But this time it was Frankie’s voice that echoed in her mind. It was clear he suspected she might be becoming just a little too fond of Anna. She had seen the way he watched her when Anna was present, as if he were gauging the effect of the child’s presence upon her. She had known the time would come when her father would have something to say if he found reason for concern—and it had come that evening, after they’d discussed what could be done to find Anna’s family. “Those evacuees are our own refugees, Maisie, and refugees go home,” he’d said. “I saw it in the war—foreigners came over, needing help, so our people did their best for them. They opened their homes and even built houses for the refugees. But when the war was over, they wanted them out, back to their own country, their own towns, and their own people. You see love, it’s not easy for them, the refugees—because people can turn on a pin. And they especially turn if they think an outsider is doing better than them.”
She wondered if someone had turned on a pin to take the lives of Frederick Addens and Albert Durant, someone who had then murdered Rosemary Hartley-Davies and her housekeeper. And she wondered again about the woman who cared for refugees and for a wounded brother at home—what had she known that had led to her death? Or was it just that she was acquainted with the killer?
Chapter 9
Billy was reading the newspaper when Maisie arrived at the office on Monday morning. “Morning, Billy,” she said, as she hung her gas mask on a hook behind the door, Billy folded the paper and put it to one side. The country had been at war for one week.
“How’re them little nippers getting along down there?” he asked, coming to his feet. He reached for his notebook, ready for their customary meeting to talk about cases in hand and new business.
“Oh, all right, though there have been some ups and downs. I think there was a little panicking last week, which is why Brenda called me down early. But everything’s on an even keel now. My father and Brenda are staying at the Dower House to oversee the children, though they get back to their bungalow a couple of days a week and during the day while the children are at school—Lady Rowan has sent up one of her staff to lend a hand.” She shook her head. “It’s a lot for people their age, but they want to help, so they’re happy to move for a while.” She turned to Sandra. “How are you, Sandra?”
“Quite all right, thank you. I’ve laid out the case map, and I’ve notes on the other cases ready for us. We’re closing up two today, so the invoices are ready for you to check.”
“That’s good. And I’ve a new case too.”
“What’s that, miss?” asked Billy.
“A lost child, I suppose you could say. And another murder—well, two, to be exact. But I must make one telephone call before we start. Just give me a minute or two.”
Maisie stepped through to her office, closing the concertina door behind her. She knew that as the door closed, Billy and Sandra would look at each other, raise their eyebrows, and then speculate in a whisper as to what might be happening with what they were now calling “the refugee case.”
She dialed the number she had been given for Dr. Francesca Thomas.
“Yes?” It was a brief one-word invitation to speak. No number recited, no greeting. Just “Yes.”
“Dr. Thomas. Maisie Dobbs. Do you have a few moments?”
“Of course. Is there news?”
“I have news, but not the sort you might want to hear. There has been another murder—two victims—and the circumstances point to a link with the deaths of Frederick Addens and Albert Durant. Let me explain.”
Maisie recounted the events following her visit to Rosemary Hartley-Davies’ home in Sussex. She described the work Hartley-Davies had undertaken during the war, and her life since then, which—as far as Maisie knew—had been in the service of her severely wounded brother.
“Why do you think she was killed?” asked Thomas.
“I think it’s pretty clear, Francesca.” As she spoke, Maisie realized she had used the other woman’s Christian name several times of late, and conceded it still felt as if she were taking a liberty. Even when Thomas referred to her simply as “Maisie,” she had in reply always been respectful of her professional status. A doctorate was, after all, not an easy accomplishment for a woman. “I believe she was killed because she knew something. She stalled when she found out why I was there, and who the dead men were—she was obviously shocked by the revelation, and played for time in asking me to return the following day. Whilst it would not have surprised me if she had left the premises, I had not expected her to be murdered alongside her housekeeper in the time between my leaving and returning some twenty-four hours later.”
“How would anyone have known you’d been there? Unless she was in the murderer’s sights already.”
“I think she alerted her killer. There’s no telephone at the house, but there’s a kiosk in the village. I suspect she walked to the kiosk and placed the call from there.”
“And someone was able to come down from London to take her life before she said anything to you.”
Maisie allowed a beat of time before replying. “Of course, they might not have come from London.”