Elizabeth winced and stepped out from behind Earl Monroe’s comforting frame. “It’s all right, Major,” she assured him. “It isn’t loaded.” She took a step forward into Martin’s path and held out her hand. “Give me the gun, Martin. As you can see, I’m in no danger. Major Monroe is our guest.”
Martin peered over the top of his glasses. “I beg your pardon, madam, but I believe you’ve been misled. This is the German officer everyone is looking for. You can see his uniform is most certainly not British.” He raised the gun and jabbed it in the major’s direction. “Have at you, sir!”
“Are you quite sure it’s not loaded?” Earl Monroe asked with just a trace of uncertainty in his voice.
“Quite,” Elizabeth said confidently. “Even if it were it probably wouldn’t fire. It hasn’t been fired for centur-” Her words ended in a piercing scream as a deafening roar rattled the chandelier above her head.
At the same time a cloud of smoke billowed from the end of the gun, and Martin was lifted off his feet. Elizabeth just had time to see him land with a thud on his back when something hit her hard between the shoulder blades. The force of the weight behind her thrust her face down onto the carpet.
Momentarily stunned, she realized the heavy weight was still on top of her, pinning her down. Part of her mind registered the dust rising from the carpet under her nose, and she made a mental note to remind Polly to vacuum the carpet first thing in the morning.
Her mind cleared an instant later, and she realized she was in danger of expiring from lack of breath, since her lungs were crushed by the mysterious weight on her back. She heard a faint groan further down the hall then a pattering of feet running toward them.
Violet’s voice sounded incredulous when she exclaimed, “What in the world are you all doing on the floor?”
The weight on her back shifted, and Elizabeth raised her head. A few feet away, Martin lay on his back, the gun still in his grip and pointing straight at the ceiling.
“You okay?”
The major’s voice spoke directly in her ear, and she realized it was his body lying full-length on top of her. Slowly she swiveled her head and met Violet’s amused gaze.
“Well,” the housekeeper said with a hint of smugness, “how nice to see you making the Yanks feel so much at home.”
CHAPTER13
Martin, as it turned out, was relatively unharmed, despite his spectacular backspring. Apparently, as the major explained, the kickback of the heavy gun had knocked the aged butler off his feet. Fortunately he had managed to imbibe a goodly portion of the expensive brandy Major Monroe had brought with him the night before, which explained his confusion as to the major’s identity. The brandy had also relaxed him enough to survive the fall without any broken bones.
After examining him carefully, Dr. Sheridan pronounced the elderly man none the worse for wear, apart from a badly bruised shoulder and a considerable blow to his pride.
Much relieved, Elizabeth showed the doctor out then went back to the library to question Martin. “Where on earth did you get the gunpowder to load that thing?” she asked him as she helped him on with his coat.
“The master always kept a supply of it in the safe.” Martin struggled to fasten his buttons. “He used to take the gun out sometimes to shoot it in the woods.”
“Good heavens!” Elizabeth stared at him in amazement. “Did Mother know about that?”
“Of course not, madam.” Martin found the dozen or so hairs on his head with his fingers and smoothed them in place. “This was strictly between us men. Women have no business around guns.”
Elizabeth bristled at that but, under the circumstances, decided to let it go. “You could have killed the major,” she said sternly. “I do not want you to ever touch that gun again.”
Martin gave her a haughty look from under his brows. “It wasn’t loaded,” he said, managing to sound dignified in spite of his disheveled appearance.
“What do you mean it wasn’t loaded?” Elizabeth folded her arms. “What on earth was all that noise, then? Not to mention the smoke.”
Martin shook his head. “That was just the gunpowder going off. There wasn’t any ammunition in the barrel. I put the gunpowder in when I heard about the invasion, ready for loading in case we were attacked.” He frowned. “I’d forgotten it was in there. I just wanted to frighten the blighter, that was all. Take him captive until the police got here.” He twisted his head to look around the room. “Where is he, anyway? Blighter hasn’t escaped again, has he?”
“That man you attacked this evening was Major Monroe, one of the Americans billeted in our house. They are our guests. Martin, you really must remember these things. I can’t have you running around attacking the Americans with a blunderbuss.”
Martin flicked the dust off his jacket. “Excuse me, madam, but I was simply trying to protect you. If that had been a German officer, you would be thanking me for saving your life.”
“No doubt,” Elizabeth said dryly, “but right now I’m thanking God you didn’t kill Major Monroe and put us on the wrong side of this war.”
She looked up as the door swung open and Violet hurried in. “How is he?” she asked anxiously.
“He’ll live.” Elizabeth sighed. “He was lucky this time.”
“Silly old fool.” Violet handed Martin a steaming mug of hot milk. “Here, drink this, then it’s off to bed for you. The shock is enough to kill you.”
Martin took the milk and sniffed. “Did you put brandy in it?”
“No, I did not.” Violet wagged her finger at him. “You’ve had far too much as it is. Running around drunk with a blimmin’ shotgun in your hands. Embarrassed us all, you did. You almost killed that nice major.” She shot a look at Elizabeth. “Where’d he go, anyway?”
“Major Monroe took the decorations down to the town hall for me.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece. “I should be getting down there. I told him to tell Rita I’d come down just as soon as the doctor left.”
“Well, you’d better get on with it, then,” Violet said, watching Martin gulp down his milk. “I’ll see the old badger gets to bed all right.”
Martin lowered his mug. His upper lip bore a white mustache of milk, which tended to deflate his dignity somewhat when he said pompously, “I am quite capable of getting myself to bed, thank you. If I wanted the services of a nursemaid, I’d hire a professional-someone much more youthful.” His bleary-eyed gaze drifted down Violet’s stick-like figure. “And with more bosom.”
“Well, I never!” Violet looked outraged, though Elizabeth could swear she saw the housekeeper’s lips twitch. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a bosomy young woman if you had one, you mangy old goat. No more brandy for you, mister. It makes your tongue flap too much.”
Martin raised his hand to his nose. “Where are my spectacles?”
“Here.” Violet fished them out of her apron pocket. “They fell off while you were performing acrobatics out in the hall. Though I don’t know why you bother to wear them. If you’d been looking through them properly you’d have recognized the major and wouldn’t have taken a potshot at him. You’re never going to see straight if you keep looking over the top of them.”
Martin took the glasses and rather shakily strung them over his ears. “Has it ever occurred to you, Violet, that being unable to see clearly can sometimes be a blessing?”
Violet raised her chin, obviously taking the comment personally. “You’re glad enough to see me when you’re hungry, though, aren’t you, you ungrateful old sod.”
Elizabeth chose that moment to slip out, leaving the two of them to fight it out on their own. The frequent skirmishes between Martin and her housekeeper were harmless enough, and, although neither would admit it, disguised a genuine if grudging affection for each other.
They had been battling with each other for as long as Elizabeth could remember, from the good days when they’d been in charge of a houseful of servants, through the bad days when they’d watched the domestic staff gradually dwindle down to just the two of them.
Polly and Desmond, the gardener, had been hired less than two years ago, when His Majesty’s service had
