Kate Kingsbury - An Unmentional Murder

“Nope.” Sadie thought about it. “They had their guns drawn, though, so I think they were expecting more than what they got.”

Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “Well, I can’t worry about that now. I have an errand to run, then I’m going into North Horsham.” She looked at Polly. “I trust you’ll be able to take care of things today?”

Polly nodded and jumped up from the table. “Of course, m’m. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll be off now and get started.”

“You’d better get started, too, young lady.” Violet pointed a bony finger at Sadie. “There’s plenty to be done now that the boys in the east wing are back.”

“Don’t I know it.” Sadie got to her feet. “I hope you find the major in better health, m’m,” she said, earning herself a grateful smile from Elizabeth.

The door had barely closed behind the girls when it opened again and Martin shuffled in.

Elizabeth was concerned to see the dark shadows under his eyes. She waited for what seemed an eternity for him to cross the short space between the door and his chair. He finally came to an unsteady halt and blinked at her over the rims of his spectacles.

“Good morning, madam. May I be permitted to join you at the table?”

“Of course you may, Martin.”

“Thank you, madam. I am much obliged.”

She made herself stay seated while he struggled to lower himself on the chair, knowing if she didn’t he would refuse to sit. She needed to have a word with him, and the less time spent doing so the better.

Finally settling himself, Martin looked at Violet. “So what poisonous concoction have you whipped up for the feast this morning? Not more of that loathsome porridge, I trust.”

Violet sniffed and turned back to the stove. “You could always go and eat corn with the chickens.”

A puzzled frown marred Martin’s brow. “I wasn’t aware we kept chickens on the estate.”

“We don’t,” Violet snapped. “I was talking about Farmer Miller’s chickens.”

This was apparently too much for Martin to comprehend.

While he was still working on it, Elizabeth leaned forward. “The telephone rang for you last night.”

An odd expression flickered across his face. “I didn’t hear it.”

Violet tutted. “Because you were in bed, you silly old goat.”

Martin sent her a withering glance. “Well, that would certainly explain why, of course.”

“It was the War Office,” Elizabeth watched his face closely, but couldn’t be sure if he’d understood.

“The War Office, madam?”

“Yes, Martin. They asked that you give them a ring this morning.”

“Very well, madam.”

Elizabeth waited, while Violet turned to face them, sticky porridge clinging to the wooden spoon in her hand.

When it became apparent that Martin had nothing more to say, Elizabeth tried again. “Martin, why would the War Office want you to ring them?”

“Why don’t you ask them, madam?”

“I’m asking you, Martin.” She wasn’t in the least comfortable with the situation. On the one hand, it was really none of her business. On the other hand, since she was responsible for Martin’s welfare, she had to make it her business. If Martin was in trouble, he would need her help.

Martin stared at his empty plate for a long time, then said in a matter-of-fact voice, “I rather imagine it’s a military secret and therefore I’m unable to discuss it.”

“Is it also a military secret that a very posh motorcar brought you home late last night?” Violet demanded.

Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that last night.”

“I forgot about it, didn’t I.” Violet looked at Martin. “Well? What about this motorcar then? What was that all about?”

Martin gave her a blank look. “Motorcar?”

“Sadie saw you, so don’t pretend with me.” Violet crossed her thin arms over her chest. “You’d better tell us what this is all about, Martin Chezzlewit, before they throw you in prison.”

“Really, Martin,” Elizabeth added. “You have both of us quite worried. I do think you should tell us what this is all about.”

Martin started fidgeting with the handle of his teacup. “All I’m at liberty to say, madam, is that I have been helping the War Office in a delicate matter.”

Elizabeth stared at him in astonishment, until the long silence was broken by a guffaw of laughter from Violet.

“Hark at him,” she spluttered. “He thinks he’s a blinking secret service agent.”

Only Elizabeth glimpsed the gleam in Martin’s eyes, then it was gone. “You might say that,” he murmured.

Giving up, Elizabeth rose. “Well, I’d better be off.”

Martin struggled to get to his feet again, but Elizabeth was already at the door.

“I don’t know what time I’ll be back from the hospital,” she said, “so don’t expect me for meals. I’ll try to ring you later to let you know what I’m doing.”

“That would be nice,” Violet said dryly.

Elizabeth let the door close behind her, still wondering what was behind the mystery with Martin. It was obvious something was going on, but she knew her butler well enough to know that if he didn’t want to tell her anything there was nothing she could do to persuade him. Eventually it would all come out, no doubt, when he was ready for her to know. Since no harm had befallen him thus far, she just had to trust that happy state of affairs would continue.

Once outside the house, however, her thoughts turned to the matter at hand. She had no idea where Clyde Morgan kept his horse and cart, but she had to assume it was somewhere close by.

The obvious place would be one of the farms, where they often rented out a stable. There were three close enough to be convenient for Clyde Morgan, and she rode down to the one nearest his house. Her search proved fruitless. None of the farmers she visited admitted to stabling Clyde Morgan’s horse and cart.

The morning was almost over as she made her way back to town. Rather than go back to the manor, she stopped in at Bessie’s bake shop with the intention of snatching a quick bite before going on to North Horsham.

Bessie was delighted to see her, and insisted on joining her at her table for a few minutes, despite the crowded tearoom which kept her waitresses hopping.

“You’ll never guess what Rita Crumm’s lot have been up to now,” she said as Elizabeth bit into a piece of tasty Cornish pasty. “They had George call the American base and tell them there were an army of Germans hiding in the old windmill. The Yanks went charging out there and all it were was a bunch of schoolboys playing tricks.” Bessie’s hearty laughter turned heads in the quiet room. “Talk about looking daft. I bet they don’t show their faces in town for a while.”

“Ah, so that’s why the Americans were out there.” Elizabeth dabbed her mouth with her serviette. “I wondered what they were doing at the windmill.”

“Oh, so you heard about it, then?”

Bessie looked disappointed, until Elizabeth explained the whole story, then she chuckled.

“I tell you, never a dull moment in Sitting Marsh, that’s for sure.”

Elizabeth picked up her knife and fork again. “We certainly have our share of unusual situations. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you know where the rag and bone man kept his horse and cart, by any chance?”

Bessie grinned. “I always say, your ladyship, that if you want to know something, you come to Bessie’s tea shop. Hear everything, we do here, and if one of us don’t know, t’other does.”

“Then you do know where he kept them?”

Bessie put her finger alongside her nose. “Well, I did hear as how he kept them in a shed in the field behind his house. Along with all the castoffs he collected. I’d like to take a look in there meself. I reckon that shed is full of good rubbish.”