Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls Read Free Page A

together next to their jeeps.
    The bells had ceased their mournful summons, and the full moon cast an eerie glow over the scene, throwing the tall spire of St. Matthew's into a dark silhouette against the clear night sky.
    Elizabeth spied Rita Crumm, dressed in baggy slacks and a thick sweater, bellowing orders to a shivering group of housewives. Every one of them held some kindof garden implement in her hand. Rakes and shovels seemed the most popular, though Florrie Evans, the most insipid of Rita's homegrown army, clung to a frying pan with all the determination of potted shrimp.
    Rita, who fancied herself as a sort of self-made general, was apparently doing her best to organize her reluctant troops into a feasible barrier against the advancing enemy. Rita was under the mistaken impression that given enough determination, she could tackle the entire German army single-handedly. She made no secret of her inherent belief that her war efforts would exemplify every glorified heroine in history.
    Right now all she appeared to be achieving was a sore throat from yelling at her confused entourage.
    The few men left in the village, those too old, too unhealthy, or too valuable for civilian life to join the military, were assembled at the far edge of the crowd and seemed to be earnestly discussing the proper procedure for withstanding an invasion.
    As yet there were no signs of the only real official form of authority—the constabulary, which wasn't all that surprising considering the entire police force of Sitting Marsh consisted of two elderly and somewhat dense constables dragged out of retirement after the army had snagged the vast majority of England's able-bodied men.
    Not too far from where Elizabeth parked her motorcycle—her sole means of transportation—Polly and her sister, Marlene, stood arguing with their mother, who was no doubt insisting that the girls return to the security of their home.
    No one seemed to know what was going on, and deciding that someone needed to take charge, Elizabeth went in search of Major Earl Monroe. As lady of the manor, she was duty bound to supervise proceedings until the police arrived. She wasn't quite sure why she felt that the commanding officer of her enforced houseguests would be the most help under the circumstances, but itwas an awfully good excuse to seek him out. She hadn't seen the major alone in almost a week, and she missed his enjoyable company.
    It wasn't until she caught sight of him climbing down from a jeep—in the same moment he saw her—that she realized she probably wasn't looking her best. She hadn't had time to do much with her hair, which, instead of being neatly arranged on her head in its accustomed French roll, was tucked rather haphazardly into a hairnet.
    Her face was completely naked of powder and lipstick, she had been unable to find clean stockings that weren't laddered, and the pleated black skirt she wore under her gray wool coat needed ironing. Her mother, the late Lady Hartleigh and pinnacle of good taste, would turn in her grave.
    It was too late to worry about her appearance now, however, since Major Monroe was already striding toward her. He greeted her with his usual casual salute. "Glad you're here, Lady Elizabeth. People are sure getting jittery."
    A tremendous feeling of well-being washed over her as she answered his greeting. Somehow Earl Monroe always made her feel on top of the world, no matter what disaster was rocking it at that moment. In fact, such was the effect he had on her, she was constantly reminding herself that the major had a wife and family back in the States, and could be of no possible importance in her life. Not that it seemed to help much.
    "Does anyone know what's going on?" She gestured at the crowd. "Apparently everyone's talking about an invasion. If the Germans are indeed invading us, they obviously haven't reached the village yet."
    Earl peered up the road in the direction of the beach as if he expected a battalion of