Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

“I heard you bloody say all of that,” Sid’s deep voice said from the back room.

Elizabeth rose. “Don’t worry, George. I won’t pass any of it on. Has anyone been out to the farm to inform Sheila Macclesby?”

“Not yet, m’m. The next of kin have to be informed first. Then we have to make arrangements to recover the body.”

“Well, why don’t you do that, and I’ll run over and let Sheila know. If she doesn’t know already.”

George looked doubtful, and Elizabeth forestalled any objections he might raise.

“I’m going out that way, anyway,” she said firmly as she crossed the room to the door. “I’ll save you the trip. I’ll tell Sheila you’ll be out to ask her some questions later.”

“Well, I don’t know as if that’s a good idea-”

“I think you should get on the phone right away and ring those poor parents,” Elizabeth said gently. “I’m sure they’ll want to make arrangements to come down here.”

George’s expression changed, and Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy. It had to be so difficult to break such beastly news. She left quickly, before George could come up with a good reason why she couldn’t go out to the Macclesby farm. She very much wanted the chance to talk to Sheila before George added the woman to his official investigation. People tended to talk more freely if they thought they were simply gossiping.

On the way out there, Elizabeth did her best to curb the feeling of anticipation. A young girl had been brutally murdered, and this was no time to rejoice in the fact that she was hot on the trail of a murderer. Yet she couldn’t contain the feeling of excitement at once more being involved in a murder case.

Ever since her parents had died two years earlier, she had struggled to take her father’s place in the village. Having lived in London until then, it had taken a great deal of effort to overcome the mistrust of the tenants in Sitting Marsh. She could understand their reluctance to accept her as their new administrator. The vast estate of the Manor House, which included the cottages in the village and the land upon which the High Street and its shops were built, had been overseen by earls for centuries.

This was the first time the village’s main benefactor and protector had been a woman, and the daughter of a commoner, no less. Although Elizabeth had grown up at the Manor House, she had always been aware of a certain undercurrent whenever she had been in contact with the villagers. From the moment she inherited the Manor House and its holdings, she’d been determined to wipe out that aura of distrust.

She had worked hard, forming committees and making sure she was accessible to everyone who lived on the estate. She had literally gone from house to house, meeting all her tenants face-to-face, doing her best to answer all of their concerns. Her dedication had paid off, and with the exception of one or two dissidents, she now felt reasonably certain of being accepted and respected by the villagers of Sitting Marsh.

The two world wars had changed many things, including the place that nobility had once held. No one was more aware of that than Elizabeth. She used it to her advantage, establishing her rightful place in the village without the traditional barriers. Yet her ancestral home stood as a symbol of the old world, and she knew that most inhabitants of Sitting Marsh found comfort in that.

She had pledged her life to serve her people, but her struggle to maintain the Manor House, thanks to the squandering of her inheritance by her ex-husband, was painful and often thankless. Helping the constabulary to solve a murder gave her something meaningful-a sense of achievement and an excitement in her life that at times seemed so dreary without her parents.

Reaching the farmhouse, Elizabeth parked her motorcycle outside of the main gates. No one was about in the yard as she approached the weathered porch. The land girls were already out in the fields, and no doubt Maurice, Sheila Macclesby’s son, would be busy in the cowsheds.

Elizabeth lifted the lion’s head door knocker and let it fall with a loud rap. It was some time before the door opened and a tousled head peered around it.

“Good morning!” Elizabeth said brightly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Oh, my.” The woman clutched the neck of her faded dressing gown. “Lady Elizabeth! Whatever is the time?” She twisted her head to look back into the room. “I had no idea it was so late. Please come in, if you’ll excuse the mess.”

She pulled the door open wider, and Elizabeth stepped past her into a large living room dominated by a low-beamed ceiling.

“I do apologize,” Sheila Macclesby said, closing the door again. “I think I’m catching a cold or something. The only time I oversleep is when I’m ill.” She glanced across the room to where a large mantel clock sat above a roomy fireplace. “I wonder why Maurice didn’t wake me.”

“Perhaps he wanted you to rest,” Elizabeth said kindly. She was being diplomatic. Maurice Macclesby had fallen from the roof of a barn when he was four years old. The accident had left him lame in one leg and damaged his brain. Maurice’s mind had never progressed much beyond childhood. Even so, he managed to do his fair share of the farm work, and Elizabeth admired him greatly for rising above his limitations.

“He must be wondering where I am.” Sheila waved a hand at a roomy couch. “Sit down, Lady Elizabeth. Would you care for some tea?”

“Thank you, no.” Now that she was here, Elizabeth was feeling decidedly uneasy. The bad news she had brought was bound to be a great shock to Sheila. “Have you heard from Walter lately?”

Sheila sat down on a dining room chair with a thump. “Wally? I got a letter from him a few days ago, from Belgium. He’s all right, isn’t he?”

Annoyed with herself, Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. “As far as I know. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then, if you don’t mind my asking, m’m, why are you here?”

Sheila still had that drawn look on her face-and a pallor that suggested she might be right about catching a cold. Feeling immensely sorry for the poor woman, Elizabeth said gently, “I’m afraid I do have bad news, Sheila. One of your land girls was found dead in the woods this morning.”

“No!” Sheila’s hand flew to her throat. “My God. Who would do such a thing?”

“That hasn’t been determined yet. P.C. Dalrymple will be along a little later on to ask you some questions, but I wanted to let you know what had happened to her. You must be wondering.”

“Wondering?”

“Why she didn’t come home last night. The constable believes she was killed last night.”

“Oh.” Sheila shook her head, as if trying to clear her mind. “Well, I wouldn’t know, would I. Since I haven’t been outside the house yet this morning, I wouldn’t know one was missing, and they often come in late at night after I’m asleep. As a matter of fact, I heard Amelia talking to someone outside my bedroom window late last night long after I’d gone to bed.”

“Amelia?”

Sheila looked confused again. “Amelia Brunswick. She’s one of the land girls. Arguing with someone, she was.”

A. B. Elizabeth drew a deep breath. “Sheila, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I believe it’s Amelia’s body they found in the woods.”

Sheila stared at her for several seconds. “Oh, no, you can’t mean it. Not Amelia.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Sheila shook her head. “She was such a bright young thing. I can’t believe she’s gone. The others are going to be so upset. Poor Maisie, she’s such a nervous little cow. This will scare her to death.”

“Maisie is one of the land girls?”