An Unmentionable Murder (23 page)

“Certainly.”

“Please give my best to the major.” Violet put down the telephone, the worry beginning to grow. Where on earth could Lizzie be if she wasn't at the hospital? She tried to remember exactly what Elizabeth had said that morning.
I have an errand to run, then I'm going into North Horsham.
What kind of errand would keep her busy all day, especially when she was so anxious to see the major? It didn't make sense.

Her stomach knotted with worry now, Violet hurried back to the kitchen. If only Lizzie had told her what errand she was going to run, she might have been able to track her down.

She lifted the telephone and started dialing George's number, then hung up again. There was no point in raising an alarm if it wasn't necessary. It wasn't as if Lizzie were chasing after a murderer or anything, like she sometimes did.

Violet turned away from the telephone, then changed her mind again. Lizzie must have eaten somewhere that day, and Bessie's tea shop seemed the likely place.

Bessie answered her ring, sounding rushed and out of breath.

“I was wondering if her ladyship dropped by today,” Violet said, doing her best to sound unconcerned.

“Yes,” Bessie said, her voice tinged with impatience. “She was here. Had a Cornish pasty and left.”

“What time was that?”

“Around one o'clock, I suppose. I know we were busy. Just like we are now.”

Ignoring the hint, Violet demanded, “Did she say where she was going after that?”

There was a pause while Bessie answered someone in the background, then she spoke into the telephone again. “No, she didn't.” She seemed about to hang up, then added, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Violet hastily assured her. “I was just wondering if she was coming home for supper, that's all.”

“She didn't say. She did ask about Clyde Morgan's horse, now I come to think about it. She might have called in there.”

Violet thanked her and hung up. Her face creased in a frown, she sat down at the kitchen table. Why on earth would Lizzie be asking about the rag and bone man's horse? Clyde Morgan was dead. Was she thinking about buying his horse? Surely not. She had enough trouble taking care of the two hounds the major had given her.

Violet's frown deepened. In a million years she would never have thought that Lizzie would spend all day seeing about a horse when her major was waiting for her in a hospital bed in North Horsham. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ring George after all.

 
Elizabeth slowly opened her eyes and blinked. Searing pain stabbed through her head when she turned it, and she uttered a soft moan. She lay on her side, and the arm pinned beneath her had gone to sleep. She tried moving it, but her hands seemed to be tied together. She couldn't open her mouth. Something soft had been tied over it.

The air was unbearably stuffy, and an awful smell invaded her nostrils. Hearing a soft shuffling sound, she braved the pain to lift her head. She appeared to be in a shed, with a horse for company.

In the next instant it all came flooding back. Iris Morgan had attacked her, ordered her son to tie her up, and intended to throw her and her motorcycle over the cliff to make it look like an accident.

Groaning in pain, Elizabeth eased herself over onto her back and stared at the beams above her head. No one knew she was there. Violet thought she was in North Horsham visiting Earl. There was no hope of escape. She couldn't even call out.

Just to make sure, she drew in a deep breath through her nose and tried to force it out in a shout. All she got for her efforts was a muffled whine and another vicious stab of pain in her head.

Moving her bound feet, she winced when her ankle came in contact with something sharp. With great caution she angled her head, and realized she was lying in the cart, alongside her motorcycle.

She lay back, her spirits plummeting. Was this how it was all going to end? Would Earl survive, only to find out she had died in a so-called accident after driving over a cliff? What would that do to his recovery?

No! She could not, would not, let it happen. She turned her head again and examined the motorcycle. Her ankle had collided with the edge of the mudguard. Was it sharp enough to cut through the rope that bound her hands? It was worth a try.

The pain in her head almost blinded her as she wriggled around to get her hands in position. At long last she was there, and she pressed the rope against the mudguard and began sawing.

She sawed until her arms felt as if they would drop off from fatigue, but the thought of Earl lying in that hospital bed kept her at it. Just when she thought she could not move her arms one more inch, she felt the rope begin to give.

Her determination renewed, she sawed even more frantically. So intent was she on breaking through the final strands, she didn't hear the shed door open. It wasn't until she heard his voice that she realized Tommy had come back into the shed and stood not five feet away from her.

Tears of frustration coursed down her cheeks as she stared into eyes that were empty of expression. Her muffled protest, unintelligible behind the cloth over her mouth, went unheeded. He stepped toward her, the carving knife in his hand, and she closed her eyes.
Good-bye, my love. I'm so sorry.

She bit back her whimper of fear as rough hands turned her on her side. She waited for the knife to sink in her back, wondering why Iris had sent this young boy to commit this terrible deed.

Then her body jerked in surprise when her hands were suddenly freed. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, her feet were also cut free. The cloth was removed from her mouth, with a silent signal from the boy to stay quiet.

He needn't have worried. Her soaring hope had rendered her speechless.

Stunned by this turn of events, she allowed him to help her from the cart. Blood rushed back into her cramped limbs, and she bit back a cry of pain, fearful that it might cause him to turn on her with the knife he still held in his hand.

“Come on,” he whispered, and led her stumbling and limping to the door.

With an unbelievable heady rush of relief, she stepped outside into the cool evening air.

“Go,” the boy whispered urgently. “Run, before she comes to get you.”

Her resolve fast returning, Elizabeth took the boy's arm. “I can't leave you here with her. She's insane. She killed your father—”

The boy shook his head, cutting off her words. “Mum didn't kill our dad.” He swallowed, and sent a scared look at the house. “I did it. He beat me and then he was going to beat Katie again. I couldn't let him do that. I was afraid he'd kill her. I got the gun and I was just going to frighten him with it. I didn't know there was a bullet in it.” Tears rolled down the boy's face, and his voice trembled on a sob. “I had to stop him from hurting Katie, didn't I.”

“Of course you did,” Elizabeth said soothingly. “I understand. But now we have to tell—”

“Tomm-y-y-y-y!” Iris's voice floated down the alleyway.

Tommy shoved Elizabeth away with both hands. “Go! She'll kill you. She said she wouldn't let anyone take me away. She means it. I couldn't let her do that because of what I did. I just couldn't.”

“I'm not leaving you with her.” Elizabeth turned to face the alleyway as Iris's voice sounded louder. “We'll face her together and we'll get Katie and—”

“No!” Tommy was sobbing now—huge, deep sobs that tore at her heart. “You can't take Katie away, you can't!”

“Tommy—” There was no time to argue with the boy. Elizabeth grabbed the knife out of his hand and turned to face the woman running toward them.

Just then another shout echoed across the quiet field. Someone hurtled out of the alleyway on a bicycle. Someone short and stout—George. Somehow he wedged his bicycle in front of Iris, stopping her cold.

For a moment it seemed as if she would fight him, but then she burst into tears and sank to the ground. Tommy broke free from Elizabeth's grip and ran toward his mother. Dropping to his knees beside her, he wound his arms around her, his sobs joining hers.

 
“Thank goodness I thought to call Bessie,” Violet said, some time later. She set a glass of brandy down on the kitchen table in front of Elizabeth. “If she hadn't said that about you talking about Clyde Morgan's horse, I never would have thought of calling George until much later, and by then it might have been too late.”

She shivered and poured herself a generous glass from the brandy bottle. “I tell you, when George rang to tell me you'd almost been killed, I was beside myself.” She glared at Elizabeth. “Why didn't you tell me that the rag and bone man was murdered and you were getting yourself involved again?”

Elizabeth took down a mouthful of brandy and shuddered. “I didn't know for certain and since George was so convinced it was suicide I didn't want to make any accusations until I was sure that my suspicions were founded.”

Violet seemed about ready to cry. “You always confide in me, Lizzie. I don't know why you didn't this time.”

“You were so worried about Martin. I didn't want to worry you with something else that might well have been nothing more than my imagination.”

Violet wagged a finger at her. “Don't you ever do that to me again, Elizabeth. From now on you tell me when you're going off on one of your wild-goose chases. If no one knows where you are, how do we know when you're in trouble? It was lucky the hospital rang or I'd—”

Elizabeth sat up straight in her chair. “The hospital? What did they say? Did they say anything about Earl?”

“Of course they said something about the major,” Violet said crossly. “Why else would they call?”

“What did they say?” Elizabeth took hold of Violet's hands. “Violet, tell me, what did they say?”

“They said as how the major was awake and wanted to see you, but—”

Elizabeth waited to hear no more. She leapt to her feet, sending her empty glass spinning across the table. “I must go to him.”

“What now?” Violet deftly caught the glass and set it upright. “It's past eight o'clock. You'll never get there before dark. Besides, the major's probably asleep by now.”

Elizabeth stared at the clock. “I had no idea it was that late.” She rushed over to the telephone and grabbed it off the hook. “I'll ring the hospital and ask how he is.” Her fingers busily dialed as she spoke.

Violet said something she didn't hear, but she paid scant attention. All her thoughts were on Earl now, and as she waited for someone to answer the urgent ringing of the phone, she prayed she would hear good news.

It took some time before she could persuade the nurse who answered to allow her to speak to someone in charge. When the sister finally came onto the phone, she was obviously annoyed.

“I must advise you, your ladyship,” she said stiffly, “that it's past visiting hours. I must ask you to ring us back in the morning.”

“I just want to know the condition of Major Earl Monroe,” Elizabeth said stubbornly.

“The nurse could have told you that.”

“I didn't want a carefully worded stock answer. I need to know his real condition.” Elizabeth waited a beat, then added, “Or should I just come in person to find out what I want to know?”

“The major is resting right now.” The sister hesitated, then added, “He's over the crisis, and is expected to recover.” Elizabeth's cry of joy made her pause, then she added, “I must warn you, however, it's likely to be a long process. It's better that you talk to the doctor in the morning. He can tell you more than I can.”

Elizabeth hugged the telephone to her cheek. “Thank you, sister. I'll be there first thing.”

She hung up the receiver and turned to find Violet dabbing away at the corner of her eye with her handkerchief. “He's going to be all right,” she said and, in a burst of joy, hugged Violet's scrawny body. “He's going to be well!”

“Thank the good Lord.” Violet patted Elizabeth's hand. “Now sit down. I have something to tell you about Martin.”

Elizabeth sat. No matter what trouble Martin was in, they could take care of it. Now that Earl was on the mend, she could take care of anything.

“I think Martin has gone completely off his rocker,” Violet said.

Except that,
Elizabeth thought. “Now what?”

Violet nodded. “I heard him talking to someone on the telephone. I think someone is pretending to be from the War Office and they're humoring him. I wouldn't be surprised if two men in white coats turn up at the door one morning to take him away.”

“Why? What did he say?”

“Not much. He just said his name, and the gentleman on the other end told him he'd done an excellent job and his country was grateful to him.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Elizabeth ran a hand over her hair and winced as her fingers came in contact with a large bump on her head.

“Let me look at that.” Violet jumped up and began parting Elizabeth's hair.

“I do know Martin was involved with the government in some way in the first world war. Something to do with breaking codes, I believe. Apparently Martin taught the Morse code to sailors at the turn of the century and was an expert at breaking codes. Ouch!”

Her yelp of pain stilled Violet's probing fingers. “I'll get a cold cloth for that.” She hurried over to the sink and turned on the tap. “Well, that explains it, then. You know how Martin is, always getting confused. He must have thought it was World War One again and offered his services. The War Office must have got a good laugh out of that one. Can you imagine Martin trying to break a code nowadays? Half the time he doesn't know where he is or what he's doing.”