"Yes, m'm. That's what I thought."

"I'll get my motorcycle and be right down." Elizabeth was about to replace the telephone when George's urgent voice stayed her hand.

"No, your ladys.h.i.+p. Not tonight. Without lights it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. We'll have to wait for first light tomorrow."

"She could well be dead by then."

"I'm sorry, m'm. There's not much else I can do. It ain't safe for people to be tramping about in the dark."

"It isn't safe for Nellie to be in the clutches of those criminals, either, George."

"I know that, m'm. But I can't be responsible for sending unauthorized persons into danger. It's more than I dare do."

Elizabeth sighed. He was right. They would have to wait for morning and pray they weren't too late. Another thought occurred to her, and once more the feeling of panic almost overwhelmed her. "George, Violet seems to have disappeared as well. You don't think that has anything to do with Nellie's kidnapping, do you?"

George sounded wary when he answered. "I really couldn't say, m'm. I wouldn't think so, but if she doesn't turn up by the morning give me a ring and we'll add her to the missing list."

Elizabeth didn't often cry, but right then she could have sat down and bawled. There just seemed no end to their troubles lately. If only Earl were there to rea.s.sure her. Under the circ.u.mstances, the chances of that were extremely unlikely.

She replaced the telephone and at the same moment heard the sound of a key in the back door. It opened, and Violet appeared in the doorway, her face flushed, wearing a print frock that Elizabeth couldn't remember seeing before. Without giving her housekeeper a chance to open her mouth, Elizabeth demanded, "Where on earth have you been? Why didn't you let me know you were going out? Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? This really is most inconsiderate of you, Violet, and not like you at all."

The glow in Violet's cheeks burned even more. Pursing her lips, she placed her handbag on the kitchen table before saying crisply, "I told that old fool to tell you I was going out. I suppose he forgot. I should have left a note."

Somewhat mollified, Elizabeth did her best to curb her temper. Her fright, followed by her relief that Violet was not in the hands of some cutthroats, had materialized in a fit of anger, and she had no right to be angry at Violet for taking a night off duty.

"He told me you were going out," she admitted, slumping onto a chair. "He just didn't tell me where."

"That's because I didn't tell him where I was going." Violet peered more closely at her. "I'm sorry I worried you, Lizzie. I didn't mean to frighten you. You might know I wouldn't be anywhere where I could come to harm."

Elizabeth pa.s.sed a hand across her eyes. "No, you're right. It's just . . ." To her horror she heard her voice break and quickly took a deep breath.

Violet shrugged off the cardigan she wore and went into the pantry. She came out carrying a bottle of brandy in one hand and a gla.s.s in the other. "Here," she said, pouring the golden liquid into the gla.s.s, "you look as if you need this right now."

For once Elizabeth didn't argue. She took the gla.s.s and cautiously sipped the drink, wincing as it burned her throat. "Nellie Smith's been kidnaped," she said, as she put the gla.s.s on the table.

Violet clutched her throat. "Oh, my. Nellie? Who would want to kidnap her?"

"The three musketeers, apparently." Wearily, Elizabeth recounted the story George had given her.

"And they don't have any idea where they took her?" Violet demanded, when Elizabeth finished the tale.

"No, they don't. The last thing they saw was a stolen Jeep racing down the coast road. She could be anywhere. In London now, for all we know. We'll be organizing a search in the morning, but we don't have much to go on."

Violet sat down at the table. "Sorry, Lizzie. I know how worried you must be."

"It's not only that. It's everything else. What with Brian Sutcliffe's murder anda""

"Major Monroe?"

Elizabeth avoided her gaze. "Yes, I'm worried about him, too."

Violet leaned forward and patted her hand. "I know. Cheer up, duck. He'll be back, you'll see."

"I hope so." Elizabeth made an effort to smile. "So tell me where you went and why you couldn't tell Martin."

Violet straightened her back. "I didn't tell him because I wasn't in the mood for his sarcastic remarks. I went out with Charlie Gibbons."

Elizabeth stared at her. "Wally's friend? How did that happen?"

Violet shrugged, looking more like a young girl than an elderly woman. "We got on really well at the wedding and he rang me up while you were out this afternoon and asked if I'd like to go to out with him for dinner in North Horsham. He brought his car down from Newcastle. That's where he lives. So I cooked a stew for the Winterhalters and told Martin to serve them." She looked worried. "I hope he did."

As far as Elizabeth could remember, Violet had never had a serious relations.h.i.+p with a man. Judging from the starry-eyed look on her face, Charlie Gibbons seemed to have made a startling first impression on the contentious housekeeper. "Yes, he did," she a.s.sured the housekeeper. "I imagine you had an enjoyable evening."

"Dinner was very nice," Violet said primly.

"I'm sure it was." Elizabeth struggled to sound casual. "Are you seeing him again, or is he going back to Newcastle tomorrow?"

"No, he's staying with Neville until Wally and Priscilla get back from their honeymoon, so he can help Priscilla move into Wally's cottage. Fiona's staying in Priscilla's flat so she can help, too."

"How nice for you," Elizabeth murmured.

Violet gave her a sharp look. "You don't approve."

"It's not up to me to approve or not. It's not my business." Elizabeth wrestled with her conscience for a full second before blurting out, "I just don't want you to be hurt, that's all. I mean, he's going back to Newcastle sooner or later, isn't he?"

Violet met her gaze squarely. "Newcastle is a good deal closer than America."

Elizabeth slumped back in her chair. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Violet's hand closed over hers. "Lizzie, don't worry about me. I'm at an age when I know all the pitfalls. I'm just having a bit of fun, that's all. Don't begrudge me that."

"Oh, Violet." Elizabeth clasped the bony hand in hers. "I would never begrudge you a second of happiness. These days one has to grasp every chance one can and live for the moment. Have all the fun you want. I wish you nothing but joy."

"Thank you." Violet looked close to tears. "I wish the same for you, dear Lizzie." She got up from the table, saying brusquely, "I'm weary. I'm going to bed. I suggest you do the same."

Elizabeth fell asleep that night with a heavy heart and awoke the next morning with a sick feeling of dread that proved impossible to shake. Sadie and Polly joined them for breakfast, as did Martin, who seemed even grumpier than usual. Especially when Violet dumped a plate of porridge in front of him with a cheerful, "Eat up, you old buzzard. This'll clear you out and make you feel a lot better in no time."

Martin glared at her over his specs. "I do not require anything to clear me out, as you so crudely phrase it, and I'll thank you to refrain from making such personal remarks in front of the servants."

"I ain't a servant," Polly protested. "I'm Lady Elizabeth's a.s.sistant."

"And I'm her personal housemaid," Sadie put in, "so put that in your pipe and smoke it."

Martin looked at them both with distaste. "May I remind you that you are sharing a table with her ladys.h.i.+p, a practice I find quite deplorable I might add, and that such abominable language will not be tolerated in her ladys.h.i.+p's presence."

Sadie had the grace to look repentant. "Sorry, m'm." she mumbled.

"I should think so." Violet placed a bowl of porridge in front of the two girls. "Now eat up. It will give your mouths something to do other than torment Martin."

Sadie looked up in surprise. "You're in good spirits this morning, Vi. What's up with you?"

"My name is Violet," the housekeeper answered, "and nothing's up with me. Now finish your meal."

Sadie exchanged mystified glances with Polly. Elizabeth could hardly blame her. Normally Violet would have been screeching at the top of her lungs at Sadie for her impudence.

Deciding it was time to bring a more serious topic to the table, Elizabeth said quietly, "I'm afraid I have some bad news to tell you."

Sadie and Polly stared at her with apprehension on their faces, while Martin merely looked resigned. "The Germans are invading us," he muttered. "I knew it was only a matter of time."

"No, Martin. They are not invading us. In fact, this has nothing to do with the war. At least, not directly."

"What is it, then, m'm?" Sadie sat with her spoon halfway to her mouth, the soggy oatmeal dripping from it onto her plate.

"It's Nellie Smith." Elizabeth paused, trying to find an easy way to say it, then gave up. "I'm afraid she's been kidnapped."

Shocked cries from the girls mingled with Martin's dry comment, "By the Americans, no doubt."

Elizabeth ignored him. "Apparently she confronted the three musketeers last night on the coast road. Managed to pull the scarf from one of their faces and they took her away in the Jeep they were driving."

"They must have stolen the Jeep," Polly said. "Poor Nellie. What will happen to her?"

"I saw a Jeep last night," Sadie said, frowning. "It were making a run for it towards the woods. I thought it was the Yanks on maneuvers, but now I come to think about it, I didn't see them wearing military caps. It were dark, but I could swear they weren't wearing uniforms."

Elizabeth jumped up from the table, taking Martin by surprise. He dropped his spoon with a clatter and struggled painfully to his feet, one inch at a time.

"Are you sure?" Elizabeth hurried over to the telephone. "I should let George know at once."

"I'm sure about the Jeep," Sadie said. "But I couldn't honestly say who was in it."

Elizabeth dialed the number and waited. She counted seven rings before George finally answered. "Sadie saw the Jeep last night," she said, bypa.s.sing the usual greeting. "It was heading into the woods."

"Right, then that's where we'll start. Mrs. Crumm and her lot are here already. I'll get them off right away." His voice faded as he spoke to someone in the distance. "Beg pardon? Yes, all right." He spoke into the mouthpiece again. "Sorry, m'm. Mrs. Crumm took exception to me using the phrase *her lot.' She said to tell you her troops are ready to embark on their mission."

Elizabeth almost smiled. "Tell Mrs. Crumm I am eternally grateful."

"Yes, m'm. Oh, and I heard from the inspector. He says he'll be down here in a day or two to look into the wedding guest murder."

The news gave Elizabeth a jolt. She'd been so wrapped up in Nellie's kidnapping, she had neglected her promise to the Winterhalters that she would do what she could to investigate the murder. "Thank you, George." She paused. "I will join the search party as soon as I can. I have an important errand to run first."

"That's all right, your ladys.h.i.+p. I don't think you should be tramping around in the woods anyway. Not fitting, is it."

"George, when one of my tenants is in trouble, doing what is fitting is the least of my concerns."

"Yes, m'm. So I've noticed."

His dry tone told Elizabeth he would rather she stayed out of the search altogether. He might know that wasn't going to happen. At least he wasn't aware of her investigation into the murder. Not yet, anyway. With any luck at all, he wouldn't find out until she had discovered Brian Sutcliffe's killer.

"All right, everyone. Let's get in line. One behind the other, please!"

Grumbling, the ladies obeyed Rita's orders. With much shoving, pus.h.i.+ng, and complaining, they finally managed a straggly line in front of the police station where they'd been told to a.s.semble.

"Now," Rita announced, "I'm going to pair you off. Each pair will go in a different direction. You all have your whistles, don't you?"

A few of the women nodded: a couple of them held up the whistles hanging around their necks.

"Just to make sure," Rita insisted, "I want everyone to blow their whistles. Once."

Unfortunately, her last word was drowned out by a chorus of shrill screams from the women's whistles. Jumping up and down, Rita waved her arms in an attempt to quiet them. No one paid any attention to her. In fact, they seemed determined to outdo each other, blowing until their faces were red.

In the midst of all the horrendous racket, George came running out of the station, with Sid hot on his heels. " 'Ere, 'ere," George yelled, "what's all this then?"

"Crikey!" Sid shouted. "I thought it was the bloomin' invasion."

"Shut up, shut up!" Rita screeched, only adding to the noise.

Finally, George went down the line, tugging whistles from the mouths of the grinning women. "It's about time you lot learned to keep order," George grumbled. "This is serious business. One of your members is missing, in the hands of hardened criminals. I should think you'd all be more worried about her than tormenting your leader."

The women sobered at once, exchanging sheepish glances. "Sorry, Rita," Florrie said, always the first to kiss Rita's boots. "We didn't mean no harm."

Red in the face herself, Rita pulled herself up straight as a ramrod. "Now listen to me," she barked. "Nellie's life could depend on how fast we find her. I suggest we get to it and start looking for her." She called off names and gave them the direction in which they had to go.

Marge wasn't too happy to find she was paired with Florrie. She'd have much rather been with her mate, Clara, who wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. Florrie was such a baby, jumping at every little noise and always afraid the Germans were going to come and take her away. Though why on earth the n.a.z.is would want her, Marge couldn't imagine.

She managed to wave to Clara as they set off, happy to notice her friend didn't seem any happier than she was with her partner, Joan Plumstone. Joan was all right, but she hardly ever smiled, and if she ever really laughed she'd crack her face. Clara wouldn't like that. She liked to joke around all the time. Though Marge had to admit, Nellie being missing wasn't much of a joke.

"Come on," she said to Florrie, who looked as if she'd wet her drawers any minute, "we've got a long walk before we get to the woods. We need to hurry."

"I can't hurry too much," Florrie said in her whiney voice. "My feet hurt."

Blimey, they'd barely started and her blinking feet hurt already? Marge heaved a sigh. This was not going to be much fun.

Nellie pulled her knees up under her chin and watched the sunlight creeping through the cracks in the barn walls. She'd heard her captors come back hours ago. From what she could hear, their mission, whatever that was, had failed. They would have to try again tonight.

She was hungry and thirsty, and she needed to piddle. The thought of enduring another day and night in this horrible place was enough to drive her barmy. Right now the three of them were sleeping.

When she thought about the lousy night she'd had, trying to sleep on the hard floor, she got really, really mad. b.l.o.o.d.y sods. She'd like to ram their teeth down their throat. Her anger goaded her into action. She slid forward until she was close to the edge of the ledge and could look down.

They were right below her, lying on their backs, mouths open, sleeping like babies. Well, she'd settle that. In her temper she kicked a pile of hay over the ledge.

It showered down on the three below. None of them moved. Not even when some of it went in Stan's mouth. He just blew it out with his next breath.

Frustrated and angrier than ever, Nellie eyed the lamp. That would make a nice noise. She picked it up and hurled it to the ground. It landed with an almighty crash and a splintering of gla.s.s.

"What the . . . ?" Stan sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Robbie rolled over and stared sleepily at him. "Watcha doing?"

"I didn't do nothing. The lamp fell down." Stan looked up, straight into Nellie's face. "No, it didn't. That b.i.t.c.h threw it down. It could've killed one of us."