened into a French twist at the back of her head.

"Here, look at the back of it." Marlene twisted her around in the chair and held up a hand mirror. "So what do you think?"

"Makes me face look thinner."

"Makes your eyes look bigger."

"Makes me nose look bigger an' all."

"Makes you look older, though."

Polly swung around again to face the mirror. "I don't know if I can get it up by myself."

"You'll have to learn how. Of course, if you let me cut it for you, it would be easier to manage."

"No!" Polly put both hands on her head. "I'm not having it cut off."

"Then this will have to do."

"It does make me look older." Polly lifted her chin. "Just wait until Sam sees this. He'll never guess I'm only fifteen."

Marlene felt a stab of uneasiness. "I wish you'd just tell Sam the truth. No good ever comes of telling lies."

"Now you sound like Ma." Polly stretched her neck
and swept her face from side to side. "It does look rather gorgeous, if I say so myself."

"Thanks," Marlene said dryly. "How long are you going to keep it up?"

"Until I go to bed. I'll have to put it up again in the morning, though."

"No, I mean letting Sam think you're twenty. He's going to find out eventually, you know."

"Not if you don't tell him. Besides, by the time he finds out, he'll be so potty over me it won't make any difference."

Marlene rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. "What about telling him you were secretary to Lady Liza? He's going to know you were lying about that when he moves in there and sees you cleaning out the toilet."

Polly scowled back at her in the mirror. "He's not going to see me, is he."

"Then why are you worrying about your hair?"

"Because I've got a plan."

"What kind of plan?"

Polly shrugged. "I'm going to ask Lady Liza if I can work part-time in her study. She's always complaining that she can't find anything. I can do some filing and maybe write some letters and help pay the bills."

Marlene laughed. "You don't know how to do all that."

"I can learn, can't I? That's what people do, isn't it? They're not born knowing how to do those things. They have to learn somewhere."

"All right, all right, don't get your knickers in a twist." Marlene sat down in the chair next to Polly. "You're going to a lot of trouble for this bloke. I hope he's worth it."

Polly grinned. "So do I."

"What if he's married? They say half of them are married and lie about it."

"So what if he is? I'm not thinking about marrying him and going off to America or anything. I just want a bit of fun, that's all. And I like Sam. He makes me laugh."

"Well, you'd better hope Ma doesn't find out about him or you'll be laughing on the wrong side of your face."

Polly sighed. "I can't wait to be eighteen like you. You could go to Scotland and get married any time you wanted."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't." Marlene stared anxiously at her sister. "Do be careful, Polly. I don't want to see you get into trouble."

Polly looked back at her image in the mirror. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. I'm just going to let Sam think I'm twenty for a little while, until he gets to know me better."

"Then you'll tell him the truth soon?"

"Just as soon as I think he can't live without me." Polly's laugh filled the whole shop. "Who says that wartime can't be fun?"

Elizabeth left the recruitment office feeling more than a little frustrated. Every clue she had followed so far seemed to lead to a dead end. Maybe she had been a little too quick in condemning George and Sid for their lack of progress in such matters. Investigating a crime, particularly a murder it would seem, was a lot more difficult than she'd envisioned.

There was, however, one more possible suspect in this tangle of events: the soldier who might have sent Beryl a one-way ticket to London. There was also another point
that Elizabeth was anxious to clear up. According to Carol's story, if both she and Robbie were telling the truth, Beryl took Robbie home with her for the night. Elizabeth couldn't help wondering how he managed to get into and out of the house without Winnie hearing anything.

Seated in Winnie's cozy parlor a while later, Elizabeth recounted the entire story of Beryl's fling with Robbie Barrows. She made Winnie promise not to repeat anything to anyone, stilling her feelings of guilt with the reminder that her promise to the major was to withhold the information only from the police.

Winnie listened with mounting horror, especially when she heard that Beryl had actually brought in an American who had spent the night in her daughter's bedroom.

"You didn't hear them at all?" Elizabeth asked as Winnie sat with a dazed look on her face.

"Not a blooming thing." Winnie shook her head, as if trying to clear her thoughts. "I've been sleeping really heavy ever since I started taking the tablets."

Elizabeth sat up straighter. "Tablets?"

Winnie looked sheepish. "When Stan went away, I couldn't sleep at all, and the doctor gave me tablets to take, to help me sleep. They're very good. I'm never awake longer than half an hour after I take them, and I sleep like the dead until the next morning. I used to wait until Beryl got home before I took them, but lately she'd been getting home so late, and if I took them late I had trouble waking up the next day. That's probably why I didn't hear her and that bloody Yank come in the house."

"But you heard her the night before she died."

"Yes, I did. She came home early that night. That's why. I'd taken the tablets, but they hadn't had time to
work." Winnie sighed. "So you don't think this Yank was the father of her baby?"

"I don't see how he could be." Elizabeth sipped her tea then set the cup down. "Both he and Carol said that he'd first met Beryl just two weeks before she died. The medical examiner said she was at least two months pregnant. My guess is that she knew she was pregnant the night she went to the dance hall in North Horsham. I think she was looking for an American to put the blame on, probably hoping he'd take her back to America with him. From what I hear, most of the girls in the village are hoping the same thing."

"Maybe, but most of them don't do what our Beryl did to get there. What her father will say when he hears all this I don't know." Winnie passed a hand across her forehead. "He should be here any day now. How am I going to tell him all this?"

"I'm sorry, Winnie." Elizabeth got to her feet. "I'm sorry I couldn't find Beryl's murderer."

Winnie looked startled. "You're not giving up, are you?"

"I really don't know what else I can do."

"Well, what about this Steve—the soldier in London who sent her the ticket? What about him?"

If there was one thing Elizabeth hated, it was to be thwarted by circumstances beyond her control. When she set out to do something, she wanted to see it through to the bitter end, no matter what it took to get there. To get this far in this miserable search for the poor child's murderer and come up against a dead end frustrated her immensely. "It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack," she said, gathering up her handbag and gloves. "All we have is a badge and a first name."

"Doesn't Amy know what he looks like?"

"I don't think she ever saw him. She was just going on what Beryl had told her."

"There has to be something you can do. George would never have found out everything you have so far. He hasn't even started looking. I think he's waiting for the inspector to get here, whenever that will be."

"Well, I've done the best I could. Unfortunately it wasn't enough. I suppose I'm not really cut out to be a detective."

"It's not like you to give up, m'm."

Elizabeth stood very still. "No," she said finally, "it's not, is it. Maybe there is something I can do. We'll have to see."

She moved to the door, knowing that it was a futile hope she was giving Winnie. "Maybe there's someone in Whitehall who can help me. But I wouldn't get your hopes too high if I were you. The chances are we might never find this Steve, and if he is the murderer, we might never know for sure what really happened that Sunday morning."

"If he is the murderer," Winnie said fiercely, "you'll find him. I just know you will, Lady Elizabeth. You have your father's grit and determination. You'll bring my daughter's killer to justice, I know you will."

Elizabeth walked slowly down the long garden path. She thought she knew now how Major Monroe must feel when leading his men into a dangerous mission. All those men depending on him. It was a frightening prospect.

Winnie might not be depending on her for her life, but Elizabeth was quite certain that if Beryl's murderer was not found and brought to justice, Winnie would be tormented by the injustice of that for the rest of her life. She could not let that happen. Somehow she had to find
a British soldier named Steve serving in the Royal Engineers and stationed in London.

She passed the postman on the way up to the manor. Cyril Appleby was a pleasant man who knew everyone's business in the village, mostly because he read the postcards that arrived at the post office. He'd also been seen holding sealed envelopes up to the light. No one had ever actually accused him of opening the mail, but his knowledge of people's family business was a little too intimate to have been picked up by idle gossip.

Cyril waved to her as Elizabeth roared by, a feat that almost cost him his balance on the ancient bicycle that had been his faithful steed for as long as Elizabeth could remember. The spokes were rusty and bent, the saddle was almost worn through, and the crooked handlebars caused Cyril to weave all over the road instead of hugging the hedgerows, putting him in dire danger of being mowed down by a passing army jeep. Nevertheless, Cyril clung to his ancient machine, saying he could never get used to riding a new bicycle.

Elizabeth answered his wave and continued on her way, struggling with the enormity of the task ahead of her. She had friends in Whitehall, thanks to her volunteer work in the city, but she wasn't at all sure any of them had the means at their disposal to track down one soldier in an entire regiment.

Violet opened the door to her, and she stepped inside the cool walls of the Manor House, forgetting her troubles for the moment in the sheer pleasure of being home again.

"You just missed George Dalrymple," Violet said as Elizabeth pulled off her gloves. "He wanted to know where you were. I told him you were in North Horsham shopping for when the Yanks come. He got real excited
when I told him about our uninvited guests. Wanted me to ask them if they could get him some American comics. I asked him what was wrong with our English ones. You know what he said?"

Only half listening, Elizabeth murmured, "No, tell me."

"He said that English comics were for children. American ones, he says, have big busty women in them, and they're meant for grown-up men. Can you believe that? I told him that was disgusting. I hope they don't bring those things in here, I told him, or they're going right in the fireplace where they belong."

"What did he say to that?"

"Got all hoity-toity, didn't he. Said it was against the law to destroy someone else's property. I told him it was against the law to bring filthy comics into my house. That shut him up."

For some reason it was on the tip of Elizabeth's tongue to point out that the Manor House was actually hers and that Violet was there by virtue of being employed there, but thankfully sanity returned and, ashamed of her pettiness, she banished the thought. "I'm sure he didn't mean to offend you," she said instead.

Violet gave her a sharp look. "You look tired, Lizzie. Come downstairs, and I'll make you a nice cup of tea."

She wasn't tired, Elizabeth thought as she followed the housekeeper down to the kitchen. She felt beaten. This whole investigation had started out with such promise. She'd actually quite enjoyed chasing down the clues and talking to the suspects. She'd particularly enjoyed her little chats with Major Monroe. But now it seemed as if her efforts had all been for nothing, and even Earl Monroe wanted nothing more to do with the case. Or her,
more than likely, now that she'd made such a pest of herself.

She slumped down at the kitchen table. "You know, Violet, I think I'll have a glass of sherry instead of tea. It might help to brighten me up a bit."

"If you ask me, you're taking on too much," Violet grumbled. "Running around here and there trying to find out who done in Beryl Pierce when you should be here at home worrying about how we're going to get the chimneys cleaned before winter sets in."

Elizabeth gathered her thoughts with a start. "Did you get the curtains from the east wing washed?"

If Violet realized she'd deliberately changed the subject, she gave no sign of it. "Yes, I did. Polly helped me wash them. What a job that was, too, I might tell you. Got them all hung up on the line out there. I just hope the wind doesn't blow too hard, or it will rip those curtains to bits. It was all we could do not to rip them when we pegged them on the line. I just—" She broke off as the telephone rang, shattering the peace of the kitchen. "Now who's that?"