Manor House 01 - A Bicycle Built for Murder by Kate Kingsbury Page A
Authors: Kate Kingsbury
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the Americans a threat to every woman in Sitting Marsh.
Overpaid, oversexed, and over here
. It was the battle cry all over the village, and probably in every other village, town, and city paying host to the American military. It wasn't fair, of course, but understandable. The British girls were being swept off their feet by the glamorous Yanks, and there didn't seem much anyone could do about it.
Yet these same men—boys, most of them—were putting their lives on the line every day for the very people who condemned them. Every day the planes flew out from the base, and every day less and less of them came back. For that reason alone, she would do anything she could to see that the American officers were as comfortable as she could make them. But she would not accept favors from them.
The Hartleigh pride was at stake, she assured herself. It had absolutely nothing to do with her sworn vow never to lose her head over a man again. All right, so there was something about the Americans that she found intriguing. Or at least one in particular. Nevertheless, she was not about to join the hordes of adoring women who apparently were desperate to keep company with any man wearing the irresistible uniform of the United States Army Air Force.
"What in heaven's name are you cooking up in that mind of yours?" Violet demanded, startling Elizabeth out of her thoughts. "You've got a furrow deep enough in your forehead to grow potatoes."
"I was just thinking about our preparations to house the Americans." She avoided Violet's sharp eyes. "All those portraits in the great hall will have to be dusted, the chimneys in the east wing will have to be swept. . . . There's so much to be done."
"I suppose we should do something about the plumbing over there, too." Violet opened a cupboard and took down a tin of porridge. "The way that water rattles in those pipes you'd think it was Old Marlowe coming after Scrooge with his Christmas ghosts."
"It's not the water that rattles, it's the air in the pipes."
"Whatever it is, if we don't get it seen to, them Yanks will think this house is haunted."
Elizabeth watched her measure the oatmeal into a pan. "Those men risk their lives to fly their planes into enemy fire every single day," she observed quietly. "I really don't think a few rattles in the pipes are going to disturb them. Besides, we can't afford it."
"We can't afford no chimney sweeps, neither. That's if we could find one, and I doubt that. Anyone young enough and healthy enough to climb over these roofs has been called up by now."
"Then we shall have to clean them ourselves."
Violet spun around to face her. "Have you forgotten what happened when you decided we should mend the drainpipe ourselves? Maybe that bump you got on your head wiped it out of your mind."
"I fell off the ladder because the ground was soft from the rain."
"Exactly. And what happened when you insisted onpainting the ceiling in the library yourself?"
"I never did like that chandelier much." Elizabeth smiled. "Come now, Violet, admit it. You enjoy the challenge just as much as I do."
"I like living in one piece, too. Hanging from a chandelier with one hand is not my idea of fun."
"I forgot the library ladder has wheels on it."
"You'll break your neck one of these days, Lizzie. You mark my words. The master would turn in his grave if he knew half of what you're up to around here."
"You fuss over nothing, Violet. Besides, it isn't cold enough to worry about lighting fires yet. We still have time to decide what to do about the chimneys." Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. "Can I smell burning?"
Violet gave a yelp and made a grab for the pot. "Look at that now. Caught it on the bottom."
"That's all right. I like it burned."
"Just as well, because that's the way you've got it this morning."
Elizabeth laughed. "I don't think either Daddy or Mother would worry, knowing you are here to take care of me."
"You need someone to take care of you, and that's a fact," Violet
Overpaid, oversexed, and over here
. It was the battle cry all over the village, and probably in every other village, town, and city paying host to the American military. It wasn't fair, of course, but understandable. The British girls were being swept off their feet by the glamorous Yanks, and there didn't seem much anyone could do about it.
Yet these same men—boys, most of them—were putting their lives on the line every day for the very people who condemned them. Every day the planes flew out from the base, and every day less and less of them came back. For that reason alone, she would do anything she could to see that the American officers were as comfortable as she could make them. But she would not accept favors from them.
The Hartleigh pride was at stake, she assured herself. It had absolutely nothing to do with her sworn vow never to lose her head over a man again. All right, so there was something about the Americans that she found intriguing. Or at least one in particular. Nevertheless, she was not about to join the hordes of adoring women who apparently were desperate to keep company with any man wearing the irresistible uniform of the United States Army Air Force.
"What in heaven's name are you cooking up in that mind of yours?" Violet demanded, startling Elizabeth out of her thoughts. "You've got a furrow deep enough in your forehead to grow potatoes."
"I was just thinking about our preparations to house the Americans." She avoided Violet's sharp eyes. "All those portraits in the great hall will have to be dusted, the chimneys in the east wing will have to be swept. . . . There's so much to be done."
"I suppose we should do something about the plumbing over there, too." Violet opened a cupboard and took down a tin of porridge. "The way that water rattles in those pipes you'd think it was Old Marlowe coming after Scrooge with his Christmas ghosts."
"It's not the water that rattles, it's the air in the pipes."
"Whatever it is, if we don't get it seen to, them Yanks will think this house is haunted."
Elizabeth watched her measure the oatmeal into a pan. "Those men risk their lives to fly their planes into enemy fire every single day," she observed quietly. "I really don't think a few rattles in the pipes are going to disturb them. Besides, we can't afford it."
"We can't afford no chimney sweeps, neither. That's if we could find one, and I doubt that. Anyone young enough and healthy enough to climb over these roofs has been called up by now."
"Then we shall have to clean them ourselves."
Violet spun around to face her. "Have you forgotten what happened when you decided we should mend the drainpipe ourselves? Maybe that bump you got on your head wiped it out of your mind."
"I fell off the ladder because the ground was soft from the rain."
"Exactly. And what happened when you insisted onpainting the ceiling in the library yourself?"
"I never did like that chandelier much." Elizabeth smiled. "Come now, Violet, admit it. You enjoy the challenge just as much as I do."
"I like living in one piece, too. Hanging from a chandelier with one hand is not my idea of fun."
"I forgot the library ladder has wheels on it."
"You'll break your neck one of these days, Lizzie. You mark my words. The master would turn in his grave if he knew half of what you're up to around here."
"You fuss over nothing, Violet. Besides, it isn't cold enough to worry about lighting fires yet. We still have time to decide what to do about the chimneys." Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. "Can I smell burning?"
Violet gave a yelp and made a grab for the pot. "Look at that now. Caught it on the bottom."
"That's all right. I like it burned."
"Just as well, because that's the way you've got it this morning."
Elizabeth laughed. "I don't think either Daddy or Mother would worry, knowing you are here to take care of me."
"You need someone to take care of you, and that's a fact," Violet
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