“I’m afraid George and Gracie are much more likely to play with the intruder than chase him off.” Elizabeth leaned down to pat the soft head of the nearest dog by her feet.
“Well, for once Martin’s right. You do treat them like children.” Violet turned back to the stove. “No wonder they’re no good as guard dogs.”
The dogs
The next morning Elizabeth awoke with a feeling of foreboding that would not go away, no matter how hard she tried to focus on other matters. After ringing George at the station and giving him an awkward report of the missing undergarments, she went down to the kitchen, where she found Polly and Sadie in an outrage at the loss of yet more of their precious clothes.
“Why would he take just the knickers?” Polly demanded, close to tears. “Why didn’t he take all the other clothes?”
Elizabeth exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Violet, who immediately turned back to the stove.
“Because he’s blooming batty,” Sadie said. “A nutter. He belongs in the loony bin.”
“Well, I suppose that might be a safer place for him than running around our grounds,” Elizabeth agreed. “In the meantime, I want you girls to be extra careful. Don’t go outside alone, and be on the watch for a stranger. He could be dangerous.”
Polly looked scared, while Sadie seemed more furious than afraid. “Just let me get me flipping hands on him,” she muttered. “I’ll teach him to pinch me drawers.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Violet said briskly. “If you see someone stealing something like that you report him immediately to the constables.”
“And by the time they got up here,” Sadie said, nudging Polly, “he’d be long gone. I say we catch him ourselves and teach him a lesson.”
Polly’s face was drawn with anxiety, but she offered no resistance to Sadie’s defiant statement.
“Sadie, I really don’t think-” Elizabeth got no further, as just then the telephone shrilled, startling them all.
Violet reached for the receiver, while Elizabeth stood helpless, heart pounding, her leap of hope impossible to subdue. She watched her housekeeper speak into the telephone, then pause to listen, her head tilted to one side.
“I’ll give her the message,” she said at last, and hung up the telephone.
The disappointment was crushing, and Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice steady as she asked, “Who was that?”
“It was George.” Violet glanced at the girls, then said quietly, “We’re not the only one to lose our drawers. Seems quite a few women have had them stolen off the washing lines. George is worried. He thinks we have a lunatic loose in the village.”
In spite of the warm sun sparkling on the ocean, the unsettling news, coupled with her worry over Earl, considerably dampened Elizabeth’s spirits as she rode her motorcycle down to Sandhill Lane, where Wally Carbunkle lived with his new bride.
She missed Earl dreadfully. Even during the long months after he’d returned to America and she’d thought she’d never see him again, the aching misery hadn’t felt this bad. Probably because at least she knew he was safe then, and there was always a glimmer of hope that he’d return. She had no such assurances now. In fact, the longer the silence, the more certain she became that something dreadful had happened to him.
Then again, there had been no word from any of the officers who’d billeted at the manor. They had obviously been confined to the base, a sure sign that their missions were even more dangerous than usual.
Doing her best to keep her worry confined to the back of her mind, Elizabeth pulled up outside the little cottage with its neat lawn and rose-lined pathway. Thinking of the house she’d visited the day before, she couldn’t help comparing Wally’s immaculate garden to the rag and bone man’s bedraggled efforts.
Reminding herself not to think ill of the dead, she tapped on the front door of the cottage. It opened immediately, revealing Priscilla Carbunkle, her face beaming with pleasure at the sight of her visitor.
“Lady Elizabeth! How good of you to call.” She stepped back, saying over her shoulder, “Look, Wally! Look who’s come to call!”
Wally’s weathered face appeared over her shoulder. “Your ladyship! Come in, come in!”
Warmed by their welcome, Elizabeth stepped into the tidy little parlor, her gaze drawn immediately to the large vase of glorious pink roses that filled the room with their fragrance. “Oh, what beautiful roses! They smell divine.”
“You must have some to take home with you, your ladyship.” Priscilla led her visitor to a comfortable chair. “Though, of course, I’m sure the Manor House roses are just as lovely.”
“Actually they’re not,” Elizabeth admitted as she seated herself. “Desmond is rather lackadaisical, I’m afraid. How I miss the gardeners we used to have when my parents were alive.”
“Indeed,” Wally murmured. “Such a great loss for you. I often wonder how you manage in that monumental house without all the servants.”
Priscilla gave him a sharp look, which he either didn’t see or chose not to acknowledge.
Elizabeth smiled. “Such a very small area of the manor is actually in use these days. We manage very well with Martin and Violet. Then, of course, there’s Sadie and Polly, who are a great help.”
“Always think of Martin as a doddery old fool,” Wally said bluntly. “I’m surprised he’s still around.”
Obviously embarrassed by her husband’s remarks, Priscilla said hastily, “I’ll put the kettle on, your ladyship. I’m sure you could do with a nice cup of tea.” She vanished into the kitchen, where she could be heard rattling cups and saucers loud enough to indicate her agitation.
Apparently oblivious of his wife’s disapproval, Wally beamed at Elizabeth. “Invasion seems to be going well, don’t you think? How are your American chaps doing over there? Must be a bit dicey for them in those planes.”
“I imagine it is.” Elizabeth opened her capacious handbag and drew out a flat square package wrapped in blue crepe paper. “I brought you and Priscilla a small gift for the house. Just to welcome you as a married couple.”
She handed it to Wally, who seemed taken aback. “Jolly decent of you, your ladyship, I’m sure. Much obliged. I’ll let the little lady open it.”
Relieved, Elizabeth watched him lay the package on a table next to his elbow. She’d planned to give the gift to both of them, but she’d needed a distraction in order to avoid discussing the welfare of certain American pilots.
“She needs something to cheer her up,” Wally murmured. “Got upset about that mess up at the factory. Nasty business, that.”
Surprised, Elizabeth exclaimed, “Oh, did she know Mr. Morgan?”
“Knows the wife. Iris.” Wally nodded. “They were good friends at one time, until Clyde started complaining about Iris spending too much time with Prissy. That put the mockers on the friendship, I can tell you.” Wally shook his head. “Never did have much time for the bloke. Bit of a nasty temper, he had. Played darts with him a few times and he didn’t like losing, that he didn’t.”
“Not many people do,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Ah, but this chap was dashed bombastic about it. Saw him one night swipe a tankard of beer clear off the counter.” Wally frowned. “Funny thing, I always thought he was left-handed. Always threw a dart with his left hand, he did. Used to put me off, sometimes, watching him. And then when I saw him lying there with that hole in his head, poor blighter, the gun was in his right hand.” Wally shrugged. “I s’pose it makes no difference which hand you use. You’re just as dead, right?”
Fortunately Priscilla reappeared at that moment, saving Elizabeth from answering.
Delighted with the gift of tea towels, purchased with much-cherished coupons, Priscilla gushed over them at great length, while Wally nodded and smiled. “We were just talking about Clyde doing himself in,” he said when Priscilla had poured the tea. “I was telling her ladyship as how you were friends with Iris until Clyde put a stop to it.”
