Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

“Nope. Reckon we’ll just mosey on along behind you.”

“Okay. I’ll wait after I drop Marlene off at the house and give you a ride back to base.”

Sam grinned. “Take your time, buddy.”

Tony’s smile was wicked. “I plan to. See ya!”

Polly watched them leave, still feeling worried about Marlene. She seemed too quiet. Not at all like herself. “Do you know him?” she asked Sam as they started walking down the High Street.

“Who, Tony? Yeah, I guess I do. He’s okay. Gets a little wild now and again, but he’s a good guy. Your sis’ll be okay with him.”

“I hope so.” She thought about it for a moment then said, “He’s got a funny accent.”

“He’s a New Yorker.”

“He talks too fast, and it’s hard to understand what he’s saying.”

Sam laughed. “Most of the guys say the same about you gals.”

“What? Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”

“As long as I can see that look in those beautiful brown eyes, I don’t have to understand what you’re saying.”

She pretended not to understand him. “What look?”

He stopped and pulled her into his arms. Her heart melted when he gave her a long, lingering kiss. There was one thing about the Yanks, she thought happily as they continued on their way. They certainly knew how to make a girl feel good about herself. Even if they didn’t really mean a word of it.

Elizabeth dreamed about Earl that night. It wasn’t a good dream. It was vague and terrifying, filled with crashing planes and huge, leaping flames. She woke from it trembling and found it hard to go asleep after that. Part of her conscience insisted that the dream was her punishment for lusting after a married man. Not that she was really lusting after him, she hastened to correct herself.

She couldn’t help the way she felt about him, but surely, as long as she didn’t do anything about it, and never, ever let him know her feelings, what harm could there be in enjoying his company now and then?

None, she assured herself. He was a friend, that was all. Clinging to that faint ray of comfort, she finally fell asleep.

The telephone pealed its shrill summons the next morning while she was enjoying a boiled egg for breakfast with Violet and Martin in the kitchen.

Violet had been telling Martin about the fight at the town hall, and he was suitably horrified, insisting that the master would come down heavily on his head for not protecting the womenfolk from such barbaric behavior.

The fact that had he been at the dance the night before he might possibly have been trampled to death did not occur to him, and far be it for Elizabeth to point that out and diminish his role as protector.

She welcomed the ringing of the telephone as an effective diversion and waited for Violet to answer it. She watched the housekeeper’s face and knew at once something momentous had happened.

Violet’s replies were short and unrevealing, consisting mostly of “yes,” “no,” and “well I never.”

Elizabeth waited impatiently for her to hang up the receiver. When she did, it seemed to take her forever to turn around.

“Well,” she said finally, “you’ll never guess what happened now.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Elizabeth said impatiently, “so why don’t you just tell me?”

“That was George Dalrymple on the telephone.” Violet’s face took on a look of pure satisfaction. “He thought you’d like to know that the German is hiding in the old windmill out on Robbing Lane. Rita and her mob have the place surrounded. He’s on his way out there now.”

Elizabeth dropped her egg spoon with a clatter. “I must leave right away. It would be just like Rita to take matters into her own hands, and it will take George at least half an hour to get out there on his bicycle.”

“You be careful, Lizzie,” Violet warned. “You know how that Rita’s lot gets when they’re on the warpath. Never know what they’ll be up to, that you don’t. I don’t want you getting hurt if they decide to go after that German.”

“Save your worries for that poor boy.” Elizabeth flung the words over her shoulder as she rushed from the room. Her beige wool coat hung on the hallstand, together with her black beret and scarf. She threw everything on, just as Martin came shuffling out into the hall.

“Madam, you can’t fight the Germans empty-handed,” he said as she headed for the door. “Take the blunderbuss with you. That will scare the pants off them!” He looked shocked. “Begging your pardon, madam. I can’t imagine where I picked up that phrase.”

“You’ve been listening at the keyhole to them Americans again,” Violet said, hurrying down the hallway after him. “That’s where you hear those things. Shame on you, Martin. You know what they say. Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves.”

“Well, that’s as may be,” Martin said haughtily, “but I can tell you that one hears no good of some other people, either.”

Violet pulled up short. “What the blue blazes does that mean?”

“I’ll be back as soon as I get things sorted out,” Elizabeth said hurriedly, and before Martin had a chance to start his shuffle, she’d pulled the door open and closed it again behind her.

It took her only a few minutes to reach Robbing Lane on her motorcycle. She was glad of her scarf as the chill wind whipped at her face. It would soon be time to light the fires in the fireplaces. She could only hope they had enough coal to keep the fires going throughout the winter. December and January could be cruel months in Sitting Marsh, sometimes burying the village in deep snow for weeks at a time.

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.

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.