Pardonable Lie (27 page)

“Two days!” Maisie leaned forward quickly and pulled back the covers. “I cannot afford two days.” As she began to stand, the room appeared to move and she sat on the bed again. “Oh, dear.”

“Come now, rest. I will bring you some eggs. You must regain your strength.” Josette smiled, tucking in the sheets around Maisie. “And I will tell Monsieur Blanche that you are awake. He has been worried.”

Maisie leaned back into the pillows. The dreams of her sleep began to filter back into her conscious mind. She shuddered.
Two days!
Had she been sedated, or had she simply fallen deep into the abyss and only now dragged herself out? She almost dreaded seeing Maurice. The stairs creaked again, followed by a light knock on the door before he entered.

“How are you?” Maurice pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down.

“Ever the doctor, Maurice. In the summer you held vigil for my father, and now it’s me.”

Maurice inclined his head and smiled. “It is my calling.” His face became grave again. “You have been suffering for a long time, Maisie.”

Maisie looked away from him, first out of the window, then at the counterpane, where she found a loose thread to worry. “I have no reason to suffer. I am most fortunate; in fact, this year has been one of blessing, if you consider my work, my good fortune.”

“Not like those who did not return and those who lost their loved ones? Not like Simon suffered, or Priscilla, or those in the cemetery?”

Maisie nodded. “I don’t know why this has come upon me again. Not when everything seems to be going so well.”

“That is the very reason, Maisie. How often we are able to pinpoint such a fall in others but not in ourselves. I have seen this coming for a long time.” He paused, got up from the chair, and began to pace back and forth, looking at Maisie all the time. “Yes, you rested when you returned from France, you recovered, you were able to work again. In fact, it was your immersion in your work that helped you. But as time passes we find that the clothes of the past do not fit, do not serve us anymore. As you grew, as you matured, the cloak of recovery ceased to cover your pain, your guilt at survival. This year has been one of bounty in many ways: the hard work is serving you, and you have the attention of a man who cares for you deeply. Your relationship with your father has healed. Such a collapse might be expected, Maisie. And these cases you have taken on! My child, you are a human being!”

Maisie pulled the covers to her chin, as if she really were a child. She knew Maurice would notice.

“You had no need to take on more responsibility for the girl, had no need to agree to Priscilla’s request—though I concede that your efforts met with a successful conclusion, but not without terrible risk to yourself.”

Maisie felt a bitter, salty taste in her mouth. She must defend her decisions. “Maurice, I had to do
something.
I had to help the girl. I have thought and thought about the case. I know Billy has more information and I have been away for more time than I ever should have, but I believe her innocent and I want to prove it. I think I can.”

Maurice shook his head. “I am responsible for this sense of purpose that places you in danger.”

Maisie reached out to Maurice as he came to her side. “And you were right, Maurice. I can help this girl, can help people with my work. I must return to England now. I must continue.”

“But at what cost? You must help yourself first, Maisie. You have a struggle with truth in the Lawton case, and you must protect yourself from someone who would have you dead.”

“So you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you! Teresa was poisoned. Your motor car is damaged, and you barely missed being plunged into the path of an underground train.”

“I thought—”

“It is my job to ask questions, Maisie.”

“Can we leave for England now? I have work to do.”

Maurice looked at Maisie, still holding her hand. “We will leave tomorrow morning. I will return to London with you. But you must promise me that you will rest when these cases are brought to a close.”

“But I cannot leave Billy again.”

“You can draw back a little until your strength is fully returned—in body and soul. And we must spend time in conversation, you and I. I am, after all, a doctor, and at this moment you are my patient. You must heal.”

Josette entered the room with a tray for Maisie. Fresh poached eggs with crusty toasted bread lent a welcoming fragrance to the room, even if Josette had prepared far more than Maisie could eat.

“Now then, rest, Maisie. We will leave tomorrow morning, if I consider you well enough.”

Maisie nodded and leaned back as Josette set the tray on the counterpane. She was left alone to eat, which she did slowly, chewing each mouthful thoroughly before swallowing, and then sipping the hot herbal tisane. She could only eat one egg and a slice of toast; then she pushed the tray to the end of the bed. Resting against the pillows once more, Maisie knew the truth of Maurice’s words. But there was another open wound, which had been open for so long and seemed to weep into her heart even more. She ached for her mother, for the woman who had left her so long ago.

PART THREE

England, late September to October 1930

TWENTY-SIX

Maurice insisted that a return journey via train would be too exhausting for Maisie and arranged instead for them to travel with Imperial Airways from Paris to Croydon Aerodrome. Eric was waiting for them with the Comptons’ old Lanchester, to take them back to Ebury Place.

The day was warm and bright, but already leaves that were still green when she had left London were now brown and gold, and the smoggy ocher vapor was beginning to thicken as more nighttime fires were lit to ward off the chill of evening. As soon as they arrived at the Belgravia mansion, Maurice instructed Sandra to escort Maisie to her room and prescribed several days’ rest, an order she was too weak to counter, though she did insist upon seeing Teresa for herself.

“I am so sorry, Teresa, I would never have given the chocolates to you if I had known.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t, m’um, of course you wouldn’t! Mind you, it hasn’t all been bad. I’d let myself get a bit thick around the waist, and now I can fit into some clothes that wouldn’t touch me a month ago. Almost gave them to the rag-and-bone man, I did.”

“It’s a drastic way to save a frock, Teresa, but I am very glad to see you well.”

“I had to talk to that Detective Inspector Stratton, though.”

“Good. I expect I’ll see him soon enough.”

“Oh, yes, m’um, you will. He said he’d come around as soon as you returned. Now then, shall I bring you a nice cup of tea, m’um?”

Maisie smiled, leaning back in her chair. “Yes, I’d love a cup.”

T
HOUGH
M
AURICE HAD
issued orders that Maisie must not be overwhelmed with callers, he allowed Billy to visit soon after her arrival at Ebury Place. Telephone calls had been received from Priscilla and also Cecil Lawton. Andrew Dene had left a message that he was on his way to London.

“Miss, you look right tired out.” Billy had been shown to Maisie’s sitting room, entering awkwardly, nervously fingering his cloth cap, which he ran through his fingers. When invited to be seated, he sat on the very edge of the chair opposite Maisie, as if ready to leap up at any moment and leave.

“I’m all right, Billy. Now then, I want you to tell me everything. First, Avril Jarvis. Tell me about your second visit to Taunton. Has Stratton made any headway that you know of? Has Lawton been in touch?”

Billy nodded and, leaning forward, began recounting all the actions taken and events that had happened in her absence. Instead of peppering him with questions, which she knew would fluster him, she waited until he had fully covered his work on each case.

“So, you think the mother is hiding something?”

“Yes, Miss. Like I said, she was right nervous, she was. The police had been around, but only to confirm details of when Avril had left, that sort of thing. And the poor woman had been followed by one of them ’orrible newspapermen.”

“I expect it’s big news for a small town. But she let you in, that’s the main thing.”

“I told ’er about you trying to ’elp Avril. But even so, like I said, she was right nervy. Mind you, she’s ’ad a terrible time, losing Avril’s dad and all. He was only twenty when ’e copped it. Twenty and married with a baby on the way. Terrible. Then she went and married that man who knocked ’er and Avril about.”

“And the aunt?”

“Well, she was the first ’usband’s sister, as you know. Apparently she never did like the new one, thought Avril’s mum was making a terrible mistake—as she was. That’s why she more or less took Avril under ’er wing. She said Avril’s mum was a weak-willed woman, not capable of stickin’ up for ’er own.”

Maisie stood up, faltered a little, leaned against the chair, and began to pace.

“Miss, I don’t think you should be doin’ that. Dr. Blanche said—”

“I’m thinking, Billy.”

“But, Miss—”

“Billy, was the mother really intimidated by the aunt?”

“I should say so. Of course, the aunt tried to lend a hand, like you would—they were family, after all. But she weren’t backward in coming forward with opinions. And of course, as we know, the locals thought she topped the second ’usband with one of them potions.”

Maisie paced, then stopped alongside Billy’s chair. “Look, I must see Avril. I need to talk to her. I’ll speak to Stratton.”

“But Dr. Blanche said—”

“I know what he said, Billy. I can rest when all this is over, but if I am to give Sir Cecil Lawton the ammunition he needs to secure the release of a girl I now believe to be innocent, I cannot rest now!”

Billy fingered his cap again and looked down. “Well, then, speaking of Sir Cecil.”

Maisie shook her head. “I am sorry I snapped, Billy. You have worked hard in my absence. Now, tell me about Lawton.”

“Well, ’e wants to know when you will visit to present your report. I told ’im you had caught a bad cold in France and would see him next week.”

Maisie nodded. “Good. It’s a white lie, but it gives me some time.”

Billy looked at Maisie. “Funny old job, that one. I suppose all you can do is tell the man what ’e knows already, eh? That the son is dead.”

“Yes, you could say that. I just need a bit of time to consider how I might say it.” She paused before continuing, and as she looked back at Billy, she knew he had realized her lie. “Now then, Stratton.”

“Well, Miss, we can’t forget that we don’t know who was be’ind them strange events, can we?”

“I haven’t forgotten, Billy.”

“I know he’ll be over to see you soon enough. In fact, there was talk of protecting you.”

Maisie shook her head. “Oh, no, I will not be trailed around London by some wet-behind-the-ears young detective from Scotland Yard. Out of the question.”

“I only said.”

“I know, Billy. Now then, is there anything else?”

Billy pulled a rolled folder from the inside pocket of his overcoat. “Two more clients, Miss, new cases. I started doin’ the basics, like you taught me, and both parties have appointments to see you next week.” Billy smiled as he passed the manila folder to Maisie.

Leafing through the notes, Maisie nodded. “Good work, Billy. You have done well in my absence, and I am very pleased. Now then, I will be back in the office for a short time tomorrow morning. Stratton will be here in an hour, and I will ask him for permission to see the Jarvis girl.”

As Billy was shown from 15 Ebury Place, he stood on the front step and pulled up his collar against a sudden cool breeze. He shook his head, took a packet of Woodbines from his pocket and lit a cigarette between cupped hands, squinting as a curl of smoke swept up past his eyes. He’d seen it before, during his convalescence after the war. Seen a man swear he was well, that the docs had mended his broken mind. Then before you knew it he was down again, closer to the edge than ever before.

S
TRATTON MET
M
AISIE
in the library to discuss the case of the poisoned chocolates that would most certainly have caused Teresa’s death had Sandra not acted quickly. There had been nothing to indicate the source of the gift, so Stratton’s questions to Maisie yielded little, especially as her answers were protective of her work on the Lawton case and her search for Peter Evernden’s final resting place.

“Of course, we have to consider that cranky old aunt and that this might have something to do with the Jarvis case.”

“Oh, hardly, Inspector.”

Stratton frowned. “Hardly?”

“I have done nothing to harm Avril Jarvis, and everything to assist her cause.”

“Assist her cause? Oh, yes, Lawton. But you must remember that you first came to Vine Street to question her at the request of Scotland Yard. As far as the aunt is concerned, you’re one of us.”

“Oh, I think not.” Maisie shook her head.

“Surely being one of us is not that bad.”

“But what about the other incidents?”

“Yes, what about the other incidents? You should have informed us.”

“You knew about the motor car accident.”

“But there was the aborted shove on the underground.”

“Billy told you?”

“Of course. He felt guilty after hearing about the poisoning. Apparently he had not quite believed you.”

“I now wonder whom he’s working for.”

“Oh, don’t doubt that man of yours, he’s loyal as a sheepdog. Look, I want to have all the details. And I want to have you protected.”

“Yes to the first, no to the second, Inspector.”

Stratton walked to the window and then turned to face her. In following his movements, it was obvious to Maisie that he was about to broach a difficult subject, and she knew what it was.

“Miss Dobbs. I believe you have crossed paths with the secret service. Have you considered—and this is in absolute confidence—that you have been in danger due to some knowledge you have acquired?”

“Yes, Inspector, I have. You can rest assured that I am safe in that quarter. I can say no more, but I am safe.”

“Good.” He paused. “Because there are enemies I can protect you from, but that one is beyond my reach. As long as you are safe.”

Maisie smiled, seeing in Stratton’s eyes a concern that went beyond that of an occasional colleague but rather one who had just months ago declared his desire for a friendship beyond the confines of their shared work.

There was an awkward pause. Stratton reached for the hat he had set on a side table earlier. “Well, Miss Dobbs, please telephone immediately if you have any additional information for us. In the meantime, our investigations will continue, especially regarding procurement of the substances used in this attempt on your life.”

Maisie stood and held out her hand. “And you will let me know when I can visit Avril Jarvis at Holloway? I would like to see her as soon as possible.”

“Dr. Blanche has said—”

“Inspector, I plan to commence work again tomorrow. I can visit soon, if you will make the necessary arrangements.”

Stratton sighed. “Of course, though it may take several days.” He tipped his hat. As he approached the door that led to the hall, it burst open and Andrew Dene rushed in.

“Maisie, darling, I came as quickly as I could.”

“Oh!” She stepped back to avoid his taking her in his arms, a move that she knew would embarrass Stratton. “Andrew, let me introduce Detective Inspector Richard Stratton of Scotland Yard. Inspector Stratton, this is my friend Dr. Andrew Dene.”

Stratton offered his hand to Dene, who greeted him with his usual sunny smile. “Very good to meet you, Inspector. Off to box up a few more criminals, eh?”

Stratton looked at Maisie, then Dene. “Of course.” He smiled at Maisie. “I will be in touch about tomorrow, Miss Dobbs.”

As Stratton left, Dene pulled Maisie to him. “I have been so worried, your father even more so. Let me take you to Chelstone or to Hastings, Maisie. I know Maurice said you must rest. Come, let me take you away from London.”

“No, Andrew, not yet. I have telephoned Dad, I know he’s worried, and I have assured him I am well. I know Lady Rowan is probably ‘beside herself’ with worry too. I promise I am all right. I was simply overcome during my visit to Bailleul. It has passed and I am recovering.” Dene opened his mouth to object, but Maisie affectionately placed her finger on his lips. “I must finish my work, Andrew. Then I will rest. But my work comes first.”

Dene looked at the floor, then back at Maisie. “Yes, I know.”

M
AISIE’S RECOVERY SEEMED
to be taking longer than she had expected, though no one else was surprised. But each day she grew stronger, at first taking on one task, then another. She had received a letter from Priscilla with news of a wonderful meeting with Pascale Clement, of her regard for Chantal Clement, and of their joint plans for a memorial for her beloved Peter in the woodland where Maisie had found his identification discs. They knew nothing of her find, only that Peter had loved to walk there because it reminded him of his childhood home. Already the boys could not wait to see their cousin and were making plans for her to spend summers in Biarritz, though her grandmother had yet to be consulted.

She caught up with pressing errands, first carefully wrapping Peter Evernden’s journal in fine tissue paper, then brown paper with string, before placing it in a box to which she attached a label bearing Pascale Clement’s name. An accompanying letter instructed Priscilla to allow no one but the girl to receive or open the package. Having polished the Princess Mary tin so it looked almost new, Maisie returned Peter Evernden’s identity discs to their hiding place and wrapped the tin in a sheet of tissue paper before setting it alongside Pascale’s gift. She closed the box and secured the parcel, ready to send to Biarritz. The letter did not give details as to how she came upon the treasure, but explained that she thought it only right that the tin and its contents should now belong to Priscilla, though her possession of the items must remain a secret.

W
ORD CAME FROM
Stratton that arrangements had been made for her to visit Avril Jarvis at Holloway on Tuesday, September 30, at ten o’clock, and that her request for a private meeting had been honored. The black Invicta motor car arrived at a quarter past nine, an early departure that would allow time for a meeting with the governor of the women’s prison. In preparation, Maisie had woken early for her ritual of meditation. She had taken a taxi-cab to Hampstead, to spend time in conversation with Khan, followed by silence and absolute stillness. In those hours she had seen again the pinhole of light that became larger and larger. She was moving away from the edge. She was healing.

“I thought you might like to see a copy of the pathologist’s final report—though as far as anyone at the Yard is concerned, you’ve never seen it.” Stratton reached into a leather briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers for Maisie to look at as the motor car made its way across London.

She leafed through the papers, then took each page and read carefully. “The killer was right-handed, and at the second lunge the blade entered here.” She touched her mackintosh at the place on her chest to the left of her breastbone. “Hmmm. And a thirteen-year-old girl is supposed to have the strength to push a knife through clothing, flesh and bone.”