“You took your time,” said Maisie.
“Traffic.” MacFarlane turned to the man who was now locking handcuffs on Bertrand’s wrists. “Go easy on the lad. We know what he’s done, but treat him with respect anyway.”
“What about me? Make this oaf of yours let go of me, MacFarlane,” said Francesca Thomas.
MacFarlane shook his head. “Dr. Thomas, my esteemed colleague, who has so little time for our police—not that I am of them anymore, but you know what they say, ‘Once a copper, always a copper’—first of all, that is Miss Dobbs’ very efficient assistant. Secondly, I think you and I should have a little chat about which secrets should be kept close to the individual heart, and which shouldn’t. This kind gentleman will take you downstairs and make sure you’re comfortable in my motor car until I’m ready to join you.” He gave a rueful smile. “And don’t run anywhere, Francesca—I mean, where would you go anyway? We need you. Both your countries need you.”
When only MacFarlane and Maisie remained in the room, MacFarlane sighed. “Now, where were we? I think you’d got to the part where that tyke’s brother was a hero.”
“They were just boys, Robbie—just boys. And they were fighting for their country. Of course his brother was a hero.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes with one hand, her other still holding the Ruby.
“I think I’d better take that,” said MacFarlane, reaching for the revolver. “Seem to be a few too many about these days.”
“You’d better hear the rest now,” said Maisie. “Because I can’t come back to your office for any little tête-à-têtes today.” She took a deep breath and allowed half a minute before continuing. “The boys—Addens, Durant, Firmin, and another who palled up with them along the way, by the name of Lucas Peeters—came to England and registered as refugees together. They kept Gervase Bertrand with them—he was so young, and they wanted to look out for him. As soon as they arrived, they were taken under the wing of Rosemary Hartley-Davies, who was one of the organizers of a refugee association. As I’ve said, Gervase was just a little boy, and she encouraged him to be a child whenever she saw him, which was frequently. It was as if he were her boy, in some ways. She called him her little lamb, and in time that’s what he called himself. He changed his name to Lambert—keeping his nickname from her and adding it to the first part of Bertrand. Why didn’t he retain his true name? I don’t know, but it might be to do with a sort of reinvention of himself. Only initials had been written on his first registration card—GB. He had not given a full name at that point—perhaps he could not spell his name, or had learned to be careful—and the older boys had not revealed anything else about him at that stage. Rosemary Hartley-Davies could not keep the boy, but I believe that in time she made arrangements for his care so that they could remain in touch. Xavier’s friends also remained in communication with him—I think you will find he saw a lot of them initially, but the boys became men and grew apart, and it appears their families were never told. Perhaps they were afraid of what might happen if the truth emerged. Then Gervase grew up. He’d rekindled his language skills, he had an education that clearly served him well—likely paid for by Rosemary Hartley-Davies—and he was taken on by Francesca Thomas. And why, you may ask, did that happen?”
Maisie paced to the window, and watched as a black motor car drove away with Gervase Lambert in the backseat, flanked by two men. Billy was leaning against another official black vehicle, speaking to the driver. Smoke spiraled up from the rear window; Francesca Thomas lighting up a cigarette, waiting for MacFarlane to emerge. Maisie turned back to MacFarlane.