“Good afternoon, your ladyship. Thank you for ringing. I just wanted you to know that Maurice found evidence that the German pilot has been hiding in our barn. The soldiers are looking for him now.”
“So Pauline tells me. Is Maurice all right?”
“He’s a little upset by all the excitement, but he’s not hurt or anything. I wouldn’t let the soldiers talk to him. You know how he gets. But at least now we know that the German killed Amelia. She must have seen him lurking around the farm, and he killed her to keep her quiet.”
It was quite possible, Elizabeth had to admit. But then, if he’d killed to make good his escape, why would he go to all the trouble of dragging the body to the woods? “I have to go to a council meeting now,” she told Sheila, “but as soon as it’s over I’ll come out there. Perhaps Maurice will feel more comfortable talking to me.”
“I don’t think he will, Lady Elizabeth. He won’t talk to the constables and he knows them really well.”
“George and Sid are there?”
“I think everyone in town is here,” Sheila said, her exasperation sounding clearly in her voice. “Rita and her mob arrived a little while ago. They’re all out in the fields looking in the haystacks. Don’t know what they expect to find out there, but they are making a blooming mess, I can tell you. Begging your pardon, m’m.”
“Oh dear.” Elizabeth glanced at the small, pendulum clock on her desk. “I’ll be out there as soon as I can get there.”
“Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. I need someone out here to take care of this mess. What with Rita Crumm and her lot, and the soldiers making trouble for the land girls, and all Sid and George can do is wander around wondering what to do next.”
“I’ll be there,” Elizabeth promised and dropped the phone. The sooner she got the meeting over with, the sooner she could be out at the farm. Someone had to restore order out there before poor Sheila went out of her mind. Besides, she really wanted to talk to Maisie about the disappearing spade.
The other council members were already there when she arrived at the town hall a short while later. Deirdre Cumberland, the vicar’s wife, dressed to kill as usual, was the first to greet her as she entered the dark, musty meeting room.
Returning the greeting, Elizabeth stepped up to the platform and took her seat at the head of the table. The acrid smell of burning tobacco wrinkled her nose. Captain Wally Carbunkle, long retired from the sea, puffed at a pipe while he listened to Percy Bodkins grumbling about all the extra accounts he had to deal with in his grocer’s shop now that everything was on ration.
The fourth member of the council, a rotund, middle-aged woman whose red apple cheeks dimpled in a permanent smile, waved a hand at her from the opposite end of the table. “It’s so nice to see you again, your ladyship,” she called out. “How is poor old Martin getting along? All right, is he?”
“Thank you, yes, Bessie.” Elizabeth smiled fondly at her. Bessie Bartholomew, proprietress and master baker at Bessie’s Bake Shop, was always a delight. Elizabeth had never heard the woman say a bad word about anyone, and she was always the first to offer help when needed. She had lost her husband during the first months of the war, and both her sons were fighting overseas, yet she always had a smile and a cheerful word for everyone. It was a pleasure to buy bread and buns in her spotlessly clean and bright shop or sit in her warm, cozy parlor enjoying a spot of afternoon tea.
“I’d like to know why we are here,” Deirdre demanded in her whiny voice. “I was supposed to join the Women’s League knitting group this afternoon. I trust this issue is important enough to summon us in the middle of the week?”
Wally took his pipe out of his mouth and waved it at her. “Settle down, Deirdre. Her ladyship would not have called this meeting if it weren’t important. Now ain’t that so, your ladyship?”
“Quite so, Captain Carbunkle.” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I’ve called you all here because of the unpleasant hostility that prevails in the village toward the Americans. I believe the matter is serious enough that it’s time to do something about it. Apparently the Tudor Arms was badly damaged last night when a fight broke out between the British soldiers and the Americans. I find this situation unacceptable, and we have to come up with ways to improve matters.”
“I told you this would happen,” Deirdre muttered.
Elizabeth sighed. “It’s true, Mrs. Cumberland and her grievance committee discussed the matter with me a while ago, but nothing has been done about it, and the situation is simply getting worse. Does anyone have any ideas of how we can alleviate the problem?”
“Close down the aerodrome, that’s what I say,” Percy declared. “Bloody Yanks are causing more trouble than they are worth. Sorry, your ladyship, but I’ve had it up to here with them.” He drew his hand across his throat.
“I think we all have to remember just why the Americans are here.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders, prepared to fight if needs be. “Every day those young men risk their lives in the skies to help us win this war. Some of them die. Some of them are horribly disfigured. In my opinion, we should be going down on our knees to thank them, instead of blaming them for everything that goes wrong in the village.”
“Hear, hear, m’m,” Bessie murmured. “They’re good lads, they are. Just a long way from home.” She sent Deirdre her beautiful smile. “I hope and pray every day that if my sons end up in a strange town in a foreign country, someone will be kind enough to take care of them for me. I wouldn’t mind betting there are plenty of mothers in America praying for the same thing.”
Deirdre sniffed, but Wally clapped his hands. “Well said, Bessie, me old mate. So how can we help the poor blighters feel at home?”
“I was thinking we should offer some kind of entertainment that both the English and the Americans could enjoy together.” Elizabeth looked around the table. “Something that will take them out of the pub every night.”
“Like a concert?” Percy shook his head. “Begging your pardon, m’m, I can’t see the Yanks sitting still that long. Energetic lot, they are. Always on the go. I’ve seen them in my shop. Can’t stand still a minute, they can’t. Always jiggling about, shuffling their feet like they want to dance all the time.”
“That’s it!” Elizabeth snapped her fingers. “We’ll hold a dance for them.”
The expressions on the faces of the council members didn’t look encouraging. Even Bessie looked doubtful at the suggestion.
“We have the monthly dance at the village hall,” Deirdre said stiffly. “I suppose we could invite them there.”
Wally let out a roar of laughter. “Can you see them jazzed-up Yanks trotting around the village hall to the music of Ernie’s Entertainers? What with Wilf wheezing on the mouth organ and Ernie’s caterwauling on his trumpet, and poor old Priscilla Peeble playing on the cracks between the piano keys, there’d be a flipping riot before the first song came to an end.”
“Not at the village hall,” Elizabeth said impatiently. “I mean here, at the town hall. We have enough space out there in the ballroom to accommodate everyone. We could decorate it ourselves, and Ted Wilkins could supply beer and wine from his pub. Maybe the Americans could bring some spirits from the base. I’m sure someone could arrange that.”
Wally nodded. “You might have something there, your ladyship. But what would we do about music? Ernie would be booed off the stage.”
“We could play records!” Bessie announced. “I’ve got a whole pile of band music-American and English. I’ve got nearly all of those Glen Miller tunes. My Philip collects them. We could use my gramophone, and I know Philip wouldn’t mind if we used his speakers. Oo, it’s going to be lovely!”
Her enthusiasm rippled around the table. “I’ll be master of ceremonies,” Wally offered, “and Percy here can run the gramophone.”