him his lunch is ready.”
“His lunch is past ready,” Violet said grimly. “It’s on its way to the sink if he doesn’t hurry up. By the way, you never told me how you got on at the police station. They haven’t found that German yet, I suppose?”
“Not as far as I know.” Elizabeth paused at the door. “They’re still looking, of course. At least, the army is looking for him.”
“I wonder if they’ve run across Rita and her lot yet.”
“Rita and her troops had a change of heart about hunting down the German, lucky for him.”
“Go on! Not like Rita to give up on a chance to glorify herself. Mind you, it’s just as well. Anything could have happened with all those soldiers running around.”
“That’s exactly what I told them.”
Violet tilted her head to one side. “I had an idea you might be responsible for them changing their minds.”
“Someone had to do it, and the constables weren’t too cooperative.”
“Yes, but why does it always have to be you?” Violet wagged a finger at her. “You’ll get yourself into more trouble than you can handle one of these fine days, Lizzie. You see if you don’t.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You worry too much, Violet. After all, it’s my duty to watch over the villagers, and I’m very good at taking care of myself.”
“No woman is good at taking care of herself. You need a man to do that.”
“I tried that. Look where it landed me. If there’s one thing I don’t need in my life, it’s another man.” She left on those words, before Violet could give her any more argument.
It took her several minutes to find Martin. She finally spied him at the end of the great hall closest to the east wing. He stood at one of the tall, diamond-leaded windows, looking out at the neglected tennis court.
“He used to play there with your mother,” Martin said when she reached his side.
Feeling a rush of warmth for the elderly man, she wished that protocol would allow her to give him a hug. There was not the slightest doubt in her mind that had she done so, Martin would probably faint dead away at the outrage. “I know,” she said gently. “Both my parents loved to play tennis.”
“No one plays on the tennis court now.”
“Well, it’s not very serviceable right now. The net is broken, and the grass needs cutting and marking again.”
“He wants it repaired and spruced up.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Who does?”
“The master, of course. He was just here, telling me so. I think he misses playing tennis.”
Elizabeth glanced down the hall. It stretched the entire length of the house, and the far end was lost in shadows. Massive portraits of long-dead ancestors stared from their lofty perches on the walls with expressions varying from scowls to bored indifference. Not one of them smiled. If her portrait were to be hung alongside them, she would insist that she be smiling in it. No wonder people imagined they saw ghosts in such somber surroundings.
She looked the other way to the empty spaces still waiting. Her parents had sat for portraits shortly before their deaths. The massive paintings had been locked away for the past two years. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to look at them. Now she couldn’t remember if either of her parents had smiled in them. She would get them out, she decided, and have them hung where they belonged, alongside her grandparents, both of whom had passed away a few years ago. Her whole immediate family gone now. There were times when she felt like an orphan, left all alone in the world.
“Would you like me to see to it, madam?”
Jolted out of her thoughts, she stared at Martin. “See to what, Martin?”
“The tennis court, madam. I could spruce it up for the master.”
“Oh, if you like.” She eyed his frail body doubtfully. “Perhaps you can get Desmond to help. He’s supposed to be taking care of the grounds.”
Martin growled in his throat. “If you want my opinion madam, Desmond is about as useful in the grounds as a hole in an umbrella. I’ll take care of the matter myself.”
“As you wish.” Remembering why she was there, she added quickly, “Oh, Martin, your soup is getting cold in the kitchen. You’d better hurry down there before Violet throws it out.”
“Is it that time already?” Martin fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and drew out a large, silver pocket watch. “My word, where does the time go? If you’ll excuse me, madam, I’ll trot along to the kitchen now.”
“Of course, Martin. Enjoy your lunch.” She watched him shuffle slowly along the blue and gold carpet, his bowed figure frowned upon by the disdainful images on the walls. He had given his life to this house and the family who had lived there. If believing he could see the ghost of Lord Nigel Hartleigh made him happy, then who was she to deprive him of his fantasy?
She had almost reached her office when Polly came flying down the hallway, her long, black hair tumbling about her flushed face. In the old days, Elizabeth thought, no maid would be allowed into the main house without her hair pinned and tucked securely under her cap. Polly had absolutely refused to wear a cap. Times had changed indeed.
“Lady Elizabeth!” Fighting for breath, Polly halted in front of her.
Her clothes were at least halfway presentable today. The plaid skirt and white blouse were quite respectable, and so much more becoming than those dreadful slacks the young girls lived in nowadays. Elizabeth bestowed a smile on the young maid. “What can I do for you, Polly?”
“Well, m’m, I just wanted to tell you that I rang all those numbers Violet give me-”
“Gave me,” Elizabeth corrected automatically.
“Sorry, m’m. Gave me. Anyhow, they all said as how they’d be at the meeting this afternoon. I got it all wrote down in a note on your desk.”
Elizabeth generously ignored the further slip in grammar. “Thank you, Polly. I appreciate your efforts.”
“Well, I was wondering, m’m, if you’ve given any more thought to me working in your office. I’m learning to talk proper now, and I’m getting really, really good at figures and writing letters, and I know I could manage all the bills. Violet showed me how to write out a check for the bank, so I know how to do that now, and I can answer the telephone and ring people and set up appointments and do all that for you.”
Elizabeth frowned. She had to admit she could use the help, but she wasn’t at all sure she could trust Polly with her varied and sometimes complicated duties. “I suppose I could use you for an hour every day,” she said at last. “There’s a mountain of filing to be done, and you could start there.”
Polly nodded eagerly, her face wreathed in smiles. “I can do the filing, m’m. You just show me once, and I’ll know how to do it.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Very well, you can start tomorrow. Be in my office at half past eight.”
“Yes, m’m.” Polly poised to rush off.
“And Polly?”
“Yes, m’m?”
“You will still have to take care of the housework.”
“Yes, m’m.”
She had gone a few steps when Elizabeth stopped her again. “Oh, and Polly?”
This time the response came a little more warily. “Yes, m’m?”
“It’s talk
Polly grinned. “Yes,
The thoroughly American twang to the word made Elizabeth wince, but this time she let the young girl go. She had to ring Sheila Macclesby now to find out what was so urgent and she was dreading it.
Reaching her office, she sat down at the heavy oak desk and dialed the number of the farm. A young female voice answered her on the second ring, sounding breathless. “Macclesby farm!”
“This is Lady Elizabeth from the Manor House. I’d like to speak to Mrs. Macclesby, please.”
“Oh, Lady Elizabeth! This is Pauline. Mrs. Macclesby’s in the cowshed, trying to stop the soldiers from mucking about with the cows.”
Elizabeth frowned. “What are soldiers doing in the cowshed?”
“They’re looking for that German, that’s what. He’s been hiding in the barn. Maurice found some food up there, stolen from the kitchen. There was a scarf up there, too, with a swastika on it. He’s not there now, though. I reckon
