Sheila chose that moment, however, to speculate on the whereabouts of the German pilot, and Elizabeth had to content herself with the prospect of questioning the girls later.
After sampling some of the mushy, stale pieces of broken biscuits, she swallowed down her tea too fast to be genteel, then quickly made her excuses to Sheila, who seemed unflatteringly relieved to let her go.
Thick white clouds scudded across the sky, promising a squall from the ocean as Elizabeth picked her way across the fields to where Kitty sat perched on a wagon. The land girl’s attempts to urge the weary-looking horse to pull her alongside the sheaves of corn were met with stubborn resistance. The other two girls waited impatiently, ready to toss the corn into the cart with long, unwieldy pitchforks.
In spite of Maisie’s frail appearance, she seemed to have no trouble lifting a sheaf of corn with the clumsy implement. Elizabeth was quite sure she herself could never have managed it, nor did she have any desire to attempt it. She tapped Maisie on the shoulder and noticed that the girl started quite violently as she dropped the pitchfork.
“Sorry, your ladyship,” she muttered. “I didn’t see you coming.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Elizabeth said, giving her an encouraging smile. “I was just wondering if I could have a quick word with you.”
“If you’re going to ask her about Amelia,” Pauline said shortly, “she doesn’t know anything we don’t know.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Elizabeth glanced at Pauline’s sullen face, “but I didn’t want to interrupt all of you at once.”
The horse, apparently tired of all the screeching and jerking of his reins, took a few reluctant steps forward. Pauline heaved her sheaf into the wagon, and Elizabeth seized the opportunity to draw Maisie aside.
“I just wanted to ask you how well you knew Amelia,” she said, ignoring Pauline’s baleful glances in their direction.
Maisie seemed as if she wanted to run away and hide. “Not very well,” she said, her voice trembling on a sob. “She wasn’t as friendly as the rest of us. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, m’m, but Amelia didn’t really belong with us, if you know what I mean. She was always bragging about her big fancy house and cars, and how she went horse-riding and had ballet lessons and everything.”
“I see.” Elizabeth glanced over at Pauline, but she had moved on to the next sheaf and was out of earshot. “What about the rest of the girls? How did they feel about Amelia?”
Maisie’s gaze flicked to Pauline for a second. “They didn’t like her neither. Especially Pauline. Amelia stole her boyfriend from the army camp. Pauline had it in for her after that.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.
As if reading her thoughts, Maisie added hurriedly, “She wouldn’t have killed her, though, m’m. Honest. I mean, she couldn’t have, could she. Pauline went to bed the same time as the rest of us. We sleep in the same room, and our floor creaks something terrible. I would have heard if she’d got out of bed.”
Elizabeth patted the frightened girl’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Maisie. I’m not accusing anyone. Do you know who Amelia was meeting last night?”
Maisie clutched the pitchfork to her chest as if for support. “It was probably Pauline’s old boyfriend, Jeff Thomas, m’m. He’s a lieutenant out at the army camp in Beerstowe.” She pinched her lips together, as if afraid of what she’d said.
“Don’t worry,” Elizabeth said, feeling sorry for the girl. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I appreciate you telling me all this. It could be extremely helpful in finding out who murdered that poor girl.” She paused, watching an array of conflicting emotions chase across Maisie’s thin face. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
Maisie swallowed a few times, then said in a rush, “I don’t want to get no one in trouble, Lady Elizabeth, but I don’t want you to go blaming Jeff, neither. He’s a nice lad, that Jeff, and he wouldn’t hurt no one. If you ask me, it’s Maurice you should be talking to, that’s who.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Maurice? What makes you say that?”
Maisie sent a hunted look in the direction of the farmhouse. “He was always hanging around Amelia. Fancied her, he did. Amelia wouldn’t have none of it, though. Told him to shove off. She told us she was afraid of him, and Amelia was never afraid of no one except him.”
Feeling greatly disturbed, Elizabeth thanked the girl and watched her hurry off to join the others. Try as she might, she could not picture Maurice Macclesby in the role of murderer. True, he could be somewhat unsettling to be around. With his pronounced limp and vacant stare, not to mention the scruffy chin thanks to his inept and apparently infrequent efforts to shave, he was not a comfortable person to be around. Still, she would never have considered him violent.
She tackled Pauline next who, unlike Maisie, was obviously bursting to tell her what she knew. “That Amelia was nothing but a greedy, two-faced snob,” she announced, stabbing the ground with her pitchfork for emphasis. “I always said something bad would happen to her one day. Though I never thought she’d be done in. Especially by someone like Maurice.”
Startled, Elizabeth fastened her gaze on the young woman’s face. “Does everyone think Maurice killed Amelia?”
Pauline shrugged. “I don’t know about everyone else. The milkman reckons it was that German pilot. All I know is that Maurice was really soppy about Amelia, and she couldn’t stand him near her. She told him that more than once, but he never took no notice. Kept following her around, staring at her in that funny way of his like she was a film star or something. Mind you, she was really pretty, I suppose, in a prissy kind of way. All that blond hair and blue eyes. She didn’t half fancy herself, I tell you.”
Elizabeth closely watched Pauline’s expression when she said quietly, “I understand you were a friend of Amelia’s boyfriend, Lieutenant Jeff Thomas?”
Pauline flinched visibly. “I was. Not anymore. Good riddance to him, that’s what I say. If he wants to be taken in by all that talk, then he’s not worth caring about.”
“Amelia had gone out to meet him last night, I understand.”
“I don’t know who she went out with. The rest of us went to bed. I have to get my sleep to do this kind of work.”
“And you didn’t hear her come back?”
Pauline shook her head. “She never came back. Her bed wasn’t slept in.”
“You didn’t hear anyone talking outside the house late last night?”
“Never heard a thing.” Pauline sent her a sly look. “Why? Did someone see her come back? Was it Maurice? I knew it. I bet he waited for her in the dark then went for her. Wonder what her father will say to all this.”
Maurice again. Elizabeth frowned. “Do you know Amelia’s father?”
“No, ’course not. He’s some big fancy attorney in London. Got pots of money. That’s if Amelia was telling the truth. Though I wouldn’t put it past her to make it all up. Never did like her. She was too full of herself, that girl.”
“Well, thank you for your help.” Elizabeth had noticed Kitty climbing down from the wagon and wanted to speak to the girl before she disappeared.
“Kitty doesn’t know anything, neither,” Pauline said, following Elizabeth’s gaze. “We all went to sleep at the same time last night and woke up this morning, and none of us heard anything nor saw anything.”
“Nevertheless,” Elizabeth said quietly, “I’d like to have a word with her.”
In that respect at least, Pauline was right. Kitty had nothing to add to the information Elizabeth had already been given. Kitty was as uncomplimentary about the murdered girl as her companions and just as certain that Maurice had been responsible.