In the next instant she chided herself for being so juvenile. After all, she wasn’t buying the dress for
Still arguing with herself, she slipped out of the gown and back into her sensible clothes. Then, with the dress draped over her arm, she walked back out into the shop, half afraid that the entire population of Sitting Marsh was waiting outside to sit in judgement of her.
Rosie was still alone, however, waiting for her with an expectant smile on her face. “How did it look, m’m?” she asked with an obvious and quite unsuccessful attempt not to seem too eager.
“Rather nice, actually.” Shutting off the accusing voice in her mind, Elizabeth handed over the gown. “I’ll take it.”
“That’s wonderful. This will look so nice on you, m’m. Shall I have it sent up to the house?”
“No,” Elizabeth said hastily. “I’ll take it with me.”
“Ah, going to wear it to the dance, m’m, are we? Very nice, too.” Beaming, Rosie bore the creation away to be wrapped.
Elizabeth wandered around the shop while she waited, only half listening to Rosie’s chatter from behind the counter.
“I don’t normally carry such an expensive line in my shop,” she said as she carried the package back to Elizabeth. “But I fell in love with this one. Would have liked it for myself, really, but I can’t afford to pay that much for a dress.”
She handed the package to Elizabeth, who took it from her as tenderly as if she were accepting a newborn baby. “Just put it on my account,” she murmured automatically.
“Er-you don’t have an account at Finnegan’s, Lady Elizabeth.” Rosie looked embarrassed. “But I’ll open one for you right away, of course.” She scurried back to the counter and began scribbling in a small ledger.
Feeling guilty again, Elizabeth waited for her to finish. She could hardly tell the woman that she didn’t have enough cash to pay for the dress until the monthly rents were in.
When Rosie finally closed the ledger, Elizabeth handed her the buttons she’d been carrying in her pocket. “I was wondering if you’ve ever seen buttons like these before,” she said casually. “They look as if they might come from a military uniform, though I don’t recognize the emblem on them.”
Rosie took the buttons and examined them. “They’re not military buttons,” she said at last. “The shanks are too fancy. I’d say they are more like blazer buttons, made to look as if they’re military.” She frowned, then added, “Wait a minute, m’m. I think I know where I might have seen buttons like these before.”
She hurried out from behind the counter and crossed to the far wall, where a line of coats hung from a rack. “I’ve only just brought these out since the cooler weather came in a few weeks ago. They’ve been in storage since last winter, so I’m not sure but-” She broke off with a muttered explanation. “I thought so. Here.” She pulled a navy blue reefer jacket off the rack and carried it over to Elizabeth. “See, m’m? They’re identical.”
“So they are,” Elizabeth said slowly. “Have you sold many of these jackets lately?”
Rosie shook her head. “Not cold enough yet, is it, m’m. I’ve only sold two so far. One to Captain Carbunkle-he buys a new one every year-though I don’t know why. I’ve known these things to last ten years or more.”
Elizabeth lifted the sleeve of the thick, heavy wool garment. “And who bought the other one?”
“Sheila Macclesby. She was just in here day before yesterday. She told me Maurice had outgrown his old one, but if you ask me he probably lost it. That Maurice has never been right in the head. Makes me wonder how he ever gets the work done, now that Wally’s not there. ’Course, the land girls help out a lot, I suppose, but I always say farming is men’s work…”
Elizabeth nodded, listening with only half her mind. The other half was remembering the shiny buttons on the reefer jacket hanging in the cowshed and the blackened ones she’d dug out of the bonfire. There didn’t seem any doubt now that the land girls had been right. It looked very much as if Maurice Macclesby had killed Amelia.
Had he had the presence of mind to hide his reefer jacket in the sacks to be burned? It seemed doubtful. More likely, his mother heard him arguing with Amelia that night and possibly discovered the body later. She could have seen the blood on Maurice’s jacket and burned it to protect him.
Elizabeth thanked Rosie and left the shop, her mind still mulling over the possibilities. Sheila could also be the one who hid the body in the woods, hoping to place the blame for Amelia’s death on the German. All possible, but how in the world was she going to prove it?
The evidence had been destroyed; the murder weapon-if the spade was, indeed, the murder weapon-had been throughly cleaned. The only witness to the murder would die herself before she incriminated her son. Elizabeth sighed. Once more it appeared that she was up against a solid brick wall.
CHAPTER14
The next day passed in a flurry of activity as everyone worked together to prepare for the dance. Elizabeth had been quite pleased with Polly’s work in the office the day before and decided to delegate some more duties. Thus leaving her more time to concentrate on the dance.
She’d tried to catch Major Monroe before he left that morning, in the hopes of finding out exactly what he planned to bring in the way of spirits, and was quite disappointed when informed by one of his officers that the major had left for the base in the early hours of the morning.
The significance of that disquieted her a great deal, and her thoughts kept returning to him throughout the day, despite her best efforts to put him out of her mind.
An hour before the dance was to begin, Polly had been dispensed to help Bessie deliver the gramophone and records. She arrived at Bessie’s cottage to find her on her hands and knees in front of a small cabinet, doing her best to break it open with a dinner knife.
“It’s locked,” she explained when Polly crouched down beside her. “I can’t find the key anywhere. I had it in that little blue egg cup on the mantelpiece, but it’s not there now. All I can think is that the cat knocked it down, and it’s rolled under the settee. It’s too heavy to move on my own, but now you’re here…”
She looked hopefully at Polly, who shook her head. “We don’t have time for that now,” she said briskly. “I’ve got a better idea.”
She reached up to the knot of hair that Marlene had carefully piled up and pinned for her. Her fingers found a hairpin, and she drew it out carefully so as not to disturb the elaborate arrangement. Marlene would kill her if she messed up her hairdo now. She’d wanted a wave down the side of her face like Veronica Lake, but Marlene had talked her into wearing it on top of her head. She had to admit the style made her feel much older and more sophisticated.
In return she’d promised to tell everyone that Marlene had done her hair, so that her sister might get some new customers from North Horsham. There were bound to be girls coming to the dance from there, once the word got around. Word got around really fast in that town.
Realizing that Bessie was watching her with a worried expression, Polly grinned at her. “Watch this.” She poked the hairpin into the keyhole, jiggled it around for a moment or two until she felt the lock release, then pulled out the pin. “Now try it.”
Bessie’s expression was skeptical as she twisted the handle, but it turned to amazement when the door opened easily. “How in the world did you do that?”
Polly shrugged. “A boy in school taught me. I kept losing the key to my desk, so he showed me how to open it with a hairpin. I got really good at it after doing it a few times.”
“Well, it might be as well to keep that little talent to yourself,” Bessie warned as she drew out a pile of records. “Here, have a look through these.”
Polly sat down on the carpet to examine the platters. “Crikey!” she exclaimed. “Look at all these. Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Ted Heath, Duke Ellington…” She held one up in the air. “Frank Sinatra! My favorite! This is going to be a groovy dance. I can’t wait to boogie-woogie with my Sam.”
Bessie’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “What does all that mean?”
“It’s jive talk.” Polly went on sorting through the records. “The Yanks use it all the time.”
