Bessie frowned. "Well, he wouldn't tell me, would he. I told him the confetti was in the cellar and it were staying there until I was ready to bring it up."

George went on writing. "Is this d.i.c.kie Muggins still here?" he asked, when he lifted his head again.

"No," Elizabeth told him. "I saw him leave right after Wally and Priscilla left."

George nodded. "Thank you, m'm." He looked at Neville. "You said you heard Mr. Muggins arguing with the deceased?"

"I didn't hear them. I saw them." Neville gestured toward the kitchen. "I was dancing by the door and I saw the photographer shake his fist in the victim's face and I could tell he was worked up about something."

"When was this, then?"

"It was before they cut the cake and made all those speeches. I know that, because I was dancing with Marge at the time."

Everyone looked at Marge, who blushed and giggled like a young girl.

The sight reminded Elizabeth of the way Violet looked in Charlie Gibbons's arms. Elizabeth looked around for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. "Has anyone seen Violet and Martin?" she asked, interrupting whatever George was saying.

He frowned in disapproval but waited for someone to answer her.

"I think they went home with the Winterhalters," Nellie offered. "They were riding in that big black motorcar."

"Lucky b.u.g.g.e.rs," Marge Gunther muttered. "We all have to walk home."

"Well, it's not as far as the Manor House, is it," Nellie said.

George loudly cleared his throat. "If I may have your attention, would someone please tell me who invited the deceased to the wedding and what his name is?"

"Well I should think," Elizabeth said mildly, "that if Wally didn't know him, he couldn't have invited him, so he must be a friend of Priscilla's."

"No," a voice declared from the back of the group. "Prissy didn't invite him either." Priscilla's flamboyant schoolfriend pushed to the front of the group. "She never set eyes on him until today."

George gazed up at Fiona with obvious admiration for a full second, then coughed and looked down at his notepad. "And you are?"

"Mrs. Fiona Farnsworth. I'm an old friend of the bride."

George scribbled again. "Well now, if Captain Carbunkle didn't invite the deceased, and Miss Piercea"or I should say Mrs. Carbunkle nowa"didn't invite him, then who in blue blazes did invite him?"

"Maybe you should ask the other bridesmaid." Fiona's companion had stepped up behind her. "I understand they knew each other very well."

Fiona stared at her escort. "Tess? How'd you know that?"

Malcolm's smile was indulgent as he laid an arm across Fiona's shoulders. "I heard them talking, my love. Actually, arguing would be a better word. The young lady was furious with him."

His last remark had been directed at George, who was furiously scribbling on his notepad. "And you are?"

"Malcolm Ludwig, old chap. I'm engaged to be married to this lovely lady here."

"Well, that's two people already who didn't like the bloke," George muttered. "I'll need to have the photographer's address and phone number, and I'll have a word with that young lady. What's her name?"

"Tess Winterhalter," Elizabeth answered him. "I understand she went down to the Tudor Arms with some of the other guests. I'm sure she'll be back soon. If you like, you can come up to the manor later and talk to her. Her parents will be there, as well."

Her concern was for the young girl, who would no doubt feel more secure in being questioned by the police if her parents were present.

George, however, murmured, "Good idea, your ladys.h.i.+p. I should like to question the young lady's parents, anyhow, seeing as how the deceased was a friend of their daughter."

"Does that mean we can all go home now?" Rita demanded peevishly.

"Not so fast," George declared, as the ladies made a general movement to disperse. "I want to know if anyone saw anything unusual."

"We saw Marge's knickers," Nellie said, with a wicked leer.

Marge gasped above the t.i.tters from the group. "You did not!"

George loudly cleared his throat. "I meant anything that might help in this 'orrible murder investigation."

The faces sobered as silence fell over the crowd.

"I'm sure if anyone remembers anything he or she will let you know," Elizabeth said. Addressing everyone in general, she added more loudly, "I'm sure we all want to find out who committed this terrible deed, do we not?"

A feeble chorus of agreement answered her and she turned back to George. "I'm leaving for the manor now, George. I a.s.sume you will wait for Dr. Sheridan. Shall we expect you later?"

"Thank you, m'm. Much obliged, I'm sure." George touched the narrow brim of his helmet and tucked the notepad in his pocket. "In the meantime, I must ask everyone who attended the wedding and doesn't live here to stay in Sitting Marsh until I've had a chance to question them."

There were mutters of protest from some of the guests, and everyone started talking amongst themselves.

Feeling somewhat unsettled herself, Elizabeth led the way from the hall, followed by Earl, with George close behind. Furtive glances from some of the women were directed at them as they left. Well aware that speculation was rife in the village about her relations.h.i.+p with the major, Elizabeth was constantly on guard against fueling the gossip.

There were times, however, when she refused to sacrifice what little time she could scrounge with him, which is why she'd accepted his offer to drive her to the church in his Jeep. No matter what the villagers might make of that. In any case, riding with Earl was a little more elegant than sitting astride her motorcycle, which was her usual mode of transport.

Roaring up the hill in the Jeep toward the manor, she contemplated the disturbing events. If the stranger was indeed a friend of Tess's and had been invited to the wedding by her, the poor child was in for a terrible shock when she heard the news.

Which brought up the question: if he was a friend of hers, why would she go to the Tudor Arms without him? Had they quarreled, as Malcolm had suggested? If so, things wouldn't look too good for Tess.

"Well, at least they can't blame this one on the three musketeers."

Earl's voice, raised to be heard above the roar of the engine, startled her. "I'd almost forgotten about them," she called back. "Are you still having problems with them?"

"Three of our vehicles were disabled last weekend. Our guys had to walk back to base. I just wish I could get my hands on them. We have enough problems to deal with right now, without worrying about a bunch of hoodlums bent on mischief. If this keeps up someone's going to get hurt."

"Oh, dear." Ever since Elizabeth had heard about the three masked men from London visiting American bases and damaging property to hara.s.s the American servicemen, she'd been worried that their mischief-making would escalate into real violence.

Or even that the Americans would retaliate with disastrous results. So far the skirmishes had caused little more than a few bruises. But there was a limit to the victims' patience, especially when they were already dealing with unbelievable stress.

"I can't believe they're getting away with it," Earl said, as they tore around the curve on the hill. "They've got the military hunting for them, as well as your constables. You'd think someone would be able to grab them."

"Apparently they're extremely adept at slipping the noose." Thankful for the long twilight evenings, Elizabeth hung on grimly as the Jeep swayed from side to side. Riding at this speed was infinitely more dangerous in the dark, thanks to the blackout, which forbade lights on all vehicles and in all windows. "They've had a lot of practice."

"Yeah, you're right about that." Earl straightened out the wheel. "So, any ideas who might have killed the wedding guest back there?"

"Hardly. We don't even know why he was at the wedding."

"Well, if the bridesmaid knew him, I guess her parents will know him, too."

"That's what I'm hoping." Elizabeth frowned. The Winterhalters had left immediately after the cake had been cut, apparently taking her butler and housekeeper with them. She sincerely hoped that Martin was not the cause of their hasty departure. He was not used to attending social events and rarely left the manor these days. Though he had seemed quite well when she'd spoken to him.

Feeling uneasy, she was relieved when Earl pulled up to the steps with a scrunch of tires. "The night is still young," she said, as he helped her climb out of the Jeep. "Would you like to join me in a gla.s.s of sherry?"

To her disappointment, he shook his head. "I've got some paperwork to catch up on, and I have to make a real early start in the morning. Rain check?"

She smiled at him. "Of course. Good night, then."

He still had hold of her hand, and he held on to it for a moment longer before letting her go. "You'll let me know if you get involved in this mess, right?"

"Don't I always?"

"Not until you're knee deep in trouble, as a rule."

"I promise I'll keep you informed."

He lifted his hand and gently stroked her cheek. "I'm gonna hold you to that. Just watch your step, okay? Don't go charging ahead until you know what you're getting into."

She covered his fingers with her own. "You worry too much."

"Yeah, I guess I do. I just don't want anything bad to happen to you. You're my lucky charm, you know."

He'd said the words lightly, but she knew, only too well, the significance behind them. Every time he took to the skies he was in far more danger than she could ever be. The chances of him coming back grew slimmer with each mission. Like so many others who flew into dire peril each day, he was convinced that as long as he had someone there waiting for him, he would survive.

"And you are mine," she reminded him. "As long as you need me, I'll always be here for you. Just make sure you come back to me."

She saw the light in his eyes change. He stared down at her for a long moment, then dropped his hand. "d.a.m.n," he muttered softly. "So long, Elizabeth. See you soon."

She nodded, her heart too full to answer. Hurrying up the steps, she resisted the urge to watch him drive away. Every time she left him, she never knew if it would be her last sight of him. If it was, she didn't want it to be the image of him leaving her.

CHAPTER 3.

Polly gazed mournfully around the crowded, noisy pub and wondered why the heck she'd bothered to go down there. Sadie, her round cheeks flushed and her light brown hair stuck out the sides of her head like two ears of corn, was at the dartboard surrounded by a bunch of rowdy GIs. The rest of the guests from the wedding were at the piano making a horrible noise with their singing.

Polly reached for her gin and orange and took a sip. Nothing was going right lately. Nothing had gone right since Marlene had left to drive ambulances in Italy. She missed her older sister more than she ever thought she would.

She missed Sam even more. Sam Cutter, the man she thought she was going to marry, had gone back to America. Without her. She still couldn't believe it. All because he thought she was too young for him. Almost sixteen years old, she'd been then, and he thought she was too young. Well, that was the last time she'd ever look at another Yank.

With a flick of her wrist, she drained her gla.s.s. She was fed up. Even Sadie, her best mate, had deserted her tonight. She might as well go home.

She slapped the gla.s.s down on the table, but before she could push her chair back a young woman plopped down on the chair opposite her and demanded, "You're Polly, aren't you? Lady Elizabeth's a.s.sistant?"

It took Polly a moment to recognize the bridesmaid Sadie had brought down to the pub with her. Tess Winterhalter looked quite different wearing a skirt and blouse instead of the beautiful blue frock she'd worn at the wedding. Her face looked different, too. Her lipstick had worn off and her eyes looked puffy, as if she'd been crying.

"Yeah, I'm Polly Barnett."

"I'm Tess. My family came down from Cambridge for the wedding."

Polly eyed the newcomer warily. She'd been shocked when Sadie had told her she'd befriended Priscilla's niece. Everyone knew that Priscilla's sister had married above her. People with money who spoke all proper like that usually didn't mix with the poorer cla.s.s. Especially a housemaid like Sadie. "Yeah, I know," she said. "Sadie told me all about you."

"Sadie makes me laugh," Tess said, though she didn't look like she wanted to laugh right then.

Polly gazed with envy at the bridesmaid's black curls. Her own hair was black, too, but it hung as straight as a blackout curtain. She'd give anything to have curls like that. No wonder the Yanks were looking at her. She looked like a flipping film star.

Tess seemed not to notice the flirty looks coming her way. Something had upset her, that much Polly could tell. The girl sat twisting her gla.s.s around in her hands as if it were someone's neck she were wringing. "Sadie's playing darts over there," she said, her voice low enough that Polly had to strain to hear her above the racket the dart players were making.

"She's always playing darts." Polly shot a look at the dartboard as a cheer went up from that corner. "She comes down here a lot. She likes playing 'cos she nearly always wins. She says it makes her feel good to beat the boys at something."

"There's not much else to do for excitement in this place, is there."

Polly shrugged. "Depends who you're with, I suppose."

"I know. There's someone I . . ." Tess's face crumpled, and she covered her mouth with her hand as if to smother a sob.

Polly felt a stirring of sympathy. She knew what it felt like to miss someone. "I'm sorry," she murmured awkwardly.

After a moment or two, the other girl seemed to get herself under control. "Well, my father will be happy. He hated Brian. He kept telling me he was too old for me and that he was only after me for the money." She looked up, her face clouded with misery. "Brian was only thirty-three. Daddy made him sound positively ancient."

Polly's attention sparked, in spite of herself. After all, this was a subject dear to her heart. "So how old are you then?"

"Twenty." Tess hunted in her pocket and found a handkerchief. She blew her nose with it, then crumpled it in a ball in her hands. "It's only thirteen years' difference."

Thirteen years! There'd been only seven years difference between her and Sam. Deciding she had something in common with this hoity-toity miss, after all, Polly found herself telling her all about her and Sam. "Everything was going fine," she finished, "until he had an accident in the Jeep and messed up his face. I know it was because he couldn't stand me looking at his scars."

Tess shuddered. "How awful. Where is he now?"

"Gone back to America, hasn't he." Just thinking about him made her own eyes p.r.i.c.kle with tears. "I'll never see him again."

Tess leaned forward. "You're still young. You'll find someone else."

"I don't think so. I tried it once, but I picked the wrong bloke. He turned out to be a criminal."

Tess's eyes widened in shock. "How absolutely rotten for you!"

"It was," Polly agreed gloomily. "I don't seem to have any luck with men. Really I don't."

"Well, I'm sure you'll meet someone nice soon." Tess shook her head. "I thought Brian was going to be the man of my dreams, but I was wrong." Her face turned suddenly ugly, startling Polly. "I hate to say it, but Daddy was right about him after all."

"So what happened?" Polly asked, now glued to her chair.