make any sense to you, Violet, but I make perfect sense to myself.”
He was probably right at that , Violet thought grimly. “Well, we have to get the dining room table set for dinner. See if you can find Polly and tell her I’ll need her help tonight. She can stay late for a change. With all this talk of murder, I forgot to tell her about it when I saw her.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Her concern was well founded.
Martin clutched his chest in the region of his heart and staggered. “Murder? Where? Here? No! When? Who? Who? Who ?”
“For Gawd’s sake, Martin, stop hooting like a bloody owl. It wasn’t anyone we know, so you can just forget about it.”
“Forget about it?” Martin ran a hand over his sparse wisps of hair. “Forget we have a murderer running around? We could all be slaughtered in our beds. Where is madam? It’s not safe for her to be running around on her own like this. In my day young women were chaperoned everywhere.”
“In my day, too.” Deciding that he’d survived the shock, she took down another glass from the cupboard. “But things change, Martin, and we have to change with them.”
“Not me,” Martin declared stoutly. “I’m too old to change.”
“If you ask me, you’re too bloody old to breathe,” Violet said crisply. “But that doesn’t stop you trying. Now get on with you and see if you can find Polly.”
“Very well, but it wouldn’t hurt you to say please once in a while.”
“Please.” She watched him shuffle toward the door an inch at a time.
He was almost there when he paused and slowly edged his body around to face her again. “Was it one of those blasted Americans?”
She blinked. “What?”
“The person who was prematurely deprived of his life.”
Irritated by his annoying habit of talking like a dictionary, Violet’s voice rose a notch. “No, it wasn’t. So stop worrying about it.”
“Violet, I shall worry about it if I so wish. I demand to know who is the unfortunate victim of this abominable crime.”
Giving up, Violet shrugged. “It was one of them land girls, that’s who. Someone found her body in the woods. Mind you, the way some of them run around flaunting themselves, it’s no wonder one of them came to a bad end.”
“Oh, my, oh, my.” Martin shook his head so hard his specs slid off. More by luck than judgement, he caught them before they fell to the floor and stuck them back on his nose. “Well, at least it didn’t happen here at the manor. I did wonder if perhaps the master had a hand in it.”
“A hand in what?”
“The murder.” Martin swayed forward on his feet and touched his lips with a withered finger. “He doesn’t like them, you know.”
Violet crossed her arms and tipped her head to one side. “The master’s dead, Martin. Killed by a bomb in London. Blown to bloomin’ bits, you might say. They buried what was left of him in the churchyard. You were there. Even if he had risen from the dead, he’d be walking around without a head, so you wouldn’t be able to bloody recognize him if you saw him.”
Martin turned pale. “I say! Steady on, Violet. That’s a ghastly thing to say about the master. He hasn’t lost his head at all. I saw him this morning, walking along the great hall, and his head was right where it should be.”
“Well, it’s too bad yours isn’t,” Violet snapped, having reached the end of her patience. “Now, are you going to stop all this silly blabbering about ghosts andfind Polly for me, or do I have to find her myself?”
Martin sniffed. “There’s no need to take that tone of voice with me. I’m quite capable of finding the wretched girl. Though what good it will do I can’t imagine. She spends more time gazing at herself in mirrors than taking care of her duties.”
And that, Violet thought as she watched Martin shuffle out the door, was the most intelligent thing he’d said that morning.
Elizabeth crossed the barnyard
He was probably right at that , Violet thought grimly. “Well, we have to get the dining room table set for dinner. See if you can find Polly and tell her I’ll need her help tonight. She can stay late for a change. With all this talk of murder, I forgot to tell her about it when I saw her.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Her concern was well founded.
Martin clutched his chest in the region of his heart and staggered. “Murder? Where? Here? No! When? Who? Who? Who ?”
“For Gawd’s sake, Martin, stop hooting like a bloody owl. It wasn’t anyone we know, so you can just forget about it.”
“Forget about it?” Martin ran a hand over his sparse wisps of hair. “Forget we have a murderer running around? We could all be slaughtered in our beds. Where is madam? It’s not safe for her to be running around on her own like this. In my day young women were chaperoned everywhere.”
“In my day, too.” Deciding that he’d survived the shock, she took down another glass from the cupboard. “But things change, Martin, and we have to change with them.”
“Not me,” Martin declared stoutly. “I’m too old to change.”
“If you ask me, you’re too bloody old to breathe,” Violet said crisply. “But that doesn’t stop you trying. Now get on with you and see if you can find Polly.”
“Very well, but it wouldn’t hurt you to say please once in a while.”
“Please.” She watched him shuffle toward the door an inch at a time.
He was almost there when he paused and slowly edged his body around to face her again. “Was it one of those blasted Americans?”
She blinked. “What?”
“The person who was prematurely deprived of his life.”
Irritated by his annoying habit of talking like a dictionary, Violet’s voice rose a notch. “No, it wasn’t. So stop worrying about it.”
“Violet, I shall worry about it if I so wish. I demand to know who is the unfortunate victim of this abominable crime.”
Giving up, Violet shrugged. “It was one of them land girls, that’s who. Someone found her body in the woods. Mind you, the way some of them run around flaunting themselves, it’s no wonder one of them came to a bad end.”
“Oh, my, oh, my.” Martin shook his head so hard his specs slid off. More by luck than judgement, he caught them before they fell to the floor and stuck them back on his nose. “Well, at least it didn’t happen here at the manor. I did wonder if perhaps the master had a hand in it.”
“A hand in what?”
“The murder.” Martin swayed forward on his feet and touched his lips with a withered finger. “He doesn’t like them, you know.”
Violet crossed her arms and tipped her head to one side. “The master’s dead, Martin. Killed by a bomb in London. Blown to bloomin’ bits, you might say. They buried what was left of him in the churchyard. You were there. Even if he had risen from the dead, he’d be walking around without a head, so you wouldn’t be able to bloody recognize him if you saw him.”
Martin turned pale. “I say! Steady on, Violet. That’s a ghastly thing to say about the master. He hasn’t lost his head at all. I saw him this morning, walking along the great hall, and his head was right where it should be.”
“Well, it’s too bad yours isn’t,” Violet snapped, having reached the end of her patience. “Now, are you going to stop all this silly blabbering about ghosts andfind Polly for me, or do I have to find her myself?”
Martin sniffed. “There’s no need to take that tone of voice with me. I’m quite capable of finding the wretched girl. Though what good it will do I can’t imagine. She spends more time gazing at herself in mirrors than taking care of her duties.”
And that, Violet thought as she watched Martin shuffle out the door, was the most intelligent thing he’d said that morning.
Elizabeth crossed the barnyard
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