Wedding Rows

by Kate Kingsbury

  “You’ve got a deal.” He touched her cheek with his free hand. “So long, sweetheart.”

  She caught her breath. It was the first time he’d used the endearment. It was something else to cling to in the dark hours ahead. She could not say good-bye. It was too final. She’d never been able to say it to him. Even when she’d thought he was leaving her life forever. “Until we meet again,” she said, adding inwardly, my love.

  Instead of waiting for him to help her down from the Jeep, she scrambled out on her own. The last she heard of him was the roar of his engine as he drove off to the back of the manor.

  Rather than wait the eternity it took Martin to open the front door for her, she made her way through the greenhouses to the kitchen door. Violet was putting dishes away when she entered and looked up in surprise.

  “I thought you were taking the dogs for a walk,” she said, sliding the last dinner plate onto the pile in the cupboard.

  “I was.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “I have to get down to the village hall now. Bessie is going back there this afternoon to finish cleaning up and I want to talk to her.”

  Violet peered at her over her shoulder. “About the murder?”

  “We don’t know if it’s a murder yet,” Elizabeth pointed out.

  “From what I understand, some poor bugger was lying dead on the floor with a knife in his chest. I daresay he didn’t put it there himself.”

  “It could have been an accident. He could have fallen with the knife in his hand.”

  Violet turned all the way around. “And what would he be doing in the cellar with a knife in the first place?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Don’t worry, Violet. I’ll find out what happened. I usually do.”

  “That’s what worries me. You always seem to end up in trouble yourself when you start going around asking questions like that.”

  “With so many people worrying about me,” Elizabeth said, as she headed for the door, “how can I possibly get into trouble?” She closed the door behind her, before Violet could answer.

  A few minutes later she halted her motorcycle in front of the village hall, just as Bessie emerged carrying a huge box. By the way she staggered as she reached the gate, Elizabeth could tell the poor woman’s load was too heavy for her.

  Elizabeth climbed off her motorcycle with as much haste as decorum allowed and hurried to help Bessie squeeze through the gate.

  “Thank you, your ladyship,” Bessie said, panting with exertion. “I thought I was going to drop it. Really I did.”

  “I do hope you’re not expecting to carry this all the way back to the Bake Shop.” Elizabeth grasped one edge of the box.

  “Well, I was going to try.” Bessie looked doubtfully at the motorcycle. “I carried it down here.”

  “But it’s uphill all the way back.” Elizabeth shifted the weight of the box against her hip. “What’s in here, anyway?”

  “China. The ladies from the Housewives League brought glasses and plates, and I brought the cups and saucers from the tea shop.”

  “Oh, my.” Elizabeth wavered, then said cautiously, “I could run them up in the sidecar of my motorcycle, if you like.”

  Bessie’s face shone with relief. “Oh, would you? Thank you, m’m. I’d be ever so grateful, really I would. I still have to pack up the linens and the cutlery.”

  “Right. Let’s get this in… here.” Elizabeth delivered the last word on a groan as they heaved the box into the tiny sidecar. “It only just fits,” she said, as she wiggled the box to make sure it was secure.

  “Thank you, m’m. I’ll get back inside and finish clearing up. Some of the ladies came to help me and I don’t want to leave them working on their own.”

  Elizabeth climbed aboard the motorcycle, kicked the engine to life, and tucked her pleated skirt securely under her knees. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, shouting over the roar of her engine. “I’d like a word with you before you leave.”

  Bessie nodded, waved her hand, and scurried back to the hall.

  Mindful of her precious cargo, Elizabeth rode cautiously up the hill to the High Street. Housewives loaded down with heavy shopping bags waved to her as she passed, and she nodded in response, too anxious to raise a hand from the handlebars. It was with a sigh of relief that she finally braked to a halt in front of Bessie’s Bake Shop.

  Two of Bessie’s assistants rushed out to help her unload the cumbersome box and wrestle it into the shop. The heavenly aroma of freshly baked bread and buns was almost irresistible, but anxious to talk to Bessie before she left the hall, Elizabeth reluctantly returned to her motorcycle.

  To her surprise, she saw George and his long-suffering partner Sid hovering around the vehicle when she emerged onto the street. The two constables were deep in conversation, which they broke off the minute Elizabeth arrived within earshot.

  They greeted her in unison, and just a little too hastily. She knew at once they had been talking about her. “Am I parked in the wrong place?” she asked, knowing perfectly well that unlike North Horsham, there were no restrictions in the High Street in Sitting Marsh.

  “No, no, your ladyship,” Sid hastened to assure her. “It was just that me and George-”

  “Were discussing the weather,” George interrupted loudly.

  Sid sent him a puzzled look. “No, we weren’t. You were saying as how-”

  “Don’t you have something urgent to do at the station?” George said, glowering at Sid.

  Sid raised his eyebrows. “It’s Sunday,” he said, his voice rising in protest.

  “Ho, ho,” George said, sounding a little like a bored Father Christmas. “A policeman’s work is never done, isn’t that right, your ladyship?”

  “Quite,” Elizabeth murmured. She knew quite well it was only a matter of time before Sid blurted out what George was trying so hard to keep quiet. “I admire dedicated men such as you two. Always on duty. Makes one feel so terribly secure.”

  George eyed her warily, while Sid beamed. “That’s so nice of you to say, Lady Elizabeth. I was just saying to George, I was-”

  George loudly cleared his throat. “I’m sure her ladyship has better things to do this afternoon than stand around listening to your idle chatter, Sid.”

  “Not at all,” Elizabeth said brightly. “I’m always interested in what Sid has to say. He can be so terribly informative at times.”

  “Don’t I bloody know it,” George muttered.

  Sid preened. “I do me best, your ladyship.”

  Elizabeth smiled at him. “You certainly seemed concerned about something just now. I do hope I don’t have a flat tire.”

  Apparently oblivious of George’s fierce glare, Sid’s hearty laugh rang out. “Oh, no, m’m. Nothing like that. George was just saying he hoped the inspector got here and arrested the murderer before you got in the way again.”

  This time George’s frantic coughing failed to cover up Sid’s words. Elizabeth gave him a frosty look. “Why, George, I thought you always appreciated my efforts to solve your cases for you.”

  George’s face turned beet red, and he ran a finger around the collar of his shirt as if it were choking him. “Yes, I do. Most of the time, that is. But this time we know who the murderer is, and I wouldn’t like to see you go to all that trouble of asking everyone questions like you always do when it ain’t… isn’t necessary.” He coughed again, then added as an afterthought, “Your ladyship.”

  Elizabeth fixed him with a stern eye. “You know who murdered Brian Sutcliffe?”

  “Yes, m’m.”

  “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to inform me, just so I won’t get in your way.”

  George looked as if he were about to cry. “I can’t do that, your ladyship. You know I can’t.”

  “Course you can,” Sid said cheerfully. “You know who it is, Lady Elizabeth. It’s the chap what’s staying at the manor, isn’t it. Mr. Rodney Winterhalter is the one what killed Mr. Sutcliffe. Isn’t that right, George?”
r />   CHAPTER 6

  Polly stood at the front door of the Manor House and tugged on the bell pull for the third time. She was fast losing her patience. She was dying to show her letter to Sadie, and that old fool, Martin, was taking his blinking time opening the door for her.

  If the kitchen door wasn’t locked she could get in that way, which is the way she usually went in. But on Sundays Violet took the afternoon off and locked the kitchen door, so here she was, hopping up and down waiting for Martin to wake up and let her in.

  She was about to hang on the bell rope again when she heard the first bolt sliding back. At last. What the bloomin’ heck had he been doing? Another bolt scraped open, then the huge iron key grated in the lock. Two more bolts to go and the latch to lift. All she could hope was that he didn’t fall asleep again before he got them all open.

  At long last the door inched open a crack. Her impatience exhausted, Polly gave the door a shove. To her dismay, she heard a muffled exclamation, then a thud. The old boy must have fallen down again. He was always falling down these days. It was a wonder he didn’t break his bloomin’ neck.

  She pushed the door, but it refused to budge any further. Getting anxious now, she put her mouth up to the crack. “Martin? Are you all right?”

  To her relief, his crusty voice answered her. “No, I am most definitely not all right. The blessed door just attacked me.”

  She sighed. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Not at all. I bounce off doors and land flat on my back for the pure fun of it.”

  “Can you get up?”

  “If I could get up,” Martin said peevishly, “do you think I’d still be lying here like a beached whale? Who are you, anyway?”

  “It’s Polly.” She waited, and when no response seemed forthcoming, added helpfully, “Polly Barnett.”

  “I am not acquainted with Polly Barnett.”

  “Yes, you are,” Polly said, rolling her eyes skyward. “I’m Lady Elizabeth’s assistant.”

  “Lady Elizabeth is not at home, so she doesn’t need your assistance.”

  “I didn’t come here to work.” Polly was fast losing her patience again. “I came to see Sadie.”

  “Miss Buttons is finishing her chores. At least she’s supposed to be finishing her chores. Heaven knows what the dratted girl gets up to when no one is watching her. I never did trust that hussy.”

  Polly pushed the door again, but Martin’s body still prevented it from opening.

  Martin’s voice rose a notch. “If you’d stop hammering me with the door I might consider making an attempt to get back on to my feet.”

  “Sorry.” She waited. And waited. “Are you getting up?” she asked, when there seemed no sign of movement from the other side of the door.

  “In a moment. I’m studying the ceiling. I think it needs a good scrubbing.”

  “Something needs a good scrubbing,” Polly muttered under her breath. Deciding that drastic measures needed to be taken, she grasped the bell rope again and gave it a hearty tug. A loud clang rang out and echoed from within the hallway.

  “Who’s there?” Martin called out.

  Polly rolled her eyes again and heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s still Polly Barnett.”

  “Well, what are you doing dithering about out there? Come in, come in.”

  “I would if I could bloody get in,” Polly muttered. She jumped as the door suddenly swung open.

  Martin stood in the doorway, his half dozen silver hairs standing on end. He peered at her over the gold rims of his glasses. “Did you say something?”

  “I said thank you very much, Martin.” Polly darted past him before he could delay her any longer. She heard him muttering something as she raced up the stairs to the great hall, but paid no attention. All she could think about now was showing her letter to Sadie.

  She found the housemaid in the great hall. Sadie was about halfway down, dusting the suit of armor that stood between the tall windows. As Polly drew near, her feet soundless on the thick carpet, she heard Sadie talking softly to herself.

  “There you go, me old matey. Now you’re all spruced up, how about giving me a ride on that white horse of yours? I could do with some excitement in me life.”

  Polly grinned as she came up behind the unsuspecting girl. “You won’t get much excitement out of that lump of metal,” she said loudly.

  Sadie screeched and spun around, but instead of looking at Polly, she seemed to be staring wide-eyed at something behind Polly’s back.

  Remembering the ghosts that had been sighted in the great hall, Polly’s skin prickled with fear. She twisted around to look behind her, the echo of her shriek reaching the far end of the hall. All she could see were the portraits of generations of ancestors staring down from the towering walls.

  “Cor blimey, Polly,” Sadie said, wiping her brow with the duster. “Whatcha go and do that for? You nearly scared me out of me knickers.”

  Annoyed with herself, Polly muttered, “Well, you scared me, too. I thought you’d seen a ghost. What were you looking at, anyhow?”

  “I dunno.” Sadie shook out the duster, sending a cloud of dust back over the suit of armor. “I jumped when you spoke and swung around to look. Then you screamed and made me jump again. I s’pose it’s hearing about that bloke what got murdered at the wedding. Given me the jitters, it has.”

  Polly stared at her. “What bloke?”

  “Brian. The bloke I told you about. The one what followed Tess down from Cambridge. They found him in the cellar. Someone stuck a knife in his chest.”

  “Oh, heck!” Polly shook her head in disbelief. “How awful. Nice looking bloke he was, too. Who would do that to him?”

  To Polly’s surprise, Sadie looked up and down the hall as if worried someone might be there. “Well, don’t say nothing to no one, but I think Tess might have done it. I didn’t say nothing to you before, but I saw that tart, Fiona, go into Brian’s room at the pub, and when I told Tess about it she blew her top.”

  “So that’s what he did,” Polly murmured, remembering her conversation with Tess at the pub.

  “I think she went after him with the knife and he fell down the cellar steps.” Sadie started dusting the armor again. “Can’t say I blame her. I’d have done the same if some bloke did that to me.”

  “You’d have killed him?”

  “Nah. I’d just frighten the living daylights out of the bugger.” Sadie looked at her over her shoulder. “Per’aps that’s what Tess did. Per’aps she didn’t mean to kill him. It could have been an accident.”

  Polly frowned. “I can’t believe Tess would do something like that. Besides, she was talking about him down at the pub last night. I’d swear she didn’t know he was dead then.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know she’d killed him until someone told her.”

  “Poor Tess. She must be so frightened and upset.”

  “Yeah.” Sadie gave the duster a final flourish. “Lady Elizabeth said she was in a terrible tizz.” She turned to face her friend. “Anyhow, what are you doing here on a Sunday?”

  Forgetting Tess’s problems for the time being, Polly pulled the letter from her pocket and waved it in Sadie’s face. “Look what came in the post yesterday.”

  Sadie took it from her and studied the envelope. “From Marlene?”

  “No, silly. From a soldier. You know, the ones what wanted letters from home?”

  Sadie’s face brightened. “Oh, them! You heard from one? What’s he like? I wish I’d sent one now.”

  Polly stared at her in surprise. “I thought you were daffy about Joe.”

  “Nah, Joe’s nice, but he’s so slow. I like ’em with a bit more pizzaaazz.”

  She’d sort of drawled it and wriggled her hips, making Polly laugh. “Why don’t you write a letter then,” she said. “Come over my house tonight and we’ll write it together.”

  “Great idea! I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll send it to Tom and ask if he has a friend that wants to write ba
ck to you.”

  “His name is Tom? Can I read it?”

  Polly watched as Sadie scanned the lines Tom had written. At last she raised her head and grinned at Polly. “He sounds a right charmer, don’t he. Wonder what he looks like?”

  “We’ll find out when I get his next letter.” Polly took the letter back and tucked it in her pocket. “I’m sending him a photograph of me tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. She felt a little jump of excitement. Tomorrow her letter would be on the way to Tom, and who knows what would come out of it. Now she couldn’t wait to get a letter back from him, and a photograph. If only time would go by faster. “I wish,” she said, as she walked with Sadie back to the stairs, “that I had a crystal ball that would tell me what’s going to happen in the future.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Sadie paused at the top of the stairs. “And I wouldn’t mind betting that right now, Tess Winterhalter is thinking the same thing as well.”

  Elizabeth stared in dismay at George’s furious face. “What, may I ask, had led you to the conclusion that Rodney Winterhalter killed Brian Sutcliffe?”

  George smoothed out his glare, which had been directed at Sid, and said stiffly, “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, your ladyship. You know how it is.”

  “Yes, I do know how it is.” Elizabeth tied her scarf more firmly under her chin. “I know very well that misplaced speculation can result in some unpleasant consequences. For all concerned.”

  George lifted his chin. “Certain facts have come to my attention, from which I have deduced that Mr. Winterhalter had both motive and opportunity.”

  “What facts?” Elizabeth demanded bluntly.

  George cleared his throat. “Your ladyship-”

  “I shall find out sooner or later, George. You will save us both a great deal of trouble if you simply tell me now.”

  George let out his breath in frustration.

  “He was seen leaving the kitchen round about the time of the murder,” Sid said.

  George sent him another withering look. “Just remember he told you that, m’m. Not me.”