She watched with fascination as a curtain seemed to descend over her butler’s face. His eyes took on a vacant stare and his voice sounded frail when he answered. “Raffle lady?”
“Yes. Beatrice somebody or other. She visits the manor quite frequently, ostensibly to sell raffle tickets, though I suspect her main objective is to socialize with you.”
A flicker of interest flashed across his face, then was gone. “Socialize?”
“You know what I mean, Martin. And do come in. I really don’t want to have this discussion on the doorstep.”
Martin carefully wiped first one shoe then the other on the mat at his feet before stepping over the threshold. Elizabeth closed the door, then turned to find him shuffling away from her at top speed, which for Martin was little more than the pace of a frightened worm.
“Martin! I’m not finished speaking to you!”
Elizabeth’s voice echoed sharply across the hall and Martin halted, swaying rather precariously on his bowed legs. It took him several seconds to shuffle around to face her, by which time Elizabeth was quite sure he was deliberately emphasizing his fragility.
“I know it’s none of my business,” she said, as he stood blinking at her over his spectacles, “and you are perfectly entitled to your privacy. When you resort to staying out all night, however, I have to question the wisdom of your behavior. Violet and I feel a certain responsibility for your welfare, and it’s not very considerate of you to worry us like this without some sort of explanation.”
He stared at her for a moment or two, then said abruptly, “I was stargazing.”
It was the last thing Elizabeth expected to hear. “I beg your pardon?”
“Stargazing, madam. You know, looking at the stars. I’ve taken up an interest in astronomy.”
Certain he was pulling her leg, Elizabeth said dryly, “Really. Astronomy.”
“Yes, madam. Quite fascinating, actually.”
“I can imagine. Tell me, Martin, are you engaged in this new endeavor alone, or do you have company when you are staring at the stars?”
“Quite alone, madam.”
“I see.” Elizabeth pursed her lips. “And you feel compelled to do this all night long?”
“That is when you have the very best view.”
“No doubt.” Elizabeth walked up to him until she was almost toe to toe. “Martin, I do not believe one word you say. You’re up to something, and I mean to find out what it is.”
“Yes, madam. May I be excused now? I am rather fatigued.”
He did look awfully tired, Elizabeth thought with another rush of concern. “Go and lie down,” she ordered, “but first let Violet know you’re back. I don’t want her getting in a state worrying about you all day.”
“Very well, madam. Good day to you.”
A thought occurred to her and she called out after him. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes, madam, thank you. I had a plate of sausage, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, fried potatoes, fried tomatoes, and fried bread. Very tasty.” He was moving away from her as he spoke, and his last words were barely audible, but she caught them. “A vast improvement over Violet’s stodgy porridge, I can assure you.”
She stared after him. Where in the world did he get a breakfast like that? If he was stargazing, as he maintained-and she had serious doubts about that-it had to be from a most unusual viewpoint indeed.
This wasn’t the time to pursue it, however, and she had other matters to attend to for the moment. Later, she promised herself, she would corner her butler and demand to know where he had spent the last two nights, and why he was going to such great pains to hide where he had been.
The wind had picked up considerably by the time she rode her motorcycle along the narrow road that separated the harbor from the tiny shops that had once catered to the summer visitors. Most of the shops were closed and shuttered now, since very few people ventured far from home these days.
She found the cottage nestled on a steep slope, its leaded-pane windows almost hidden beneath its thatched roof. Parking her motorcycle, she was careful to turn the wheels into the grass verge.
An attractive woman answered her knock, and immediately gasped in surprise. “Lady Elizabeth! Whatever are you doing here?” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “That wasn’t very polite, was it? I’m just so surprised to see you, that’s all. I’ve seen your picture in the paper and seen you about town, but I never thought I’d actually get a visit from you.”
“It’s quite all right.” Elizabeth smiled at her. “In the old days one would drop off a calling card announcing an impending visit. In my opinion the old customs were a good deal more civilized than the modern manners of today, and should be resurrected for the most part. I apologize for calling on you like this, but I would like a word with your husband, if I may?”
“Oh, Mr. Redding’s not here, your ladyship,”-she opened the door wider-“but he should be home soon if you’d care to come in and wait. He’s just gone down to the harbor to help his friend unload his catch for the day.”
Elizabeth stepped inside the immaculate front room, and looked around with pleasure. Bright yellow cushions with white daisy appliques decorated the brown sofa and armchairs, giving a splash of color to the room. Yellow and white checkered curtains hung at the windows, and a vase of daisies sat in the middle of the highly polished dining table.
“How refreshing,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I love daisies; they always seem to be smiling somehow.”
Mrs. Redding’s laughter echoed across the room. “I know what you mean. If you’ll care to sit down, I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Oh, please don’t bother.” Elizabeth sat down on a comfortable armchair and removed her scarf. “I’d like to talk to you if you don’t mind, Mrs. Redding.”
“Not at all, and please, call me Marion. Everybody does.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth paused, then added carefully, “I was so very sorry to hear about your daughter’s tragedy. What a terrible accident that was.”
Marion Redding’s face clouded. “Indeed it was. Sheila is our only child, and I didn’t think Bob was ever going to get over what happened to her. Not that one ever really gets over something like that, but we’ve managed to come to terms with it, and that’s the best we can hope for.”
“I suppose there’s no hope that your daughter will recover?”
“None at all.” Marion Redding sank onto the sofa, her hands clasped together. “Sheila will spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, however long that may be.
She doesn’t know anything that’s going on around her. It’s like she’s asleep all the time, except her eyes are open. Sometimes she cries, but no one knows why, and it’s so sad to see her like that.”
“It must be very hard for you and your husband,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I suppose you’ve heard that Clyde Morgan, the man responsible, has passed away?”
Marion nodded. “We heard he’d shot himself. Bob said he was probably eaten up with guilt for what he did and couldn’t live with it anymore.”
“And what do you think?”
The other woman sighed. “I really don’t know, your ladyship. It’s been more than two years, after all, and Clyde Morgan didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would wallow in guilt over something that was an accident, no matter how badly it turned out.”
A harsh voice came from the doorway, making them both jump. “What difference does it make? The miserable bugger’s dead, and that’s true justice.”
Elizabeth stared at the man who’d just entered the room. He wore a dark sweater and a cloth cap, and a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He needed a shave and shadows underlined his dark eyes. His scowl drew his thick brows together and in one hand he held an axe, making him all the more intimidating.
“For heaven’s sake, Bob!” Marion uttered a nervous laugh and got up from the sofa. “That’s no way to greet the lady of the manor. This is Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton. She wants to talk to you.”
Bob Redding appeared unaffected by this announcement, though he did remove his cap. Very deliberately, he closed the door with an ominous thud. “Something I can do for you, your ladyship?”
Feeling somewhat unsettled by this bear of a man, Elizabeth said quietly, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Redding. I do trust you are recovering from your injuries?”
He came farther into the room, his face a mask of indifference. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”
“He’s expecting to go back to his unit in a week or two,” Marion said hurriedly. “Aren’t you, Bob?”
