Fire When Ready (Manor House Mystery) by Kate Kingsbury Read Free Book Online Page B

bed. Well, here was one woman who wasn't going to fall into that trap.
    Nellie stretched out her legs to ease the ache in her knees. That's why she came back to the League. Much as she hated Rita Crumm and her lording over everyone, she liked a lot of the ladies and they were good company. Women friends, that's what really counted. Women friends didn't let you down and make you feel worthless.
    "Are you with us or not, Nellie Smith?"
    Nellie started, realizing that several pairs of eyes were fixed on her face. " 'Course I am," she said stoutly. "Let's get rid of that rotten factory once and for all."
    Having missed breakfast, Elizabeth was ravenous when she arrived back at the manor, and she made straight for the kitchen. Violet was busily whisking batter in a bowl, and frowned at her when she sat down at the table. "Where did you get to this morning?"
    "I overslept, and I needed to go into town to talk to George about the fire last night."
    "Well, you shouldn't go without your meals, Lizzie. Not good for you."
    "I'll make up for it now. I'm starving."
    "Well, I tell you." Violet waved a whisk at Elizabeth. "I know at least one person who'll be glad to see that factory burnt down."
    "I don't think it's completely burnt down." Elizabeth reached into the glass bowl of walnuts on the kitchen counter. "Though I understand one end of it has been badly damaged."
    "Well, they won't be able to work in it, that's for certain."She took the bowl away from Elizabeth. "If you eat these now there won't be enough left for the cake."
    Elizabeth brightened. "We're having cake?"
    "No, we're not having cake. This is for the bake sale the Housewives League is putting on at the vicarage. They're going to auction off cakes, and the money's going for more knitting wool so they can knit some more socks and scarves for our troops in the trenches."
    Although she refrained from saying so, Elizabeth hoped that Violet's inadequate baking had not become common knowledge in the village. If so, her cake would not be raising too much money. "Who did you mean when you said someone would be happy to see the factory burn down?"
    Violet poured her batter into a baking tin and set the empty bowl on the table. "Jack Mitchum, that's who. He was really upset about his wife going to work there and leaving him all alone to run the butcher shop. He's short-handed as it is, with his butchers all been called up; and with Millie gone it would have been really hard for him. Now she won't be able to work there any more, so he'll have her back in the shop with him. That'll make him happy, I bet."
    Elizabeth stared at her. "Did Jack tell you this?"
    "No, Marge Gunther told me. You know what a gossip she is. Apparently Jack and Millie had a big row about it right there in the shop in front of the customers and all. Marge said Jack was furious. Even accused Millie of having a crush on Mr. McNally, but Millie stood up to him. Told him she was going to do what she pleased and there was nothing he could do about it." Violet opened the oven door, letting out a blast of heat. "Good for her, that's what I say." She slid the pan of batter into the oven and shut the door. "There. That should be done in an hour or so."
    "I hope you didn't use my egg ration for that cake," Martin said from the doorway.
    Elizabeth, deep in thought, jumped at his voice.
    "If you must know, Mister Miser," Violet muttered, "I didn't use eggs. I used the wartime recipe for the cake."
    Martin sniffed and shuffled into the room, closing the door behind him. "Then I shan't eat any of it."
    "It's not for you, so there." Violet turned on the tap over the sink and rinsed her hands. "It's for the bake sale, so you won't get any anyway."
    Martin clasped his hands together and gazed up at the ceiling. "Thank you, Lord," he murmured.
    Violet huffed out her breath. "Keep that up and you won't get any lunch, neither."
    Ignoring her, Martin shuffled over to the table. "Good afternoon, your ladyship. May I be permitted to