“I’m perfectly aware of that. Since it is part of the Manor House estate, however, I can ask that you deem the area out of bounds until the pilot has been captured or the search has been called off.”
Sid nodded again then changed it to shaking negatively when George murmured, “I’m not sure we can do that, m’m. The first Lord Hartleigh made it very clear that the entire village and the surrounding lands, with the exception of the Manor House grounds, were to remain open and accessible to all residents of Sitting Marsh. No matter what. He signed and sealed it a hundred years ago. It’s hanging right up there on the wall of the town hall. Your own father was very protective of that law, if I remember rightly.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Why was it that lately everywhere she turned the specter of her father loomed in front of her? “I’m well aware of my great-great-grandfather’s decree, George. However, a hundred years ago I doubt very much if he envisioned young men, most of them recovering from a drunken brawl, running around the woods with rifles using helpless housewives for target practice. I must insist that you take some action to prevent a possible disaster.”
George tapped a pencil on his blotter with maddening deliberation, while Sid looked sorrowful, reminding Elizabeth of a basset hound she’d almost purchased a while ago.
Finally George said heavily, “I suppose I could have a word with them.”
“I don’t think a word is going to stop Rita Crumm. You know how she is when she hears the call to battle. She takes up arms and charges into the fray like some inept Viking.”
“It’s all I have the authority to do, m’m. Until they do something unlawful, anyway.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “What if I were to tell you that they will be carrying carving knives with them?”
Sid gasped, while George looked alarmed. “Carving knives? Are you sure about this, m’m?”
“Well, no, not first hand,” Elizabeth had to admit. “Polly told Violet, who told me. But I’m sure-”
“Begging your pardon again, m’m, but I can’t see how I can arrest people even if they are carrying a knife. Not without murderous intent, that is.”
Elizabeth curled her fingers into her palms. “George, they are not going on a picnic. Why else would they carry knives?”
“To protect themselves? These are dangerous times after all, what with a murdering Nazi running around the woods. Then there’s the rest of his crew. What happened to them? What if they met up with our bloke, and now there’s a crowd of them out there, all gunning for us? We could all be stiff’uns before the day is out.”
“God save us all,” Sid muttered, clutching his chest.
Elizabeth had to admit she hadn’t thought of that. “All the more reason you should stop Rita before she takes those fools into the woods,” she snapped.
“That’s as may be, m’m, but if Mrs. Crumm is determined to spend the day in the woods with her friends, there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it. My advice is to just let them be.”
She glared at him in frustration. How someone could manage to look like a saintly monk yet be so infuriating was beyond her. “George, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid of tackling Rita Crumm.”
“When it comes down to facing a bunch of hysterical women armed with bread knives, m’m, I’d say that a certain amount of prudence is called for,” George said carefully.
“Carving knives, George. There’s a difference.”
“Yes, m’m.”
“Lady Elizabeth’s right, George,” Sid said eagerly. “My Ethel’s bread knife has got little jagged edges on it, but the carving knife is bigger, and it’s got a strai-”
“I know what a bloody carving knife looks like,” George growled, “so pipe down Sid, and let me take care of this.” He glanced up at Elizabeth. “Please excuse us, m’m.”
“You’re excused.” Elizabeth folded her gloved hands in her lap. Obviously, as usual, she would have to take care of Rita and her troops herself. Abandoning the subject, she said tersely, “What about that army lieutenant, Jeff Thomas? Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes, m’m, I have.” George’s expression suggested he was doing his best to humor a particularly trying client. “Lieutenant Thomas has not left the base for the past week. He’s in quarantine in the sick bay. Chicken pox, I believe.”
Elizabeth straightened in her chair. Then obviously it wasn’t Jeff Thomas who was arguing with Amelia the other night. So who had spent the evening with the dead girl? Who had argued with her late at night beneath Sheila’s window? Could it have been Maurice after all?
Feeling disheartened, Elizabeth asked, “Did you question Sheila Macclesby yesterday?”
George’s face seemed to close up. “I’m not at liberty to say at this time, m’m.”
She leaned forward. “George, I’ll be seeing her sooner or later. She’ll tell me if you were out there.”
“Well, I suppose I can say that I was at the farmhouse, yes.”
“You can say you talked to her,” Sid said helpfully and received a glare for his efforts.
“Did you happen to question her son?” Elizabeth gave Sid an encouraging smile. Sometimes she learned more from Sid’s artless comments than from all of George’s ponderous reports.
“I spoke to him, yes.” George frowned. “For all the good it did. Wouldn’t say a word.”
“He’s not right in the head, m’m,” Sid put in. “That’s why he won’t talk.”
“I wish you wouldn’t bloody talk quite so much.” George glanced at Elizabeth. “Pardon me again, m’m.”
Elizabeth nodded. “What about the land girls? Did you talk to them?”
“Yes, m’m, I did.” George put his pencil down and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t wish to be discourteous, Lady Elizabeth, but if you ask me, all this questioning is nothing but a waste of time. We’re pretty sure this German bloke did it, and when we catch him we’ll prove it.”
“But what if he didn’t? What if someone else killed Amelia? All the time you are chasing after the German, the real murderer could be free to kill again or at the very least have time to cover his tracks. We have to consider all possibilities, George. We can’t just assume someone’s guilt because they happen to be in the vicinity.”
“Lady Elizabeth,” George began speaking very slowly and clearly, as if explaining something to an infant, “there are three things that a constable takes into account in a murder case.” He held up his fingers one by one. “One, there’s motive. Two, there’s opportunity. Three, there’s alibi.”
Containing her irritation with remarkable constraint, Elizabeth said quietly, “As far as the German is concerned, there appears to be only one of the three you can count on-opportunity. But without the murder weapon you have no proof of anything. Have you found the axe yet?”
“No, m’m, we haven’t, but that doesn’t prove anything. According to the medical examiner, the victim was killed very late at night, and the body was then moved to its final destination. Since we have no way of knowing exactly where the victim was killed, we don’t know where to start looking for the axe.”
“That’s if she was killed with an axe,” Sid added.
Elizabeth snapped her gaze to his face. “There’s some doubt of that?”
Sid nodded. “The doctor doesn’t think it were an axe that split her head open. He thinks the Nazi hit her with some kind of garden tool with a blunt edge. Like a hoe or a spade.”
George sent a scathing glance at Sid. “That was supposed to be confidential information.”
“Sorry,” Sid muttered.
“Makes no difference.” George sighed. “Since we know the victim wasn’t actually killed in the woods, the German must have killed her somewhere else, then carried her into the woods after she was dead. Wherever he killed her, that’s where the murder weapon will be. He could have armed himself with a hoe or spade from any of the farms around here. Or any houses, come to that.”