She wondered if bad weather would ground the Americans. If so, the officers would have a respite from their dangerous missions. In spite of her former fears, so far her uninvited guests had made little impression on day to day life at the manor. They left early in the mornings and didn’t return until late in the evenings. Apparently they took all their meals at the base and generally kept to themselves.
If the bad weather grounded them, that could change. With time on their hands, the officers would become bored with sitting around the base or in their rooms in the east wing.
She couldn’t help wondering if she’d see more of Earl Monroe. He’d seemed stunned when she’d blurted out those unfortunate words last night.
She should never have uttered them. She should have kept things on a formal level, so that there would be no hint of anything but an acquaintance between them. By allowing him to call her by her childhood name, she was putting their relationship on a much more personal level. Even though he didn’t seem to realize that.
After his initial surprise, he’d acted pleased and flattered by her request. It was the very first time she’d called him by his first name, and it had seemed strange on her tongue. Even so, she had been unprepared for the impact of hearing her special name spoken in his deep voice. Never had it sounded quite so intimate.
She hastened to warn him never to call her Lizzie in front of anyone, and he’d promised to do so. He’d seemed amused by the warning and didn’t seen to understand the significance. She hadn’t bothered to explain. Better that he should think it simply a whim, rather than a breach of protocol that could lead to some serious gossiping among the villagers. After all, the more casual she kept this new arrangement, the better.
She couldn’t help feeling, however, that she’d made a serious blunder in letting down her guard and that she would have to work very hard in order to ensure that it never happened again. That road could surely only lead to trouble and heartbreak.
CHAPTER16
As Elizabeth rounded the curve on her motorcycle, she saw the group of women circling the dilapidated base of the old windmill. Rita stalked around, her strident voice too far distant to make out the words. The tone, however, was unmistakable. Rita was in her sergeant major mode.
Bracing herself for an inevitable confrontation, Elizabeth deliberately revved up the engine and roared onto the scene. Her spectacular skid halted her a few yards from where Joan Plumstone and Marge Gunther crouched behind a bush. They both leapt into the air when Elizabeth’s wheels kicked up the dust behind them.
“Sorry,” Elizabeth murmured as she cut the engine. “I didn’t realize I was going so fast.”
“Lady Elizabeth!”
The harsh voice made it sound more like a reprimand than a greeting. Elizabeth grimaced as she watched Rita march toward her. “Good morning, Rita!” she called out. “Police Constable Dalrymple informed me that you have discovered the German pilot.”
The mention of the constable’s name appeared to take the wind out of Rita’s sails somewhat. She spluttered for a moment then said testily, “There was no need for George to bother you, your ladyship. I’m quite sure my ladies can handle the situation.”
Which was precisely why George alerted me, Elizabeth thought wryly. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” she said, vigorously nodding her head. “I’m simply here to observe, that’s all. In my role as lady of the manor, of course. I feel it’s my duty to be on the scene when something of such significance is taking place.”
Rather childish of her to remind Rita of her position, Elizabeth reflected, but necessary at times. Someone had to keep that woman under control.
“Well, as you can see, we have the entire place surrounded.” Rita waved an arm to emphasize her statement. “He cannot escape now. In a moment I will give the word, and we will charge in there and get him. Isn’t that right, ladies?”
A faint and definitely half-hearted chorus of “Right” answered her. Obviously the group of wary ladies did not share their leader’s enthusiasm when it came down to actually tackling the poor boy.
“Might I strongly suggest that you wait until the constables arrive?” Elizabeth said firmly. “Even the most innocuous of animals can become vicious when cornered. I should hate to see any of you ladies hurt.”
Several of the women began muttering in concern and were immediately silenced when Rita held up her hand. “We had planned on taking him by surprise, your ladyship. Since the noise from your motorcycle has now rendered that impossible, we shall have to resort to a charge. There are more than enough of us to overwhelm any attempt of the German to offer resistence.”
Irritated now, Elizabeth climbed off her motorcycle and approached Rita. “I cannot allow you to do any such thing, Rita. Apart from the fact that the young man could be armed with a gun and could shoot you all on sight, you have no right to attack a human being unprovoked.”
“Unprovoked?” Rita’s voice rose shrilly in the cool air. “The man is a murderer! If you don’t think that’s enough reason to attack him”-she dropped her tone to acrimonious drawl-“your ladyship, then I have to respectfully question your sense of justice.”
“You have no proof that this young pilot killed Amelia Brunswick.” Elizabeth rashly went out on a limb. “In fact, evidence suggests that someone else was responsible for her murder.”
Rita seemed taken aback. “Evidence? What evidence?”
“That’s something you’ll have to take up with P.C. Dalrymple. He should arrive at any minute, and until then I must insist that you not attempt to approach the windmill.”
Several of the women muttered their agreement, apparently relieved the decision had been taken out of their hands.
Rita, however, became incensed with what she obviously considered mutiny. “All right, you miserable traitors!” she yelled. “You can all snivel on the sidelines if you like. But I’m not going to be called a coward. It’s our duty to capture this bloody German, and we will disgrace ourselves if we turn away from our duty. So who’s with me?”
She glared at poor Nellie, who, faced with choosing between the calm authority of the lady of the manor and the fevered rage of her fearless leader, sided with the person who could do her the most damage. “I’m with you,” she quavered, raising a shaking hand.
Rita glared at a few other women, all of whom dragged themselves reluctantly over to stand behind her. A dozen pair of eyes fastened on Elizabeth’s face, pleading with her to stop Rita somehow.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but just then the door to the windmill opened a crack. It was enough to break the slim hold she had over Rita’s intentions. With an inhuman howl, Rita pulled a wicked-looking knife from under her coat and brandished it in the air. “Come on, ladies! Tally ho!”
The crack closed immediately, but that didn’t deter Rita. With her cohorts now hot on her heels, all feebly echoing that ridiculous war cry, she surged full tilt toward the windmill.
Elizabeth threw up her hands then determinedly gave chase.
Rita reached the door first. She shoved it open with her shoulder, raised the hand holding the knife above her head, and prepared to plunge inside.
Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes and prayed. When she opened them again, it seemed as if her prayer had been inexplicably answered. Rita appeared frozen in the doorway, while the group of women crowded silently behind her.
For a moment or two, Elizabeth was unable to move either. Whatever sight had met Rita’s eyes, it was enough to stop the avenging woman dead in her tracks. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what could be dreadful enough to achieve that miracle, and right then she wasn’t prepared to conjecture what Rita might have seen inside the windmill.
The shriek of rage shook her out of her stupor. The agonized sound had come from Rita, who had now disappeared inside the dark depths of the rotting building.