claimed the resident gardener and the remaining maids had left to work in the military canteens. Martin and Violet were all Elizabeth had left now of her past life at the Manor House, and she loved them dearly. Even if they did drive her crazy now and again with their constant bickering.
Arriving at the town hall a short time later, Elizabeth found yet another form of chaos on her hands. Women appeared to be running hither and thither without any real design or destination. Rita Crumm stood on the stage, her face almost hidden behind the huge microphone, which apparently wasn’t plugged in since not a word she spoke could be heard above the chattering of her crew.
Someone had draped an enormous Union Jack flag at the back of the stage, and Marge Gunther, easily the heaviest of Rita’s followers, balanced precariously on a ladder while she attempted to hang a red, white, and blue garland over the window. Boxes lay all over the floor, while a nearby table was strewn with a tangled array of colorful paper decorations.
Elizabeth heaved a huge sigh, then stashed her handbag under her coat in the vestibule and rolled up her sleeves. It was going to be a long night.
The following morning Elizabeth rose with a strange sense of foreboding that she couldn’t really pin down. The town hall had looked remarkably festive by the time she’d left, though not without a price. Tempers had been shortened and patience sorely tested, not to mention a strained muscle or two. All in all, however, she felt well satisfied with everyone’s efforts.
All that remained now was to confer with Bessie and make sure the refreshments would be taken care of and the records and gramophone delivered on time. Ted Wilkins had dropped by during the decorating to assure her that a large supply of beer would be available for the dance. The major had promised to bring half a dozen bottles of Scotch and whatever else he could find, and so far everything seemed to be working out really well.
Even so, she couldn’t quite dismiss the uneasiness that plagued her throughout breakfast.
She was thankful that Martin was unusually quiet, and even Violet seemed subdued.
“Tired,” she explained when Elizabeth inquired about her well being. “I waited up until I heard you come in.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.” Elizabeth looked at her in dismay. “I was perfectly all right.”
“You had to ride that motorcycle past those woods in the dark.” Violet rattled the dishes as she stacked them in the sink. “That German could still be loitering around there, waiting to jump out at you.”
“I doubt it very much.” Elizabeth glanced at Martin and was concerned to notice he looked unusually pale. “I’m quite sure he’s left the area by now. The army personnel think so, too. They have called off the search.”
“They can’t do that!” Violet looked put out. “He killed that young girl. He’s got to pay for it.”
“
Violet looked disapproving. “I still think you’re making a mistake letting that girl muck about in your office. Her head is too full of other things. She’ll never pay attention long enough to learn anything, you mark my words.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Elizabeth laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Are you feeling all right, Martin? You haven’t said a word this morning.”
Martin lifted his head, his eyes widening in surprise. “Good morning, madam! I didn’t see you come in. I do beg your pardon.” He started struggling out of his chair, and Elizabeth gently increased the pressure on his shoulder. “Don’t get up, Martin. I’m just leaving.”
“But you haven’t had any breakfast yet, madam. You can’t go out in this snowstorm with nothing in your stomach. Your mother will be most displeased. Has Geoffrey got the carriage ready yet? I told him the springs needed oiling. I do hope he saw to it.”
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Violet, who rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Silly old fool’s rambling again,” she muttered. “Don’t worry, Lizzie. You get on with what you have to do, and I’ll take care of him.”
“Perhaps we should have Dr. Sheridan take another look at him,” Elizabeth said worriedly.
Violet made a hissing sound through her teeth. “If we sent for the doctor every time Martin got confused, the poor man would be here every day. You know how he gets. Give him an hour or two, and he’ll be as good as new.”
“He did take a rather nasty fall yesterday,” Elizabeth said, unconvinced.
“I’ll keep my eye on him,” Violet promised. “Now get along or you won’t be back in time to teach Droopy Drawers how to put papers in alphabetical order. That’ll take you all day.”
Wisely ignoring this piece of sarcasm, Elizabeth sent one last concerned glance at Martin, then left.
Roaring down the High Street a few minutes later, she returned the hand waves from the villagers, mostly women on their daily shopping trips. Heavy black clouds billowed across the steel-gray sky, forewarning a storm out at sea.
Elizabeth glanced up at the leaden sky and wondered if Major Monroe would be flying up there that day. How difficult it must be to find a bomb target when the clouds were so thick and low. The planes would have to fly beneath the clouds to find the target, which put them in dire danger of being hit by flack. Just the thought of it made her feel ill.
She shook off her inexplicable melancholy and coasted to a halt in front of Rosie Finnegan’s clothes shop. Finnegan’s Fashions had been a focal point of the High Street for the last century and a half, ever since Joe Finnegan had emigrated from Ireland, bringing his large family with him.
Their shop handed down from generation to generation, the Finnegan tailors had clothed the people of Sitting Marsh through the various fashion changes, from crinolines and corsets to short skirts and suspenders. Hemlines had gradually narrowed and risen over the years and now seemed to go up and down with every change of season. Through it all the Finnegans had treated their customers with courtesy and good old-fashioned Irish humor.
Rosie was no exception. Though quieter than many of her ancestors, she had a sense of dry humor that never let her down, even in the most trying times.
She greeted Elizabeth with a smile and a hot cup of tea laced with Irish whiskey-a treat that made a visit to Finnegan’s worthwhile.
Sipping the potent brew from a thick china mug, Elizabeth listened to Rosie’s account of the fight at the Tudor Arms. When she had finished, Elizabeth told her about the dance at the town hall.
“I’d appreciate it if you would put some notices up in your window about it,” she said, looking around for somewhere to put down her mug.
Rosie took it out of her hand. “Be happy to, your ladyship. Bit of a short notice though, isn’t it?”
“It is really, I suppose.” Elizabeth leaned forward to finger a pale green silk gown hanging close by. Normally she bought all her clothes in London, staying overnight to give herself plenty of time to explore Harrods as well as the little boutiques in Oxford Street. Since the death of her parents, however, shopping in London had lost much of its charm.
“How much is this?” she murmured. The dress was a tad shorter than she was used to wearing, but she rather liked the flow of the skirt and the somewhat daring neckline was very flattering.
“It’s rather expensive,” Rosie said. “Five pounds, eleven shillings.”
Elizabeth almost smiled. In the days when she’d had money, she’d thought nothing of spending five times that amount on a dress. Now she would have to think twice before splashing out on this one.
There was the dance tomorrow, of course. She hadn’t been dancing since her marriage to Harry Compton. Harry didn’t like dancing. But then, Harry hadn’t cared for any of her favorite pursuits. All Harry had worried about was which horse race to bet on, or which dog would win the Gold Cup.
It would be rather nice to go dancing again. And she hadn’t bought anything in ages. “I’d like to try this on,” she announced.
Rosie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How wonderful! This will look absolutely gorgeous on you, m’m. I just know it.” She showed Elizabeth into the minuscule dressing room and left her to try on the dress.
After removing her skirt and jumper, Elizabeth pulled the cool, slinky fabric over her head and let it fall into place. The shimmery green skirt clung to her hips, making her look at least five pounds slimmer. The color brought out the green in her hazel eyes. It was very definitely
The second the thought entered her head she was swamped with guilt. For a moment she was seized with an urge to tear off the dress and throw it in the corner where it couldn’t tempt her anymore.
