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  Death Is in the Air

  Kate Kingsbury

  Meet Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton. She's the house-rich, money-poor keeper of the Manor – and keeper of the peace. In WWII England, the quiet village of Sitting Marsh is faced with food rations and fear for loved ones. But Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton, lady of the Manor House, stubbornly insists that life must go on. Sitting Marsh residents depend on Elizabeth to make sure things go smoothly. Which means everything from sorting out gossip to solving the occasional murder. "Dangerous Enemy on the Loose!" read the newspaper headlines. When a German pilot crash-lands and escapes into the nearby woods, locals are in a panic. But Lady Elizabeth caught a good glimpse of the fellow as he parachuted down, and he seemed nothing more than a harmless, terrified young boy. Until a local girl is found murdered the very day he disappears. Coincidence? The constable thinks not. But Elizabeth suspects everyone's jumping to conclusions. And once again, she's in the thick of a murderous muddle, combing for clues and searching for answers before more trouble ignites.

  Kate Kingsbury

  Death Is in the Air

  The second book in the Manor House series, 2001

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Grateful thanks to my wonderful editor, Judith Palais, without whose guidance and encouragement this series would not exist. Thank you for making me look good.

  My thanks also to Ann Wraight, a resident of England and lifetime friend, for keeping the memories alive, and for supplying me with useful research material.

  And to Bill, for being my best friend as well as my devoted husband. I could not do this without you.

  CHAPTER1

  Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton rarely visited the hairdresser’s. Normally she had Marlene Barnett come to the Manor House to tend to her hair, which grew uncommonly fast and was inclined to rage out of control whenever she rode her motorcycle into the village.

  That morning, however, she’d been seized with an uncontrollable urge to have her hair trimmed immediately. When she’d called Marlene to make an appointment, the young woman had been most apologetic. Two of the hairdressers were home with a cold, and she was just too busy to come to the Manor House. Perhaps next week?

  At first Elizabeth had considered asking her housekeeper to give her a trim. Violet made no secret of the fact that she cut her own hair, and at times had wielded a pair of scissors above the head of Martin, Elizabeth’s aging butler, even though Martin had less than a dozen wisps to worry about.

  Envisioning the way Violet’s frizzy gray mop sprouted from her head like a much-used scouring pad, Elizabeth had reluctantly accepted Marlene’s polite suggestion that she come down to the shop where she’d do her best to fit her in.

  Seated in front of a badly speckled mirror, almost suffocated by a cloud of cigarette smoke, Elizabeth wondered why she’d been in such a hurry to get her hair cut. It was most inconvenient for the hairdressers to catch colds this early in September.

  The peculiar chemical smell that pervaded the shop was revolting, and she wasn’t too thrilled about being drawn into the gossip being avidly exchanged between the rest of the customers. Especially since the most strident of the voices belonged to her archenemy, Rita Crumm.

  Rita had always made her voice heard in the tiny village of Sitting Marsh. Since the advent of the Second World War, however, Rita had come into her own. She had made the war effort her own personal crusade and had rounded up enough gullible followers among the housewives in the village to form a sizable group, most of whom followed her orders with ill-advised enthusiasm.

  Elizabeth was well aware that Rita was more intent on basking in the glory of her supervision than of actually achieving any worthwhile war effort. Not only that, she was using her self-appointed position of authority to usurp the lady of the manor, whom she considered unworthy of the title. It was no secret in Sitting Marsh that Elizabeth’s mother had been a kitchen maid until she’d caught the eye of the Earl of Wellsborough and married him. Adding fuel to the flames was the fact that Sitting Marsh’s new landlady belonged to that much maligned species, the divorcée.

  Elizabeth winced as Rita’s harsh tones effectively cut off the voice of the timid woman seated next to her. “Did you hear about the big fight down at the Tudor Arms last night? Alfie said they broke dozens of bottles and glasses. It’s a wonder someone didn’t get really hurt. Bloody Yanks should go back where they came from, that’s what I say.”

  Marlene wound Rita’s mousy brown hair around the last metal curler and securely fastened it. “I don’t know why everyone complains about the Yanks so much. Now that they’ve taken over the airdrome here, there’s been more money spent in the village than in all the years I’ve been around. Look at the business Ted Wilkins is doing down at the pub! I bet he’s not complaining about the Yanks. The Tudor Arms never had it so good.”

  Rita glared at the brazen hussy who’d dared to contradict her. “The money’s not doing Ted much good if he has to pay for the damage them Yanks do while they’re busy punching our army boys instead of the Germans.”

  “I wouldn’t mind betting our boys started it. They’re blooming jealous of the Yanks, that’s why.” Marlene moved over to Elizabeth’s chair and draped an evil-smelling green cape around her shoulders. “Them Yanks have all the money and all the glamour, don’t they. No wonder all the girls are flocking around them. They make the British blokes look like pansies.”

  “I noticed you haven’t wasted any time getting to know some of them,” Rita said, coloring her comment with a loud sniff.

  Marlene grinned. “Of course I haven’t. I’d be really stupid not to go after them. They know how to treat a girl, don’t they?”

  “Well, all I can say is, they should know how to keep themselves to themselves.” Rita sent a sly glance in Elizabeth’s direction. “Of course, that’s a little hard to do when some people are taking them into their own homes.”

  Elizabeth tightened her lips. She’d held her tongue for the last half hour. Her mother would have been proud of her. Her mother had always maintained that a still tongue dwells in a wise head. But conscious of the sheepish glances being sent her way, she felt compelled to defend herself against Rita’s criticism.

  “It is somewhat difficult to refuse a direct request from the government to provide quarters for the American officers. One can hardly turn down the Ministry of War at a time like this, and after all, I have plenty of room at the manor. I’m happy to do what I can for the war effort.”

  At the mention of the war effort, Rita’s chin shot up. Those words were like a trumpet call to her ears. “Well, we all have to do what we can these days, I’m sure. Though some of us have to make real sacrifices.”

  Elizabeth felt her blood heating up at the well-aimed barb, but before she could respond, the thin droning of an airplane made itself heard above the clatter in the shop. Everyone fell silent. Even Rita ceased her chatter to listen.

  “One of ours?” one of the women asked fearfully.

  “Hard to tell.” Marlene walked over to the door. “Whatever it is, it sounds as if it’s in trouble.” The spluttering sound of an engine confirmed her observation.

  Rita got up from her chair, and, like sheep, the other four women followed. Marching in line wearing their helmets of metal curlers, they looked for all the world like ancient soldiers heading into battle. Elizabeth watched them all in the mirror as the spluttering grew more pronounced.

  Marlene opened the door and stepped into the street. As she did so, one of the women uttered a loud shriek. “My God, it’s a bloody Nazi! There’s a swastika on its tail!”

  “Inside, everybody!” Rita yelled. “Take cover! We’re being invaded!”

  “I don’t think so,” Marlene said, staring skyward. �
��I think the poor bugger’s trying to land.”

  Her words galvanized Elizabeth into action. Thrusting aside the green cape, she leapt from her chair and rushed to the door. The rest of the women charged in the opposite direction, nearly sweeping her off her feet in their hurry to find shelter.

  Joining Marlene on the pavement outside, Elizabeth shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight as she followed the young girl’s transfixed gaze. The plane was indeed a German bomber, longer than a Messerschmitt, but with the distinctive black German cross on each wing. Her stomach heaved. Her parents had been killed in London during the Blitz. Probably by bombs from a plane like this one.

  In spite of the danger, she felt compelled to watch the plane dip lower as the engine coughed and spluttered again, then died altogether. The bomber seemed to be coming right at her, yet her legs refused to move. She felt as if her entire body had turned to ice.

  She felt Marlene tug on her arm, heard her screaming something, yet she was powerless to turn away from the awesome sight of the plane drifting silently now above the roofs of the shops along the High Street in the direction of the ocean. Then she saw why Marlene was still pointing at the sky after the bomber had passed over. Floating gently down to earth was the white silky mushroom of a parachute.

  The man dangling beneath it swayed to and fro in the sea breeze. Marlene jumped up and down at Elizabeth’s side, still grasping her arm-something she would never do under normal circumstances. A commoner never actually touched the lady of the manor unless it was a matter of life and death. Which it could very well be, Elizabeth thought with remarkable composure as she watched the enemy pilot falling more rapidly now as he neared the ground.

  “The silly sod’s going to land on the village green!” Marlene yelled.

  At the sound of her words, bedlam erupted inside the hairdresser’s shop. Rita’s booming voice rang out in an attempt to restore order as the women bolted into the street. “Wait, you blithering idiots! We have to capture the prisoner!”

  “You bloody capture him!” one woman yelled. “I’m going home and locking myself inside.”

  “Rita’s right,” Elizabeth called out, suddenly coming to life. “We can’t let him get away. Get everyone out in the street!” Even as she shouted the words, she could see people spilling out from the shops.

  Jack Mitchem rushed out of his butcher’s shop carrying a wicked-looking knife, followed closely by Harold, the greengrocer from next door, who brandished a shovel.

  Afraid now that they’d kill the German, Elizabeth started running toward the green. She heard a dull explosion in the distance and guessed the plane had landed on the beach, no doubt on a landmine. The beaches were covered with them in case of an invasion.

  The pilot was on the ground now and trying to disentangle himself from the ropes of his parachute. He lifted his head as she drew closer, and she halted.

  The German finally freed himself and pulled his flying helmet from his head. Then, to her utter relief, he dropped the helmet on the ground and raised his hands in obvious surrender.

  Somewhat subdued, the crowd gathered around the green, encircling the man. Everyone looked at Elizabeth. Even Rita Crumm looked flustered, and she hung back as if waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

  Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. Clearly the next move was up to her. As lady of the manor, she was responsible for the welfare of these people. She was in charge until the police arrived. “Someone send for the constables,” she said, keeping her voice calm so as not to alarm the German.

  He looked very young and very unsure of himself. She could see his hands shaking as he held them in the air. She just hoped P.C. Dalrymple would arrive on the scene shortly. Already the women were beginning to mutter behind her. Heaven knows what would happen if Rita Crumm took it into her head to lead a charge of her housewives against the poor man.

  Marlene arrived at her side at that moment. “He doesn’t look very dangerous,” she said, running her fingers through her impressive mane of red hair. “He’s rather good-looking, actually. I always did fancy blond men.”

  “You wouldn’t think so if he was trying to stick a bayonet in your belly,” Jack Mitchem growled.

  “Wonder what happened to the rest of his crew,” Harold muttered.

  “They’re probably either dead and went down with the plane, or they bailed out earlier on.”

  “Gawd, the whole village could be swarming with bloody Nazis.”

  Jack raised his knife. “I say we cut those ropes off that parachute and tie him up till George gets here.”

  Elizabeth thought that was a good idea. She was just about to say so when Marlene exclaimed, “Look at that parachute! All that lovely silk going to waste.”

  Rita’s voice rose sharply from behind her. “Silk? That’s real silk?”

  “Too right it is.” Marlene took a step forward. “That would make a lovely wedding dress.”

  “And petticoats,” Rita murmured.

  “Blouses!” someone else cried.

  “Nightdresses!”

  “Sheets!”

  “Here, it was my idea!” Marlene darted toward the pilot, apparently intent on gathering up the parachute. Just as intent on getting their share, a dozen or more women raced behind her. The German pilot shrieked once then disappeared from view as the women scrambled around him.

  “Wait!” Elizabeth called out. “Wait until George gets here. Someone could get hurt.”

  Her pleas went unnoticed as more women joined the throng, all squabbling and tearing at the silky folds of the parachute. Elizabeth looked down the hill and saw George pedaling his bike furiously up the slope toward her. Help was on the way.

  It took the combined efforts of herself and the two men in the crowd to separate the women and restore order. When it was over there was nothing left of the parachute except a few tangled ropes. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the German pilot either. Apparently he had taken advantage of the confusion and made good his escape.

  “Goodness!” Violet exclaimed after listening to Elizabeth’s breathless account of the incident. “I heard on the radio that German planes fly over now and then, but I never thought I’d see one land in Sitting Marsh.”

  “It didn’t exactly land,” Elizabeth said. Seated at the ancient table in the kitchen of the Manor House, she took comfort in the cup of tea Violet had poured for her. Her hands still shook from all the excitement as she replaced her cup in its saucer. “It was more of a crash landing, and I think it blew up on the beach.”

  Violet carried her own cup over to the table and sat down opposite her. “I heard the explosion, but I thought it was a seagull landing on a mine. Where do you think the German went, then?”

  “I have no idea, but I think if it were me I’d have made a beeline for the woods. Goodness, is that the time? I had no idea it was so late.”

  Violet followed her gaze to the mantelpiece clock above the huge fireplace that had once housed an oven and had served as the only means of cooking meals. The Manor House had been built early in the seventeenth century, and except for the addition of modern plumbing and electricity, remained much the same as it had been for three centuries. The kitchen, with its huge bay windows and warm brick walls, was one of Elizabeth’s favorite rooms.

  “I was getting quite worried about you.” Violet gave her a critical stare. “I told you not to go down to that shop. You should have waited for Marlene to come up here.”

  Elizabeth patted her hair. “I was beginning to look straggly.”

  “Looked fine to me.” Violet got up from the table and picked up the cups and saucers. “Did you get it cut after all that?”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Can’t you tell?”

  “Not really. I could have done a better job than that.”

  “No doubt you could, but I didn’t want to bother you. Now that you have all this extra work with the American officers moving into the east wing, you have your hands full.” It was a good excuse, and one Elizabeth fe
lt comfortable using. To her relief, Violet seemed pacified by her words.

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” she said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of her hand. “Polly has been working pretty hard.”

  Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. Usually Violet didn’t have a good word to say about the young housemaid. “Polly? I’m happy to hear that.”

  Violet nodded. “Surprised me, too. Don’t know what’s got into her, rushing up and down stairs and in and out of rooms like a squirrel hunting nuts. She was finished in half the time it usually took her to do the job before the Yanks moved in. Maybe she’s trying to impress them.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me.” Elizabeth reached for the pile of letters sitting on the sideboard where Martin always placed them for her. “You know she wanted to help me out in the office as well.”

  “So she told me.” Violet placed the cups in the sink and ran hot water over them. “If you ask me, you’d be daft to let her in there. Gawd knows the damage she’d do. Not exactly that bright, our Polly.”

  Elizabeth merely nodded. Her mind was on the subject she wanted to broach and how to word it without upsetting Violet. Absently sifting through the bills, she said carefully, “I’ve decided it might be a good idea to invite Major Monroe to dinner tomorrow night. I thought we could have it in the main dining room. What do you think?”

  Violet spun around to face her. “So that’s why you got your hair cut.”

  Elizabeth could feel her cheeks growing warm. “Don’t be silly, Violet.”

  “You’re the one being silly. I thought you said you wouldn’t be caught dead with a Yank?”

  Elizabeth lifted her chin. Violet had been with the family since she was born. After Lord and Lady Hartleigh had perished in a bombing raid while attending a concert in London, Violet had done her best to fill in, and it had been largely due to her efforts that Elizabeth had succeeded in taking over the reigns of the Manor House and its huge estate. Nevertheless, there was a limit to which she would allow the housekeeper’s interference in her personal life, no matter how well meaning.