Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder (5 page)

"Just having something to do helps," Winnie assured her. "I feel so useless just sitting around waiting for her to come home." She opened the door to a tiny bedroom
and stood back to allow Elizabeth to enter.

The room was charming, with a sloping roof that slanted down to where the blue lace-edged curtains at the window matched the eiderdown on the bed. There was just enough room to squeeze between the bed and the wardrobe on one side, while a small bedside table with a lamp fitted snugly against the wall on the other side. Beryl had pinned pictures of film stars above her bed, and Elizabeth recognized Clark Gable and Cary Grant among the collection.

Winnie showed her the empty suitcase and the crammed contents of the wardrobe. A row of shoes with platform soles sat beneath the dresses, skirts, and blouses. "Spends all her clothing coupons as soon as she gets them," Winnie murmured.

Most of her mother's, too
, Elizabeth thought, eyeing the well-stocked wardrobe. "Nothing in the pockets?" she asked.

Winnie shook her head. "George had me go through them all."

Elizabeth turned her attention back to the bed. "You know," she said softly, "when I was a young girl and wanted to keep something important safe, I always tucked it inside my pillow." She reached under the eiderdown and drew out a large, fluffy pillow. "May I?"

"Certainly, m'm."

Elizabeth slipped her hand inside the pillow case, then caught her breath when her searching fingers encountered something. She withdrew a small white envelope.

"Well, I'll be blowed. Would you look at that!" Winnie said in a hushed voice.

Elizabeth offered her the letter.

"You open it, m'm, if you would. I don't have my glasses up here."

Carefully Elizabeth withdrew the folded sheet of paper and opened it. "It's a love letter," she said after quickly scanning the lines, "from someone called Robbie."

Winnie frowned and held out her hand for the letter. "May I, m'm?" She squinted at it for a second or two, then raised her head. "I don't know what our Beryl's been up to," she said slowly, "but I've never heard of no one called Robbie in my life."

"Well, obviously Beryl knows him. Judging from the sentiments scribbled on this note, I'd say they know each other very well." Elizabeth met Winnie's anxious gaze. "Would you mind if I have a look in the wardrobe?"

"No, not at all." Winnie sank onto the end of the bed. "I just don't know what's come over our Beryl, really I don't. She never used to be like this when Stan was home. She's been acting really strange lately. You know what she did last Saturday morning? She had all her hair cut off, that's what. All that beautiful thick hair. Looked like a boy, she did. I told her how terrible it looked. That was the last day I saw her—" Winnie's voice cracked, and she buried her face in the folds of her apron. "Sorry, m'm."

Elizabeth's heart ached at the pain in that muffled voice. No matter what, she would find out what had happened to Beryl if she had to turn the entire countryside upside down to do it.

She turned her attention to the wardrobe, running her hands through the clothes, though she didn't really know what she was looking for. Winnie had already searched the pockets, and there didn't seem to be anything on the floor except for the shoes.

She was about to close the door when something bright and shiny caught her eye. She moved a dark blue woolen dress aside and took down a black blazer, adorned with
bold, brass buttons. It wasn't the brass that had glinted at her from the darkness of the wardrobe, however, it was a small enameled badge pinned to one of the lapels.

Elizabeth took a closer look. "Your husband is in the navy, isn't he?"

"Stan? Yes, he volunteered last year. Always loved the sea, he did."

"Do you have any members of your family serving in the Royal Engineers?"

Winnie looked puzzled. "No, m'm, not as I know of. My brother's in the infantry, and a cousin's in the Royal Artillery. The rest are in the air force, those who are called up, anyway."

"Then this could belong to Beryl's friend Robbie." Elizabeth showed her the jacket with the regimental badge pinned to it.

"Oh, my." Winnie took the jacket in her hands and stared at the pin. "What will Evan say to this? He'll be really upset if he finds out Beryl's been keeping company with a soldier." She looked up, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "You know, ever since the army turned him down, he's had it in for soldiers. Turned him bitter, it did. He wanted to join up so bad and get away from that farm. Flat feet, they said. He wouldn't be able to march."

"Well, I'm sure he's needed just as much on the farm," Elizabeth said, closing the door of the wardrobe. "There are so few men left to take care of the land now. If it wasn't for the women in the Land Army, there would be no farms for the men to come back to after the war."

"Don't I know it." Winnie sighed. "Do you think that Beryl might be with this Robbie person?"

"I think it's a possibility. Would you mind if I take the badge with me? Perhaps I'll be able to find out who this man is, and he might at least know where Beryl has
gone. I'd also like to take the train ticket, the letter, and the Land Army application. I really don't know what help they would be, but I'd like to take a closer look at everything."

"Oh, thank you, Lady Elizabeth." Winnie rose slowly to her feet. "I don't know which way to turn anymore. I just want my little girl to come back home, that's all."

"I know," Elizabeth said gently. "And I'm going to do everything I can to see that that happens."

She left a few minutes later, having refused Winnie's offer of another cup of tea. It was beginning to get dark, and Evan would be coming back home from the fields about now. She was anxious to have a word with that young man.

Evan's mother welcomed her unexpected visitor with flustered concern and effusive apologies for the state of the house. Daphne Potter was a better-than-average housewife and kept the ancient farmhouse spotless, but like most of the residents of Sitting Marsh, a visit from the lady of the manor warranted a thorough spring cleaning, and she was dismayed at the lack of opportunity to prepare her home for such an illustrious occasion.

She ushered her guest into the front parlor, which was kept solely for the use of visitors. In spite of the summer warmth outside, the damp cushions of the sofa Elizabeth sat upon were a clear indication that the Potters hadn't had any visitors in some time. The room smelled faintly of apple cider, wet wool, and stale cigars. Elizabeth declined to take off her coat. Even the mansion, with it's drafty windows and lack of appreciable heating in the winter, didn't feel as chillingly moist as this room.

"I suppose you've come to talk to Evan," Daphne Potter said when Elizabeth refused her offer of tea. "He'll be in any minute. He was talking to George for a while,
so that put him behind a bit. Such a shame about Beryl. I wonder where she can be. Our Evan is near out of his mind with worry, poor lamb. Thinks the world of her, he does."

"Yes, well, they've been going out together for some time," Elizabeth murmured. "I don't suppose Evan has any ideas where she might be?"

"None at all. Complete mystery to him. He were that upset when he came home Saturday night. I heard him slam the door really hard, the way he always does when he and Beryl have been fighting. I thought they'd had another row."

"What time was that?" Elizabeth asked, trying to sound casual about it. "When he came home Saturday, I mean."

"Oh, must have been after eleven. Jim had just come to bed. He always stays up to listen to the latest news. Don't know why. It's all so depressing, isn't it. Though I must say, Mr. Churchill has some good things to say. Makes one really proud to be British, that's what I say."

"Did Evan say anything when he came in on Saturday night?"

Daphne Potter looked surprised. "Not a word. I didn't know until the next day that Beryl never turned up to meet him. Spent all day moping around the house, he did. Went and helped his dad in the fields that afternoon. He never does that as a rule. Could have knocked Jim down with a feather."

She turned sharply as a door slammed somewhere deep in the house. "That'll be Evan and our Jim back now. If you'll excuse me, Lady Elizabeth, I'll go and tell them you're here. I expect Evan will want to clean up a bit before he talks to you."

"Oh, that really isn't necessary," Elizabeth said, knowing full well her protest would be ignored.

"He won't be long. Are you sure I can't get you a nice cup of tea?"

Elizabeth would have preferred something a little stronger, but since good sherry and spirits were almost impossible to get nowadays, she reluctantly accepted Daphne Potter's offer. "Thank you, that would be lovely." At least it would warm her up a little.

Evan arrived at the parlor just as she was finishing the strong brew. He hovered in the doorway, looking as if he were ready to bolt at any given moment. "Mum said you wanted to see me, Lady Elizabeth?"

She smiled and waved a hand at the faded armchair sitting in the corner of the room. "Come in, Evan. I wanted to say how sorry I am about this dreadful business with Beryl."

"Yes, m'm." Evan perched his backside gingerly on the edge of the chair and thrust his hands between his knees. He was a sturdy young man with the ruddy cheeks and strong shoulders of the true farmer. Seeing him right then, looking so hale and hearty, it was hard to imagine that he'd been denied the opportunity to fight alongside his fellow farmers for his country.

"Tell me what happened between you and Beryl," Elizabeth began. "Did you have any kind of an argument the last time you saw her?"

Evan looked surprised, and she added hurriedly, "I know this is none of my business, but I promised her mother I'd see what I could do to find her, so anything you can tell me that might help would be greatly appreciated."

"I don't know as how I can help at all," Evan said, his cheeks turning a dark crimson. "I already talked to George and told him everything I know, which ain't much."

"I know, but maybe there's something you might have missed. Besides, I always find that talking about troubles sometimes lightens the load." She wondered if Evan knew about Robbie, but she hesitated to ask. The poor boy must be in enough agony wondering what happened to his girlfriend, without aggravating him with more bad news.

"All I know is, she didn't turn up for our date. We were supposed to meet at seven o'clock that Saturday night, outside the Tudor Arms. I hadn't seen her in two days, and I was really looking forward to being with her. Well, I waited until eight o'clock that night, and she didn't come. I was really fed up about it, so I went in the pub on my own to have a drink."

"And you were there the rest of the evening?"

"Until closing time, yeah. Then I came home. I went straight to bed and I didn't go out again until I went into the fields with me dad on Monday morning. I told George all this already. He told me some kids found her bicycle on the beach. I don't know what happened to her. Maybe she's run off with someone. Wouldn't put it past her."

On an impulse, Elizabeth asked carefully, "Evan, do you know a soldier by the name of Robbie? He's in the Royal Engineers, I believe."

Evan's dark brown eyes met hers without a waver. "Never heard of him. What's he got to do with anything?"

"I don't know. Maybe nothing." She took a deep breath. "But Beryl apparently knows someone of that name, and she was wearing a regimental badge on the lapel of her jacket."

Evan gave his head a slight shake, as if he didn't really believe what she was saying. "I don't know nothing about that. All I know is that she was supposed to meet
me, and she didn't turn up. What happened to her after that, I've got no idea."

"Well, thank you, Evan." Elizabeth rose to her feet. "I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me."

Now that the inquisition was apparently over, Evan seemed to spring to life. He jumped to his feet and rushed to open the door for her. "Thank you for coming, Lady Elizabeth. If there's anything I can do to help, you only have to ask. All right?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I might just do that, Evan. Thank you. I sincerely hope that this matter can be cleared up very quickly, and Beryl will return to her home. I'm sure she must know how worried everyone is about her."

"Beryl doesn't always think like that, does she. She can be really selfish at times."

"Well, I hope that's all it is. Please say good night to your parents for me." She left hurriedly, eager to be on her way. There was one more stop she wanted to make—the Tudor Arms—and she wanted to be there before it got too busy.

The car park was empty when she pulled up outside the pub. In the gathering darkness the heavy black beams that crisscrossed the white walls looked even more imposing. Lights blazed from the lattice windows, spilling across a row of bicycles propped against the fence.

The acrid odor of cigarette smoke and beer threatened to suffocate her when she entered the warmth of the hazy lounge bar. Above her head various brass pots, pans, and kettles dangled from the heavy beams that supported the low ceiling and threatened anyone with more than an average height a mighty good clonk on the head.

Two men stood at the long, burn-scarred counter. They looked up as she approached, the younger of the two giving a start of surprise when he apparently recognized
her. In the corner by the fireplace, two more men sat deep in quiet conversation.

Alfie, the bartender, hurried forward with a look of astonishment on his round, flushed face. "Lady Elizabeth! What a surprise to see you here. What would you like, then?" He took a hurried swipe at the counter with a grubby-looking cloth.

"A sherry, please, if you have one," Elizabeth said promptly. As long as she was here, she might as well enjoy one of life's simple pleasures.

"Sorry, m'm. No sherry this month. Got a nice drop of port, though. Will that do?"

"That will do very nicely, thank you." Elizabeth smiled at the two customers, both of whom were staring at her in undisguised curiosity. She realized that it probably wasn't terribly appropriate for her to be in a public house unescorted. But then, this was wartime, and nothing was quite the same as it once was. One must become accustomed to all sorts of things these days.