Iris shook her head. After a long pause, she said quietly, “He’s been down in the dumps for a while ’cause business has been so bad. Nobody wants to get rid of anything these days. Everything’s on ration, you see, and it’s hard to buy new so everyone’s hanging on to what they’ve already got.”
She sniffed and dabbed at her nose again. “I just can’t believe he’s gone. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. Really I don’t.” She stared anxiously up at Elizabeth. “What’s going to happen to my kiddies? They won’t take them away from me, will they?”
“No one is going to take your children away from you,” Elizabeth said firmly. “I’ll see to that.”
Iris wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Thank you, m’m. I don’t think I could go on if I lost them, too. They’ll miss their father, that I do know.” She nodded at a picture frame that stood on the sideboard.
The unkempt man in the photograph wore a straggly beard and a dark patch over his right eye. One hand was raised in the act of throwing a dart, and his thick brows were drawn together in concentration. He seemed rather formidable, Elizabeth thought, remembering Polly’s comment about his resemblance to a pirate.
Feeling compelled to say something, she murmured, “He seems very… ah… capable. Was that taken at the Tudor Arms? I seem to recognize the bar behind him.”
Iris nodded. “He’s a good darts player, my Clyde.” Her expression changed. “At least, he was.” Her face crumpled, as if she were about to burst into tears again.
“As long as he wasn’t drinking all night, that is,” George said dryly.
Iris’s chin shot up and her eyes filled with resentment as she glared at George. “That were an accident as you well know, George Dalrymple. And don’t you never say otherwise.”
Sensing an impending confrontation, Elizabeth said hurriedly, “Well, I must be off. I have to take George back to the station and then run some errands.” She stared hard at George, who took the hint and stood, brushing crumbs from his trousers.
Jamming his helmet on his head, he said gruffly, “Well, I’m sorry about Clyde, Mrs. Morgan. I’m sure Dr. Sheridan will be in touch with you shortly, and I’ll ask the vicar to drop by to make arrangements for the funeral.”
Iris slowly got to her feet, one hand hanging on to the armchair. She looked frail and helpless, and Elizabeth’s heart went out to her.
“Is there someone who can take care of the children for a few days, just to give you some time to deal with all this?” she asked gently.
Iris shook her head. “No, your ladyship. But my Tommy’s almost grown. Twelve years old, he is now. He’ll help take care of Katie; she’s only seven but she’s no trouble. Thank you very much, m’m, but we’ll manage.”
“Very well.” Elizabeth headed for the door, anxious now to breathe the fresh clean air outside. “But if you should change your mind, please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“You’re very kind,” Iris said, following them to the front door. She opened it for them and stood aside to let them pass. Just then the child’s voice rang out, loud and surprisingly harsh. “Shut up, you sniv’ling little bugger, or I’ll shut your mouth with
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at Iris, who shrugged her thin shoulders. “That’s my Katie,” she said, shaking her head. “Always bashing that poor teddy bear of hers. It’s a wonder its head doesn’t leave its shoulders, the way she carries on. Don’t know what gets into her sometimes, really I don’t.”
Such language in a young child disturbed Elizabeth. She was even more upset that Iris apparently saw no reason to chastise the little girl for speaking in that dreadful manner. Such poor discipline would undoubtedly result in a problem child. It was none of her business, of course, and this certainly wasn’t the time to bring up the subject. Instead, she merely nodded and followed George out into the welcome sunlight.
A few minutes later she pulled up outside the police station and cut the engine. George climbed grumbling and muttering out of the sidecar, and stretched his back with a loud moan.
Ignoring this rather childish display, Elizabeth demanded, “What about the search party? What’s being done about finding Martin?”
“All taken care of,” George said smugly. “I left a note for Sid. He should have half the village out looking by now. Unless they’ve found him already. If you’ll hang on a minute, m’m, I’ll go and see.”
Seated astride the motorcycle, Elizabeth gripped the handlebars and silently prayed. George’s voice interrupted her and she lifted her head.
“No one’s there, your ladyship. No messages or anything, so I presume they are still out there looking for your butler.”
“Very well. Thank you, George.” She would have to be content with that for now, she thought dismally.
“Well, I’ll be getting back to the desk then,” George said. “I have to make up a report on Clyde Morgan.”
Remembering the tension between Iris and George earlier, Elizabeth’s curiosity got the better of her. “What did Iris mean about something being an accident?”
George frowned and scratched the back of his neck. “She was a bit touchy about that, weren’t she? Can’t say as I blame her. Nasty business that were.”
He turned to leave, and Elizabeth shook her head. “George, I’d like to know what happened.”
He paused, then turned back. “Oh, well, it were like this. A year or two ago Clyde was down the pub, drinking too much, like he always did. Anyway, they had a darts match and they was all betting on him to win it. There was this young girl, Sheila Redding, and she was watching the match. Only sixteen years old, she was. Clyde was fooling around and shot a wild dart. Buried it right in her head, he did.”
Elizabeth uttered a shocked gasp. “Oh, good heavens. What happened to her?”
“Well, they got it out, but it did something to her brain. She’s in a wheelchair, can’t talk, or do much for herself. They put her in one of them homes for people like that. It’s in North Horsham.” George sighed. “Horrible thing to happen to someone that young. They say she’ll never get any better.”
“How awful.” Elizabeth’s heart ached for the girl. “Was Mr. Morgan charged with anything?”
“Not a thing. Iris were right about that. It were ruled an accident, though in my mind, he should have gone to prison for it. If he hadn’t been drunk and fooling around, it would never have happened.” George lifted his hand in a salute. “Thank you for the lift, m’m. Much obliged. Not my favorite way to travel by any means, but it’s a lot faster than me bicycle, I will say that.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I’ll be quite happy to give you a lift anytime, George. You only have to ask.”
He walked away from her, muttering under his breath. She couldn’t swear to it, but it sounded as if he’d said,
The wind had picked up when she rode up the hill, stinging her cheeks and bringing tears to her eyes. Normally she would be ravenously hungry by now, but her worries over Martin’s absence and Earl’s silence robbed her of an appetite.
Wearily she wheeled her motorcycle into the stables and walked around to the front door. She’d tugged on the bell rope several times before she remembered that Martin would not be there to open the door for her. Violet must not be able to hear the bell and Sadie in all likelihood was buried somewhere in the depths of the mansion. That meant she’d have to walk around to the back door of the kitchen.
She turned to go down the steps, then paused as the hollow sound of the bolts being drawn back echoed behind her. Violet must have heard the bell after all.
Waiting impatiently for the door to open, she decided to ring the hospital in North Horsham before going down to the kitchen for the midday meal. Someone might have found Martin and taken him there. Not that she had much hope of that, but it would give her something else to do besides waiting helplessly for news.
The door finally began to move, so slowly Elizabeth stared at it in alarm. Violet would have thrown it open, as would Sadie. Even Polly would not be inching it open in this furtive manner. Unless…
She put out a tentative hand and gently pushed. Feeling some resistance, she pushed harder, until a caustic voice spoke from the other side. “Hold on, hold on! What’s the dashed hurry? I’m going as fast as I can!”
“Martin, I’m so terribly sorry. Are you hurt?”
“I’m not exactly basking in pleasure, madam.” Very slowly he pushed himself away from the wall, righted his glasses, which had slipped down his nose, and smoothed back the half dozen hairs remaining on his head.
“Thank goodness, Martin. Wherever have you been? We’ve all been so dreadfully worried about you. We were
