Maisie seemed as if she wanted to run away and hide. “Not very well,” she said, her voice trembling on a sob. “She wasn’t as friendly as the rest of us. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, m’m, but Amelia didn’t really belong with us, if you know what I mean. She was always bragging about her big fancy house and cars, and how she went horse-riding and had ballet lessons and everything.”
“I see.” Elizabeth glanced over at Pauline, but she had moved on to the next sheaf and was out of earshot. “What about the rest of the girls? How did they feel about Amelia?”
Maisie’s gaze flicked to Pauline for a second. “They didn’t like her neither. Especially Pauline. Amelia stole her boyfriend from the army camp. Pauline had it in for her after that.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.
As if reading her thoughts, Maisie added hurriedly, “She wouldn’t have killed her, though, m’m. Honest. I mean, she couldn’t have, could she. Pauline went to bed the same time as the rest of us. We sleep in the same room, and our floor creaks something terrible. I would have heard if she’d got out of bed.”
Elizabeth patted the frightened girl’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Maisie. I’m not accusing anyone. Do you know who Amelia was meeting last night?”
Maisie clutched the pitchfork to her chest as if for support. “It was probably Pauline’s old boyfriend, Jeff Thomas, m’m. He’s a lieutenant out at the army camp in Beerstowe.” She pinched her lips together, as if afraid of what she’d said.
“Don’t worry,” Elizabeth said, feeling sorry for the girl. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I appreciate you telling me all this. It could be extremely helpful in finding out who murdered that poor girl.” She paused, watching an array of conflicting emotions chase across Maisie’s thin face. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
Maisie swallowed a few times, then said in a rush, “I don’t want to get no one in trouble, Lady Elizabeth, but I don’t want you to go blaming Jeff, neither. He’s a nice lad, that Jeff, and he wouldn’t hurt no one. If you ask me, it’s Maurice you should be talking to, that’s who.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Maurice? What makes you say that?”
Maisie sent a hunted look in the direction of the farmhouse. “He was always hanging around Amelia. Fancied her, he did. Amelia wouldn’t have none of it, though. Told him to shove off. She told us she was afraid of him, and Amelia was never afraid of no one except him.”
Feeling greatly disturbed, Elizabeth thanked the girl and watched her hurry off to join the others. Try as she might, she could not picture Maurice Macclesby in the role of murderer. True, he could be somewhat unsettling to be around. With his pronounced limp and vacant stare, not to mention the scruffy chin thanks to his inept and apparently infrequent efforts to shave, he was not a comfortable person to be around. Still, she would never have considered him violent.
She tackled Pauline next who, unlike Maisie, was obviously bursting to tell her what she knew. “That Amelia was nothing but a greedy, two-faced snob,” she announced, stabbing the ground with her pitchfork for emphasis. “I always said something bad would happen to her one day. Though I never thought she’d be done in. Especially by someone like Maurice.”
Startled, Elizabeth fastened her gaze on the young woman’s face. “Does everyone think Maurice killed Amelia?”
Pauline shrugged. “I don’t know about everyone else. The milkman reckons it was that German pilot. All I know is that Maurice was really soppy about Amelia, and she couldn’t stand him near her. She told him that more than once, but he never took no notice. Kept following her around, staring at her in that funny way of his like she was a film star or something. Mind you, she was really pretty, I suppose, in a prissy kind of way. All that blond hair and blue eyes. She didn’t half fancy herself, I tell you.”
Elizabeth closely watched Pauline’s expression when she said quietly, “I understand you were a friend of Amelia’s boyfriend, Lieutenant Jeff Thomas?”
Pauline flinched visibly. “I was. Not anymore. Good riddance to him, that’s what I say. If he wants to be taken in by all that talk, then he’s not worth caring about.”
“Amelia had gone out to meet him last night, I understand.”
“I don’t know who she went out with. The rest of us went to bed. I have to get my sleep to do this kind of work.”
“And you didn’t hear her come back?”
Pauline shook her head. “She never came back. Her bed wasn’t slept in.”
“You didn’t hear anyone talking outside the house late last night?”
“Never heard a thing.” Pauline sent her a sly look. “Why? Did someone see her come back? Was it Maurice? I knew it. I bet he waited for her in the dark then went for her. Wonder what her father will say to all this.”
Maurice again. Elizabeth frowned. “Do you know Amelia’s father?”
“No, ’course not. He’s some big fancy attorney in London. Got pots of money. That’s if Amelia was telling the truth. Though I wouldn’t put it past her to make it all up. Never did like her. She was too full of herself, that girl.”
“Well, thank you for your help.” Elizabeth had noticed Kitty climbing down from the wagon and wanted to speak to the girl before she disappeared.
“Kitty doesn’t know anything, neither,” Pauline said, following Elizabeth’s gaze. “We all went to sleep at the same time last night and woke up this morning, and none of us heard anything nor saw anything.”
“Nevertheless,” Elizabeth said quietly, “I’d like to have a word with her.”
In that respect at least, Pauline was right. Kitty had nothing to add to the information Elizabeth had already been given. Kitty was as uncomplimentary about the murdered girl as her companions and just as certain that Maurice had been responsible.
Having satisfied herself that she would learn no more from them, Elizabeth trudged back to the farmhouse. She was now faced with the unpleasant task of questioning Maurice and she wasn’t looking forward to it.
Much against her principles, she couldn’t help hoping that it was the German pilot, after all, who had brutally attacked the young girl and left her broken body in the woods. He at least had some excuse. Something told her, however, that there was much more to this murder than a simple case of someone desperate to evade capture. Much as she hated to admit it, her instincts pointed in the direction of Sheila’s unfortunate son. If he was indeed the killer, it would very likely break Sheila’s heart.
CHAPTER5
“Madam will be entertaining a guest in the dining room for dinner tonight,” Violet told Martin, in the vague hope that he would contribute something useful to the occasion.
Martin looked up from his seat at the kitchen table. “Not before time. We haven’t had any guests in the dining room for years.”
“Not since the master and his wife have been gone.” Violet took down a crystal glass from the cupboard above the gas stove. “It will be nice to use the good china again.”
“It will be most satisfying to see madam seated in her rightful position at the dining room table.” Martin reached for the newspaper and folded it neatly. “I do not feel comfortable when she sits with us here in the kitchen. Her father would be most displeased.”
Violet finished polishing the glass before answering him. “I’m afraid he’d be displeased about a good many things. Thank Gawd he’s in his grave and can’t see what’s going on in this house.”
“Ah, but that’s just it.” Martin began rising to his feet. It was a long and tedious process, irritating to watch. Violet turned her back on him, but even so, she had seen the performance so many times she could picture it in her mind.
Violet waited, counting the three groans that accompanied his attempts to push himself upright. Finally, when she heard the air rush out of his lungs in a heavy sigh, she knew he was on his feet and resting heavily on his hands. One more groan and he would be mobile again.
