all those soldiers searching the woods.”
“I’d worry about the soldiers if I were you. Polly said the women will be carrying butcher knives.”
“That’s got to be illegal. Someone has to stop them before things get out of hand.”
“Seems to me things are already getting out of hand. Ooh, that’s something else Polly told me.” Violet went to the door and stuck her head into the hallway. “Martin!” she yelled. “Your porridge is ready!” She came back shaking her head. “That man. I swear he’s going deaf.”
“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. After all, he’s in his eighties. Something’s bound to wear out at that age.”
“If you ask me, it’s his blinking mind that’s wearing out,” Violet muttered. “He keeps nattering on about the master being back. He’s giving me the willies now.”
Remembering the major’s words, Elizabeth decided it was time to change the subject. “What was it that Polly told you?”
Violet picked up a large wooden spoon and stirred the rest of the porridge. “There was a big fight down at the pub last night. Our lads and the Yanks got into it, according to Polly. Made a right mess of the place before it was over.”
Elizabeth stared at her plate. “We have to do something about that. I think I’ll call a meeting of the town council. Perhaps we can come up with some ideas of how to end this resentment of the Americans.”
“It’s going to take more than a council meeting to do that if you ask me.” Violet ladled porridge into a bowl.“At least this time they can’t blame the murder on a Yank.” She carried the bowl over to the table and set it down. “I wonder what Rita Crumm and her lot would do if they came across that German.”
“Probably run for their lives,” Martin said from the doorway. “That’s if they’ve got any sense. That blighter would run them through with a bayonet if they got anywhere near him.”
“He’s not carrying a bayonet,” Elizabeth remarked. She lifted a spoonful of porridge in the air. “He must be pretty hungry by now.”
“Not thinking of taking him your porridge, are you?” Violet asked as she filled a third bowl with the oatmeal.
Martin gasped. “I should say not! I would hope madam has far too much prudence than to consider such a dangerous venture.”
“Madam does,” Elizabeth assured him. “I was just wondering if the poor boy is hungry enough to give himself up.”
“That poor boy killed a young woman, so stop feeling sorry for him,” Violet said, seating herself at the table. She looked up at Martin, who hovered by his chair. “Are you going to sit down, or are you waiting for your porridge to get cold first?”
Martin cleared his throat. “May I have your permission to join you at the table, madam?”
Elizabeth answered automatically. “You may, Martin.”
“Thank you, madam, but if I may say so, your proper place is in the dining room at the dining room table. The master is very unhappy to see how badly proprieties have been neglected at the Manor House.”
“Then I should think he was delirious last night,” Violet said crisply. “Especially when you nearly dropped the soup all over Lizzie. If you ask me, she’s a lot safer right here in the kitchen.”
Martin was too busy concentrating on getting his creaking body down on his chair to answer her.
Elizabeth glanced at her. “How did you know about the soup?”
“I was watching from the doorway, wasn’t I. The old fool insisted on taking it in, and I was holding my breath all the way. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it slipping, until your major caught it.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Once and for all, Violet, he’s not my major, and I do wish you would stop calling him that.”
“Methinks you do protest too much,” Violet murmured.
Ignoring her, Elizabeth cleared her plate, then laid down her spoon. “I have to go down to the police station this morning. Would you ring the council members for me and have them
“I’d worry about the soldiers if I were you. Polly said the women will be carrying butcher knives.”
“That’s got to be illegal. Someone has to stop them before things get out of hand.”
“Seems to me things are already getting out of hand. Ooh, that’s something else Polly told me.” Violet went to the door and stuck her head into the hallway. “Martin!” she yelled. “Your porridge is ready!” She came back shaking her head. “That man. I swear he’s going deaf.”
“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. After all, he’s in his eighties. Something’s bound to wear out at that age.”
“If you ask me, it’s his blinking mind that’s wearing out,” Violet muttered. “He keeps nattering on about the master being back. He’s giving me the willies now.”
Remembering the major’s words, Elizabeth decided it was time to change the subject. “What was it that Polly told you?”
Violet picked up a large wooden spoon and stirred the rest of the porridge. “There was a big fight down at the pub last night. Our lads and the Yanks got into it, according to Polly. Made a right mess of the place before it was over.”
Elizabeth stared at her plate. “We have to do something about that. I think I’ll call a meeting of the town council. Perhaps we can come up with some ideas of how to end this resentment of the Americans.”
“It’s going to take more than a council meeting to do that if you ask me.” Violet ladled porridge into a bowl.“At least this time they can’t blame the murder on a Yank.” She carried the bowl over to the table and set it down. “I wonder what Rita Crumm and her lot would do if they came across that German.”
“Probably run for their lives,” Martin said from the doorway. “That’s if they’ve got any sense. That blighter would run them through with a bayonet if they got anywhere near him.”
“He’s not carrying a bayonet,” Elizabeth remarked. She lifted a spoonful of porridge in the air. “He must be pretty hungry by now.”
“Not thinking of taking him your porridge, are you?” Violet asked as she filled a third bowl with the oatmeal.
Martin gasped. “I should say not! I would hope madam has far too much prudence than to consider such a dangerous venture.”
“Madam does,” Elizabeth assured him. “I was just wondering if the poor boy is hungry enough to give himself up.”
“That poor boy killed a young woman, so stop feeling sorry for him,” Violet said, seating herself at the table. She looked up at Martin, who hovered by his chair. “Are you going to sit down, or are you waiting for your porridge to get cold first?”
Martin cleared his throat. “May I have your permission to join you at the table, madam?”
Elizabeth answered automatically. “You may, Martin.”
“Thank you, madam, but if I may say so, your proper place is in the dining room at the dining room table. The master is very unhappy to see how badly proprieties have been neglected at the Manor House.”
“Then I should think he was delirious last night,” Violet said crisply. “Especially when you nearly dropped the soup all over Lizzie. If you ask me, she’s a lot safer right here in the kitchen.”
Martin was too busy concentrating on getting his creaking body down on his chair to answer her.
Elizabeth glanced at her. “How did you know about the soup?”
“I was watching from the doorway, wasn’t I. The old fool insisted on taking it in, and I was holding my breath all the way. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it slipping, until your major caught it.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Once and for all, Violet, he’s not my major, and I do wish you would stop calling him that.”
“Methinks you do protest too much,” Violet murmured.
Ignoring her, Elizabeth cleared her plate, then laid down her spoon. “I have to go down to the police station this morning. Would you ring the council members for me and have them
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