Fire When Ready (Manor House Mystery) (18 page)

She looked up to see Zora smiling at her, though tears glistened on her long, dark lashes. "We'd like that, wouldn't we, Loretta? That's very kind of you. We don't get many visitors."

The baby waved a tiny fist at her, and Elizabeth felt a surge of tenderness. There was just something about a baby . . . She stifled the longing before it took hold. She'd accepted the fact a long time ago that she'd never have a child. "You have a beautiful daughter, Zora," she said softly. 'Take good care of her."

"Oh, I will, m'm. Don't you worry about that." Much to Elizabeth's delight, Zora handed the baby back to her. "Now let's have a nice cup of tea."

CHAPTER

12

When Elizabeth arrived back at the manor a while later, Martin greeted her with the news that she had a visitor waiting in the library. Her first flare of hope that it might be Earl arriving early for their appointment faded as she entered the room to find Fred Shepperton waiting for her.

He seemed ill-at-ease when he saw her, and couldn't quite meet her gaze. He declined her offer of refreshment, saying he was expected back at the farm for the midday meal. "I wanted to come and tell you this, your ladyship," he said, twisting his soft felt hat around until it was completely crushed, "before you heard it anywhere else."

Elizabeth regarded him gravely. "I do hope it's not more bad news."

"Oh, no, m'm. Not exactly, anyway. See, it's like this."
He looked down at the hat as if wondering how it had become so mangled. "I talked to Lydia when she got back from the cottage. I told her as how you were asking about the letters to McNally, and that you thought I might have written them. I told her you might think I set that fire and all."

"Well," Elizabeth said awkwardly, "I wasn't exactly accusing you . . ."

"No, let me finish." Shepperton cleared his throat. "The thing is, I recognized the printing on the paper soon as you showed it to me. I'd seen it enough times before. On the price tags Lydia puts on her tea cozies in the garden fetes. When I came right out and told her, well, she had to spit it out, didn't she."

Somewhat confused, Elizabeth said warily, "I don't quite follow your meaning."

"Ah, well . . ." Shepperton coughed. "Well, it was Lydia, don't you see. She wrote them letters. Got really het up about McNally poisoning the land with his factory so she wrote the letters hoping to scare him off."

Enlightened, Elizabeth said slowly, "Oh, I see."

"I'm really sorry, your ladyship. She didn't mean any real harm, I'm sure. She just wanted to frighten the bloke off, that's all."

"Yes, well, it was rather a silly way to go about it, wasn't it."

"I reckon it was, m'm. I can tell you one thing, though. She didn't set that fire. That's a fact. My Lydia wouldn't hurt a fly. Besides, she was with me all day at the farm, and didn't leave to go anywhere. We went to bed together that night and she didn't get out of that bed until I got up after the explosion. I'm ready to swear to that on the Bible."

Elizabeth shook her head. "That won't be necessary,
Mr. Shepperton. I appreciate you taking the time to clear up the matter for me."

His face broke into a relieved smile. "Yes, m'm. My pleasure, I'm sure." He moved to the door. "I'm sorry for any trouble my wife might have caused. Like I said, she didn't mean no harm. She was really upset when she heard as how McNally had died. Felt like she wished it on him, she did."

Elizabeth was of the opinion that the woman deserved to feel guilty, but she refrained from saying as much. She rang for Martin to show the farmer out, but ended up seeing Shepperton to the door herself when the butler failed to appear. She was closing the door when Martin's testy voice sounded behind her.

"Pardon me, madam, but I do believe that it is my duty to show visitors the door."

"So it is, Martin." Elizabeth smiled at him. "Do forgive me. I quite forgot."

He eyed her suspiciously. "The master will be most displeased. He does not approve of your disregard for the dictates of your position."

"The master's dead, Martin," Elizabeth murmured automatically. Her mind was still dwelling on her conversation with Zora Bandini. The revelation that Lydia Shepperton had written the threatening letters had not exactly come as a huge surprise. After what Zora had told her about the rumors, she was beginning to suspect that the letters had nothing to do with the fire at the factory after all.

She was inclined to think it had more to do with illegally shipping arms to London. Could she possibly have misjudged McNally? Perhaps he had arranged to meet someone at the factory to arrange delivery of the illegal weapons. It
would certainly explain why he chose to go back there late at night.

Now she was more anxious than ever to search the factory. She might well find more than a missing key, now that she knew what to look for and where to find it.

Impatient for her meeting with Earl, she left Martin standing in the hallway and headed for the kitchen stairs. He would follow at his own pace, she knew quite well, and she wasn't prepared to wait for him to navigate the stairs.

The warmth of the kitchen, heated by the old-fashioned stove in the corner, was a welcome change from the drafty corridor. Polly and Sadie sat at the large scrubbed wood table, and both of them jumped to their feet as Elizabeth entered.

Violet was busily stirring something on the stove and barely looked up when the girls greeted Elizabeth. "Oh, there you are," she said. "I was about to send out a search party."

"Am I that late?" Elizabeth glanced up at the clock. "I was talking to Fred Shepperton and didn't realize the time."

"I was wondering who the visitor was. I heard the bell ringing, but by the time I'd dropped what I was doing and washed and dried my hands, Martin had made it to the door." Violet turned something over in the pan with a spattering and sizzling of grease.

"That smells delicious." Elizabeth sat down on her chair, signaling for the girls to sit as well.

"Bangers," Polly said, sniffing the air. "They always smell good. Especially when you're hungry. Bangers and mash. My favorite dinner."

"Everything's your favorite dinner," Sadie said, nudging
her with her elbow. "I bet you're only saying that so's Vi will give you more."

"I'll thank you to call me by my proper name, young lady." Violet brought a plate over to the table piled high with fat pork sausages. She offered them to Elizabeth, who speared one with the serving fork and dropped it on her plate.

Violet laid the dish on the table for the girls to help themselves, then she went back to the stove.

"Did Ray make the poster for you?" Elizabeth asked, as Polly reached for a sausage.

"Yes, he did, m'm, thank you."

"Got torn off the wall, though, didn't it," Sadie muttered.

Elizabeth stared at her in concern. "Someone tore your poster off the wall?"

Sadie nodded. "See, there were a punch-up down the pub last night."

"Oh, no." Elizabeth groaned. "Not again. I was rather hoping things were settling down at the Tudor Arms."

Sadie lifted a sausage from the dish and flipped it onto her plate. "Nah. As long as you have Yanks and Limeys drinking together in the same pub you're going to have trouble. Human nature, ain't it."

Violet returned to the table with a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes. "Well, I can't see why they can't get along together," she said, dumping the bowl on the table. "After all, they're fighting the same war. You'd think they'd be supporting each other instead of bashing each other's noses in."

Sadie lifted the bowl and offered it to Elizabeth. "Not as long as the Yanks keep stealing the local girls, they won't."

"Well, surely there's enough girls to go around for all of them?"

Sadie's raucous laugh rang out. "What girl in her right mind wants to go out with a Limey when she can go out with a Yank?"

"I'd say they're more trustworthy," Violet said, earning a warning scowl from Elizabeth.

'Trust has got nothing to do with it. The Yanks have all the money."

Violet sat down in her chair with a thump. "Well, that's a mercenary reason for picking a young man if I ever heard one."

"It's not just the money," Polly piped up. "They're different, that's all. They're like . . ." she struggled with her thoughts for a moment, then finished in a rush, "film stars. That's what they're like. Glamorous, like the film stars."

"Yeah," Sadie agreed, nodding her head. "Everything's so much more exciting with them. They come from exciting places and do smashing things, like surfing on the ocean, and climbing mountains. Things we could never do here."

"They make us feel different," Polly added. "Like we're film stars, too. Yeah, they treat us like we're special, just like film stars. That's what's different."

Having listened with great interest, Elizabeth felt compelled to say, "I thought you'd decided not to associate with the Americans, Polly, now that you've met a nice English young man like Ray Muggins."

Polly shrugged. "I did. Ray's all right, I suppose, but after going out with Sam, he seems so . . . boring."

"Everyone would seem boring after Sam," Sadie said.

"Good great heavens!"

The voice from the door startled them all. All four heads turned in that direction.

Martin stood in the doorway, holding onto the frame for support.

Feeling guilty at having forgotten about him for the moment, Elizabeth asked anxiously, "Are you all right, Martin?"

"I am just a little out of breath, madam. I descended the stairs a little too fast."

Since it had taken him all this time to get to the kitchen, Elizabeth had to wonder where he'd still be if he hadn't hurried himself. "Well," she said, "come and sit down while the food is still warm. There's nothing more unpalatable than cold mashed potatoes."

"I will be honored to join you, madam, on condition that we have no more talk about fraternizing with servicemen. I find the subject thoroughly disgusting. These men should be utilizing their energy to fight the Germans instead of hobnobbing with local hussies. The master would never allow his staff to behave in such a despicable manner. I shall have a word with him about it."

"The master's dead," Elizabeth and Violet said in unison. They had long ago decided that if they repeated the fact often enough, Martin would eventually accept it. So far, however, he showed no signs of doing so.

"Here he goes again." Sadie waved her fork at him. "Just watch who you're calling a hussy, mate. I'll have you know that Polly and me always act proper, and we've never done any frat . . . frater . . . whatever it was you said."

"Fraternizing," Violet snapped. "I wish you wouldn't talk to Martin with your mouth full and in that uncouth manner. Show some respect for your elders."

"I will when he shows some bloody respect for me," Sadie mumbled.

Violet reached out and cuffed Sadie's ear.

"Ow!" Sadie glared at her, but Violet had already turned her back.

Apparently appeased by Violet's support, Martin shuffled over to the table. Addressing Elizabeth, he said in his usual pompous manner, "May I have your permission to join you at the table, madam?"

Well used to the habitual ceremony, Elizabeth said graciously, "Of course, Martin. Please sit down."

"Thank you, madam."

"Not at all." Aware that Sadie and Polly were doing their best to keep a straight face, she added, "If you're finished with your meal, ladies, you may be excused."

To her relief, both Sadie and Polly rose to their feet. Mealtimes could sometimes be too boisterous with everyone seated around the table.

Violet put a plate down in front of Martin then sat down herself. Martin looked at the dish of sausages with a disagreeable frown. "Sausages again? When are we going to have a decent roast? A leg of lamb with mint sauce, or pork with apple sauce would make a nice change."

"Go and tell that to the butcher." Violet split open her sausage and piled mashed potatoes in between the two halves. "I haven't seen a nice joint in there for months. I reckon he keeps what he wants for himself, and doles the rest of it out to his favorite customers."

"I saw two or three joints of beef when I was in there yesterday," Elizabeth murmured.

Violet looked at her in surprise. "What were you doing in the butcher's shop? You can't get much in there without coupons and I've got all the ration books in my room."

"I was asking Jack Mitchum some questions." Annoyed with herself, Elizabeth immediately regretted the slip. So far she'd managed to keep quiet about her investigation, knowing how much Violet worried about her getting involved in police business.

Violet narrowed her eyes. "I heard in the village you were asking a lot of questions about the fire at the factory. You think someone set fire to it on purpose, don't you."

"I was wondering if perhaps the three musketeers were at work again," Elizabeth admitted. "I do wish the constables could catch those hooligans. They've caused so much damage in the area."

"Don't they have any ideas who it might be?"

Elizabeth swirled her fork in her mashed potatoes to make a pattern. "The only clue we have is the Royal Air Force badge I found last year. I find it hard to believe that British airmen are responsible for cutting tires on American Jeeps and leaving nails in the road to disrupt their lorries, much less setting fire to a factory and causing the death of two people. I would think they had more important things to worry about than this silly rivalry with the Americans."

"Not so silly when two people get killed," Violet said soberly.

"No, you're quite right." Elizabeth put down her knife and fork. "This is a very serious situation. Something must be done to find out who caused the fire."

"What about George and Sid? What are they doing about it?"

"The fire chief's report states that it was an accident, and George is quite happy to accept that."

"But you're not."

"No, I'm not." She looked up to meet Violet's penetrating stare. "I can't say why at this point, Violet, but I'm convinced the fire was set deliberately, and that whoever set it knew Mr. McNally was in that office."