Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

Pauline exchanged looks with the other girls. “Well, m’m, her bed hadn’t been slept in. We all went to bed early, but Amelia slipped out to meet her boyfriend. When we woke up this morning we saw she hadn’t come back.”

“And you didn’t say anything to Mrs. Macclesby?”

“Yes,” Sheila put in, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Pauline’s chin shot up. “Well, you was asleep when we got up. You always told us not to disturb you in the mornings, so we made a cup of tea and a jam sandwich and then went to work. Then, when Biggs told us a land girl had been murdered, we all decided it had to be Amelia. There didn’t seem much point in telling you she was missing after that.”

“I hope you didn’t use more than a teaspoonful of jam,” Sheila said crossly. “That stuff is rationed, you know.”

“Tell me what isn’t,” Pauline grumbled.

Maisie, who seemed to be the most disturbed by the news, looked at Elizabeth. “Excuse me, Lady Elizabeth, but did the police find out who killed Amelia?”

“We all know who did it,” Sheila declared before Elizabeth could answer. “I was thinking about it while I was upstairs. It had to be that German pilot who ran off yesterday. Who else would want to hurt such a nice young lady?”

“I can think of a few,” Pauline murmured.

“Hush!” Sheila said curtly. “Do not speak ill of the dead. Go into the kitchen, all of you, and make some coffee for Lady Elizabeth and me. And bring a plate of those broken biscuits.” She looked apologetically at Elizabeth. “Sorry they’re in pieces, but I get them off-ration, and they taste the same as if they were whole.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth assured her. “But don’t worry on my account. A cup of tea will be enough for me.”

The girls disappeared into the kitchen and, judging from the whisperings going on, were discussing the untimely death of their unfortunate colleague. Elizabeth would have given a week’s sugar ration to overhear what they were talking about.

Sheila chose that moment, however, to speculate on the whereabouts of the German pilot, and Elizabeth had to content herself with the prospect of questioning the girls later.

After sampling some of the mushy, stale pieces of broken biscuits, she swallowed down her tea too fast to be genteel, then quickly made her excuses to Sheila, who seemed unflatteringly relieved to let her go.

Thick white clouds scudded across the sky, promising a squall from the ocean as Elizabeth picked her way across the fields to where Kitty sat perched on a wagon. The land girl’s attempts to urge the weary-looking horse to pull her alongside the sheaves of corn were met with stubborn resistance. The other two girls waited impatiently, ready to toss the corn into the cart with long, unwieldy pitchforks.

In spite of Maisie’s frail appearance, she seemed to have no trouble lifting a sheaf of corn with the clumsy implement. Elizabeth was quite sure she herself could never have managed it, nor did she have any desire to attempt it. She tapped Maisie on the shoulder and noticed that the girl started quite violently as she dropped the pitchfork.

“Sorry, your ladyship,” she muttered. “I didn’t see you coming.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Elizabeth said, giving her an encouraging smile. “I was just wondering if I could have a quick word with you.”

“If you’re going to ask her about Amelia,” Pauline said shortly, “she doesn’t know anything we don’t know.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Elizabeth glanced at Pauline’s sullen face, “but I didn’t want to interrupt all of you at once.”

The horse, apparently tired of all the screeching and jerking of his reins, took a few reluctant steps forward. Pauline heaved her sheaf into the wagon, and Elizabeth seized the opportunity to draw Maisie aside.

“I just wanted to ask you how well you knew Amelia,” she said, ignoring Pauline’s baleful glances in their direction.

Maisie seemed as if she wanted to run away and hide. “Not very well,” she said, her voice trembling on a sob. “She wasn’t as friendly as the rest of us. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, m’m, but Amelia didn’t really belong with us, if you know what I mean. She was always bragging about her big fancy house and cars, and how she went horse-riding and had ballet lessons and everything.”

“I see.” Elizabeth glanced over at Pauline, but she had moved on to the next sheaf and was out of earshot. “What about the rest of the girls? How did they feel about Amelia?”

Maisie’s gaze flicked to Pauline for a second. “They didn’t like her neither. Especially Pauline. Amelia stole her boyfriend from the army camp. Pauline had it in for her after that.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

As if reading her thoughts, Maisie added hurriedly, “She wouldn’t have killed her, though, m’m. Honest. I mean, she couldn’t have, could she. Pauline went to bed the same time as the rest of us. We sleep in the same room, and our floor creaks something terrible. I would have heard if she’d got out of bed.”

Elizabeth patted the frightened girl’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Maisie. I’m not accusing anyone. Do you know who Amelia was meeting last night?”

Maisie clutched the pitchfork to her chest as if for support. “It was probably Pauline’s old boyfriend, Jeff Thomas, m’m. He’s a lieutenant out at the army camp in Beerstowe.” She pinched her lips together, as if afraid of what she’d said.

“Don’t worry,” Elizabeth said, feeling sorry for the girl. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I appreciate you telling me all this. It could be extremely helpful in finding out who murdered that poor girl.” She paused, watching an array of conflicting emotions chase across Maisie’s thin face. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Maisie swallowed a few times, then said in a rush, “I don’t want to get no one in trouble, Lady Elizabeth, but I don’t want you to go blaming Jeff, neither. He’s a nice lad, that Jeff, and he wouldn’t hurt no one. If you ask me, it’s Maurice you should be talking to, that’s who.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Maurice? What makes you say that?”

Maisie sent a hunted look in the direction of the farmhouse. “He was always hanging around Amelia. Fancied her, he did. Amelia wouldn’t have none of it, though. Told him to shove off. She told us she was afraid of him, and Amelia was never afraid of no one except him.”

Feeling greatly disturbed, Elizabeth thanked the girl and watched her hurry off to join the others. Try as she might, she could not picture Maurice Macclesby in the role of murderer. True, he could be somewhat unsettling to be around. With his pronounced limp and vacant stare, not to mention the scruffy chin thanks to his inept and apparently infrequent efforts to shave, he was not a comfortable person to be around. Still, she would never have considered him violent.

She tackled Pauline next who, unlike Maisie, was obviously bursting to tell her what she knew. “That Amelia was nothing but a greedy, two-faced snob,” she announced, stabbing the ground with her pitchfork for emphasis. “I always said something bad would happen to her one day. Though I never thought she’d be done in. Especially by someone like Maurice.”

Startled, Elizabeth fastened her gaze on the young woman’s face. “Does everyone think Maurice killed Amelia?”

Pauline shrugged. “I don’t know about everyone else. The milkman reckons it was that German pilot. All I know is that Maurice was really soppy about Amelia, and she couldn’t stand him near her. She told him that more than once, but he never took no notice. Kept following her around, staring at her in that funny way of his like she was a film star or something. Mind you, she was really pretty, I suppose, in a prissy kind of way. All that blond hair and blue eyes. She didn’t half fancy herself, I tell you.”