A chorus of “Yes, miss!” answered her, just as Jimmy appeared on the stairs, his arms full of underwear.
“Throw them down,” Sadie ordered, and the boy let them drop. Some fell with a plop, while the rest fluttered down in a colorful lacy waterfall of silk.
Polly started gathering them up. “We’re going to need some help carrying these back to the bicycles,” she muttered. “I just hope we can get them all in the baskets.”
“We’ll cram them in somehow.” Sadie started picking up the rest of the garments. “Here, you boys, help me pick these up. You can carry them back to the gate for us before you go home.”
The boys obediently pounced on the knickers, which were looking decidedly worse for wear. Sadie waited until the last pair was picked up, then ordered the boys to form a line.
Clutching the underwear to their chests, the boys marched out of the door with Sadie and Polly bringing up the rear.
They were halfway across the field when a sudden shout brought the boys to a halt. Sadie almost fell over them, and Polly stopped dead, unable to believe what she was seeing.
All along the hedges, in front of the gate, all the way around the windmill on either side were men in uniform, all of them carrying rifles pointed ominously in their direction.
“Blimey,” Sadie said, her voice hushed with shock. “It looks like the whole bleeding army’s out there.”
Arriving back at the Reddings’ cottage, Elizabeth was greatly relieved to find Marion alone. The questions she needed to ask would be more easily delivered without Bob Redding’s fierce glare to intimidate her.
Obviously surprised to see her renowned visitor twice in one day, Marion invited her in, and Elizabeth wasted no time in coming to the point.
“I’ve just returned from North Horsham,” she told the flustered woman, after refusing her offer of a cup of tea. “I went there to speak to Ned Widdicombe.”
“Ah, yes, the butcher.” Marion sat on the very edge of her couch, her hands twisting in her lap. “Did you find the shop all right?”
“Yes, I did.” Elizabeth laid her purse on her lap. “Not a very sociable man. Rather rude, I thought.”
“He can be very blunt,” Marion agreed. Her gaze shifted to a clock on the sideboard, and Elizabeth wondered if she was expecting her husband home.
“While I was there, I thought I’d stop by and pay a visit to your daughter.”
Marion’s gaze jerked back to Elizabeth’s face. “Sheila? You went to see her?”
Elizabeth leaned forward. “Mrs. Redding, why did you lie about your husband’s whereabouts on Monday night? He wasn’t in North Horsham, was he? The nurse told me he hasn’t visited his daughter since she was admitted to the sanitarium more than two years ago.”
Marion’s face crumpled. “I know it was silly of me, but I was so afraid…” She sniffed, and hunted for a handkerchief in her apron pocket. “Bob was gone until late that night. He said he was helping a mate of his repair his boat and they had a drink or two together afterwards, but when I heard about Clyde Morgan I thought…” Her voice trailed off and she blew her nose hard.
“You thought he might have killed Clyde Morgan,” Elizabeth said gently. “So you decided to give him an alibi.”
Marion nodded. “He was ever so cross with me after you left. He said as how I didn’t trust him, and that he was telling the truth, and that I could talk to Evan and he’d tell me Bob was there all the time until he came home.” She blew her nose again. “That’s his friend’s name, Evan Darby. He’s a fisherman. Lives just down the road.”
“I see.” Elizabeth sat up. “Have you had a chance to talk to Evan yet?”
“No, but I talked to his wife, Janet, a little while ago. She told me the two men were working in the boatyard until it got dark, then they both came up to the house and shared a couple of beers.” Marion sniffed. “I should have asked her before, I suppose. It would have saved all that time worrying. I suppose I was scared to ask her, in case Bob was lying and he really did shoot that poor man.” Her eyes were wet with tears when she looked at Elizabeth. “I should have trusted him, Lady Elizabeth. I should have known he couldn’t have done something that dreadful.”
Elizabeth got to her feet. “Well, I can understand why you were concerned. Your husband certainly had good reason to hate Mr. Morgan. I’m just glad we could clear the matter up like this. It must be a great relief for you.”
Marion rose, blowing her nose once more. “What about Ned Widdicombe?” she asked. “Did he have anything to say about the murder?”
“He certainly didn’t seem to be upset about it.” Elizabeth walked to the door. “As for him being involved in some way, that’s highly unlikely. He told me he was working on his accounts with his wife on Monday night.”
In the act of opening the door, Marion paused and stared at her. “His wife? Ned Widdicombe doesn’t have a wife. He used to have one years ago, from what Bob told me, but she ran off with someone else and Ned’s never looked at another woman since.”
Elizabeth stared back at her. “Are you sure? Perhaps he got married again.”
Marion shook her head. “Well, he hadn’t up until last week, your ladyship. He was here sorting out his mother’s things in the old cottage. Him and Bob are on really friendly terms. I’m sure he would have mentioned a wife if he’d got married recently.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said, stepping out into the late-afternoon sunshine, “that’s very interesting. Thank you, Mrs. Redding. You’ve been most helpful and I sincerely hope that your daughter’s health improves in the near future.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Marion Redding said sadly. “But thank you for the thought. Children are so precious, aren’t they? I worried so much about Sheila when she was growing up. I never let her out of my sight. When this happened I blamed myself, thinking I should have been able to prevent it. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t control your child’s life, or what happens to them. You can only pray that things will turn out right for them.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached for the woman as she walked back down the immaculate garden path to her motorcycle. How sad. Sheila obviously had been loved and well cared for, and now this tragedy had robbed her parents of so much. They would never see their child become a productive adult. Nor would they see her married, and giving them grandchildren. They would miss so much because of a senseless accident. Marion was right. Parents can’t control what happens to a child, no matter how protective they may be.
Sitting astride her motorcycle, she felt an odd pang of recognition. It was a familiar sensation-her brain trying to tell her something important that she couldn’t quite recognize. Something she knew that could shed light on the mystery of Clyde Morgan’s death.
As she roared down to the High Street, she tried to remember everything that she’d heard that day. Was it the fact that Ned Widdicombe had lied about his alibi? Was Marion telling the truth about her husband’s whereabouts the night Clyde Morgan died? Or was there something else, something she’d stored away without realizing its importance at the time?
Whatever it was, it was going to drive her crazy until she could grasp it and bring it out into the light. Because, more often than not, whenever she felt this particular sensation, she had the answer she was seeking, and the solution to the puzzle.
CHAPTER 13
Frozen to the spot, Polly could only stare at the menacing ring of armed men. Even the young boys seemed too shocked to move, and only Sadie appeared capable of saying anything.
“What are all these GIs doing out here?” she muttered as a tall soldier detached himself from the line and marched purposefully toward them.
A thin voice piped up from one of the boys. “Are they going to shoot us, miss?”