“Captain William Boyle, Lady Pemberton,” I said, lowering my head a notch. I wasn’t much for bowing to the English, even old ladies. I kept my hands clasped behind my back and left out my usual invite to call me Billy. I doubted she’d care to.
“Thank you, Edgar,” she said, studying me as Edgar kept up his bartending duties with a glass of sherry. “It’s nice to see some new faces, David. Sir Rupert invites people so seldom that one forgets the joy of fresh conversation. We seem to say the same things over and over.”
“Sir Rupert Sutcliffe is Helen and Meredith’s father,” David said, filling in the rest of the family tree.
“Now what was this police business Helen hadn’t grasped?” Lady Pemberton asked. She might have been old and wrinkled, but she wasn’t forgetful.
“We are investigators, Lady Pemberton,” I said. “For General Eisenhower. I used to be a detective, before the war.”
“Goodness, Captain Boyle. The last time we had a police detective in the house was 1933-or was it 1932? When those jewels were stolen,” Lady Pemberton said. “I did not care for the experience.”
“I don’t think Captain Boyle cares to hear about that,” Meredith said. “He’s our guest, after all.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Lady Pemberton said in a disapproving tone. “You too, Baron Kazimierz? A policeman?”
“More like a spy, Lady Pemberton,” Kaz stage-whispered. “A continental man of mystery.” She liked that. I grinned in the direction of the others and noticed Helen. David was speaking to her, and she was casting her eyes everywhere but toward his. He was smiling, but she looked like she would burst into tears at any moment, her fist clenched white.
“I understand it was a case that brought you to Devon,” Edgar said. “David said it was the only reason the baron could take the time to visit. Should we be worried about German agents lurking in the bushes?”
“Nothing so dramatic, Mr. Shipton,” I said.
“Please, call me Edgar,” he said. “We’re really quite informal here.”
“Okay, Edgar, if you call me Billy.” Edgar was friendly enough, and chatting with him seemed less dangerous than jousting with the great aunt. “A body washed up on the beach in a restricted area. We’re trying to identify who it was. Nothing much to it, probably.”
“In the South Hams?” Edgar asked.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Restricted area, you said. Fits the bill, close by. Never mind, don’t bother to answer. Loose lips and all that. I hope you find whoever it was.”
“Well, he doesn’t match any missing persons, so it’s doubtful anyone reported his absence to the police.” I continued to watch Helen as we spoke. She moved around David, putting her right arm through his left, so she faced the unscarred side of his face. She relaxed and opened her clenched hand.
She couldn’t look at his face.
Edgar went off to freshen his drink. He had the careful gait of someone who has drunk quite a bit and is working hard to hide it. Meredith motioned me to where she and Kaz were entertaining Great Aunt Sylvia, and I put on my best face for the old girl.
“The baron tells me you are related to General Eisenhower, young man,” she said. “Is that true?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean Lady Pemberton. We’re related through my mother’s family. I call him Uncle Ike-only when we’re alone, of course-but I believe we are actually distant cousins.”
“Hmm,” she said. “One bristles at the idea of a foreigner, even one of our American cousins, telling the British army what to do. But he seems like a decent fellow. Is he?”
“The best,” I said. “You can rest easy. He has the interests of all Allied soldiers at heart.”
“Well, that may be, but does he have the worst interests of the Hun at heart as well?” Great Aunt Sylvia’s eyes bored into mine, and I realized this wasn’t just idle chitchat. She had a sharp mind, and it was a perceptive question.
“He’s not a general to throw men’s lives away for nothing,” I said. “But he intends to win this war by destroying the enemy. Nothing short of unconditional surrender.”
“Good!” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “That is what I wanted to hear. No talk of armistice like in the last war. What a mess they made of that. Having this happen all over again would be a disgrace to all those who died.” Her face was vivid with rage, still fresh a quarter century later.
“You lost someone,” I said. It was only a question of whom.
“My husband and my son,” she said. “Lord Pemberton was a commodore on the battle cruiser Queen Mary. He was lost in the Battle of Jutland. Roger was a lieutenant with the Devonshire Regiment. He was killed at the Somme. His body was never found. Neither came home.”
“I am sorry, Lady Pemberton,” I said, my voice catching in my throat.
“As have I been all these years. I am the last of the Pembertons, living here by sufferance in the house and on the lands that should have gone to my son and his heirs. I have no wish for another generation to suffer such losses in the future. Tell your uncle to get on with it, Captain Boyle. Finish them off.”
I said I would. I meant it.
Sir Rupert entered the library, and a deep silence. Everyone had been listening to Great Aunt Sylvia, and when she was done speaking, the only sound was Edgar pouring another drink.
“What’s this?” Sir Rupert asked. “Has someone died?” He smiled at his jest and looked wonderingly around the room.
“Not recently,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, and David stepped up to do the introductions. Meredith sat with her great aunt as the others hovered around Sir Rupert. He was middle-aged, dressed in a blue double-breasted suit that had been in style sometime during the previous decade. Not a surprise exactly. With wartime rationing, everyone in England made do with what they had. His face was long, topped by curly hair going grey. He had an easy air of authority about him, an acknowledgment that he was master of the house and a lot more besides. He stood with his back to Meredith and Great Aunt Sylvia, waiting for his drink as Edgar poured and David made the introductions.
“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” Sir Rupert said. “I only got back from London an hour ago. More Foreign Office business.”
“You are with the Foreign Office, Sir Rupert?” Kaz asked.
“They bring me in now and then,” he said, accepting his whiskey and soda from Edgar with the kind of nod you might give a decent bartender. “After two decades in India, I do have some knowledge of the area, Burma and China included. I have retired from the Indian Civil Service, but it is rewarding to continue to be useful.”
“Edgar was telling me he’s back from India as well,” I said.
“Yes, he is,” Sir Rupert said, turning away and addressing the ladies. It was time for dinner-not to mention a new topic of conversation.
CHAPTER SIX
Distracted somewhat by the mussels in white-wine sauce, I watched my fellow diners. I had been expecting decent enough food by wartime standards, but it was clear rationing hadn’t put a dent in the Ashcroft kitchens.
“Not bad, eh?” Sir Rupert said as he tucked into his own bowl. “We have a fellow on the staff who used to fish for a living. Gave it up to manage the grounds here when the war began. He still keeps a small boat. Brings in a good catch when it’s safe to go out into the Channel.”
“Safe from Germans?” I asked.
“No, safe from the weather and the American navy, Captain!” Sir Rupert said with a grin. “Crawford’s boat’s only little, no match for gale-force winds or those big wallowing landing craft. But if it’s a calm day and he can avoid the larger vessels, he’ll go out just beyond the mouth of the River Dart. Dartmouth, if you understand. We all benefit, so I don’t begrudge him the time.”
“We spoke to some fishermen in Kingsbridge today,” I said. “It seems as if the war has taken its toll on them.”
“Along the Channel coast, certainly,” Sir Rupert said. “Crawford says the fish are plentiful, so perhaps it will be better than ever once the war is over.”