all, it was a mother’s natural and fierce instinct to protect her young.
She reached the group of women just as Rita yelled from behind the haystack, “That’s it, ladies, he’s not here. Reform and regroup!”
The bedraggled women climbed wearily out of the demolished haystack and stood in a huddle, awaiting further orders. They seemed relieved to see Elizabeth and called out a chorus of greetings, no doubt alerting Rita to her presence.
Elizabeth waited for her to make an appearance. It was worth the wait.
Rita marched into view, her hat askew over one eye and a large piece of straw sticking out of her frizzy curls. Pieces of hay clung to her heavily padded shoulders and her pencil thin skirt. Ladders ran up and down her thick lisle stockings, and a metal buckle was missing from one of her shoes.
Apparently unaware of the spectacle she made, she looked haughtily down her nose at Elizabeth. “Your ladyship. Is there something we can do for you?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” Elizabeth glanced around the subdued group of women. “But this isn’t the place to discuss it. You all look incredibly weary. Why don’t we all meet in Bessie’s tearoom in about an hour? We can discuss the matter over afternoon tea.”
Rita folded her arms. “We are on an important mission, Lady Elizabeth. I’m sure the ladies would rather you tell us what you want from us right here, so that we can go on looking for that miserable Nazi.”
“Did I mention you are all invited as my guests?”
The reaction from the group was immediate and emphatic. “I’ll be there!” someone called out.
“Me, too!”
“I’m coming as well!”
Obviously realizing she was vastly outnumbered, Rita drew herself up to attention-a move that was spoiled somewhat when the piece of straw in her hair dislodged itself and slid down her nose. Swiping at it with her hand, she said stiffly, “Very well, if you insist. In one hour, then.”
Clara Rigglesby, one of the few of Rita’s followers bold enough to challenge her, spoke up. “You’d better make sure you clean up first, Rita. You look like a bloody scarecrow.”
A couple of the women giggled.
“We all look like we’ve had a romp in the hay with the army boys,” someone else said.
“Wish we had,” a young woman declared. “It might have been worth all this blinking effort.”
A chorus of laughter greeted this remark.
Elizabeth recognized Nellie Smith and smiled. Everyone knew Nellie was still looking for a husband and was fast approaching the age when she’d be considered an old maid.
Rita must have sensed she was losing control, for she lifted her chin and snapped, “I’ll thank you all to remember that we have the lady of the manor in our presence. So forget the vulgar remarks and prepare to return to the village.”
A general muttering of resentment followed her command, but the women slowly dispersed and headed for the gate.
“I hope whatever you have in mind doesn’t take too long, Lady Elizabeth,” Rita said as she accompanied Elizabeth back to the farmyard. “We must find this murderer and make sure he’s punished for what he did to that poor girl. We can’t allow anything to stop us from carrying out our duty.”
“I quite understand your concern, Rita,” Elizabeth assured her. She reached the gate and waited for the other woman to open it for her. “I can promise you, however, that my proposal is quite important to the war effort, and I feel confident that you and your band of followers are the best people to undertake this assignment.”
In spite of her efforts to appear indifferent, Rita began to look quite excited. “Well, then, I shall look forward to hearing about this mission at the tearoom,” she said as she climbed onto her bicycle.
Elizabeth lifted her hand. “In one hour, Rita.” She watched the line of housewives wobble off along the lane then made her way to the cowshed. A group of soldiers sat around on the grass outside, apparently waiting for further orders. Elizabeth hoped for Sheila’s sake that they soon received a command to move on and leave the poor woman in peace.
Before going in search of Maurice, she made her way around the farmhouse to where the bedroom windows overlooked the paddocks. A thorough examination of the ground revealed nothing. If there had been any bloodstains there, no doubt they would have been washed out by the recent rains.
She found Maurice inside the cowshed, where he was filling the bins with a mixture of shredded mangold, chaff, sugarbeet pulp, and crushed linseed cake, ready for the afternoon milking.
Elizabeth watched him in silence for a while. When he seemed more comfortable with her presence, she said quietly, “Maurice, do you know who burned the clothes on the bonfire this morning?”
Maurice went on shoveling the cow feed into the bins without any indication he’d understood.
Elizabeth tried again. “Maurice, I found some buttons. Would you look at them and tell me if you recognize them?”
Again Maurice ignored her.
Elizabeth stepped closer to the young man. “I’m sorry to bother you, Maurice, but sooner or later the constables are going to find out what happened to Amelia.” She had no real confidence in that, but one could always live in hope. “It would make everything so much easier if you would tell me what really happened.”
“He doesn’t know what happened,” a sharp voice said from behind her.
Elizabeth swung around to face Sheila Macclesby. She felt a nervous tug in her stomach when she saw the irate expression on Sheila’s face. Obviously she’d overstepped the mark this time and now had some explaining to do.
CHAPTER11
“Excuse me, Lady Elizabeth, but I thought I told you that Maurice doesn’t know anything about what happened to Amelia.”
Sheila’s voice shook with barely concealed anger, and Elizabeth held up her hands in apology.
“You did, Sheila, and I’m sorry. But I just thought I’d show Maurice the buttons to see if he recognized them.”
Sheila held out her hand, which trembled visibly. “Please give them to me, and I’ll ask him myself.”
Elizabeth emptied the buttons into the woman’s hand and watched her walk over to her son.
In a completely different tone of voice Sheila said quietly, “Maurice, tell me if you’ve seen these buttons before.”
Maurice went on shoveling feed into the bins.
“Maurice,” Sheila repeated. “You must tell us if you’ve seen these buttons before. I need to know now. No one’s going to hurt you, Maurice. You know I won’t allow that.”
Very slowly, Maurice turned his head and looked at his mother’s face, then at the buttons in her hand.
“Have you seen them, Maurice?”
The boy moved his head from side to side in a negative shake.
“Good boy. Now go on with what you’re doing.” Sheila patted him on the shoulder then turned back to Elizabeth. “You’ll have to excuse him, m’m. It’s the shock, you see. He hasn’t spoken since the night Amelia died.”
She’d barely finished speaking when the most terrible sound echoed through the rafters of the cowshed.
Elizabeth’s stomach turned when she realized the awful noise was coming from Maurice-his head thrown back as the agonized wail poured from his mouth in a torrent of uncontrolled grief.
“Oh, poor baby!” Sheila cried and rushed over to his side, her arms enfolding him against her bosom.
Elizabeth left them there, certain she would never forget that dreadful sound for as long as she lived. She was almost at the door of the shed when she saw a navy blue jacket hanging from a nail on one of the doorposts. It was a reefer jacket, and as far as she could see, every highly polished button was intact.
An hour later she parked her motorcycle in the street alongside the tearoom and prepared herself for the forthcoming ordeal. Once Rita found out that the important mission was nothing more demanding than decorating
