Fire When Ready (Manor House Mystery) (17 page)

"Thank you, sir, but I can manage. Please seat yourself. It is my place to wait on you."

Earl looked at Elizabeth, who flapped her hand at him in a signal to sit down. "Thank you, Martin," she said, hoping that the elderly gentleman would make it to the table without everything sliding off the tray, as had been known to happen now and then.

The huge tray wobbled precariously as Martin approached the table. Elizabeth could tell Earl was itching to jump up and grab it, but he showed great presence of mind by remaining in his seat.

It was important to her that Martin feel capable of doing his duty, even if she and Violet did have to secretly help him out at times. The butler had long ago lost his ability to fulfill all the obligations of his position. With his failing mind, however, it was essential that he still feel useful. Elizabeth was very much afraid that without that, he might lose his somewhat fragile hold on life, and would simply give up.

It made for some apprehensive moments at times, and this was definitely one of them. She sat holding her breath as his gnarled hands slowly lowered the tray to the table. One end of it nudged against a silver candlestick, in which a tall candle flickered.

The slender candlestick wobbled, causing the candle to tilt on its side. Wax dripped onto the white linen tablecloth, and for a moment it seemed as if the candle would fall to the table. Earl shot out his hand and caught it before it could topple over. He straightened it with a swift flick of his wrist and sat back, while Martin appeared not to notice anything amiss.

"This looks wonderful," Elizabeth exclaimed, with a grateful glance in Earl's direction. "It's been months since I've tasted a steak."

Having settled the tray on the table, Martin straightened his spine as far as it would go. "Will there be anything else, madam?"

"I think the major would like a glass of Scotch, Martin."

"Yes, madam. I shall return as quickly as possible."

"Take your time," Earl told him. "I'm not in a hurry."

"If you'll pardon me, sir," Martin said, as he shuffled toward the door, "it strikes me that you Americans are always in a hurry about something. It took us almost two thousand years to perfect the English language, and yet the Americans took less than a hundred years to mangle it sufficiently enough to make it unrecognizable."

Elizabeth gave Earl a sheepish smile as the door closed behind her butler. "I apologize for that," she said. "You never know when Martin is going to deliver one of his cynical remarks. I'm sure he didn't mean anything personal by it."

Earl unfolded his serviette and laid it on his knee. "I'd just like to know what the villagers have against Americans."

"I'm afraid there are some people who have never quite forgiven the Americans for abandoning their country to stage a revolution."

He looked at her in surprise. "That was almost two hundred years ago."

She smiled. "We British tend to carry a grudge."

"You can say that again." He reached for her hand and covered it with his own. "I hope I never do anything to get you mad at me. I'd hate to wait two hundred years for you to forgive me."

She laughed. "That's not likely to happen. Now, let's enjoy this delicious steak before it gets cold. Look, Violet has baked a potato for you. She knows how you love baked potatoes."

"At least she doesn't hate the Americans."

"Nobody hates the Americans, really. They just don't understand them, that's all."

He withdrew his hand, and his face was serious when he asked, "What about you? Do you understand us?"

Again she felt that stab of apprehension. She had an idea that there was more to the question than it seemed, and she didn't want to worry about this now. The future was shadowy. It seemed as if she'd be tempting fate to put her hopes and dreams on such an uncertain outcome. One day at a time. That's all anyone could ask for.

She made her voice light when she answered him. "I think I understand
you
, and that's all that concerns me right now."

He nodded, apparently satisfied. Relieved, Elizabeth changed the subject to a mundane discussion of the weather. One day she would have to face the difficult decisions. But not now. Not yet. She would worry about that when the time came.

Having made arrangements with Earl to visit the factory that afternoon, Elizabeth decided the next morning to pay a visit to the daughter of Jessie Bandini. Conscious as always of doing the right thing, she felt she needed to offer comfort and assistance, even though she hadn't known the dead woman personally.

The funerals for both Douglas McNally and Jessie were to be held that weekend, and Elizabeth wanted to offer her sympathy to the daughter before the service, since she wasn't planning to attend.

She set off early that morning, grateful for the watery sun that peeked from behind straggly clouds. The snow was turning into dirty, wet piles of slush at the sides of the road,
and little rivulets of water indicated that it was beginning to melt at last.

Normally Elizabeth would have been ecstatic at the prospect, but now came the unbidden thought that if the weather improved, Earl would no longer be grounded. As always, the thought of him taking to the skies filled her with dread. How terrible it would be, after all that had happened between them, to lose him now.

Determined not to let herself dwell on that, she took the coast road past the village, heading for Salishay Point. She could see the lighthouse in the distance, a lone white column with its glass hat staring out to sea on the very edge of the cliffs.

Just beyond that lay Quimby's farm, and the fallow field where Zora Bandini lived with her baby in a caravan. Elizabeth felt sorry for the poor girl. How dreadful to lose a mother, and the sole supporter for her and the baby. How alone she must feel.

She spotted the caravan as soon as she entered the narrow lane that led to the field. The garish red, yellow, and blue paint was faded, and a broken wheel caused the vehicle to lean on one side. A thin column of smoke rising from the tin chimney on top reassured Elizabeth that at the very least the baby was keeping warm.

She parked her motorcycle and pushed the creaking gate open. Carrying the basket of food she'd brought with her, she walked toward the caravan. Iron pots and a frying pan dangled from nails driven clumsily into the walls, and empty flower pots hung in front of the door. Behind the caravan, a clothesline had been strung from a corner to a pole stuck in the ground, and a line of nappies flapped in the breeze. Zora Bandini was apparently taking good care of her baby.

The door to the caravan was high off the ground, and
Elizabeth rapped on the lower half of it with her gloved knuckles. After a long moment, the door inched open, and a pair of dark eyes peered down at her.

"Good morning," Elizabeth said cheerfully. "You must be Zora Bandini. I'm Lady Elizabeth from the Manor House, and I've brought you some provisions you might be able to use."

Zora's eyes widened, and the young woman pulled open the door. "I wasn't expecting visitors, your ladyship." She waved a hand at the space behind her. "It's not very tidy in here." A tiny voice wailed from somewhere inside and Zora added hastily, "Beg your pardon. The baby's crying."

"I'd love to see the child," Elizabeth said. She held out the basket. "I'm really quite used to an untidy house. You should see my conservatory when the dogs have finished romping around in there."

A reluctant smile tugged at the girl's mouth, and Elizabeth was struck by her beauty. Her jet black hair hung straight and smooth down her back, and her proud nose and full lips were framed by a perfectly heart-shaped face. "Well, if you don't mind the mess . . . " She bent down to take the basket. "This is most kind of you, your ladyship."

Having been relieved of her burden, Elizabeth mounted the rickety steps. There was no handrail, and she felt a little insecure as she balanced on them, but she reached the door without mishap and stepped inside.

The lack of room inside the caravan took her breath away. A black pot-bellied stove with a large kettle sitting on top of it was crammed into one corner. A small dresser stood in the other. The table was no wider than two planks and was hinged to the wall to fold down when not in use. Two folding chairs leaned against it. Bunk beds lined the opposite wall, and on the floor in front of the stove lay a wooden cradle
which rocked gently back and forth as the baby inside beat the air with her hands and feet to the accompaniment of her lusty howl.

Zora bent down and swept the baby up in her arms. The child immediately stopped crying. Bobbing her daughter up and down in her arms, the young woman said tentatively, "Can I get you something? I don't have much to offer, but pr'aps a cup of tea?"

"Thank you, I would love a cup of tea." Elizabeth held out her arms. "May I?"

Zora nodded and thrust the baby at her. Then she grabbed one of the chairs, unfolded it, and sat it in front of the stove. "There," she said, "that should keep you warm enough."

Elizabeth sat down, marveling at the creature in her lap. The child had dark hair, but unlike her mother, lighter streaks shone in the soft down. "How old is she?" Elizabeth asked, watching in awe as the small fist uncurled.

"Almost six months, m'm." Zora poured water from a large jug into the black kettle and sat it back on the stove.

"She must be a great comfort to you."

"She is." Zora's voice trembled slightly, and she crossed to the dresser and took out two cups and saucers.

"I'm so very sorry for the loss of your mother," Elizabeth said quietly. "I can only imagine how hard it is for you to cope without her."

The girl had her back to her, and merely nodded.

Guessing she was trying to compose herself, Elizabeth went on, "If there's anything I can do to help . . ." She paused, an idea coming to her. "For instance, I do happen to have a cottage vacant right now. It's close enough to the village that you could walk to the shops, and you could have it rent free until you get better situated. I'm sure you could find work in the village and—"

Zora turned so swiftly she made Elizabeth jump. "That's very kind of you, your ladyship, but I'm getting along all right. Farmer Quimby and his wife have been very good to me and I'm going back to work on the farm next week."

"Oh." Somewhat disappointed, though she couldn't say why, Elizabeth looked down at the child in her arms. "But what about your daughter? You can't leave her alone here."

"No, m'm. I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. Mrs. Quimby will watch Loretta while I do me jobs."

Elizabeth glanced around the cramped confines of the caravan. "But don't you think you would be better off in a nice cottage closer to the village?"

Zora's lips thinned. "They don't like gypsies in the village," she said bluntly. "They say we bring trouble with us wherever we go."

"That's nonsense. I'm sure—"

"Begging your pardon, m'm, but Loretta and me belong here, in the caravan. It was good enough for me mum, and it's good enough for me."

Afraid she'd offended the girl, Elizabeth said hastily, "Oh, I didn't mean . . ." She let the words trail off. She wasn't sure what she had meant. She was well aware of the people's prejudice against gypsies, and what it would mean for Zora to fly in the face of convention. She would not be accepted joyfully, that much was certain. Yet she felt compelled to help the girl, as if somehow, it was her fault Zora's mother had lost her life. Which was ridiculous, of course.

Deciding it was time to change the subject, she said briskly, "Well, if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

"Thank you, m'm. But Loretta and me will be quite all right." Zora lifted the other chair and unfolded it. "It will take a while for the kettle to boil. I hope you don't mind waiting."

"Not at all." Elizabeth smiled as the baby gurgled. "I do believe she's trying to speak to me."

Zora sat down on the chair and held out her arms. "I'll take her now."

Reluctantly, Elizabeth handed over the child. "She must miss your mother."

Zora looked surprised at that. "Yes, I suppose she does. I never thought about that."

Her lower lip trembled, and Elizabeth said gently, "I'm sure you miss her, too."

"I tried to talk her into leaving that job, that's what breaks my heart." Zora laid her cheek on her baby's head for a moment. "I didn't like her working in that place late at night all by herself. Especially after she told me about the rumors."

Elizabeth frowned. "Rumors? What about?"

"The rumors about the guns being stolen and shipped to London."

Confused, Elizabeth stared at her. "I hadn't heard anything about that. What did your mother say about it, exactly?"

Zora shrugged. "Not much. I don't think she knew a lot. She just said that she'd heard that someone was planning to steal the guns and ship them to London to be sold on the street. I think she was afraid she'd get into trouble. The bobbies are hard on gypsies if they catch them breaking the law."

"Did she say who the someone was?"

"No, m'm, she didn't tell me." The baby whimpered, and Zora held her up. "I think she needs changing, if you'll excuse me."

"Of course." Deep in thought, Elizabeth held out her hands to the stove to warm them.

Behind her, Zora lifted the hinged table and snapped it into place. "I wanted me mum to stay home with the baby, and I said I'd get a job in the factory. But me mum said they wouldn't give me a job unless it was cleaning, like her. I said I'd do the cleaning at night, and she could stay home with the baby, but she said as how she was getting a big raise and she kept telling me to stop worrying about it. That everything was going to turn out all right. Then the next thing I know . . ." Her voice broke, and she struggled to continue. "The next thing I know," she said at last, "was that she'd died in a fire at the factory. I knew she'd come to a bad end there. I kept warning her, but she wouldn't listen."

"I'm so sorry." Steam rose from the spout of the kettle and Elizabeth stood up to reach for it. "Here, I'll make the tea." Pouring boiling water into the brown teapot Zora pointed to, she said quietly, "I'd like to visit you now and then, if you don't mind. You and Loretta."