“You two escort the young ladies back to their bicycles,” the officer ordered. “Help them carry all this stuff. As for you boys, I suggest you all get back home before I decide to slap you all in jail.”
The boys needed no further excuse. They dropped their armloads of knickers on the ground and took off faster than a hare at the races.
Unable to meet the good-looking GI’s amused gaze, Polly trailed behind Sadie and the soldiers as they carried the underwear back to the gate. They were greeted by whistles and catcalls from the line of soldiers, who were now grinning and waving at their comrades marching toward them with their arms full of ladies’ knickers.
Polly was sure she’d never be able to look another American in the eye as the GI stuffed her basket full of the embarrassing underwear.
Sadie appeared to have no such qualms. She helped the other GI load up her basket, chatting happily about Joe and asking if they knew each other.
On the other side of the hedge, the officer had restored order, and all was quiet as they waited for their companions to return from the windmill.
“There you go, sweetheart,” the Yank said as he tucked the last pair into Polly’s basket.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” Polly mumbled.
“So what’s your name, then?”
Without looking at him, she muttered, “Polly.”
“Polly who?”
This brought her chin up. The GI was smiling at her, and in spite of her determination to ignore him, her stomach flipped. He really was good looking. Almost as handsome as Sam.
Thinking of Sam hardened her resolve and she dropped her gaze again. “Polly Barnett. Not that it’s any of your business.”
To her immense discomfort, the GI leaned across her basket until his face was inches from hers. “What if I’d like to make it my business? What do you say to that?”
“I’d say you’re out of luck.”
This didn’t seem to bother the GI at all. “My name’s Warren, by the way,” he said. “Warren Hudson. You can call me anything, though, just so long as you call me.”
“I don’t waste my time with Yanks,” Polly said, just as the officer’s voice cut across the hedge.
“Move it, you two!”
The tall American straightened. “Well,” he said softly, “I guess I’ll just have to change your mind about that, Polly Barnett.” He turned to his companion and nudged him in the arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
Polly watched out of the corner of her eye as the two of them went through the gate and closed it behind them.
She was unprepared when Warren Hudson leaned back over and gave her another broad wink before disappearing from view.
“Looks like you got yourself a new boyfriend,” Sadie said as the two of them mounted their bicycles.
Polly sniffed. “I told you, no more Yanks. One was enough for me. I’m not going through that again.”
Sadie started pedaling down the lane, her laughter ringing out on the late-afternoon air. “I wish you could have seen your face when those GIs bent down to pick up all those knickers. Talk about beetroot cheeks! You looked as if you were on fire.”
“Very funny.” Polly pedaled so hard she rode right past Sadie. “Good job me mum couldn’t see us standing there in front of all those Yanks with all those knickers in our arms. She’d have died of shame.”
“Well, you’d better not tell her how many Yanks know what we’re wearing under our skirts now.”
Polly groaned and pedaled harder, anxious to be away from the scene of her humiliation and to be rid of the load of underwear under her nose.
“Bet you see that GI again!” Sadie called out from behind her.
Polly didn’t answer, but she felt an uneasy quiver of apprehension at the thought. What if she did bump into him again? She wouldn’t be able to look him in the face, that was for sure.
She shook her head, reminding herself again how much it hurt when Sam went back to America. No matter how good looking or exciting Warren Hudson might be, she was absolutely, definitely, positively not going to fall for a Yank again. So there.
On her way home Elizabeth decided to stop by Rose Clovell’s house. Not that she suspected the poor woman of murdering Clyde Morgan, of course. Rose Clovell was a petite, nervous woman, the kind who would trap a spider and put it outside rather than kill it. No, it was more a need to explore every avenue, to convince herself she’d left no stone unturned.
She found Rose at home, tending to a clematis in her back garden. Laying down a pair of pruning shears, the frail woman greeted her guest with a wan smile. “I was wondering when you’d call on me, your ladyship,” she said as she led Elizabeth into her tidy parlor. “I’d heard you were asking questions about the death of Clyde Morgan.”
“Word does get around fast in the village,” Elizabeth murmured as she took the seat Rose offered her.
“Yes, well, it’s a small village, isn’t it. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, but I’m actually rather late for supper so I won’t keep you long.” Elizabeth waited while Rose shooed a large black cat off an armchair and seated herself.
The cat stalked off across the room, tail waving in indignation. Elizabeth watched it jump up on the window seat and begin delicately washing one elegant paw. Something hummed in her brain… the feeling she knew something… a cat and an armchair…What was her mind trying to tell her?
Rose spoke, making her jump. “What is it you want to know, Lady Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth brought her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I happened to be passing by and thought I’d drop in and see if you are well. All this business with Clyde Morgan must have brought back some unpleasant memories for you.”
Rose nodded, her small teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “Well, yes, it did, actually. I’m really not surprised someone shot that man. No one liked him, you know.”
“It really hasn’t been decided if someone shot him.” Elizabeth watched the other woman’s face carefully. “It’s more a theory of mine, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Rose appeared to think about that. “Well, as I said, it wouldn’t surprise me.” She shot a look at Elizabeth. “You’re wondering if I killed him, aren’t you?”
Somewhat taken aback, Elizabeth started to deny it, but Rose cut her off.
“Oh, it’s all right, your ladyship. I can see why you’d think that. After all, I blamed Clyde Morgan for the death of my son.” She paused for a moment, then shook her head. “That was when it first happened, and I wasn’t thinking straight. What happened to my boy was an accident, pure and simple. I know that now. My Arnie, he was a hooligan. Always in trouble. Always coming home covered in bruises… wouldn’t tell me where he got them. He’d been fighting, of course. It was only a matter of time before he got into trouble.”
Rose’s voice faded away in Elizabeth’s ears as the insistent buzz of recognition intensified. Something about bruises… Iris Morgan’s boy… the cat…
It came to her all at once in a blinding flash. Of course. How terribly obtuse of her. How could she have missed something so significant?
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Clovell.” She leapt to her feet, guiltily aware of Rose’s startled expression. “I’ve just remembered something important and I simply must get back to the manor right away. Do forgive me.”
“Of course.” Rose scrambled to open the door for her, barely getting there ahead of her. “It was nice of you to drop by, your ladyship. I hope I might see you again in the future.”
“Oh, of course!” Elizabeth stepped outside, waved a frantic farewell, and hurried down the path, no doubt leaving a befuddled Rose Clovell behind her.
She’d finally put it all together and she needed to talk to Iris Morgan right away. There was no time to go back to the manor now. Supper would have to wait until she’d taken care of this matter.
She fleetingly wondered if she should call George, then realized he would be home by now. The station would be closed. Besides, she needed to confirm her suspicions before she could make any firm accusations, and she was far more likely to get the answers she needed if she wasn’t accompanied by a constable.
Seated astride her motorcycle, she bounced on the kick start and the engine roared to life. After tucking her scarf around her head, she tied it in a firm knot, then set off for the village.
