Kate Kingsbury - An Unmentional Murder

“Oh, that was nice of him.” Violet went back to the dresser, poured herself a small brandy, and carried it back to the table. “If I’d known that I wouldn’t have worried so.”

“I suppose I should have let you know, but I was in such a hurry to get there-”

“It’s all right, Lizzie. I know how upset you were.”

“If it hadn’t been for Captain Crawford, I don’t know if I would have made it home tonight. He was kind enough to drive me back, even though the rest of his friends were off enjoying themselves in the town.”

“Well, they won’t be too long behind him,” Violet said, glancing at the clock. “The pubs closed up well over an hour ago.”

“Is it that late? I hadn’t realized.” Elizabeth picked up her glass. “I’m terribly sorry, Violet, for keeping you up like this.”

Violet shook her head, then lifted her glass and drained it. She choked, cleared her throat, then said hoarsely, “I’m just glad you had someone drive you home. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d stayed there all night.”

“I would have rung to let you know.” Elizabeth rubbed a weary hand across her eyes. “The captain sat with me for quite a while waiting to see if I could go in to see Earl. He told me about the town where he lives in Texas. It’s not much bigger than Sitting Marsh apparently. He told me about the parades on July Fourth, and the horse and cart he rode in-”

She broke off, aware of the tingling feeling that nagged her to examine the comment she’d just made. There was a connection somewhere to the elusive piece of information that hovered on the edge of her memory.

“I think the horse-drawn carts are dying out,” Violet murmured. “They’re all changing over to motorcars and lorries nowadays. Can’t remember when I last saw a horse and cart in the High Street-”

Elizabeth uttered a sharp exclamation.

Violet stared at her in concern. “You all right, Lizzie? You look so pale. You should go to bed.”

Elizabeth finished her brandy and got up. “You’re right, I should. I have a lot to take care of tomorrow.” She gathered up her handbag and threw her coat over her arm. “You go to bed as well, Violet. You need your sleep.” She turned and hurried out of the kitchen, leaving Violet to stare after her.

Of course. She could see it quite clearly now. The coast road, bathed in moonlight, she and Violet standing by the motorcycle, screaming Martin’s name and hearing nothing except the wind in the trees… and the sound of a horse’s hooves.

She hadn’t thought much about it at the time. It was a common enough sound in the countryside, and she and Violet had been worried about finding Martin. Apparently it never occurred to either of them to wonder why a horse would be trotting along the country lanes in the dark so late at night.

Most of the horse-drawn carts in the area belonged to the farmers, and they would be fast asleep, since they would rise before the dawn. There was, however, someone else who had a horse and cart. Clyde Morgan.

It was, indeed, very late for him to be out collecting his rags and bones. Then again, that was the night Morgan had died, and his midnight ride might very well have been his last. If he had died in his own front room, as she suspected, then someone would have had to take him to the ruined factory. A horse and cart would have made a most convenient conveyance for a dead body.

Tomorrow, right after ringing the hospital, she would take a look at Clyde Morgan’s cart. If she found what she suspected she would find, then her suspicions would be confirmed. Then she would once again be faced with the inevitable question. What on earth was she going to do about it?

Despite the turmoil churning in her mind, exhaustion took over and Elizabeth slept soundly that night. She awoke with a start, memory flooding back to jolt her fully awake and propel her out of bed.

The closest telephone was in her office, and she threw on a dressing gown, tying the sash as she sped along the corridor.

Once inside her office, she grabbed up the receiver, her trembling fingers dialing the number she had scribbled on her blotting pad.

A brisk female voice answered her, and for a moment she froze, unable to ask the question for fear of the answer. The woman on the end of the line sounded impatient as she repeated her greeting, and Elizabeth took a deep breath.

“Good morning,” she said breathlessly. “I’m Lady Elizabeth, from the Manor House in Sitting Marsh. I’m inquiring as to the condition of Major Earl Monroe.”

The silence on the end of the line terrified her, but then the voice spoke again. “Your ladyship, the major had a reasonably comfortable night and is resting.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. He’d survived the night. Thank God. “Is he any better?”

“You’d have to ask the doctor about that, m’m. He’s not available at this moment.”

“Very well.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “When can I speak to the doctor?”

“He’s doing his rounds, m’m. He should be done in an hour or two, if you’d care to try again later.”

“I intend to visit the major later today. I can speak to the doctor then.” She hung up before the woman could tell her no visitors were allowed. No one was going to prevent her from seeing Earl today. No one.

After getting dressed, she hurried down to the kitchen. As usual, Violet was at her post at the stove, and both Polly and Sadie were seated at the table.

“I forgot to tell you last night, m’m, but we caught the knickers thief,” Sadie announced, apparently unaffected by Violet’s disapproving click of the tongue.

“You mean thieves,” Polly added.

Elizabeth ate her porridge and listened as the two girls filled her in on their adventures of the day before. “How in heaven’s name are you going to return all that underwear?” she asked when they had finished. “How will you know what belongs to whom?”

“We thought about that, m’m,” Sadie said, throwing a triumphant grin in Polly’s direction. “We’re going to put them all out on a table in Polly’s front garden, and then let everyone know they can come by and pick out what belongs to them.”

“Yeah,” Polly chimed in. “Violet’s already picked out yours and hers, and Sadie and me have got ours, so the rest belong to whoever had them stolen.”

“I,” Violet interrupted, with a frown at Polly. “Sadie and I. ”

“Well, I’ve got mine, too,” Polly muttered, looking confused.

“We did think about taking them down to the police station, m’m,” Sadie said, “but can you imagine George or Sid trying to sort that lot out?”

Polly giggled, and Violet’s frown deepened. “Well, all I can say,” she said crisply, “is that it’s a very good job it was only young boys in that windmill. If it had been some dangerous criminal, you and Polly would have been in quite a pickle.”

“Not really,” Polly said, nudging Sadie with her elbow. “We had the whole American army out there.”

“Army air force,” Sadie corrected. “Joe’s always telling me as how he’s in the air force but it’s attached to the army, so it’s army air force. That’s why they call it the USAAF.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What were the Americans doing there anyway?”

Sadie shrugged. “Didn’t have time to ask them. They got rid of us in a hurry.”

“Per’aps they were looking for the thief, too,” Polly suggested.

“I’m sure they’ve got better things to do than hunt down a pack of delinquents who go around stealing washing from a line,” Violet muttered.

“Which makes one wonder exactly what the American army was doing there.” Elizabeth turned to Sadie. “Didn’t they give you any idea why they were there?”