Maisie looked at Lorraine Otterburn, at the bejeweled hands, now shaking, the drawn-in cheeks, the fine, almost transparent veins lacing papery skin under her eyes. Her once-blond hair was now gray, drawn back in a chignon accentuating taut skin that, Maisie thought, reflected how her heart must feel.
“Lorraine, Spain is in the midst of a terrible war. It wasn’t an adventure, any more than going to Germany will be an adventure. It’s what I felt I must do. Now, we both know why I am here. If I’m to locate your daughter, it might help to know more about the circumstances of her flight from England.”
At that moment the butler entered, gripping the handles of a tray bearing a pot of fresh coffee, a jug with hot milk, sugar, two cups and saucers, and a plate arrayed with a selection of biscuits.
“Ah, not a moment too soon, Palmer. Just set the tray on the table here—I’ll serve. And thank you, that will be all.”
Maisie saw the butler raise an eyebrow before he offered a short bow and left the room. Lorraine poured a cup of coffee with hot milk and passed it to Maisie. “I remember you like your coffee quite milky,” she said.
Maisie smiled. “I do indeed. I find it comforting, though I also like my coffee strong—my former employer made a very good cup.”
“Yes, Dr. Blanche. I’ve heard of him—a forensic scientist, wasn’t he? One of those clever clogs they call in when there’s been a murder.”
Maisie nodded. “He was an exceptionally gifted man; it was a privilege to work with him.” She sipped from the cup and returned it to the saucer, which she held with one hand, resting it on her knee. “So—to Elaine.” Maisie took a breath and wondered how forceful she should be. “Perhaps you could tell me why you think it should be I who goes to find her, and why you think I will be successful when the men—and I would imagine women—your husband has in his employ to protect his family have failed. She is a headstrong girl, and she is clearly enjoying herself—why else would she leave a husband and child?”
John Otterburn’s wife began to cough. She patted her chest with one hand as she returned her cup and saucer to the table with the other, her eyes watering. “Do excuse me. It seems the coffee was a little hot for me.”
“Please take your time, Lorraine.”
The woman composed herself, sighing as she appeared to search for an answer to Maisie’s question. She straightened her back, a sign to Maisie that she was garnering the strength to give an honest answer, albeit one she did not like at all.
“Maisie, the dark side of my daughter’s cheerful and energetic nature was—is—a tendency to believe she can have anything she wants. For some reason, her brother managed to rise above similar traits—his father had a stronger hand with him—but Elaine, I hate to say it, was spoiled from the moment she was born. I have tried to temper my husband’s overgenerosity with the child, to no avail.”
“She is not a child. She’s a woman with family responsibilities,” said Maisie.
Lorraine pinched the top of her nose, as if endeavoring to keep tears at bay. Maisie wondered if she had been too harsh, allowing her anger to get the better of her. She took a deep breath. There were, without doubt, family tensions at play, and Maisie knew that Lorraine Otterburn was in all likelihood blaming herself for her daughter’s abdication of responsibility.
“You have a lot on your plate, Lorraine. It cannot be easy, caring for your daughter’s child, knowing she has all but left you to it.”
Lorraine Otterburn looked up at Maisie, her eyes reddened by unshed tears. “Oh, and he’s a lovely little man, really—I adore him. The nanny complains I don’t leave her enough to do, but how can I? And John goes straight to the nursery as soon as he is home. We three play together—well, as much as you can play with an infant—and now John does not even want to return to Canada, as he knows he should when the weather improves. We can’t go, not until Elaine is brought home, and certainly not without our darling boy here.”
Maisie smiled and took Lorraine’s hand. “Bear with me—I must ask these questions.”