“All right, let’s make our way to the back.”
They stopped to look into each window, but when they reached the French doors, Maisie slowed down. She felt her heart beat faster, and a chill crossed her bare arms. She stopped.
“You all right, madam?” asked the constable.
“Yes. Perfectly fine.” She looked up at the tall man, who at once appeared to be too impossibly young for his job. She wondered how much police work he had really seen—it seemed his daily round of the village offered little in the way of excitement. She knew that was about to change.
“Just a moment, Constable.” She gestured for him to remain in place.
Maisie approached the French doors with their many panes of glass, allowing a full view of the drawing room. Once again she cupped her hands around her eyes as she looked in. She surveyed the scene and stepped back.
“All right, madam?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid it isn’t quite all right, Constable.”
“Here, let me—”
“No, it’s best you don’t look.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You see, I was a nurse, in the war, and I was used to seeing some horrible things, and I think it will be a good idea if you just do as I say.” She reached into her shoulder bag and took out her keys. “Do you know how to drive a motor car?”
“Yes, madam.” The young man’s face was ashen. “But I should—”
“Please, Constable . . . I have noticed that there are no telephone lines going to the house—I took account of it as we entered the grounds. I therefore want you to take the key to my motor car and drive back to the police station. Please get this absolutely right—you are reporting a rather brutal murder, and you and your most senior policemen must not return without the murder bag and a pathologist. This is the scene of a crime and should be secured without delay—I know how to do that in the first instance, but you will need assistance.”
“But madam—”
“You will be required to confirm my identity, so tell your superiors to call Scotland Yard and speak to Detective Chief Inspector Caldwell. Tell him you wish to establish that you have indeed been speaking to Miss Maisie Dobbs, and tell him why. That should do it.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know this all seems very out of order for you, but please believe me when I tell you I know what I am doing and I know what must be done. Is that clear?”
He nodded. “Yes, madam.”
As he turned to leave, she called to him. “Constable, what’s your name?”
“Police Constable Sharman.”
“Constable Sharman, remember to bring the motor car back with you—ideally in one piece, with no scratches. And take account of your speed—she can go.”
“Right you are, madam.”
Maisie watched him run to the gate, and soon heard the distinctive rumble of the Alvis’ engine, followed by a crunch as Constable Sharman put the motor car into gear. She stepped back to the French doors, took a deep breath, and turned the handle. The door was not locked and opened with ease. She took another, even deeper breath—it would be the last good breath she would allow herself until she left the room—and opened the double doors wide.
Maisie closed her eyes. She placed her left hand on her chest and crossed it with her right. Soon the image of a white light surrounding her body came into her mind’s eye, and she knew she was protected from all that had taken place in the room.
“May they know peace,” she said in a whisper, then opened her eyes.
She closed the doors behind her.