“No, I’m just listening and thinking. Go on, Billy.”
“Now, there was also a son, older than Mary. But instead of looking after his mum and sister, like you’d think he would, he went off to Africa somewhere as soon as he could get on a ship. This neighbor said he worked his passage, and went to Cape Town—as far as she knew. Apparently there was work in the mines there, and he wanted to earn his fortune. She said he’d sent some decent money home for a time, and then it stopped, and so did the letters. Louisa had a factory job for a good while, and when they first lived in the street, the family rented the whole house, but then Louisa had to take in lodgers, which is why she ended up in the two rooms—and it’s not as if they’re big houses in a posh area. And from the time she was thirteen, this Mary went off the rails—that’s what the woman said. Went from one job to another and out all hours. There were rows, and the neighbors heard every word, by all accounts. Then Mary fell for a baby. They don’t know who the father was, but he never came round to the house, never put in an appearance. Louisa had told the neighbor that he was a sailor from Malta, and Mary was swept off her feet by him. Mary would only ever say his name was Marco. The neighbor said that a couple of adoption societies came calling, but Mary said no, she would keep her baby—brave girl, if you ask me.” Billy looked up. “I’ve been reading about the new adoption act—about time too, if you ask me. I mean, anyone can just go in and take a baby and go home with it. It’s not as bad as it was twenty-odd years ago, but it’s been harder to bring home an animal from Battersea Dogs and Cats Home than it is to get a new baby, soon as it’s born.” He shook his head and sighed. “So Mary kept the baby—sounds religious, doesn’t it? Louisa had to leave the factory work on account of her chest, so she took in washing, went out cleaning, that sort of thing—and she looked after the baby while Mary was at work. Then Mary went back to her old ways. Didn’t want to be a mum. Ended up being knocked about by a bloke one night, and died hitting her head on the pavement. He’s in clink for life—the defense persuaded the jury it wasn’t an intended death, so he didn’t swing for it—and the little girl’s an orphan, aside from her nan. And I take my hat off to Louisa—she didn’t put Anna into a Dr. Barnardo’s Home, not like some would. She kept her—but I suppose her chest kept playing up, which must have been terrible for the woman.” He sighed again, closed his notebook, and looked out the window, then at Maisie. “Once I started on this, I couldn’t stop. I thought, I’ve got to get to the bottom of this, for the little girl, for little Anna. I don’t know what that poor old lady went through, not knowing what would happen to her granddaughter—the only family she had left. Then came evacuation—it must have been like a rope thrown out to her before the ship went down. Mind you, I doubt she was thinking straight.”
“Did this neighbor say anything about Anna?”
“Just that she was a very polite child, that the grandmother made sure she was always nicely turned out, that she knew her pleases and thank-yous, and she used to take her to the library all the time—it was somewhere for them to go, I suppose. The neighbor said she thought Louisa was a bit scared that the child might be bullied, called names, on account of her coloring—but no one did any of that, because she was such a good girl. I wouldn’t have banked on it staying that way when she started school.”
“She’s been all right so far,” said Maisie. “And Brenda’s been keeping an ear out for any trouble. With a big dog following her everywhere, I don’t know that anyone would dare, to tell you the truth.”
They sat in silence for a moment, until Maisie spoke again. “That’s a lot to consider, Billy. It would be best if I went to see Anna’s grandmother. I might be able to go later in the day. I believe we will be busy this morning.”
“I’ve got some information on Peterson too, miss.” Billy paused, as if unsure to go on, but continued when Maisie nodded. “I got there to Paddington, saw him and the wife buy their tickets, and went to the platform—the train was on its way down to Penzance, but they could have been stopping anywhere along the line. Once they’d gone, I went along to the ticket office and gave up a couple of bob—the bloke remembered them and said they’d bought two third-class returns to Exeter. Planning on coming back in a week.” Billy paused again. “Is it time, miss?”
Maisie nodded. “It is. Yes, it’s time.”
She stood up and walked around to the chair on the other side of her desk, picked up the telephone receiver, and placed a call to the office telephone number provided by Francesca Thomas. Gervase Lambert answered.
“May I speak to Dr. Thomas? It’s Miss Maisie Dobbs here. She is expecting my telephone call.”