Kate Kingsbury - An Unmentional Murder

“I’m sure it is,” Elizabeth murmured, remembering the crowded walls in Iris’s house. She glanced at the clock over the huge brick fireplace. “I’ll take the bill now, Bessie. I’m in rather a hurry.”

“Right you are, your ladyship.” Bessie heaved her plump body out of the chair. “Be right back with it, I will.”

Elizabeth swallowed the rest of her pasty, took a few sips of her tea, then gathered up her handbag. She would just have time to stop by the Morgans’ house before setting off for North Horsham and the hospital.

A few minutes later she arrived at the end of the lane and parked her motorcycle out of sight from the house. An alleyway ran down between the houses, leading onto the fields behind them. Hurrying as fast as she could, Elizabeth headed down the path.

She spotted the shed as soon as she emerged from the alleyway, and after a furtive glance around to make sure no one was in the back gardens, she crossed the field to the ramshackle building.

As she opened the door it creaked loudly, and a soft whinny answered her. The horse stood in the corner, its head lifted in expectation, its ears flattened against its head. It looked dejected and underfed. Elizabeth made a mental note to send a member of the S.P.C.A. around to take a look at it later.

She spoke to it softly as she squeezed past piles of boxes to where the cart stood. A pale shaft of light struggled to penetrate the grimy window, but it was enough to see inside the cart. It didn’t take much scrutiny to find what she was looking for. A large dark stain on the floor of the cart told the story.

It was as she suspected. Afraid that her husband would harm her children, Iris Morgan had shot him and carried his body in the cart to the damaged munitions factory, knowing it was to be bulldozed down the next morning. No doubt she hoped the body would never be found, but just in case, she had put the gun in her dead husband’s hand to make it look like suicide.

Elizabeth turned back to the door. She knew now what she had to do. She could not, in all good conscience, allow this crime to go unpunished. Not even for the sake of the children. Clyde Morgan might well have been a monster, but it was not up to his wife to take the law into her own hands. Iris Morgan had to answer for what she had done, and it would be up to the courts to decide a fitting punishment.

Having come to that decision, Elizabeth felt a small measure of relief. The quandary had worried her a good deal, and right now she had far too much to worry about as it was. She would go immediately to George, tell him what she knew, and insist he inform the inspector right away.

She had her hand outstretched to open the door when to her dismay it was shoved open, bruising her fingers. Iris stood in the doorway, a wicked-looking carving knife in her hand. “It’s too bad you didn’t mind your own business, Lady Elizabeth,” she said, brandishing the knife in Elizabeth’s face. “Now I’m afraid I’ll have to shut you up for good.”

Cold with shock, Elizabeth fell back. “This is ridiculous,” she said, striving to put authority in her voice. “You can’t just go around killing people and hope to get away with it.”

“I got away with Clyde’s, didn’t I?” Iris advanced into the shed. “I’ll get away with yours, too.”

“You didn’t exactly get away with your husband’s murder,” Elizabeth said, frantically playing for time.

“After all, I worked out what happened. Other people will, too, eventually.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the horse shift back and forth. If she could work her way closer to it, she might be able to create enough commotion to escape. She began edging toward the corner where the horse stood, ears twitching, watching the scene in front of him.

“I made mistakes with Clyde,” Iris said, her calm voice all the more horrifying. “I didn’t have time to work things out. But I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do about you if you got too nosy.” She shot a glance over her shoulder, then raised her voice. “Tommy! You can come in now.”

Elizabeth’s hopes faded as the boy appeared in the doorway. He carried a length of rope in his hands, and looked every bit as determined as his mother.

“I’ve got it all worked out,” Iris said, beckoning to her son. “We tie you up in here and wait until it gets dark. Then we take you and your motorcycle to the top of the cliffs and then over you go. The tide will be in, so if the fall doesn’t kill you, you’ll drown in the sea. Too bad, Lady Elizabeth. You drove your motorcycle up the coast road and missed the curve in the dark. Such a shame. Now there’ll be no more lady of the manor in Sitting Marsh.”

She signaled to Tommy once more and he came forward, his face a stiff mask.

Elizabeth stared at him in horror. She couldn’t die now. Not when so many people needed her. Earl, lying helpless in a hospital bed. Martin, up to heaven knew what with the War Office. Violet, Polly, Sadie… her tenants in the village… What would they all do without her?

She saw Earl’s white, motionless face lying on the pillow, his still body beneath the covers. This was not the last image she wanted of him. She wanted to see him well and happy before they parted forever.

Heedless of the knife in Iris’s hands, Elizabeth plunged toward the boy. Raising an arm, she swept him out of the way, hitting him hard in the shoulder so that he stumbled. She was almost at the door when something exploded in her head. Lights flashed, the world spun, and then everything faded into silent darkness.

It was late afternoon before Martin finally used the telephone to ring the War Office. Violet knew that because she’d followed him around all day, waiting unashamedly to eavesdrop on the conversation.

She’d deliberately stayed out of the kitchen, once it became obvious that Martin had no intention of using the telephone while she was within earshot. After lunch, while Martin was still in the kitchen, she’d made a point of telling Sadie that she was going to the market that afternoon, and had even put on her felt hat and gloves and fetched the shopping bags from the pantry.

She hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes, hovering outside the back door, when she heard Martin lift the telephone from its hook. Since he was ringing all the way to London, she knew it would take a while for everything to connect, which gave her plenty of time to run around to the east wing steps, enter the great hall, and run the length of it to reach Elizabeth’s office.

Once there, she had to wait a moment or two to catch her breath. Martin was bound to hear all that huffing and puffing if she didn’t. She considered it her duty to find out what was going on. After all, there were people out there who took advantage of elderly gentlemen like Martin, and someone had to look out for the old fool. Lizzie would thank her for taking care of matters.

Having thus satisfied her conscience, Violet felt no qualms about lifting the telephone in Lizzie’s office to listen in.

After carefully lifting the receiver from its hook, she held her breath and pressed the telephone to her ear. She was just in time to hear Martin’s quavery voice telling someone his name.

Violet listened to the entire conversation, then waited for Martin to hang up the telephone downstairs before replacing the receiver.

She was at the door when the telephone jangled, scaring her half out of her wits. She waited through a couple of the double rings, then picked up the receiver again. Martin must have gone back to his room. Not that he ever answered the telephone. Always complained he couldn’t hear a word through that newfangled trumpet. Which didn’t stop him from using it when it was convenient for him, of course.