“That man you attacked this evening was Major Monroe, one of the Americans billeted in our house. They are our guests. Martin, you really must remember these things. I can’t have you running around attacking the Americans with a blunderbuss.”
Martin flicked the dust off his jacket. “Excuse me, madam, but I was simply trying to protect you. If that had been a German officer, you would be thanking me for saving your life.”
“No doubt,” Elizabeth said dryly, “but right now I’m thanking God you didn’t kill Major Monroe and put us on the wrong side of this war.”
She looked up as the door swung open and Violet hurried in. “How is he?” she asked anxiously.
“He’ll live.” Elizabeth sighed. “He was lucky this time.”
“Silly old fool.” Violet handed Martin a steaming mug of hot milk. “Here, drink this, then it’s off to bed for you. The shock is enough to kill you.”
Martin took the milk and sniffed. “Did you put brandy in it?”
“No, I did not.” Violet wagged her finger at him. “You’ve had far too much as it is. Running around drunk with a blimmin’ shotgun in your hands. Embarrassed us all, you did. You almost killed that nice major.” She shot a look at Elizabeth. “Where’d he go, anyway?”
“Major Monroe took the decorations down to the town hall for me.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece. “I should be getting down there. I told him to tell Rita I’d come down just as soon as the doctor left.”
“Well, you’d better get on with it, then,” Violet said, watching Martin gulp down his milk. “I’ll see the old badger gets to bed all right.”
Martin lowered his mug. His upper lip bore a white mustache of milk, which tended to deflate his dignity somewhat when he said pompously, “I am quite capable of getting myself to bed, thank you. If I wanted the services of a nursemaid, I’d hire a professional-someone much more youthful.” His bleary-eyed gaze drifted down Violet’s stick-like figure. “And with more bosom.”
“Well, I never!” Violet looked outraged, though Elizabeth could swear she saw the housekeeper’s lips twitch. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a bosomy young woman if you had one, you mangy old goat. No more brandy for you, mister. It makes your tongue flap too much.”
Martin raised his hand to his nose. “Where are my spectacles?”
“Here.” Violet fished them out of her apron pocket. “They fell off while you were performing acrobatics out in the hall. Though I don’t know why you bother to wear them. If you’d been looking through them properly you’d have recognized the major and wouldn’t have taken a potshot at him. You’re never going to see straight if you keep looking over the top of them.”
Martin took the glasses and rather shakily strung them over his ears. “Has it ever occurred to you, Violet, that being unable to see clearly can sometimes be a blessing?”
Violet raised her chin, obviously taking the comment personally. “You’re glad enough to see me when you’re hungry, though, aren’t you, you ungrateful old sod.”
Elizabeth chose that moment to slip out, leaving the two of them to fight it out on their own. The frequent skirmishes between Martin and her housekeeper were harmless enough, and, although neither would admit it, disguised a genuine if grudging affection for each other.
They had been battling with each other for as long as Elizabeth could remember, from the good days when they’d been in charge of a houseful of servants, through the bad days when they’d watched the domestic staff gradually dwindle down to just the two of them.
Polly and Desmond, the gardener, had been hired less than two years ago, when His Majesty’s service had claimed the resident gardener and the remaining maids had left to work in the military canteens. Martin and Violet were all Elizabeth had left now of her past life at the Manor House, and she loved them dearly. Even if they did drive her crazy now and again with their constant bickering.
Arriving at the town hall a short time later, Elizabeth found yet another form of chaos on her hands. Women appeared to be running hither and thither without any real design or destination. Rita Crumm stood on the stage, her face almost hidden behind the huge microphone, which apparently wasn’t plugged in since not a word she spoke could be heard above the chattering of her crew.
Someone had draped an enormous Union Jack flag at the back of the stage, and Marge Gunther, easily the heaviest of Rita’s followers, balanced precariously on a ladder while she attempted to hang a red, white, and blue garland over the window. Boxes lay all over the floor, while a nearby table was strewn with a tangled array of colorful paper decorations.
Elizabeth heaved a huge sigh, then stashed her handbag under her coat in the vestibule and rolled up her sleeves. It was going to be a long night.
The following morning Elizabeth rose with a strange sense of foreboding that she couldn’t really pin down. The town hall had looked remarkably festive by the time she’d left, though not without a price. Tempers had been shortened and patience sorely tested, not to mention a strained muscle or two. All in all, however, she felt well satisfied with everyone’s efforts.
All that remained now was to confer with Bessie and make sure the refreshments would be taken care of and the records and gramophone delivered on time. Ted Wilkins had dropped by during the decorating to assure her that a large supply of beer would be available for the dance. The major had promised to bring half a dozen bottles of Scotch and whatever else he could find, and so far everything seemed to be working out really well.
Even so, she couldn’t quite dismiss the uneasiness that plagued her throughout breakfast.
She was thankful that Martin was unusually quiet, and even Violet seemed subdued.
“Tired,” she explained when Elizabeth inquired about her well being. “I waited up until I heard you come in.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.” Elizabeth looked at her in dismay. “I was perfectly all right.”
“You had to ride that motorcycle past those woods in the dark.” Violet rattled the dishes as she stacked them in the sink. “That German could still be loitering around there, waiting to jump out at you.”
“I doubt it very much.” Elizabeth glanced at Martin and was concerned to notice he looked unusually pale. “I’m quite sure he’s left the area by now. The army personnel think so, too. They have called off the search.”
“They can’t do that!” Violet looked put out. “He killed that young girl. He’s got to pay for it.”
“If he killed her.” Remembering the buttons, Elizabeth rose from her chair. “I’m going into town this morning. I was supposed to meet Polly in my office at half-past eight to show her how to do the filing. Please tell her I won’t be back until eleven, so we’ll have to do it then.”
Violet looked disapproving. “I still think you’re making a mistake letting that girl muck about in your office. Her head is too full of other things. She’ll never pay attention long enough to learn anything, you mark my words.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Elizabeth laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Are you feeling all right, Martin? You haven’t said a word this morning.”
Martin lifted his head, his eyes widening in surprise. “Good morning, madam! I didn’t see you come in. I do beg your pardon.” He started struggling out of his chair, and Elizabeth gently increased the pressure on his shoulder. “Don’t get up, Martin. I’m just leaving.”
“But you haven’t had any breakfast yet, madam. You can’t go out in this snowstorm with nothing in your stomach. Your mother will be most displeased. Has Geoffrey got the carriage ready yet? I told him the springs needed oiling. I do hope he saw to it.”
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Violet, who rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Silly old fool’s rambling again,” she muttered. “Don’t worry, Lizzie. You get on with what you have to do, and I’ll take care of him.”