Kate Kingsbury - An Unmentional Murder

“I’m sure he’s all right, m’m. My George will find him today, I’m sure.”

Wishing she could feel as confident, Elizabeth hung up the telephone. “I’m going down to the police station,” she told Violet. “I just can’t sit around here not knowing what they are doing about this.”

“Breakfast first,” Violet said. “You need something in your tummy before you go out.”

“I’m too upset to eat.” The morning newspaper lay on the table and she picked it up. “I don’t suppose there’s any more news about the invasion.”

“Haven’t had time to read it yet.” Violet stirred a simmering pot of porridge with a large wooden spoon. “More doom and gloom in there, no doubt.”

Elizabeth scanned the headlines. “It’s not much different from yesterday’s news. I wish they would tell us what’s really going on over there.”

“So it could worry you all the more, I suppose.” Violet spooned the thick, gooey porridge into a bowl. “Here, get this down you. You’ll feel better for it.”

Elizabeth obediently sat, her glance straying to Martin’s empty chair. “Poor Martin. I’m afraid he’s in real trouble this time.”

Violet turned away so sharply Elizabeth suspected she had tears in her eyes. “Silly old goat. What did he have to go out on his own for? You’d think he’d know better.”

“Probably looking for Germans,” Elizabeth murmured. “I hope he didn’t take that old blunderbuss with him.”

“No, it’s still hanging on the wall. Besides, it’s so old he’d never get it to fire.”

“That’s what we thought that night he fired it at Earl.” Elizabeth smiled. “Do you remember that night? He thought Earl was attacking me and he shot at him with the blunderbuss.”

Still with her back turned, Violet’s shoulders shook. “Knocked him off his feet it did, silly old fool. Good job there weren’t no bullets in that thing. He’d have blown the major’s head right off.”

Remembering how Earl had thrown her to the floor and protected her with his body, Elizabeth’s smile faded. Surely, surely, she wasn’t going to lose both of them at the same time. That would be just too much to bear.

It didn’t help when an odd sound escaped from Violet, which Elizabeth could swear was a sob. She busied herself with pouring the cream from the top of the milk bottle onto her porridge in order to give her housekeeper time to compose herself.

When she thought it was safe to talk again, Elizabeth said lightly, “Well, it looks as if it will be a good day to pull down that dreadful factory. At least it’s not raining, and the wind seems fairly light.”

“Good thing to be rid of that.” Violet’s voice was muffled, as if she had a bad cold.

Elizabeth ate her porridge as fast as her strict upbringing allowed, then pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m going to run down to the station,” she said to Violet’s back. “Is there anything you need?”

“No, thanks, Lizzie. I’ll be going to the shops myself later. You just try to find that old fool, all right?”

“I’ll certainly give it my best effort.” Elizabeth left the kitchen and hurried up the steps to the front door. Stopping just long enough to grab her coat from the hall stand and the silk scarf to tie around her hair, she let herself out into the cool morning air.

A cloudless blue sky confirmed her estimate of a nice day, and as she wheeled her motorcycle out of the stable she prayed that the rain would stay away until Martin was found. She refused to contemplate the possibility that it might already be too late to save her butler. The Manor House without Martin was simply too bleak to visualize.

On the outskirts of the village, the demolition team had already assembled in front of the burned-out ruins of the munitions factory. The workmen, mostly elderly or physically impaired in some way, stood around drinking hot tea from their thermos flasks and munching on slabs of bread pudding, while grumbling about the long ride from North Horsham.

A stray dog, hungry for food, circled them warily, waiting for a morsel that could be snapped up before it dropped to the ground.

The foreman, a muscular ginger-haired brute, strode around issuing orders to which no one paid attention. Only one man appeared to be working and that was the driver of the crane that carried the wrecking ball.

As the huge machine lumbered across the uneven ground, the men moved out of its way, but otherwise paid little attention to it. Their job would start once the remains of the building fell in a heap of dust and broken bricks. What had once been a promising enterprise, supplying much-needed arms and ammunition to the troops fighting abroad, would be reduced to rubble in a matter of minutes.

The first thunderous crash of the wrecking ball shook the ground, and some of the men turned their heads to watch the destruction. Again and again the ball struck, startling the crows and causing a mass exodus from the nearby trees. Even the dog abandoned its hungry vigilance and slunk away.

Dust rose in an ugly cloud above the forlorn ruins as the crane backed away, its morbid job completed. The men reluctantly put away their flasks and prepared to begin the massive cleanup.

As they moved toward the rubble the dog reappeared, darting ahead of them with its nose in the air as if chasing an enticing odor. It leapt over a pile of bricks and began scrabbling madly at a heap of mangled wood and plaster.

One of the men at the head of the group shouted, and bent to pick up a lump of plaster to throw at it. Then he paused, his arm in midair. The rest of the men crowded behind him, staring with disbelief at what the dog had uncovered.

The man in front shuddered, then said quietly, “I think we’d better get the bobbies up here quick.”

Someone else called out, “Get that flipping dog off the poor bugger.”

“Not that it matters now,” the first man muttered. “That poor sod’s a goner. Looks like someone’s put a bullet right through his bloody head.”

Elizabeth arrived at the station just as Sid, George’s intrepid partner, was leaving. He greeted her with his usual good humor, though she could tell he was a little put out about something.

“I take it George is inside?” she asked him, nodding at the small brick building that once housed horses and still bore the faint aroma of their presence.

“Yes, your ladyship, he is indeed,” Sid said grimly.

Being well used to the feuding between the two constables, Elizabeth refrained from asking about the problem. Both men had been retired for several years when the outbreak of war and the need for younger men in His Majesty’s Service had removed the entire police force from Sitting Marsh.

George and Sid had been more or less forced out of retirement to serve their country. Neither of them was too pleased about being deprived of his former pursuits and got by expending as little energy as possible on police business. Their resentment often spilled over into personal attacks on each other, which certainly didn’t help the situation.

Nevertheless, there were certain procedures that had to be followed before Elizabeth could feel justified in taking matters into her own hands, which she often did, much to the outward annoyance and secret relief of George, who more often than not was completely out of his depth.

In this case, however, she would need the full cooperation of both men if she was going to launch the extensive search for Martin she had in mind. Upon learning that Sid was on his way to the bakery to pick up pastries for himself and George, she let him go on his way and entered the gloomy confines of the police station.

George sat behind his desk, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He seemed startled to see her and hastily folded the newspaper as he greeted her. “You’re out and about early this morning, your ladyship. Has Martin turned up, then?”