Manor House 04 - Dig Deep for Murder Read Free

motorcycle. Them Yanks still haven't learned how to drive on the proper side of the road."
    Elizabeth smiled. Sometimes her housekeeper sounded more like a mother. "I'll be careful."
    "Your mother would turn in her grave if she knew you were tearing around the village on that machine."
    "Very likely," Elizabeth agreed. "But we can't afford a car, and it's faster than walking." She closed the door before Violet could argue the point.
    "Ew, Ma, why do I have to help you with the gardening tonight?" Polly wailed. "I was going to wash me hair."
    Edna Barnett stood in the middle of her tiny kitchen and folded her arms. "Because I said so, that's why. Tell Marlene she has to help as well. With three of us out there, we can have it all done by the time it's dark. Thank goodness for double summertime, that's what I say. Now that we've put the clocks back two hours for the summer, it won't be dark until after ten o'clock."
    "But I'm tired." Polly slumped on a kitchen chair. "Marlene is, too. She's been on her feet all day working in the hairdresser's."
    "She spends half her time in that shop sitting reading film magazines," Edna said sharply. "Go and tell her she has to help. Once we get the plot all weeded out, I can take care of it meself. John already did most of the planting. It would break his heart to see that garden looking the way it does."
    Polly looked at her hands. "I'll get dirt in me fingernails, and then Lady Elizabeth will get cross with me. You know how she is. I have to look me best at all times. I'm a secretary, after all, not a blooming gardener."
    "Do I have to remind you, my girl, that there's a war on? We all have to do our part. It's a small sacrifice compared to all those poor buggers being bombed out in London. Lady Elizabeth was good enough to give up some of her land for the gardens, and the least we can do is take care of a few vegetables. Now get up them stairs and tell that lazy sister of yours to get down here before I box both your ears."
    Polly got wearily to her feet. Once Ma got her dander up, it didn't do to cross her. "All right, I'm going." She stomped up the stairs, muttering under her breath so Ma wouldn't hear her.
    She found Marlene lying on her bed, reading a tattered copy of
Picture Show
. "I feel so sorry for poor Clark Gable," she said when Polly sank down beside her. "They say they had to stop filming his latest picture because he was in shock over losing his wife."
    "Who was his wife, then?" Polly asked, only mildly interested. Since she'd met Sam Cutter, an American squadron leader billeted at the manor, she couldn't get excited about film stars. Sam filled her thoughts and her dreams, and her only aim in life was to marry him and go to America with him.
    "Carole Lombard, that's who." Marlene rolled over on her side. "You know, the one what died in that plane crash last year? They say he hasn't been the same since—"
    Edna's strident voice echoed up the narrow staircase and bounced off the walls. "Are you girls coming, or do I have to come up there and get you?"
    "Ooh, crikey, I forgot." Polly jumped off the bed. "Ma wants us to help her weed the plot in the Victory Garden."
    Marlene groaned. "Always something." She rolled off her side onto her feet. "Still, look at the bright side. You might get a chance to see Sam while you're there." She tossed her thick red hair back from her shoulders. "I wouldn't mind seeing some of the boys meself."
    "I don't get to see much of them, and I'm there all the time." Polly trudged down the stairs ahead of her sister. "They're flying missions every day now. It gets real scary, it does, wondering if Sam's all right. Sometimes it's daysbefore I see him." She speeded up as Edna appeared at the foot of the stairs. "We're coming."
    A few minutes later the three of them wheeled along the coast road on their bicycles. Marlene was determined to make a race of it, and Polly had a hard time keeping up with her. The wind whipped off the sea, tugging at the pins