“Tell me about the terrible things, Sandra. What happened? How did you find out?”
“If I remember correctly, Mr. Donat had been away a few days, and was due back. He always went over there by aeroplane and returned by train. But this time he didn’t return when he was supposed to. Then we received a message via another publisher who had been over there. He heard Mr. Donat had been arrested and sent to a prison. I can’t even remember the charge, or if there was a charge—but when Mr. Pickering went to see a man at the foreign office, he was told the whole story. Apparently, while they were trying to secure his release, there was an indication Mr. Donat had insulted the chancellor over there, and for such disrespect and his involvement in producing antigovernment propaganda, he was imprisoned pending review of his case. That review has gone on for two years now.”
Realizing that Sandra knew nothing about the negotiations to secure Donat’s release, Maisie moved on to other territory. “Tell me about his daughter.”
Sandra blushed again, lifting her teacup. “Would you like some more? Mine’s a bit cold now—do you mind?”
“I’m all right for now, Sandra. Please, make yourself a fresh cup.”
Maisie waited again, listening to the sounds of Sandra boiling the kettle, then pouring more water into the pot and stirring the once-used tea leaves. She returned to the drawing room, the cup and saucer held with two hands. Maisie noticed she was shaking.
Sandra took her seat once again. “You know, miss, I’d worked in your office long enough to know that when the official people come to ask questions, they’re digging around for more than you think at first. I know very well that you sometimes don’t know what they’re digging for until you’ve said something and they get this little grin at the side of the mouth, as if they didn’t really know what they were looking for either, but when you gave it to them, then they knew.”
Maisie relaxed back into the wing chair and nodded for Sandra to continue. As she expected, Sandra too became more at ease. She shook her head.
“I don’t know if I said anything wrong that day, when Mr. MacFarlane was there. They asked me all sorts of questions, about how often I’d seen Mr. Donat, and whether I’d ever met his family. I told them I’d met his daughter, Edwina, but only the once.” Sandra sighed. “It was a silly bit of conversation, really. They asked me a lot of questions about her, whether she was interested in the business, what she was like. So I told them she was nice enough, a very quiet sort of person. And she was a tallish woman, ‘about Miss Dobbs’ height,’ I said. Apparently her mother dying made her ill, so Mr. Donat sent her overseas for a while to get a bit of sun. But she came back even worse, coughing and having a terrible time with her breathing. She’d never married, either—but that’s not so unusual for a woman of her age, what with the war.”
Maisie felt her eyes smart. She reached down into her bag for a handkerchief, then brought her attention back to Sandra, who returned her gaze with heightened color.
“And I suppose that’s when I saw MacFarlane look at me as if I had given him a grain of something.”
“I think he always looks a bit like that, Sandra.” Maisie sipped her tea. “What else do you know about Mr. Donat’s incarceration?”
“Well, he’s been in there a bit over two years, I would say. Mr. Pickering was doing a lot to try to get him out, but then the foreign ministry told him to draw back. Mr. MacFarlane informed him the situation was in capable hands, and that Mr. Donat’s release would be secured in good time, though there were channels to go through. It was all very well having channels, Mr. Pickering said, but in the meantime Mr. Donat might die. We’ve had news from our various business contacts over there, and it is not at all a promising situation.”
Maisie allowed a moment of silence as she framed her next question.
“Sandra, I can only say that there is a plan in progress, but I am telling you in confidence. You cannot tell anyone, and not even Lawrence Pickering at this point. That is something I think I can trust you with.” Maisie looked at Sandra—at her eyes, so wide and intent, and the way she’d leaned forward. She knew Sandra was aching to ask more questions, but she pressed on with her own. “Is the company all right for money, given Mr. Donat’s absence?”
Sandra nodded. “Oh, yes, he left everything very well tended. His bankers make sure his companies have their running costs covered, and of course each of his businesses has a manager in place to oversee everything. He stepped back from running things years ago.”