“No, I’m not all right,” Polly said, and crossed her knees. “I’ve got to piddle.”
“Well, go behind a tree. There’s no one to see you, is there.”
“All right,” Polly muttered, still feeling anything but. She watched her friend creep around the edge of the clearing. When Sadie was at the back of the windmill she gave Polly a final wave then crept forward until she disappeared from view.
Polly searched around for a big stick, wondering how on earth she’d ended up in this dangerous situation. They should have asked George if he’d looked in the windmill. She’d told Sadie that, but Sadie had insisted they do it themselves. George would only muck it up, she’d said. Right then, Polly wasn’t sure she and Sadie would do any better.
She picked up a likely looking stick and tested it against the palm of her hand. It snapped with a loud crack and she jumped a foot in the air. If anyone was going to muck things up, she thought mournfully, it was going to be her and Sadie. She should never have agreed to come with her. She should have gone and told Lady Elizabeth what Sadie was going to do. She would have known how to stop her.
She discarded the broken stick and looked for another one. After a while she found a short, thick branch that had broken off of a beech tree. This one seemed more sturdy. Grasping it in her hand, she crept back to her lookout spot.
Her stomach flipped over when she saw Sadie in the entrance to the windmill, staring in her direction and jumping up and down waving her arms. Without stopping to think, Polly charged forward, brandishing the branch above her head and yelling, “Let go of her, you rotten buggers!”
She was almost up to her friend when it occurred to her that Sadie was alone and not struggling with the musketeers as she’d imagined. Feeling really stupid, she lowered her arm and slowed her pace.
“What’d you do that for?” Polly demanded, as she came up to the door.
“For God’s sake shut up!” Sadie shoved her finger on Polly’s lips. “They’ll hear you a mile away! I’m going up top to have a look around. You wait here. If you hear me yell, come running.”
Polly nodded, shivering with fright. The rickety steps up to the top of the windmill were broken and even missing in places. The thought of rushing up there scared her to death. She’d rather face ten musketeers than go up those steps.
She watched Sadie climb up slowly, testing each step before she trod on it. Polly held her breath and wondered how on earth she would catch Sadie if she fell. The buxom housemaid was twice her weight.
The steps creaked and cracked like gunshots going off, and Polly jumped with each one. Sadie, however, showed no fear and climbed purposefully on until she was out of sight. Polly hung grimly onto the stick and prayed she wouldn’t have to use it.
All the excitement had brought back the urge to piddle. She should have gone behind the tree when she had the chance, like Sadie said. She’d forgotten about it while she was searching for the stick, but now she really needed to go.
She hopped around from one foot to the other, willing Sadie to come down before she wet her drawers. She thought about calling up to her friend, but if the musketeers were lurking around somewhere they might hear her and come running. They could overpower her long before Sadie got down from the steps.
Finally she could hold it no longer. She looked around, but the thought of what her mother would say if she knew she’d piddled on the windmill floor drove her outside. She had to sprint right across the clearing to reach the trees. Even then, she couldn’t find one big enough to hide her if someone was in the windmill looking out at her.
Stumbling along at a crossed-legged run, she plunged deeper into the woods, where the tree trunks were wider and thick tangled blackberry bushes grew underneath them. At last she spotted the perfect place and squatted down between a withered old oak tree and a bunch of flowery ferns.
The relief of finally letting go made her forget everything else for the moment. It was so peaceful there in the woods. The blackbirds were singing their evening song, and the wind in the branches above her head sounded like the sea. Right in front of her, blue and yellow wildflowers grew in dense clumps. She should take some home to Ma, she thought. Her mother loved flowers.
Polly was about to gather some when she caught sight of the stick she’d dropped in her haste to get behind the bushes. Sadie. Crikey. What if she was calling for help?
With a surge of guilt, she snatched up the stick and galloped back through the trees to the clearing. Caution made her pause at the edge of the woods, and she stared hard at the tall wooden structure of the windmill.
There was no movement, no sound. She might as well be all alone out there. It was getting dark. She could barely make out the doorway now. The fear rushed back, and she raced for the windmill and tumbled inside.
It was even darker in there, and it took her a moment to adjust her eyes. There was no sign of Sadie. Polly tilted her head to listen. She couldn’t hear a bloomin’ thing. No creaks to tell her Sadie was coming back down the steps. What the flipping heck was taking her so long?
She waited a few more minutes, her concern growing into full-fledged panic. Something was wrong. Sadie should have been back down ages ago. There was nothing for it; she’d have to go up there and look for her.
Gripping her stick, Polly advanced to the steps. The first one made a snapping noise when she trod on it and she whimpered. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t climb all the way up there in the dark.
In a wavering voice she called out, “Sadie? Are you all right? Come down! It’s dark down here!”
No answer floated down to her and she raised her voice, louder with each call. “Sadie?
Sadie?
Sa-
day
!”
Something scuttled away in the dark and Polly screamed. The shrill sound echoed around the lofty walls and up the stairs. It was the final straw. Polly bolted out of there, across the clearing, grabbed her bicycle, and pedaled like mad back to the road. She was never going back to that horrible place. Someone else would have to rescue Sadie.
Elizabeth found both Rodney and Daphne in the library. Rodney sat playing Patience with the cards, while Daphne seemed engrossed in a book. She soon put it down, however, when Elizabeth entered the quiet room.
“Have you heard from the inspector?” she asked, as Rodney rose to his feet.
Elizabeth settled on a Queen Anne chair and shook her head. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”
Rodney sat down again with a thump. “I don’t suppose you’ve found out who killed Sutcliffe,” he said, a resigned tone.
“I’m getting closer.” Elizabeth hesitated, then asked quietly, “Rodney, when did you learn that Brian Sutcliffe had taken another woman to his room at the Tudor Arms?”
Rodney raised his eyebrows. “When Tess told the constable that night. We were all there. We all heard her tell him about it.”
Daphne shot a frightened glance at her husband. “Yes, that’s right. That’s when we found out.”
“But you knew before that, didn’t you?” Elizabeth looked hard at Rodney. “I believe you referred to him as a two-timing fortune hunter. You were referring to the incident that upset Tess so much, were you not?”
Daphne’s gaze flicked back and forth between her husband and Elizabeth, while Rodney began blustering.
“Not at all. The man was only interested in our daughter because of her financial status. I spoke the truth. That doesn’t mean—”
“Then perhaps you can explain the presence of confetti in the turnups of your trousers? All the confetti had been locked up in the basement until some time after you left the village hall.”
Rodney’s gaze turned frosty. “I think the more relevant question is, your ladyship, how you happen to know there is confetti in my trousers.”
Elizabeth straightened her back. “You asked me to investigate the murder. That’s exactly what I was doing. I must confess, I’m beginning to wonder if you asked me to do so in the hopes that I would muddle things up and confuse the police to cover up the fact that both you and your wife know more about the death of Brian Sutcliffe than you’re willing to admit.”
The silence stretched several seconds while Elizabeth waited for his answer. She hated to think the Winterhalters were involved. It would be a terrible homecoming for Priscilla to discover that her sister and brother-in-law were responsible for a man’s death. Yet right now she could see no other explanation for what she had discovered, and, judging from Rodney’s silence, it seemed she was right.
CHAPTER 13
“All right,” Rodney said, breaking the silence at last. “You’re right, Lady Elizabeth. I saw Tess rush into the kitchen and she was obviously upset. I followed her in and heard her yelling at Sutcliffe. She was accusing him of cheating on her with another woman.”
“Rodney—” Daphne began, but he held up his hand.
“No, let me finish. I hid behind the door because I didn’t want to embarrass my daughter. I heard her slam the cellar door shut and run out. Sutcliffe was banging on the door so I guessed she’d locked him in. I was furious with him and wanted to give him a piece of my mind. I unlocked the door and saw he had a knife in his hand. I reacted without thinking. I punched him in the jaw and knocked him down the stairs. He was holding a box of confetti in the other hand. Some of it must have sprayed over me.”
Daphne moaned. “He must have stabbed himself when he fell.”
“He couldn’t have,” Rodney said shortly. “The knife fell out of his hand at the top of the stairs. I saw it lying there when I left.”
“Locking the door behind you,” Elizabeth said quietly.
Rodney looked startled. “No, I don’t think I even stopped to close the door. I was so enraged and worried about my daughter. All I could think about was finding her to see if she was all right. The knife had unnerved me. I didn’t know she’d threatened him with it.”
“Then if you didn’t lock the door again, I wonder who did.”
“I locked the door,” Daphne said, her voice quivering.
Rodney uttered an exclamation and stared at his wife.
“Of course. You knew about the other woman, too,” Elizabeth said. “Which is why you called him a cheat and a liar the other night.”
“Yes.” Daphne looked down at her hands twisting in her lap. “I saw Rodney go into the kitchen, and a moment or two later Tess came out looking upset. I thought she’d been arguing with her father, so I went to the kitchen to find out what had happened. I was just in time to see Rodney punch Brian in the face. I left before he saw me. I didn’t want him to know I’d seen what he’d done. But then, later on, I began to worry about Brian. So I went back to the kitchen to see if he was all right.”
Rodney muttered something under his breath.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Daphne said quickly, “but if the man was hurt I didn’t want you to get into trouble for it. I couldn’t see anything from the top of the stairs, so I went down there.”
She shuddered, and tears started rolling down her face. “I could see he was dead,” she said, her voice hushed. “The knife was sticking out of his chest and there was blood everywhere. I thought he’d fallen on the knife when he tumbled down the steps. I knew Rodney would get the blame for his death. Everyone would think he did it on purpose.”
She paused while she hunted for a handkerchief in her sleeve, dabbed at her eyes, and blew her nose. “I locked the door and tried to put the key on the shelf to hide it,” she continued, while Rodney seemed transfixed, his gaze pinned to his wife’s face. “I thought if the body wasn’t found until after we’d gone, no one would suspect Rodney. I couldn’t quite reach the shelf and the key fell into the milk. I went out and found Rodney and told him I had a headache. By then the speeches were nearly over, so we left.”
“
Why didn’t you tell me?
” Rodney almost shouted. “Did you really think I’d stoop to murder? Sutcliffe wasn’t worth that.”
“I thought it was an accident.” Daphne began to sob in earnest. “But his death would have been your fault.”
“Oh, good Lord.” Rodney buried his head in his hands.
Elizabeth stared thoughtfully at him. “You are absolutely certain the knife was at the top of the stairs when Brian Sutcliffe fell.”
“Absolutely.” Rodney groaned and raised his head. “Why do you think I’ve been so worried about my daughter? I can’t help wondering if she went back and finished the job after I left.”
“It’s a possibility,” Elizabeth said slowly. “There’s one person I haven’t spoken to about all this. And it’s just occurred to me that I should.” She got to her feet. “Try not to worry too much. I think we should be able to clear this up fairly soon, if I’m right.”
Rodney rose, too, his eyes full of hope. “Right about what?”
“I’d rather not say at this point.” Elizabeth touched Daphne briefly on the shoulder. “I promise to tell you just as soon as I have it sorted out.”
Daphne nodded and blew her nose again.
“I appreciate your efforts, Lady Elizabeth,” Rodney said, as he walked with her to the door. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I’m anxious to see a solution to this, for many reasons.”
“I’m sure you are.” Elizabeth paused in the doorway. “I’ll do my best to get this settled just as soon as possible.” She left, hoping she could keep her word. The Winterhalters deserved some peace after all they’d gone through.
She was crossing the hall when the bell at the front door started chiming. Martin was probably already in bed, and Violet was in the kitchen. Since she was right on top of the door, she reasoned, she might as well open it.
Surprised to see Polly there, she opened the door wider, her smile fading when the girl almost fell into the hallway, gasping something she couldn’t understand.
“Calm down, Polly,” she said as she closed the door again. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“They’ve got her,” Polly said, fighting for breath. “I . . . couldn’t find . . . her.”