“Wonderful!” Elizabeth sank onto a chair at the table. “I’m absolutely starving. How is Bessie? Is she still doing a good business in the tearoom? I haven’t been down there in weeks.”
“She’s doing better now that the Yanks are here.” Violet stirred the soup one more time, then turned off the gas flame beneath it. “The shop was full of them. Though mind you, I think they help her out with sugar and flour from the base. She even had two dozen eggs in the pantry. Bet they didn’t come from Bodkins.”
“I’m sure she has special rations for her business,” Elizabeth said, determined not to be drawn into another argument about accepting gifts from the Americans.
Violet poured the steaming soup into two bowls and set one of them in front of Elizabeth. “So what happened down at the police station? Have they caught that bloody German yet? I saw Rita down at the bakery. She’s getting her troops together to go and hunt for him.”
Alarmed, Elizabeth paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “I certainly hope she does no such thing. Does she have any idea how dangerous that can be?”
“I would think if she knows that Nazi killed someone she’d also have the sense to know he isn’t going to play Ring around the Rosie with them.”
“I was thinking more of it being dangerous for the German.”
Violet grinned. “You might have something there. You know there’s no stopping Rita once she’s got a bee in her bonnet about something. She’s all set to go after that poor blighter. Heaven help him if she catches up with him.”
“It’s unlikely she will. I understand from George that soldiers from the army camp are hunting for him. I just hope that they don’t run into Rita and her motley crew of housewives.”
“I wouldn’t like to bet on who comes out best of that battle.”
Elizabeth sipped at her soup, then lowered her spoon. “This is very good, Violet.”
The housekeeper tipped her head to one side. “You haven’t told me how you got on at the police station.”
Having failed in her attempt to change the subject, Elizabeth laid down her spoon. “I don’t think the constables have any real proof that the German pilot was responsible for the murder. They say she was killed with an axe, but they haven’t found it yet, so they don’t really know any more than I do.”
“Those nitwits never know what they’re doing, anyway. That’s what you get when you drag two blokes out of retirement like that. They forget everything they ever learned, and their feeble minds can’t learn it again.”
“They are doing the best they can under the circumstances. While I acknowledge that the German must be caught and put under guard, I have the feeling that the constables are looking in the wrong place for their murderer.”
“You mean he’s not in the woods?”
“I mean I don’t think he’s necessarily the murderer.”
“Go on!” Violet brought her soup to the table and sat down. “Well, if you don’t think the German killed that poor girl, then who did? Maybe it was one of the Yanks this time.”
Elizabeth jerked up her chin. “I don’t want to hear you repeat that to anyone else,” she said sharply. “Rumors are flying around as it is, and I won’t have the Americans blamed for everything that goes wrong in Sitting Marsh.”
Violet looked unabashed by her attack. “All right, Lizzie, keep your hair on. I was just thinking aloud.”
“I’d rather you kept that kind of thought to yourself.”
Violet leaned forward and peered into her face. “Getting nervous about our dinner tonight, are we?”
“No, of course not.” Elizabeth broke off a piece of bread and dropped it into her soup. “I’ve told you, this is a business dinner. And if you try to make anything else of it, Violet, I shall be unforgivably rude.”
“Seems to me,” Violet said quietly, “that you’re already making a lot out of it. Just be careful, Lizzie. A lot of hearts get broken during wartime. It happens all the time.”
Elizabeth chose not to answer. The warning went deep, however, and she could not ignore its message. No matter how much she tried.
CHAPTER6
By that evening Elizabeth’s stomach was so full of butterflies she was quite certain she’d never be able to force down a bite of food. Which would be a great shame, since the aromas wafting from the warm kitchen were enough to make a statue’s mouth water.
Making sure she was at least ten minutes late, Elizabeth finally left the sanctuary of her bedroom and proceeded down the main staircase to the dining room.
Martin hovered at the foot of the staircase, in his usual state of flustered anxiety. “Madam,” he whispered hoarsely as soon as she came within earshot, “there’s one of those confounded Americans sitting in the dining room. The master is not going to like this at all. Not at all, madam. The blighter had the nerve to tell me he was invited. What utter rot! Just say the word, and I will remove him at once.”
Elizabeth hid a smile at the thought of Martin attempting to forcefully remove the rugged major. “It’s quite all right, Martin. I invited the major to dinner myself. Didn’t Violet tell you?”
Martin looked aghast. “Violet merely mentioned that you were expecting a guest. She failed to mention that you were entertaining an American.”
He’d said “American” as if he were referring to some obnoxious beetle. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “The major is a guest in our home, Martin. I trust you will treat him as such?”
Instantly transformed by her tone, Martin stiffened. “As you wish, madam. I feel obligated to point out, however, that the master has not given his permission for such an escapade, and I am quite sure that he will be as appalled as I am when he is made aware of it. We are only trying to protect you, madam.”
Elizabeth patted Martin’s arm. “Thank you, Martin. I appreciate your concern. And in case you might have forgotten, the master is no longer with us. He and my mother have been gone for two years.”
Martin nodded. “Gone and returned, madam. As you no doubt will discover for yourself before too long.”
Elizabeth frowned. Martin often had lapses of memory and frequent bouts of mind-wandering, but they rarely lasted more than a few minutes or so. His continued insistence on seeing her father’s ghost was disturbing. It was something she would have to worry about later, she decided. Right now she had something much more tangible to worry about.
She had selected a calf-length cream frock in raw silk to wear and had draped a sky-blue scarf around her shoulders to soften the neckline. She really didn’t care for the shoulder pads, which tended to make her look top-heavy, but it seemed that all the clothes came with them these days. Her mother’s gold and pearl earrings and matching pendant completed the attire, and she felt confident she looked her best.
Even so, she felt like a gawky schoolgirl when Martin pompously announced her arrival in the dining room with just an underlying hint of disapproval.
Major Earl Monroe was seated at the foot of the table. He rose to his feet as she walked into the elegant room, and she found his unabashed expression of appreciation even more unsettling.
She murmured her apologies while he pulled back her chair. “I’m terribly sorry for keeping you waiting, Major.”
He eased the chair in as she sat down, then returned the length of the table to his own seat. “No need to apologize, Lady Elizabeth. I’ve been enjoying an excellent Scotch while I studied the contents of this room. You have some great antiques on these walls. Fascinating stuff.”
She smiled. “Thank you. Some of them have been in the family for generations.”
“Like the portraits upstairs. What about that whalebone over there? What’s the story behind that?”
Thankful to have an opening subject to break the ice, she launched into the story of her great-great-uncle’s adventures aboard a sailboat in the Pacific islands.