Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder (9 page)

Which was the very reason she should not jump to conclusions about the map found in Beryl's saddlebag, she reminded herself. "George," she said carefully, "I'm quite sure you realize how important it is for us all to remain on good terms with the Americans."

"As much as is possible, yes, m'm."

"Yes, well, that's why I need to know as much about Beryl's death as possible, so that I might contain the villagers if things get out of hand."

George looked alarmed. "Out of hand?"

"Well, there could be riots, fighting, that sort of thing. Very unpleasant. We need to avoid that at all costs."

"But, Lady Elizabeth, there's no one left to riot. Except for the army, and they've got military police to take care of that. The only people left in the village these days are mostly the old men, young children, and women."

"It's the women I am talking about, George. We have to realize that times have changed. Women drive tractors, build airplanes, and herd cows nowadays. They are quite capable of rioting. Surely you haven't forgotten the suf
fragettes? Are you sure you're prepared to confront fifty angry women armed with heavy iron frying pans advancing on the American base?"

George shuddered.

"She's right, George," Sid said from the doorway. "You should see my Ethel when she gets going. Like looking the bleeding devil in the face." He coughed. "Sorry, m'm. Didn't mean no disrespect."

"Not at all, Sid. I was just explaining to George that it's in all our best interests to share what information we have, so that we can work together to keep the people of Sitting Marsh calm and in control. I'm quite sure you two gentlemen have enough on your minds without having to spend your precious time pacifying a violent crowd of angry women."

"You're right about that, m'm," Sid said, nudging George in the shoulder. "We certainly don't want that, do we, George? I think we should share the information, really I do. After all, Lady Elizabeth is the lady of the manor. She should know what's going on in the village."

Elizabeth thought guiltily of all the clues lying in her bedroom. By rights she should pass them over to the constables. She was reluctant to do that just yet. She needed more time to ponder what they might mean, if anything, before giving them up to the incompetent manipulations of the local constabulary. Too much knowledge could be a very dangerous thing in the wrong hands.

"Well, I suppose we could give Lady Elizabeth some of the pertinent information without violating our procedures," George said, looking doubtfully at Sid, who nodded vehemently in response. "I could tell you, for instance, m'm, that Beryl wasn't exactly pushed over that cliff."

Elizabeth stared at him. Could all her instincts have
been wrong? Had the child committed suicide, after all? Somehow she found that hard to believe. "Wasn't pushed over? Are you saying she jumped?"

"Well, no, not exactly."

"Did she fall over, then?"

"She didn't jump, she didn't fall, and she wasn't pushed," Sid said gravely.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. This was going to be harder than she'd thought. "I see. So you're saying that Beryl didn't ride over the cliff on her bicycle, and that no one pushed her over."

"That's what I'm saying. Yes, m'm."

Elizabeth thought hard. "If she wasn't pushed, she didn't fall, and she didn't throw herself over the cliff, then what? Was she dropped out of an airplane or something?"

George hesitated. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose you could say that she was dropped, yes."

Obviously she would have to keep guessing until she got it right, Elizabeth thought on a rising tide of frustration. This was ridiculous. But necessary, if she was going to learn anything at all from these fools. "Was she conscious when she was . . . er . . . dropped?"

"No, m'm, she wasn't conscious." George shook his head. "And she didn't drown." He puffed out his chest. "There. I told you what didn't happen. That's not violating the procedure, is it?" He glanced at Sid for help.

"Not at all, George," Sid assured him.

It came to her all at once, snatching her breath away. "Beryl didn't drown. Of course. She was already dead, wasn't she?" Thoughts raced through her mind. "Oh, dear heaven. Poor Beryl was killed, then thrown over the cliff. And whoever did it tossed her bicycle over after her."

"Hit the nail right on the bloomin' head," Sid said solemnly.

"How was she killed? Stabbed? Clubbed with something?"

Again George gave a negative shake of his head.

Elizabeth searched her mind, trying to remember all the murder mystery books she'd read. "Shot? Strangled?"

George jerked his chin up and down.

"Beryl was strangled?" Elizabeth felt a distinct chill in spite of the stuffy warmth of the room. "Do you have any suspects?"

Again the negative shake of the head.

"Any clues at all that might help point to someone?"

Another shake.

Elizabeth sighed. "Does Winnie know yet?"

"No, m'm. I was going up there this evening, after I finish here."

Elizabeth's heart ached for the poor woman. "I wonder if you'd mind me taking the news to Winnie? It might help a little coming from me."

A look of immense relief crossed George's face. "I think that would be a very good idea, Lady Elizabeth. I'm much obliged."

"Not at all." Elizabeth rose to her feet, and George scrambled to get off his chair. "After all, the welfare of the villagers is my responsibility. I consider it my duty to do what I can to help in times of distress."

"Yes, m'm." George coughed. "Mind you, we don't have no idea how you came by this information, if you get my meaning?"

"Rest assured, George. Actually you didn't exactly tell me anything, now did you?"

"Once Mrs. Pierce is informed, of course, it won't remain a secret very long. But then it won't be us what's
spreading the news around, and that's what's important."

"You know, of course," Elizabeth said, rising from her chair, "that once the North Horsham newspaper gets wind of this, someone will be down here demanding to know all the details."

George scrambled to his feet. "Well, m'm, he can demand all he likes, but he won't get them from us. Of course, there's nothing to stop him talking to the people in the village. Which is why I'd appreciate it, Lady Elizabeth, if you ask Mrs. Pierce to keep the details to herself for a while longer."

"I'll do that, George. Thank you."

Elizabeth strode down the steps, seething with frustration. All she'd been told was that Beryl had been strangled and her body thrown off the cliffs. There were no details. No clues, no suspects. Which made the whole charade just now somewhat pointless.

Once more she climbed aboard her motorcycle. But then again, the constabulary had their ways of doing things, and she had hers. She'd learned long ago that one had far more success if one respected other people's methods and worked with them instead of against them. Especially those people with any kind of authority.

Out of the blue a vision of Major Monroe's face popped into her mind. Good Lord, the man was becoming a positive obsession. With an impatient jerk of her wrist she revved up the engine of the motorcycle and roared down the High Street in the direction of Winnie's cottage.

According to Winnie, Violet had just left the cottage when Elizabeth arrived there. Winnie took one look at Elizabeth's face, then said quietly, "She was murdered, wasn't she?"

Elizabeth nodded unhappily. "I'm afraid it rather looks that way, yes. I'm so terribly sorry."

"How?"

"Winnie—"

"I want to know how she died." Apparently remembering whom she was addressing, Winnie muttered, "Begging your pardon, m'm."

"It's quite all right, Winnie. Understandable, under the circumstances. I understand Beryl was strangled and then thrown into the sea. Again, I'm so sorry."

Winnie shrugged. "No sense in dwelling on it, I suppose." She seemed to catch her breath. "Crying isn't going to bring her back, is it?"

"I suppose not. I do have one bit of good news." At Winnie's indication, Elizabeth made herself comfortable on the sofa. "George informed me that Stan is on his way home. Compassionate leave."

Winnie nodded, her lips pressed together. After a moment she said unsteadily, "I don't suppose they know who did it."

It was a statement more than a question, and Elizabeth sighed. "They have no suspects at the moment. I don't think George has ever handled a murder case before. I expect he'll call in an inspector."

"How long will that take?"

"I don't know. I imagine they are being kept very busy these days. So many policemen are joining up. That's the problem."

"I thought if they were police they didn't have to go," Winnie said, staring out of the window as if her mind was on something else entirely.

Which it probably was, Elizabeth thought, with a pang of sympathy. "They don't, but I suppose if they volunteer, the army is going to take them."

"Someone told me that all policemen have flat feet. That's how Evan never got in." She seemed to pull herself together. "I already told you that, didn't I."

"Winnie—"

"Lady Elizabeth, you've got to find out who did it. Please. By the time that inspector gets here, whoever did it could be miles away, and we'll never know the truth. I won't sleep nights until I know who killed my daughter and why."

Even if she hadn't already made up her mind to help, there was no way Elizabeth could deny this woman what she asked. "I'll do what I can," she said and prayed that it would be enough.

"I think it's this Robbie, whoever he is," Winnie said. She pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and blew her nose. "Find him and you'll find my daughter's murderer."

"Does . . . did Beryl have a girlfriend she was particularly close to?" It was still difficult for Elizabeth to realize that Beryl was dead. Heaven only knew how hard it was for Winnie.

"Amy Watkins. Those two have been friends since they were kids."

Elizabeth nodded. "Ah, of course. Amy. I've seen the two of them together many times."

Winnie looked hopeful. "You think she might know this Robbie?"

"We can certainly find out." Elizabeth rose to her feet. "I'll talk to her tomorrow. In the meantime, Winnie, try to get some rest. You look all in."

"I'm all right, m'm. But thank you."

"Can you manage on your own? Is there someone I can ask to stay with you?"

Winnie managed a weak smile. "No, thank you, m'm.
It's nice of you to offer, but I'd rather be alone right now."

"Very well, then." Elizabeth paused at the door. "If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to call the manor."

"I will. Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. You will let me know just as soon as you hear anything?"

"The very minute," Elizabeth promised.

A feeling of intense weariness crept over her as she rode slowly back to the Manor House. It had been an exhausting day. She needed supper, then sleep, but first she wanted to go over the clues again. There had to be something there that would help her find Robbie, whoever he was. Then again, perhaps Amy could help her. She'd have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her.

Something else was happening tomorrow. Oh, yes. How could she have forgotten? Major Monroe was coming over to discuss the arrival of his officers. Everything happening at once.

She rather enjoyed Violet fussing over her when she returned. It was nice just to relax and let someone else take care of things for a change.

"I had a piece of Winnie's cake when I was there this afternoon," Violet announced when she brought in Elizabeth's evening glass of sherry. "It tasted good, considering it didn't have any eggs in it."

"I thought the same thing."

"I thought I'd give it a try. Winnie gave me the recipe."

"I think that's a marvelous idea. It's been so long since we had decent cake in the house." Elizabeth took a sip of the soothing liquid. She didn't know what she'd do without a glass of her favorite sherry now and again.

As if reading her mind, Violet said casually, "By the
way, there's only three bottles of sherry left in the cellar. I talked to Ted Wilkins at the Tudor Arms, but he said he didn't think they'd be getting any more for a while."

Elizabeth looked at her in dismay. "Three bottles? But that will be gone in no time. What are we going to do? There has to be somewhere we can get some."

Violet tipped her head to one side. "Well, now, Lizzie, it's none of my business, but it seems to me you could tap up that Major Monroe to get you some. Sort of payment for putting them all up. Don't you think?"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "You're quite right, Violet. It is none of your business. I refuse to encourage anyone in this household to take advantage of the good nature of our guests."

"What if they want us to take advantage?"

"No sherry, Violet. No cigarettes, no chocolate, no nylons, no anything that comes out of that American base. Is that clear?"

Violet growled in her throat. "Seems to me that someone around here who's used to pulling strings and sidestepping the law might be a little more understanding about the matter."

"That's different."

"Oh, I see. It's not a matter of do what I do, but do what I say."

Elizabeth put down her glass. "Isn't it suppertime? I'm getting awfully hungry."

She winced as Violet swept from the room, letting the door slam behind her. She hated to argue with the one person she trusted above all others. Violet had been with the family since she was born.

Violet had been the one who'd stayed by her side day and night during that dreadful year when her parents had died and her marriage had fallen apart. It was Violet who
had yelled at her when she refused to get out of bed and face another day. It was Violet who had given her back her self-esteem and her confidence, and it was Violet who had helped her gradually take over both her mother's and her father's duties and establish her rightful place in Sitting Marsh.

Violet, she knew, would get over her huff as swiftly as it had arisen. Her own stand was justified. Violet had spoken the truth when she'd accused her of sidestepping the proper channels at times. True, now and again she took advantage of her position to pull a few strings. But only when she'd exhausted the alternatives, and solely for the benefit of those unable to help themselves.