Fire When Ready (Manor House Mystery) (9 page)

The first place to start, she decided, was with the threatening letters that Douglas McNally had received. Apparently, relatives would be arriving the next day to clean out the house he'd rented on the outskirts of the village. She'd managed to get that much out of George before she'd left. That meant if she was going to search the house for those letters, it would have to be that afternoon.

Elizabeth climbed off the motorcycle and wheeled it into the stables. McNally's house was not on her estate, which meant she had no official sanction to enter it. On the other hand, as guardian of the village and its people, she considered it her right—no, her
duty
—to go anywhere in order to preserve the safety and comfort of her tenants. If that meant breaking a few rules in order to apprehend a murderer, well, so be it.

Emerging from the stables, she noticed a Jeep standing empty in the courtyard. As always, her stomach turned over at the sight of it. She remembered vividly the first time she'd seen a Jeep parked outside the manor. It had been her first indication that her world was about to be turned upside down.

The orders from the war office requisitioning her home for the use of American officers had come as a dreadful shock. Even so, nothing had prepared her for her immediate attraction to the handsome major who had delivered the news.

Earl Monroe had impacted her soul as no other man had ever done. Standing so tall, his skin burned by the sun, his eyes as clear and blue as frosted glass, his hair streaked with gold, he'd brightened her somber library with a powerful image of endless skies and wide open plains.

When she'd learned that he was married, her disappointment had been far beyond the limits of protocol. Her breeding and her position in society had helped her fight the forbidden yearnings, but her heart had succumbed to the inevitable, and try as she might, she could not erase the memory of him from her mind.

He would always be hovering in the background, ready to spring back as formidable and enticing as ever, every time she saw something to remind her of him. As right now, with that empty Jeep parked almost in the very same spot as the day she'd first set eyes on him.

There were times, Elizabeth mused, as she climbed the steps to the front door, when she wished she'd never met him. Life was comparatively dull before that, but at least she had a measure of peace. It seemed now as if she were doomed to suffer the torment of missing him for the rest of her born days.

Deep down, however, she knew she wouldn't have missed those incredible months for anything. Earl Monroe had given her companionship, laughter, intense debates, and a tantalizing excitement that still haunted her when she thought about him. He had made her take a good look at herself, and what she discovered had surprised and pleased her. He had made her more alive, more aware. He'd made her understand her strengths and her weaknesses, and for that she would forever be grateful to him.

Elizabeth tugged the bell rope and listened to its chime deep in the hallway inside. Even if she had to bear the sadness of what might have been for the rest of her life, it was worth it to know such a man.

Deep in the inescapable memories, it was some time before she realized that no one seemed to be coming to open the door. Violet would be busy in the kitchen right now,
preparing lunch. Sadie was probably in the east wing, cleaning the officers' lavatories. Polly was presumably still in the office and wouldn't hear the bell, either. Which left Martin, whose job it was to open the door, and who apparently had also failed to hear the bell.

Elizabeth tugged on it again, promising herself as she had so often to install a conventional lock on the front door instead of all the bolts and latches that had to be lifted from the inside to let someone in.

Again she waited, then, growing impatient, she hung determinedly on the bell rope. There must have been a sheen of frost left on the step—her feet slid out from under her. Still holding onto the rope, she swung around until her back was to the door, just as she heard the bolts being shot back.

Feeling ridiculous, she swayed back and forth, struggling to get back on her feet. To let go of the rope threatened to deposit her on her back, yet she couldn't seem to bring the rope close enough to her body to regain her balance.

The door creaked open behind her, just as she finally got a foothold on the slippery step. Cross that she was presenting a rather inelegant image to her butler, Elizabeth thrust the rope away from her, saying crossly, "Where have you been, Martin? It's freezing out here."

The voice that spoke behind her didn't belong to Martin, however. It was a voice she knew well. A deep, husky voice with the faint burr of the American West. A voice she thought she would never hear in her lifetime again.

"I was expecting a better welcome than that for a long lost friend."

In the act of turning around, Elizabeth froze. She was afraid to look, afraid she was imagining that beloved voice. Ridiculously, she said the only thing that popped her into her mind. "Martin?"

The soft chuckle set every nerve in her body tingling. "Come on, Elizabeth. Do I really sound like Martin?"

With a cry of joy she turned . . . and there he was. Looking just the same as the day she'd last seen him. No . . . more tired maybe. There were little lines of strain at the corners of his mouth. But oh, he was handsome. So incredibly virile. She tried to speak, but no words would come. Unashamed of the tears spilling down her cheeks, she thrust out her hands.

He seized them both in his, and even through the fur of her gloves she felt the warmth of his grasp. "It's so damn good to see you again," he said, pulling her inside.

He let her go to slide the bolts back in place. Still she couldn't speak. She just stared at him helplessly, still afraid she would blink her eyes and he would vanish back into the recesses of her fertile mind.

"I heard the bell ringing," Earl said, as he turned to her again. "No one seemed to be answering it, so I figured I'd better open the door before you gave up and left."

She cleared her throat. "You knew it was me?"

"I heard the motorbike. I'd been waiting to hear that sound for almost an hour."

"But how . . . when . . . ?"

"Let's go down to the conservatory and I'll tell you everything. Here, let's get you out of this." He reached for her scarf and unwound it from her head. Embarrassed, she pulled off her gloves, then tried to pat her ruffled hair back into place, but then he started unbuttoning her coat and she hurried to help him. As he pulled the coat from her shoulders she was terribly glad she'd worn her favorite blue fluffy twin set with her pleated skirt. Though she would have much preferred to be wearing something a little more glamorous for their reunion.

She watched him hang her coat on the hallstand, still unable to believe he was actually there in front of her. So many times she'd imagined seeing him again. So many times she'd played the images in her mind. Though somehow in her dreams it had always been summertime, and they'd met running toward each other on the cliffs. Not at all like this dreary winter day in her darkened hallway.

Not that she cared how they'd met again. She ached to touch him, to hug him, to convince herself he really was there in the flesh and not some wild vision conjured up by her longing.

He turned to her, and now she felt uncomfortable, remembering their last moments together. She'd watched him walk out of the conservatory, knowing that it was probably the last time she'd see him.

In that moment she'd wished with all her heart that she hadn't been quite so determined in her efforts to observe the principles of her upbringing and her heritage. He'd taken her by surprise when he'd suddenly returned to her side. His forbidden kiss had been brief, so long awaited, and so bittersweet. He'd left before she'd fully recovered.

Gazing now on his beloved face, she wondered if she'd ever recovered from that moment. All the old yearning, the ache of wanting what one couldn't have, returned in full force. Long-held scruples made her say abruptly, "How's your wife? Your son? I hope he's fully recovered from the car accident?"

A shadow crossed his face. "Brad's just fine. He's started his first year of college and seems to be doing very well."

"I'm glad to hear it. And your daughter?"

"Marcia's doing great. She's working for a small theater in Laramie."

"Laramie?"

"It's a city not far from where we live." He took a step toward her, then halted as she backed away from him.

" I . . . " she looked around, half hoping to see Martin shuffling toward them. She didn't want to be alone with Earl right now. She was too vulnerable. Too afraid she might not have the strength to resist temptation. "Would you like some tea?"

Aware how silly that sounded, she drew in a shaky breath. And then he said the last thing in the world she expected to hear.

"Elizabeth, I'm getting a divorce."

"I got a letter from Marlene yesterday," Polly said. She was at her desk in the office, watching Sadie's half-hearted efforts to dust the furniture.

Sadie grasped this opportunity to take a break. "Go on! What's she doing? Does she like driving an ambulance? Has she met a bloke out there yet?"

Polly laughed. "She's met lots of blokes. Only most of them are banged up from the fighting, aren't they."

Sadie pulled a face and flopped down on the rocking chair. Bouncing back and forth she muttered, "You know what I mean."

Polly's smile faded. "Yeah, I do. She doesn't mention anyone special. Just talks a lot about the wounded, and how hard it is to see them. She doesn't just drive the ambulance. She talks to the blokes, holds their hand, writes letters for them, all that stuff."

"Good for her." Sadie rocked harder. "It must be lovely to know you're doing something that important for the war effort."

Polly looked down at her blotting paper and started
drawing a house with her pencil. "Yeah, I s'pose so. I wish I could do something for the war effort."

Sadie stopped rocking. "Like what?"

"I dunno. Just something."

"Well, you're not old enough to drive an ambulance in Italy, if that's what you're thinking. Your ma would never let you go, anyhow."

"I know. I don't mean that." Polly dug her pencil harder into the blotting paper. "It's just that when I think of all them soldiers fighting and getting wounded and dying, I feel like I should be doing something for them."

"Well, you can. Why don't you join the Housewives League? They do all sorts of things for the war effort. You can knit socks and scarves for the soldiers, collect tinfoil, like the caps off the milk bottles and those little papers inside the cigarette packets. They're always doing something to raise money for the troops and making up parcels of food and stuff to send to them."

"Not on your life. I'm not going to muck around with a bunch of old geezers listening to clicking knitting needles. I have enough of that with me ma. Besides, I hate Rita Crumm."

Sadie laughed. "I don't blame you. Well, what about your victory garden? You work on that, don't you?"

Polly shuddered. "Not since I found a blinking dead body in it, I don't. Even ma don't like working in there now."

Sadie started rocking again, more gently this time, a frown of concentration on her face. After a moment, she snapped her fingers, making Polly jump. "I know what you can do!"

"What?" Polly looked at her warily, having heard too many of Sadie's outlandish ideas.

"You can write letters."

"What letters? Who to?"

"The soldiers, silly." Looking excited now, Sadie stopped rocking and leaned forward. "What's the one thing the soldiers look forward to more than anything?"

"The grub?"

Sadie snorted. " 'Course not. Don't you ever listen to the news on the wireless? No, it's letters from home. Lots of them don't even get letters. All you have to do is ask Marlene for the names and addresses of the blokes who don't get any, and you can write to them."

"I don't know—" Polly began doubtfully, but apparently caught up in her excitement, Sadie butted in.

"What's more, you can get others to write, too. I bet there's lots of women would be only too happy to write a letter now and then. Just think how happy you'd make those lonely soldiers out there, to know that back home there's a bunch of women who really do care what happens to them."

The more Polly thought about it, the more she started to like the idea. "We could put notices up in the village hall and in the post office. Paste 'em up all over the village. We can tell them to ask me for an address."

Sadie bounced up and down in excitement, making the rocker creak. "Yeah, yeah! This is a bloody marvelous idea, if I say so meself. I'll write to one of the blokes, even though I'm going out with Joe. I know he won't mind."

Polly dug the pencil so hard in the blotting paper the point snapped. "I'll write to Marlene tonight and ask her to send the addresses. Though it might take a while. It took her letter ages to get here."

"Never mind. We can spend the time lining up a bunch of people who want to write. And by the time we get the addresses, we'll have letters ready to go off right away. We'll
just tell everyone to write a letter telling someone all about themselves, where they live, about their family, things they like, things that are happening in the village, and when we get the addresses, we'll send them all off. After that it will be up to the blokes if they write back."

Polly looked at her in awe. "Sadie, this really is a smashing idea. Let's get started on it tonight. We can go down to the pub and start asking people there. I bet Alfie will let us put up a notice in the pub, too."

Sadie got up from the chair, leaving it to rock gently back and forth by itself. "Can't. I'm going out with Joe tonight. But tomorrow, we'll do it. Besides, we have to make the posters first."

"Oh, right. I'll ask her ladyship for some paper. She has some big sheets of it she keeps for announcements." Polly caught her breath. "Wait! I can ask Ray to help me. He's clever with that sort of thing."

"Good idea." Sadie grinned. "Give you a good excuse to see him, won't it."