"Lady Elizabeth is not at home, so she doesn't need your a.s.sistance."

"I didn't come here to work." Polly was fast losing her patience again. "I came to see Sadie."

"Miss b.u.t.tons is finis.h.i.+ng her ch.o.r.es. At least she's supposed to be finis.h.i.+ng her ch.o.r.es. Heaven knows what the dratted girl gets up to when no one is watching her. I never did trust that hussy."

Polly pushed the door again, but Martin's body still prevented it from opening.

Martin's voice rose a notch. "If you'd stop hammering me with the door I might consider making an attempt to get back on to my feet."

"Sorry." She waited. And waited. "Are you getting up?" she asked, when there seemed no sign of movement from the other side of the door.

"In a moment. I'm studying the ceiling. I think it needs a good scrubbing."

"Something needs a good scrubbing," Polly muttered under her breath. Deciding that drastic measures needed to be taken, she grasped the bell rope again and gave it a hearty tug. A loud clang rang out and echoed from within the hallway.

"Who's there?" Martin called out.

Polly rolled her eyes again and heaved a heavy sigh. "It's still Polly Barnett."

"Well, what are you doing dithering about out there? Come in, come in."

"I would if I could b.l.o.o.d.y get in," Polly muttered. She jumped as the door suddenly swung open.

Martin stood in the doorway, his half dozen silver hairs standing on end. He peered at her over the gold rims of his gla.s.ses. "Did you say something?"

"I said thank you very much, Martin." Polly darted past him before he could delay her any longer. She heard him muttering something as she raced up the stairs to the great hall, but paid no attention. All she could think about now was showing her letter to Sadie.

She found the housemaid in the great hall. Sadie was about halfway down, dusting the suit of armor that stood between the tall windows. As Polly drew near, her feet soundless on the thick carpet, she heard Sadie talking softly to herself.

"There you go, me old matey. Now you're all spruced up, how about giving me a ride on that white horse of yours? I could do with some excitement in me life."

Polly grinned as she came up behind the unsuspecting girl. "You won't get much excitement out of that lump of metal," she said loudly.

Sadie screeched and spun around, but instead of looking at Polly, she seemed to be staring wide-eyed at something behind Polly's back.

Remembering the ghosts that had been sighted in the great hall, Polly's skin p.r.i.c.kled with fear. She twisted around to look behind her, the echo of her shriek reaching the far end of the hall. All she could see were the portraits of generations of ancestors staring down from the towering walls.

"Cor blimey, Polly," Sadie said, wiping her brow with the duster. "Whatcha go and do that for? You nearly scared me out of me knickers."

Annoyed with herself, Polly muttered, "Well, you scared me, too. I thought you'd seen a ghost. What were you looking at, anyhow?"

"I dunno." Sadie shook out the duster, sending a cloud of dust back over the suit of armor. "I jumped when you spoke and swung around to look. Then you screamed and made me jump again. I s'pose it's hearing about that bloke what got murdered at the wedding. Given me the jitters, it has."

Polly stared at her. "What bloke?"

"Brian. The bloke I told you about. The one what followed Tess down from Cambridge. They found him in the cellar. Someone stuck a knife in his chest."

"Oh, heck!" Polly shook her head in disbelief. "How awful. Nice looking bloke he was, too. Who would do that to him?"

To Polly's surprise, Sadie looked up and down the hall as if worried someone might be there. "Well, don't say nothing to no one, but I think Tess might have done it. I didn't say nothing to you before, but I saw that tart, Fiona, go into Brian's room at the pub, and when I told Tess about it she blew her top."

"So that's what he did," Polly murmured, remembering her conversation with Tess at the pub.

"I think she went after him with the knife and he fell down the cellar steps." Sadie started dusting the armor again. "Can't say I blame her. I'd have done the same if some bloke did that to me."

"You'd have killed him?"

"Nah. I'd just frighten the living daylights out of the b.u.g.g.e.r." Sadie looked at her over her shoulder. "Per'aps that's what Tess did. Per'aps she didn't mean to kill him. It could have been an accident."

Polly frowned. "I can't believe Tess would do something like that. Besides, she was talking about him down at the pub last night. I'd swear she didn't know he was dead then."

"Maybe she didn't know she'd killed him until someone told her."

"Poor Tess. She must be so frightened and upset."

"Yeah." Sadie gave the duster a final flourish. "Lady Elizabeth said she was in a terrible tizz." She turned to face her friend. "Anyhow, what are you doing here on a Sunday?"

Forgetting Tess's problems for the time being, Polly pulled the letter from her pocket and waved it in Sadie's face. "Look what came in the post yesterday."

Sadie took it from her and studied the envelope. "From Marlene?"

"No, silly. From a soldier. You know, the ones what wanted letters from home?"

Sadie's face brightened. "Oh, them! You heard from one? What's he like? I wish I'd sent one now."

Polly stared at her in surprise. "I thought you were daffy about Joe."

"Nah, Joe's nice, but he's so slow. I like 'em with a bit more pizzaaazz."

She'd sort of drawled it and wriggled her hips, making Polly laugh. "Why don't you write a letter then," she said. "Come over my house tonight and we'll write it together."

"Great idea! I'll be there."

"I'll send it to Tom and ask if he has a friend that wants to write back to you."

"His name is Tom? Can I read it?"

Polly watched as Sadie scanned the lines Tom had written. At last she raised her head and grinned at Polly. "He sounds a right charmer, don't he. Wonder what he looks like?"

"We'll find out when I get his next letter." Polly took the letter back and tucked it in her pocket. "I'm sending him a photograph of me tomorrow."

Tomorrow. She felt a little jump of excitement. Tomorrow her letter would be on the way to Tom, and who knows what would come out of it. Now she couldn't wait to get a letter back from him, and a photograph. If only time would go by faster. "I wish," she said, as she walked with Sadie back to the stairs, "that I had a crystal ball that would tell me what's going to happen in the future."

"You're not the only one." Sadie paused at the top of the stairs. "And I wouldn't mind betting that right now, Tess Winterhalter is thinking the same thing as well."

Elizabeth stared in dismay at George's furious face. "What, may I ask, had led you to the conclusion that Rodney Winterhalter killed Brian Sutcliffe?"

George smoothed out his glare, which had been directed at Sid, and said stiffly, "I'm not at liberty to discuss it, your ladys.h.i.+p. You know how it is."

"Yes, I do know how it is." Elizabeth tied her scarf more firmly under her chin. "I know very well that misplaced speculation can result in some unpleasant consequences. For all concerned."

George lifted his chin. "Certain facts have come to my attention, from which I have deduced that Mr. Winterhalter had both motive and opportunity."

"What facts?" Elizabeth demanded bluntly.

George cleared his throat. "Your ladys.h.i.+pa""

"I shall find out sooner or later, George. You will save us both a great deal of trouble if you simply tell me now."

George let out his breath in frustration.

"He was seen leaving the kitchen round about the time of the murder," Sid said.

George sent him another withering look. "Just remember he told you that, m'm. Not me."

"Who saw Mr. Winterhalter leave the kitchen?"

"It were Nellie Smith," George answered, beating Sid to the punch. "And that's me last word on the subject." He sent Sid a meaningful look. "And yours."

"Well, thank you. Both of you." Elizabeth straddled the saddle of her motorcycle. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my own investigation to conduct."

"The inspector won't like you interfering, m'm," George warned.

"The inspector," Elizabeth said, rising up to kick start the engine, "will thank me when I save him, and you, George, from a grave miscarriage of justice."

"If you find out anything, your ladys.h.i.+p, you're under an obligationa""

The rest of George's words were drowned out by the roar of the motorcycle's engine. Smiling and waving, Elizabeth soared off down the street, narrowly missing a startled housewife scurrying across the road.

No matter what George thought, Elizabeth told herself as she rode down the hill, she would not believe Rodney had stabbed Brian Sutcliffe. He had been too distraught at the thought of his daughter possibly being involved.

Nor did she believe that Tess had killed her lover. But she intended to make quite certain of that before she tackled the other people on her list.

Arriving back at the village hall, she parked her motorcycle and cut the engine. She had taken longer than she had intended to deliver Bessie's china to the shop. She could only hope Bessie was still inside.

To her relief, not only was Bessie still there, but several members of the Housewives League stood about, apparently finis.h.i.+ng up the cleanup. She spotted Nellie in the group, and headed over to her, intent on speaking to the young lady before she left.

Elizabeth wasted no time in coming to the point when she drew Nellie aside. "I understand you saw Rodney Winterhalter leaving the kitchen yesterday afternoon about the time of the murder," she said.

Nellie looked apprehensive. "I didn't want to get no one in trouble, your ladys.h.i.+p, but George did ask and I had to say what I saw."

Elizabeth nodded. "It's all right, Nellie. What exactly did you see?"

"Well, it were a little while before all that fuss about the missing knife. I seen Mr. Winterhalter rus.h.i.+ng out of the kitchen, and he looked really upset about something. I wondered at the time what he was doing in there, but then Florrie went in to get the knife and came running out again to say it were missing and, well, you heard the rest."

"Did you see where Mr. Winterhalter went after he left the kitchen?"

Nellie shook her head. "I was too busy helping Florrie look for the knife."

"Very well. Thank you, Nellie." Elizabeth smiled at the worried-looking girl. "You did the right thing. Please don't give it another thought."

"Yes, m'm." Still looking concerned, Nellie went back to join the group that was now stacking chairs against the walls.

Bessie seemed to have disappeared, and Elizabeth hurried into the kitchen, hoping to find her in there. Pleased to find her alone, Elizabeth complimented her on the fine job she had done with the wedding.

"There's just one thing I'd like to ask you," she said, when Bessie thanked her. "You said yesterday that you found the key to the cellar in a milk jug. Where exactly was it standing when Florrie picked it up to empty it?"

Bessie pointed to a table by the wall. "It were on there, m'm."

Elizabeth walked over to the table, followed by an anxious Bessie. "On here?" She pointed to the table.

"Yes, m'm. Right here." Bessie patted the table.

Elizabeth raised her gaze to the shelf above the table. "Were you using this shelf for anything yesterday?"

"No, m'm, we weren't. It's in an awkward spot, isn't it. We'd have to have really long arms to reach up there across the table."

"Which is probably why the key fell off," Elizabeth murmured.

Bessie poked her head forward. "What did you say, your ladys.h.i.+p?"

"No matter." Elizabeth looked around. "Everything looks spick and span, Bessie. You and the rest of the Housewives League provided a lovely wedding for Priscilla and Wally. I know they must be so grateful to you all."

Bessie's smile was radiant. "We were all happy to do it, m'm. Everyone likes Prissy, and Captain Carbunkle is a good sort. They'll be happy together, I know." She glanced over her shoulder as if to make sure they were alone. "Can't imagine our Prissy having a friend like that Fiona. Not a bit alike, are they. Someone said Fiona married an old bloke for his money and when he died he left her a fortune. Bit of a fly-by-night if you ask me. I wouldn't have thought Prissy would be that friendly with someone like that."

Elizabeth wondered if Bessie had heard about Fiona's indiscretion with the murdered man, but thought better about asking her. "Well, they hadn't seen each other in thirty years. I'm sure they both must have changed in that time. Anyway, I must be off. Violet will be getting supper and I don't want to be late. Oh, before I go, could you let me have the address of the photographer. d.i.c.kie Muggins, I believe?"

"Yes, m'm. I have it right here in my handbag. Just a minute." Bessie bustled across the kitchen to a tall cupboard and opened it. She came bag with a large black handbag tucked under her arm. "He's a good photographer, m'm. I've seen some of his photographs. Lovely they are. He's a bit of a fusspot, and some people make fun of him for it, but he knows what he's doing all right, I'll say that for him."

Thank you, Bessie." Elizabeth took the neatly inscribed card from Bessie and tucked it in her pocket. "I'll let you have it back next time I visit the tea shop."

"Oh, no need, your ladys.h.i.+p. I have some more. d.i.c.kie's mother gave them to me. He's just started his business, and he's looking for more clients. He'll be pleased to hear from you, I'm sure."

Elizabeth rather doubted that. She wasn't looking to hire him, but merely ask him a few questions. She didn't see the need to tell Bessie that, however.

She left the hall deep in thought and returned to the manor, convinced now that Tess had not killed Brian Sutcliffe. The girl had no reason to lie about leaving the key in the lock. Moreover, if she was telling the truth she'd heard Brian pounding on the door when she left, which meant he was still alive at that point.

Someone else must have removed the key from the cellar door. It seemed reasonable to a.s.sume that that person did so to delay the discovery of the body. Someone could have heard Brian pounding on the door, unlocked it, and confronted an angry man with a knife in his hand. What then? Reacted without thinking and pushed him down the stairs, causing him to fall on the knife, as Tess had surmised? Or had someone taken the opportunity to get rid of a man who was causing more trouble than was bearable?

A milk jug full of milk seemed an odd place to hide a key. But what if the killer intended to hide it on the shelf? Then, unnerved and in a hurry to leave, stretched out to reach the shelf and fumbled the key, dropping it into the milk jug. That made a lot more sense.

Tess was far too short to even think about reaching the shelf. Rodney, on the other hand, could have managed it. Rodney, who hated Brian Sutcliffe and would protect his daughter at any cost.

Seated on the white wicker couch in her conservatory, Elizabeth gave the matter some intense thought. Could she be mistaken about Rodney, after all? She kept hearing Daphne's shocked tones when she'd heard the news. My G.o.d, Rodney. What have you done?

He had denied it, of course. But his denials, like his concern about his daughter's possible guilt, could have been fabricated for her benefit. She would have to talk to him again. Though she could hardly accuse him of murder without some kind of proof or justification.

Sighing, she withdrew the paper she'd tucked into her pocket earlier and studied it. Neville Carbunkle had mentioned he'd seen d.i.c.kie Muggins in the kitchen arguing with Brian. She was anxious to talk to the photographer, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. Until then, she'd hold her judgment on Rodney, in the hopes that Mr. Muggins could shed new light on the puzzle.