George held up his hand. “Now, now, your ladyship, you know I can’t allow you to go poking around up there. Besides, it’s probably some tramp got in there for shelter and passed away. Happens all the time, it does. I’ll tell you soon enough if it’s… if there’s anything you should know.”
He was talking to thin air, as Elizabeth had already charged out the door without waiting to hear what else he had to say. The roar of her motorcycle almost drowned out his next words when he reached her.
“Lady Elizabeth, I have to order you-”
“I’m going up there, George. You have no right to stop me and you know it.”
Straining to be heard over the noise of the engine, George yelled, “I need to take a look before you go messing about up there!”
“Then stop screaming at me and get in the sidecar!” Elizabeth yelled back.
Just then Sid came rushing up to them, holding a paper bag bulging with Bessie’s pastries. “What’s the blinking fuss about?” he cried, waving the bag in the air.
“What’s happened? Where are you going? You haven’t had your grub yet.”
George looked longingly at the bag, then back at Elizabeth. “Go and get my helmet, Sid,” he ordered. “I’m going for a ride with her ladyship.”
Seething with impatience, her heart sick with dread, Elizabeth waited for the constable to fit his bulky body into the sidecar.
Sid rushed out and thrust the helmet at his partner, who took it and crammed it on his head.
“If I don’t come back,” George told him grimly, “don’t make a pig of yourself with them pastries. And read that note I left for you. It’s important.”
Sid had no time to answer as Elizabeth released the brake and they were off, careening up the street at a pace that brought a shout of protest tinged with fear from George.
She ignored him, intent on getting to the factory ruins as soon as possible. Part of her refused to believe that Martin could be lying dead up there. That was the part she clung to, despite the knowledge that the coincidence was troubling.
It seemed an eternity until they reached the demolition site. Having last seen the burned-out factory at close quarters, it seemed strange to Elizabeth to see nothing but piles of rubble lying where the building once stood.
There had been talk of rebuilding it, until public protests had persuaded the city council to abandon the idea. Personally Elizabeth applauded their decision, though she felt sad that the prospect of a richer economy had been so quickly destroyed. Sitting Marsh was losing its young people at an alarming rate. The factory might have kept some of them there, had it lived up to its promise.
She brought her motorcycle to a halt amidst curious stares from the small crowd of workers huddled together at one end of the crushed building. One of them apparently recognized her and there followed a chorus of greetings which she acknowledged with a graceful wave of her hand.
She climbed from her saddle and held the machine steady while George attempted to extract his body from the sidecar. Meanwhile one man detached himself and hurried toward her. She recognized the snow-white beard and sea captain’s hat immediately.
“Good morning, Captain Carbunkle!” she called out as he approached. “I’ve been meaning to pay you and Priscilla a visit. I trust you enjoyed your honeymoon in the Highlands?”
The captain halted in front of her and swept off his cap with a little bow. “I did indeed, madam. I’m sure Prissy would enjoy telling you all about it.” Cramming his cap back on his head, Carbunkle nodded at George, who was too busy struggling to escape the cramped innards of the sidecar to pay attention to him. Giving up, the captain turned back to Elizabeth. “Got a mess over there, I’d say. I just happened to stop by to watch them take the old wreck apart, seeing as how I was taking care of the place the night it blew up. Wanted to watch the old girl go down and pay my respects. I never expected something like this, though.”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth said, her gaze straying to the heap of rubble. “What a dreadful way to end such a noble endeavor.”
In spite of the warmth of the June sun, Carbunkle rubbed his hands together as if he were cold. “Must have been a shock for the crew, finding a stiff ’un like that.”
“Did you recognize him?” Elizabeth asked quickly.
The captain shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me get close enough. Thought I’d hang around a bit, though. Might get a look at him later on. Bit of excitement does the old heart good, you know.” He turned to leave, then paused to add, “The little lady would be pleased to see you any time, your ladyship. I know she would.”
“I’ll drop by at the first opportunity,” Elizabeth promised him, somewhat taken aback by his macabre enjoyment of the situation.
Turning her attention back to George, she found him still trying to extricate himself from her motorcycle. This took some considerable effort, and by the time he’d finally freed himself and straightened his helmet, the doctor’s car had crept onto the site and parked alongside them.
Dr. Sheridan, the village physician and medical examiner for the local constabulary, doffed his hat and nodded at Elizabeth. Before she could return his greeting, George stepped in and announced his intention to observe the victim.
The two men marched over to the group of workers, who all began talking excitedly until George lifted his hand. “Just show us where the victim is,” he barked.
One of the men stepped forward. “He’s over here, mate. The dog dug him up and we had to chase it off. Looks a right mess, he does.”
George beckoned to the doctor, and the two of them picked their way through the pile of bricks and plaster, while Elizabeth held her breath and prayed.
She watched the men bend over something at their feet; then after a while the two of them straightened. They had a quick discussion, and the group of men observing the procedure murmured anxiously among themselves. Dr. Sheridan squatted down again, and George stumbled out of the debris and walked briskly back toward her.
She could tell nothing by his expression and she wrung her hands in agonizing anticipation. No matter what he told her, she had to be brave and maintain her composure, she reminded herself. The lady of the manor never displayed her emotions in public. She must remember that at all costs.
It seemed that everything around her had frozen into silence as she waited for George to speak. The group of men made no sound, all eyes on the crouched figure of the doctor. Even the birds were hushed, and only the crunch of George’s boots broke the eerie stillness.
He came to a halt in front of her and cleared his throat. “It weren’t Martin, your ladyship. Thank the good Lord.”
She swallowed hard, biting back a cry of relief. “Thank you, George,” she said when she could trust her voice again. “Who is it, then? Did you recognize the victim?”
“Yes, m’m, I did. It were Clyde Morgan.”
The name sounded familiar, and she furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry, whom did you say?”
“The rag and bone man,” George said, glancing back at the doctor, who was getting to his feet. “Poor devil. Doc says it looks like he done himself in.”
Shocked, Elizabeth stared at him in dismay. She was about to ask him how the victim had died when George added, “Excuse me, your ladyship, but it seems the doc’s finished so I’ll need to have a word with him.”
He started off to meet Dr. Sheridan, and Elizabeth followed purposefully behind him. “I meant in private, m’m,” he said, when she caught up with him. “This is police business.”
“The victim is a resident of Sitting Marsh,” Elizabeth said firmly. “That makes it my business, too.”
Dr. Sheridan joined them just then, and apparently didn’t have any qualms about divulging the results of his investigation. “Gunshot to the side of the head,” he said, his voice clipped and professional. “Died instantly. The gun’s still in his hand. I’m not an expert but it looks like a German pistol. Nasty business, that. Been dead at least twelve hours, poor blighter. Not a good way to go, all alone like that.”
“Probably would never have known he were there if it hadn’t been for that mutt digging him up,” George said, with a bit more relish than Elizabeth felt necessary.
“What about his family?” she asked George. “They must be worrying about him, wondering where he is.”
George nodded. “Got a wife and kids at home. I s’pose I’ll have to get on down there and notify the widow.” He looked hopefully at Elizabeth. “I do hate to do that job.”
“I’ll come with you if you like,” she offered at once. “I don’t know what comfort I can give the poor woman, but
