Read Online Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder by Kate Kingsbury - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Kingsbury
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Annoyed with herself, she said hurriedly, "I'll let you know as soon as I can, Desmond."
"Yes, m'm." Desmond touched his forehead with his fingers, then shuffled around the corner out of sight.
Determined to put her worries about the Americans out of her mind for the time being, Elizabeth took off at a smart pace and a few minutes later arrived at the Pierce cottage. The door opened the moment she knocked, and she felt awful when she saw the hope on Winnie's face.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "no more news, I'm afraid. I would like to come in, though, if you have a minute?"
"Oh, of course, Lady Elizabeth. You're welcome anytime." Winnie managed to hide her disappointment quitewell as she led Elizabeth into the parlor. "I've just made some tea. Can I get you a cup?"
"Thank you, but I just finished breakfast a short time ago." Elizabeth dropped her handbag on the sofa. "I was wondering if the police brought back Beryl's bicycle."
"Yes, m'm, George walked it up the hill. Can't ride it, of course, until I get the wheel mended. It's outside in the garden."
Elizabeth followed her out of the back door where a tangled mass of white daises and marigolds lined a pebble path that led to a tool shed at the bottom of the garden. An aging apple tree spread gnarled and twisted branches over a small lawn, where plaster elves lurked around a stone birdbath.
Elizabeth, as always, was enchanted by the delightful confusion of the typical English garden. Sometimes the pristine flower beds and smooth lawns of the mansion irked her, mocking her with their smug perfection in a chaotic world. It seemed wrong, somehow, to spend so much time weeding and pruning flower beds, when elsewhere homes and everything in them were being blown to smithereens.
The front wheel of Beryl's bicycle was badly mangled, though the basket had remained intact. As George Dalrymple had observed, it was possible the damage had been done by the force of the sea. Though judging by the dents in the frame, the fall from the cliff seemed more likely.
The small leather pouch behind the saddle was still intact. Elizabeth studied it for a moment. "Was there anything in the saddlebag?"
"I don't know," Winnie said, sounding a little agitated. "I never gave it a thought. I don't know if George looked in there. He never said—" She broke off as Elizabethundid the flaps and drew out a thickly folded sheet of paper. "Whatever's that?"
"It's a map." Elizabeth unfolded the large piece of paper and studied it. "Oh, isn't this interesting. It's a map of America."
"What?" Winnie peered over her shoulder. "Why, that little cow. I strictly forbade her to go anywhere near that American base."
"Well, I don't know if she went to the base or not," Elizabeth said, turning the map over to look at the back of it. "One thing I do know. This map came from there. Look, it has the price in cents."
"You think someone gave it to her?" Winnie's eyes widened. "An American? Don't tell me our Beryl has run off with a bloody Yank."
If she did
, Elizabeth thought unhappily,
she went without her clothes and her handbag. And the love letter she'd tucked so carefully inside her pillow
. Much as she hated to admit it, she had a nasty feeling that Beryl hadn't run anywhere.
She stared at the map, thinking about that letter. Could Robbie be an American? If so, where did the regimental badge on Beryl's blazer come from? That most certainly belonged to a British soldier.
"I don't know what our Stan will say if Beryl's gone off with a Yank," Winnie muttered. "How am I going to tell him that? He'll have a fit."
Sensing that Winnie was clinging to that faint hope rather than contemplate the fact that Beryl might not be alive, Elizabeth made no comment. "I really should be running along," she said instead. "Would you mind if I take the map with me?" Not that she really expected it to be any more help than the rest of Beryl's belongings, but it seemed prudent to add it to the collection.
Winnie
"Yes, m'm." Desmond touched his forehead with his fingers, then shuffled around the corner out of sight.
Determined to put her worries about the Americans out of her mind for the time being, Elizabeth took off at a smart pace and a few minutes later arrived at the Pierce cottage. The door opened the moment she knocked, and she felt awful when she saw the hope on Winnie's face.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "no more news, I'm afraid. I would like to come in, though, if you have a minute?"
"Oh, of course, Lady Elizabeth. You're welcome anytime." Winnie managed to hide her disappointment quitewell as she led Elizabeth into the parlor. "I've just made some tea. Can I get you a cup?"
"Thank you, but I just finished breakfast a short time ago." Elizabeth dropped her handbag on the sofa. "I was wondering if the police brought back Beryl's bicycle."
"Yes, m'm, George walked it up the hill. Can't ride it, of course, until I get the wheel mended. It's outside in the garden."
Elizabeth followed her out of the back door where a tangled mass of white daises and marigolds lined a pebble path that led to a tool shed at the bottom of the garden. An aging apple tree spread gnarled and twisted branches over a small lawn, where plaster elves lurked around a stone birdbath.
Elizabeth, as always, was enchanted by the delightful confusion of the typical English garden. Sometimes the pristine flower beds and smooth lawns of the mansion irked her, mocking her with their smug perfection in a chaotic world. It seemed wrong, somehow, to spend so much time weeding and pruning flower beds, when elsewhere homes and everything in them were being blown to smithereens.
The front wheel of Beryl's bicycle was badly mangled, though the basket had remained intact. As George Dalrymple had observed, it was possible the damage had been done by the force of the sea. Though judging by the dents in the frame, the fall from the cliff seemed more likely.
The small leather pouch behind the saddle was still intact. Elizabeth studied it for a moment. "Was there anything in the saddlebag?"
"I don't know," Winnie said, sounding a little agitated. "I never gave it a thought. I don't know if George looked in there. He never said—" She broke off as Elizabethundid the flaps and drew out a thickly folded sheet of paper. "Whatever's that?"
"It's a map." Elizabeth unfolded the large piece of paper and studied it. "Oh, isn't this interesting. It's a map of America."
"What?" Winnie peered over her shoulder. "Why, that little cow. I strictly forbade her to go anywhere near that American base."
"Well, I don't know if she went to the base or not," Elizabeth said, turning the map over to look at the back of it. "One thing I do know. This map came from there. Look, it has the price in cents."
"You think someone gave it to her?" Winnie's eyes widened. "An American? Don't tell me our Beryl has run off with a bloody Yank."
If she did
, Elizabeth thought unhappily,
she went without her clothes and her handbag. And the love letter she'd tucked so carefully inside her pillow
. Much as she hated to admit it, she had a nasty feeling that Beryl hadn't run anywhere.
She stared at the map, thinking about that letter. Could Robbie be an American? If so, where did the regimental badge on Beryl's blazer come from? That most certainly belonged to a British soldier.
"I don't know what our Stan will say if Beryl's gone off with a Yank," Winnie muttered. "How am I going to tell him that? He'll have a fit."
Sensing that Winnie was clinging to that faint hope rather than contemplate the fact that Beryl might not be alive, Elizabeth made no comment. "I really should be running along," she said instead. "Would you mind if I take the map with me?" Not that she really expected it to be any more help than the rest of Beryl's belongings, but it seemed prudent to add it to the collection.
Winnie
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