Violet picked up a large wooden spoon and stirred the rest of the porridge. “There was a big fight down at the pub last night. Our lads and the Yanks got into it, according to Polly. Made a right mess of the place before it was over.”
Elizabeth stared at her plate. “We have to do something about that. I think I’ll call a meeting of the town council. Perhaps we can come up with some ideas of how to end this resentment of the Americans.”
“It’s going to take more than a council meeting to do that if you ask me.” Violet ladled porridge into a bowl. “At least this time they can’t blame the murder on a Yank.” She carried the bowl over to the table and set it down. “I wonder what Rita Crumm and her lot would do if they came across that German.”
“Probably run for their lives,” Martin said from the doorway. “That’s if they’ve got any sense. That blighter would run them through with a bayonet if they got anywhere near him.”
“He’s not carrying a bayonet,” Elizabeth remarked. She lifted a spoonful of porridge in the air. “He must be pretty hungry by now.”
“Not thinking of taking him your porridge, are you?” Violet asked as she filled a third bowl with the oatmeal.
Martin gasped. “I should say not! I would hope madam has far too much prudence than to consider such a dangerous venture.”
“Madam does,” Elizabeth assured him. “I was just wondering if the poor boy is hungry enough to give himself up.”
“That poor boy killed a young woman, so stop feeling sorry for him,” Violet said, seating herself at the table. She looked up at Martin, who hovered by his chair. “Are you going to sit down, or are you waiting for your porridge to get cold first?”
Martin cleared his throat. “May I have your permission to join you at the table, madam?”
Elizabeth answered automatically. “You may, Martin.”
“Thank you, madam, but if I may say so, your proper place is in the dining room at the dining room table. The master is very unhappy to see how badly proprieties have been neglected at the Manor House.”
“Then I should think he was delirious last night,” Violet said crisply. “Especially when you nearly dropped the soup all over Lizzie. If you ask me, she’s a lot safer right here in the kitchen.”
Martin was too busy concentrating on getting his creaking body down on his chair to answer her.
Elizabeth glanced at her. “How did you know about the soup?”
“I was watching from the doorway, wasn’t I. The old fool insisted on taking it in, and I was holding my breath all the way. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it slipping, until your major caught it.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Once and for all, Violet, he’s not my major, and I do wish you would stop calling him that.”
“Methinks you do protest too much,” Violet murmured.
Ignoring her, Elizabeth cleared her plate, then laid down her spoon. “I have to go down to the police station this morning. Would you ring the council members for me and have them meet me at the town hall at half past two this afternoon?”
“I’ll get Polly to do it. She likes using the telephone.” She tilted her head to one side. “You know, I’ve been thinking, maybe you should give some thought to her helping out in the office after all. With all the running about you’ve been doing lately, it must be hard for you to keep up with all the accounting.”
Surprised, Elizabeth rose to her feet. “Has she been talking to you about it?”
Martin painfully pulled himself up out of his chair, while Violet gulped down a spoonful of porridge. “Never shuts up about it. I’m tired of listening to her.”
“Did she ask you to mention it to me?”
“I sort of promised I’d say something.” Violet looked up at her. “Not that I’m saying you should take her on, of course. I don’t want to be blamed if she messes everything up.”
Elizabeth sat down again. “I suppose I could use some help in the office.”
Martin, who had frozen midway in his effort to rise, lowered himself on the chair.
“Well, it’s up to you, Lizzie. I’m not the one to tell you what to do.”
“Does she have any experience?”
Violet shrugged. “Not that I know of, but she seems intelligent enough to learn. You’d probably have to be behind her at first, but I think she’d do all right. It would get her off my back with her whining all the time.”
“Well, I’ll think about it.” Elizabeth got to her feet once more. “Though she’ll still have to find time to clean the house.”
Martin sighed, then struggled off his chair.
“She’ll have plenty of time,” Violet assured her. “She doesn’t have enough to occupy her now, and working in the office would stop her from hanging around the east wing all the time. She’s too blinking young to be running after men. Especially hot-blooded ones like those Yanks.”
“I say, Violet,” Martin protested.
“Well, we don’t have the right to supervise her private life.” Elizabeth looked at Martin. “You can sit down now, Martin. I’m leaving.”
“Yes, madam,” Martin murmured, remaining on his feet.
“I take it you enjoyed your dinner last night with your major,” Violet said slyly.
On her way to the door, Elizabeth paused. “Oh, I’m sorry, Violet, I meant to tell you how much we both enjoyed the meal. You surpassed yourself last night. Especially the trifle. It was quite your best effort ever.”
Violet looked immensely pleased with herself. “Glad to hear it, Lizzie. Only the best for you, that’s what I say.”
Elizabeth escaped through the door, before Violet’s questions could get any more personal. She didn’t want to talk about last night to anyone. It had been a special evening and hers to keep in her memory forever.
Right now, however, she had more serious thoughts to dwell on. There was the problem of the hostility in the village toward the Americans that had to be resolved. Even more pressing was the murder case, which was why she was anxious to get down to the police station as soon as possible. Someone had to stop Rita Crumm and her troops before the search for the German ended in more tragedy.
CHAPTER8
Both George and Sid were seated in the front office of the police station when Elizabeth arrived there a short while later. A light shower had dampened her Panama hat on the way, leaving the brim drooping dismally over one eye. The wet skirt of her wool dress flapped around her knees as she strode over to the desk, reminding her that there were definite disadvantages to utilizing a motorcycle as one’s sole mode of transportation.
All in all, she was not in her best mood when George greeted her in his usual brusque tones. “Morning, Lady Elizabeth! What can we do for you today?”
“You can put a stop to Rita Crumm’s ridiculous endeavor to get herself and her friends shot and killed, that’s what you can do.” Elizabeth sat down rather hard on the rickety chair in front of the desk.
Sid came over to stand next to George. “What she’s doing now then, m’m?”
“She’s taking her foolish little followers into the woods to hunt for that German pilot, knowing full well that the military is in there ready to shoot at anything that’s not wearing army boots and battledress.”
Sid tutted, and George shook his head. “Rita means well,” he muttered, “but she does get a little heavy-handed at times.”
“Means well? Is that all you can say?” Aware that she was sputtering, Elizabeth made an effort to sound more ladylike. “I insist that you do something to stop her. Someone could very well get killed out there.”
Sid nodded but obviously had nothing helpful to offer.
George looked worried. “Begging your pardon, Lady Elizabeth, but we can’t stop people going into the woods if they have a mind to go. It’s not like it’s private property or anything.”