Chapter Four

After lunch, the system worked better and with a final change in the three wheels on the TypeX, the messages I typed in came out in German. Some weather readings for who knew where. By midafternoon, my eyes were starting to cross.

I excused myself and hurried out into the cold to the annex where the toilets and washbasins were. At least it felt warmer than our badly heated hut, but I definitely didn’t plan to linger.

I heard a man’s voice say, “John’s certainly taking her death hard,” and I nearly jumped out of my shoes. Given my assignment, I stayed still and listened.

The voice had come from the other side of the dividing wall, where holes for pipes to go through weren’t completely sealed. This could be a good thing for my investigation.

A second male voice said, “What do you expect? He wanted to train her to—” Any other words were drowned out by rushing water.

When the gurgling water sound stopped, the first voice said, “Would it have worked out?”

The second said, “He’d have been disappointed. She was smart, but she’d have been no good at that.”

Whatever was said after that was faint for a few seconds and then silence. They’d obviously walked outside. I washed my hands and went back to work.

I realized I didn’t know the men in the next room and I had no reason to go in there. There was no way I could tell who had been speaking.

I’d have to get lucky or I’d never learn who killed Sarah. If her death involved espionage, then Sir Malcolm and the government needed to know quickly.

When it grew close to quitting time, John walked over and bent over to speak quietly in Gwen’s ear. She nodded and then began to put away the things on her desk.

Was he reminding her she was to work this weekend, or was he telling her he wouldn’t be keeping her late tonight the way he had Sarah at the beginning of the week? Whatever reason she had stayed late for.

As we closed up work for the night and for the weekend and went out into the cold and dark, a male voice said, “We’re going to the Wren and Dragon. Anyone want to join us?”

His was the first voice I’d heard through the wall. “I’d enjoy that, but this is my first day,” I told him, turning around. I recognized Simon Townsend, my fellow arrival at BP from the day before, as the speaker. “I have no way of knowing how to get to my lodgings afterward. Especially in the dark.”

“That’s right. You’re at Bloomington Grove.”

I nodded.

“I think some of your fellow lodgers are coming. It’s less than a half-mile from the pub.”

“I’m going, and I think the Allen girls will be there,” Fiona said. “We know our way home.”

“Will supper be waiting for us at the manor?” I asked.

“A bit cold and dry, but it’ll still taste good,” Fiona said. “Rosalie? Gwen? Are you coming?”

“I have a ticket to Lancaster on the nine o’clock train tonight. I’ll have dinner in town and then go to the station,” Rosalie told us, holding up her luggage to show us. “But thanks anyway.”

“No, thank you,” Gwen said quietly.

“We’ll take the bus we came in on this morning and get off in Little Rowanwood,” Fiona told me as she hurried toward the gate and the bus.

The hut, and the entire area inside the tall wire-fenced compound, was emptying out, with everyone heading for the town or the vehicles waiting to transport us to nearby villages. I followed Fiona and the Allen sisters onto our bus. We bounced along for a few minutes and then got out in front of the pub along with several men I recognized from the hut. Aileen and Gwen stayed on the bus to ride to Bloomington Grove.

I’d never have a better time than now to start interviewing the men. Before we went in, I pulled Maryellen aside. “Did Sarah come here with you, or was she strictly chapel?”

“She came here with us often enough. I don’t think she was as chapel as some people are saying now. It’s all ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead.’” She walked inside, and I followed.

Inside, the pub was dark paneled, smoky, with a low ceiling and several heavy scarred wooden tables and chairs scattered about. There was a dartboard on one wall away from the chairs, probably with good reason. When it was my turn, I got a half pint of ale. The ale was watery but at least the glass was clean.

Simon was talking to two other men, and one of their voices sounded as if it were the man he had been talking to in the facilities that afternoon. They were only a few steps away from where I’d picked up my ale, so I moved over and joined them.

Simon was as well-mannered as I thought he would be, and he introduced me to George Kester and Peter Watson. I was pretty sure I’d passed both of them in the hut that morning.

I asked Simon if he was settling in well with his relatives. “Yes. My aunt and uncle. They’re glad to have me. And you?”

“Yes. There are eight of us being looked after by the last two of the Earl and Countess of Haymarket’s servants. The food is excellent. Of course,” I said, and glanced at the other two men, “I’ve moved into a murdered woman’s shoes. It’s just a little creepy.”

George Kester, who other than his balding top looked to be in his early to mid-thirties, said, “Then don’t make her mistake.”

“What was that?” I’m sure I sounded gullible.

“Don’t go wandering about alone at night.” He grinned at me.

“Too late now. It’s dark out and it’s a half-mile back to the manor house.”

“I said alone,” George said. “You’ll be heading back with several of your housemates.” Without looking around, he added, “I hear the Allen twins.”

“I thought they aren’t twins.”

George shrugged. “We call them that. They’re close to identical.”

“Sarah didn’t go out by herself at night. She was afraid to,” Peter Watson said. He was tall, dark-haired and, the same as me, a couple of years shy of thirty. His was the voice I’d overheard talking to Simon.

“But she must have. She was down the road from the manor house when she was found.” I looked at him and frowned. I was confused.

Peter glanced at Simon. “She wouldn’t go out at night except in a group or with an escort.”

“Makes me wonder who her escort was that night,” I said with raised eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t know.” Peter half turned away from me.

“If she came down here to the Wren and Dragon, it might have been any of you,” I said with a smile. “I better watch out with you fellows.”

“She wasn’t down here that night,” George said, shaking his head. “She’d still be alive if she had stopped in here. We’d have seen her home safely.”

“Your transport only takes you to the crossroads. We have better manners than that,” Peter added.

“I want to avoid doing whatever she did that led to her death, but I haven’t a clue as to what it was.” That was true, and it didn’t mention that I was on the hunt for a killer.

“She didn’t keep her thoughts to herself,” Peter said, still not looking at me.

“To be fair,” George said, “you two had a run-in at Cambridge, but I saw no sign that she was still sticking her nose into your business here.”

“Golly, was everyone here at Cambridge?” I asked.

“You too?” George asked.

We mentioned our colleges, but I hadn’t known either Peter or George or anyone they might have known, because both of them were mathematics lecturers. That was definitely not my subject.

Then Peter grumbled the name of a girl who was in her first year at my college when I was in my last. She wasn’t particularly remarkable to my mind. I mentioned that I knew of her.

“We were friends,” Peter said. “Then Sarah jumped in and ruined our friendship by meddling.”

“What happened to ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead’?” Simon asked.

Peter drained his glass. “Sarah poisoned her against me. She didn’t bother to see things from my side. Ruined our friendship. Ruined my life.”

He walked up to the bar to reorder.

“What happened?” Simon asked.

“I don’t know. It must have happened after I finished and went back to London.” But it might be a good thing to check. “Was Sarah seeing anyone here?”

“That is a very good question,” George said.

“Well?”

“I don’t believe it’s my place to say.”

“Then there was someone?” Simon asked.

Why was Simon taking my position? Why would he care? I waited for George’s response.

“John was keeping Sarah after hours a few evenings, but it must have been due to training. She had an interest in the math side of things. But she wouldn’t stay for extra training on certain nights, which makes me think she had a male friend. John’s happily married, for Swithin’s sake. It certainly wasn’t him. He can’t wait to get home to his family on those weekends when he can.”

George looked from one to the other of us, handed Simon his empty glass, and continued, “I think everyone can manage their lives quite well without anyone sticking their long noses in, but I could do with a refill.”

Simon glanced at me, I shook my head, and he went up to place their orders.

“I’m all for women getting more training and raising their pay grades,” I told George.

“Even if they had no interest in moving ahead?”

“Sarah was happy with her pay?”

“She was living in the manor house with most of her pay left over after she paid the standard amount for her room and board. She could buy all the yarn she wanted. There isn’t much else for you girls to buy these days, is there?”

“What do you mean?” He seemed to have a fixed idea of Sarah’s preferences. Was it accurate? It certainly wasn’t accurate for most young women.

“There aren’t many clothes in the shops, or shoes, or makeup, or hair clips. Sarah, the same as any girl fresh out of university, was interested in these things and attracting a man, and not much else.”

“Where did you get that idea of what women want? Especially on three pounds a week.” I sounded huffy, possibly because that description was too close to the truth if he were talking about me when I left Cambridge. Now, I couldn’t survive in London on that salary.

Thank goodness for Sir Henry and the Daily Premier.

“I was living and working in Cambridge until the war started. There are always young women to observe there, even if there is one special woman in Yorkshire who has all my devotion.”

I considered him for a minute. “Did Sarah have a special man somewhere?”

“Who knows?” George gave me a smile. “I think there must have been, but I don’t know who or where.” Simon returned then and handed him his pint. “Thank you.”

“Were any of the men interested in her, whether she was interested in them or not?” Spurned lovers had been known to kill, and that would make Sir Malcolm very happy if that was the motive for her murder.

“We teased John about it, but there was nothing there. Just some extra training for some project John had in mind. I think Sarah’s death has put that project firmly on the back burner.” George shrugged. “We all enjoy the scenery, as it were, but nothing more than that. So, what’s your interest?”

“I seemed to have stepped into the position of a murdered woman, and I don’t want to make her mistake. Being married, I can only dream about having young men follow me around,” I added with a grin. “What about you, George? Are you married to that someone in Yorkshire?”

“Oh, there’s someone, all right, but we haven’t set a date. If you want a young man following you around, you’ll have to look to Simon.”

Simon choked on his beer, and George pounded him on the back.

“Wow. I’ll take that as a ‘No,’” I said and laughed.

“No offense, but I haven’t been thrown at someone that way since a first-year dance.” Simon then gave me his cheery grin. “Can I get you another?”

“Another half, if you don’t mind,” I told him.

When Simon walked off, I asked George, “Do I need to apologize to Peter? He must have been angry with Sarah to have brought up whatever happened, and I said the wrong thing.”

“No. He’ll have forgotten it by tomorrow, and you can start again. Oh, look,” he said, glancing over my shoulder, “they’ve brought out the darts.”

Peter and another man I’d seen around were on one team, and I recognized John although not the other man on the other team. There was cheering for good throws, and some good-natured teasing for badly placed darts, including a few that bounced off the paneling.

The door to the outside banged shut, sounding as if it were a shot. John, apparently not a good darts player at the best of times, was just letting go of his dart. He jumped and turned the same way as the rest of us, letting go of his dart at the worst moment.

The dart flew past Peter’s head, making several of us gasp, and hit the wall behind him.

Peter, murder in his eyes, rushed John, his hands up to choke the shorter man. In a moment, they were in each other’s faces, hands grabbing and shoving at necks and collars.

Could Sarah’s death have been caused by a momentary flare of temper by a hothead such as Peter?