The saloon bar of the Tudor Arms was empty when Elizabeth entered a few minutes later. It was shortly before opening time, and she knew Alfie would be setting up the bar, though the customers would not arrive until another half hour or so-the official time when Alfie could start serving the beer.
From then on, the ancient rafters of the centuries-old building would echo with the shouts, cheers, tinkling piano keys, and bawdy songs of the rowdy crowd filling the room.
Elizabeth usually made sure to be gone before that happened. Not that she had anything against drinking, of course. In fact, Alfie always kept a bottle of her favorite sherry under the counter for her, ready to pour a quick one whenever she wandered in. Her early departures reflected more her reluctance to be seen hobnobbing in such doubtful company.
Once the American GIs found the pub, they’d made it a favorite spot to relax, drink, play darts, and flirt with the village girls. It wasn’t long before word had spread to North Horsham, and a fair proportion of the female population of that town rode the bus all the way to Sitting Marsh to indulge in what had become a national pastime for a large number of British ladies-meeting Yanks.
This was looked upon by older, more staid, and for the most part envious residents as unacceptable behavior. Everyone knew the Yanks were “overpaid, oversexed, and over here,” and if a young lady, or in some cases one more mature in years and married to boot, was reckless enough to keep company with a Yank, her reputation immediately became tarnished, and furtive whispers followed her wherever she went. This was not an environment in which the lady of the manor should indulge, as Violet was constantly reminding her.
Nevertheless, Alfie, who was the recipient of more than one juicy secret disclosed while under the influence of several pints of ale, was an unsurpassed source of information that was, more often than not, concealed from the long arm of the law. Therefore Elizabeth felt justified in her illicit jaunts to the pub.
Alfie greeted her with his usual enthusiasm and brought out the half-full bottle of sherry. “Been saving this for you, your ladyship,” he announced with a cheerful grin. “Don’t know when I’ll get any more, so I’ve been telling the ladies I’m out of it.”
“That’s very good of you, Alfie.” Elizabeth settled herself at the empty bar. “I appreciate the gesture, and I hope it won’t get you into any trouble.”
Alfie laughed. “I don’t think anyone’s going to object to me saving a spot of sherry for the lady of the manor.”
“I don’t like to think I’m privileged. Wartime is a great equalizer, and I must sacrifice just as much as everyone else.”
“I reckon you do your share of sacrificing, m’m.” Alfie poured a generous shot of golden liquid into the slender glass. “You do a lot for the people of this village, always calling on them and taking little extras for the ones who need it. Not to mention putting your neck out now and then when the constables are too thick to see what needs to be done.”
“Ah, speaking of which…” Elizabeth lifted her glass and took a sip of sherry. The deliciously smooth liquid warmed her throat, and she let it slide down before finishing the sentence. “I was wondering if you happened to see Clyde Morgan in here the night before last?”
“Aha!” Alfie nodded his head, picked up a glass tankard, and began polishing it. “I wondered when you’d get around to that. Soon as I heard about Clyde being found dead yesterday, I knew sooner or later you’d be around asking questions.”
Elizabeth studied his face. “So you don’t think Clyde shot himself?”
“I didn’t say that.” Alfie kept his gaze on the tankard, which seemed to glow under the frenzied friction of his polishing cloth. “All I’m saying is that Clyde Morgan was not in some people’s good books. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if someone didn’t bump him off.”
Elizabeth took another sip of sherry. The drink had reached her stomach now and was spreading warmth throughout her body. A most pleasant feeling indeed. “Anyone in particular?”
Alfie shot her a glance under bushy brows. “A lot of people were fed up with him. He liked his beer, and when he was drinking, he got loud and nasty. Folks didn’t like that. He was a liar, too. Always shooting his mouth off about being shot in the eye by a German soldier. Truth is, he lost that eye in a pub brawl in France early in the war. Got hit with a flying bottle. He must have forgot he told me about that one.”
Elizabeth shuddered. “How awful. No wonder he was bad-tempered.”
“He was the one what started it, by all accounts.” Alfie put down the tankard and picked up another one. “I was getting a bit worried about him a couple of nights ago when he was in here. Swallowing beer like it was his last day on earth, he was.” He paused in his polishing. “Blimey, come to think of it, it
“Did he have an argument with anyone that night?”
“Not that I can recall. Bit quiet it were. I think I’d have known if there’d been any nasty business in here.” He began buffing the tankard again. “Like that night a few weeks back. A young kid traded his dead father’s army pistol to Clyde for a hunting knife. Two days later the kid cut himself in the arm. He got an artery, and bled to death before his mother could get help for him. She came down here after Clyde one night, crying and carrying on. Said it were all Clyde’s fault and she’d see he paid for it.”
“Oh, dear. I do remember reading about that poor child in the paper,” Elizabeth said. “Rose Clovell’s son, Arnie. I went down to visit his mother. Poor woman, she was beside herself with grief. She’d only recently lost her husband, then to lose a son like that… What a tragedy.”
“That’s her. Then there’s Bob Redding. His daughter’s in a wheelchair because of Clyde. ’Course, it was an accident, but if he hadn’t been drinking, he’d never have chucked a dart the wrong way and hit her in the head.”
“Dreadful,” Elizabeth agreed. “George did mention that incident to me. I understand Mr. Redding is home on leave right now?”
“That’s right.” Alfie lifted the glass and inspected it. “Got wounded in the invasion. He’s back home recovering.”
“Perhaps I’ll pay him a visit,” Elizabeth murmured. “Just to see how well he’s doing.”
“Might not be a bad idea, your ladyship.” Alfie nodded at her glass. “Another one?”
“I don’t think so, thank you.” She slid off the stool. “I must be getting home for supper, or Violet will no doubt give me a lecture.”
Alfie nodded. “How’s that major of yours? Back from the invasion yet?”
Elizabeth did her best to hide her distress. “Not yet, Alfie. I expect they are all being kept busy at the base.”
“I only asked because I saw some of his boys go by here in their jeeps a little while ago. I wondered if he was with them. They’ll probably be in later. Must say I’ve missed them. It’s been really quiet without them all singing and carrying on in here. The girls have missed them, too. Keep asking me when they’re coming back, they do.”
Elizabeth fought for breath, before saying faintly, “Oh, I didn’t know they were back. I’ll have to alert Violet to air the beds for them.”
Alfie grinned. “Reckon they’ll warm them up themselves once they get a few pints of beer inside them.”
“Excuse me,” Elizabeth said abruptly. “I must run.” She was out of the door before Alfie had finished saying good-bye.
The long summer evenings were cherished by everyone. Unhampered by the restrictions of the blackout, people enjoyed a freedom they were denied during the endless, miserable dark days of winter.
Normally Elizabeth would linger on her way home to enjoy the gold and orange hues of the setting sun, or watch the evening mists gather over the downs and settle in the branches of the oak trees. Often she would pause on the edge of the cliffs and gaze over the barbed wire at the vast ocean and the black velvet of the night sky crawling toward the shore.
This evening, however, she had but one thought in mind-to return home with as much haste as possible. Earl’s officers were back in town, and that meant he could have returned as well.
Regretting the time she’d wasted, Elizabeth roared up the curving driveway and into the courtyard. Her leap of hope when she saw several jeeps parked near the stables made her quite breathless.
Heart pounding, she scrambled off her motorcycle, paying scant heed to the rise of her skirt, which surely would have raised Violet’s eyebrows clear into her scalp. In a fever of impatience, she wheeled the machine into the
