“No one is going anywhere,” Rita muttered fiercely. “They’ve been trying to cath these criminals for months. All that damage they’ve done to the American vehicles and property-we can’t let them go now.”
“Even if we do catch them, how are we going to get them back to the village?” Florrie ventured.
Rita quelled her with a glare. “All right, what we have to do is keep them talking while someone goes down to the village for George and Sid.”
Nellie sniggered. “How do you think you’re going to keep them talking? Chat about the weather?”
“I’m not going to,” Rita said calmly. “You are.”
Nellie’s grin vanished. “Me? Not on your life.”
“You have to do it.” Rita put on her stubborn look. “You’re the youngest, and not bad looking. You’re the only one they’ll take any notice of; and after all, you’ve had plenty of experience chatting up the boys.”
Nellie looked offended. “Here, what does that mean?”
“I only meant that you’re the most experienced one to do this. Think what it will mean, to be the one who catches the three musketeers. Some of the most wanted criminals in the country.”
Nellie stared at her, and Marge could tell that she was weighing the price of glory against the need for self- preservation. Finally, she said, “All right, I’ll do it. But you’d better all be close behind me. And someone had better get down to the village really fast because I don’t know how long I can keep them talking.”
Rita beamed. “Good for you, Nellie. You won’t regret this, I promise you.”
It wasn’t often Nellie got praise from Rita. If ever. She turned red and muttered, “I bloody hope not.”
Rita turned to Florrie. “You go down to the village, Florrie, and fetch George and Sid. If they’re not together, then send them up here one at a time. And make it fast. We don’t want to lose them now we’ve got them in our grasp.”
Florrie had been turning even more pale throughout this speech. Finally she spluttered, “Oh, I couldn’t. Really I couldn’t.”
“Of course you can,” Rita said, losing all vestige of patience. “All you’ve got to do is run down the hill and tell George the three musketeers are up here and to come right away. It’s downhill all the way. How hard is that?”
“Why can’t Marge go?” Florrie whined.
Rita uttered a grunt of contempt. “Look at her. She’s twice your size. It would take her forever to get down there. You can do it in half the time.”
Marge was about to protest, then thought better of it. After all, she didn’t want to be the one to go down to the village. She wanted to stay and watch the excitement.
At last, Florrie was persuaded, and she set off at a panicky run in the direction of the village.
“Now,” Rita said, giving Nellie a pat on the shoulder. “Off you go. Tell them you’re on your way home and ask them for a lift or something. Or pretend you’ve lost your dog and want them to help you look for it.”
“I haven’t got a dog,” Nellie said, beginning to look scared.
“I know that.” Rita actually grinned, though her mouth looked as if it were fighting it. “But they don’t know that, do they. Just get on with it. We have to stop them before they leave and disappear again.”
Nellie looked really worried now, and Marge felt sorry for her. “Maybe I should go with her,” she said, wondering what on earth had made her say that.
“No, it’s better if she goes alone. That way they won’t feel threatened.”
“Maybe they won’t, but I flipping will.” Nellie looked around the group. “You’ll all come running if I yell for help, won’t you?”
Everyone nodded, though no one looked as if they really meant it.
With a sick feeling in her stomach, Marge watched Nellie walk slowly up the road. They were sending her into danger, all alone, straight into the arms of the most wanted criminals in the country. What on earth were they thinking?
Faced with the prospect of eating leftover stew, Elizabeth decided instead to take a ride down to the Tudor Arms and buy two of Alfie’s delicious Cornish pasties. Just the thought of them made her feel hungry, and she wasted no time in getting her motorcycle out from the stables.
It was still early enough that the pub wouldn’t be too crowded, and with any luck she could slip in and out without attracting too much attention. It would do her good to get out of the house, she told herself as she swept down the hill. Too much time spent alone allowed her to dwell on Earl and what horrors he might be facing.
News of the bombing raids on Germany were prevalent on the wireless these days. One could hardly turn it on without hearing about the planes lost and the courageous men who didn’t return. She seldom listened to the news now, and only turned on the wireless when one of her favorite programs was on.
One could hardly dig one’s head into the sand, however. What with the wireless reports, the newspaper, and talk on everyone’s lips, it was difficult to escape the rumors about an imminent invasion of Europe by the Allies. Just the mere mention of it was enough to turn her stomach and fill her heart with fear.
Turning into the parking lot, she was thankful to see no Jeeps parked there. A couple of bicycles leaned against the fence, but other than that it seemed the evening’s festivities were yet to begin. Of course, with Priscilla on her honeymoon, the Sunday talent concert would not be held. Then again, most of the locals walked to the pub and could already be inside enjoying their evening pint.
Although aware that the rules of etiquette had been relaxed considerably since the outbreak of the war, Elizabeth still felt uncomfortable entering the pub unescorted. Still, the thought of those Cornish pasties called to her, and she couldn’t ignore the hunger pangs. She headed for the door, her mouth watering.
The familiar smell of beer, tobacco, and the musty odor of the heavy oak beams was as potent as ever. The level of chatter lowered considerably as she made her way to the bar. Several tables were occupied in the saloon bar, and recognizing the locals, she acknowledged them all with a gracious wave of her hand.
The gentlemen rose, until she waved them back into their seats. “I shan’t be long,” she told them. “Please sit down and enjoy your evening.”
Alfie, the ruddy-faced jovial barman, greeted her with a smile. “Come for your usual drop of sherry, your ladyship? Sit right down and I’ll pour you one.”
“Actually I came for Cornish pasties.” Elizabeth glanced hungrily at the display case on the counter. “I won’t be stopping for a drink tonight.”
“Got a nice bottle of cream sherry just come in.” Alfie reached under the counter, brought out a bottle, and waved it at her. “Shame to waste it on those what don’t appreciate a good sherry when they see one.”
Elizabeth hesitated. The house
“My pleasure, m’m.” Alfie poured the brown liquid into a glass and pushed it toward her.
She could smell the sweet, tangy aroma of it even before she lifted the glass to her lips. The first sip burned her throat, as it always did, and she put down the drink. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Violet in the last hour or two?”
Alfie seemed surprised. “Violet? In here? I don’t think she’s ever set foot in this pub. Not as long as I’ve been here, anyhow.”
“Well, she doesn’t usually go off somewhere without telling me, either.” Elizabeth glanced around the room in the faint hope of seeing her housekeeper’s bony features.
“Maybe she took a walk. It’s a nice night.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Martin said she went off in a motorcar. I wasn’t aware that Violet knew anyone who had a motorcar.”
Alfie looked sympathetic. “I know you must be worried about her. Finding that Sutcliffe chap dead at the wedding yesterday puts everyone on edge. Nasty business, that.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Can’t say I’m all that surprised, though. Smarmy blighter he was, though one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Oh, that’s right. He had a room here, didn’t he.” Forgetting Violet for the moment, Elizabeth seized the opportunity to pursue her investigation. “I take it you didn’t care for the gentleman.”
Alfie snorted. “That weren’t no gentleman. Trouble-maker, that’s what he was. Almost came to a punch-up the other night. I had to step in and calm things down.”
