Maisie shook her head, though she was never surprised at Robert MacFarlane’s colorful turn of phrase. “Thank you, Robbie. When do I leave?”
“I’ll let you know, but it won’t be immediate. Strings will have to be tugged in a good many places, and I will say here and now it’s not without danger, lass. Things might have been quiet since war was declared, and as we know our friends over there in Belgium have again declared their position of ‘armed neutrality,’ but the Luftwaffe boys could be out in force any time—any time—and you could be in their sights. A Lysander was never built to go to war, only for reconnaissance and that sort of thing, whatever these boys do.”
“I’ve been in Luftwaffe sights before, Robbie. I’ll be all right.” Maisie took a breath as Billy knocked on the door. “I’ll hear from you soon, then. And thank you.”
“It’ll cost you a dram or two, lassie.”
Maisie laughed, and replaced the receiver. She looked up at the door. “Come in, Billy.”
“Here you are—nice cup of tea, good and strong,” said Billy. “That’ll get us through the war—though they say it’ll go on rationing soon enough.”
“Tea?”
“Yes, tea—along with everything else.” Billy set a cup and saucer on the table. Maisie came around from her desk and took her seat once again.
“I don’t know why I bother to read the news. I should just wait to get it all from you every day, complete with a running commentary on my personal safety preparations.”
“If I was doing that, I’d tell you not to go,” said Billy.
Maisie reached for her tea and lifted the cup. “We’d better make the best of this, then—and might as well stockpile a few bags of Brooke Bond, or we’ll never get through the war.”
“I just hope you know what you’re doing, miss.”
“I’ll be all right, Billy. This is important. And I’m only going to Greenwich, and to—where does this Firmin man live?”
“Lewisham.”
“Lewisham—I’ll go there first tomorrow morning, then on to Greenwich. Not too bad a journey. And quite safe, don’t you think?”
“Unlike Belgium,” said Billy.
Maisie left early the following morning to allow for delays, though traffic diversions put in place to allow for the evacuation of children and movement of troops in the days immediately following the declaration of war had been lifted. It was just before ten o’clock that Maisie knocked on the door of a Victorian terrace house just off Lewisham Way. She waited a moment or two and knocked again. Soon footsteps could be heard, and the door opened. The woman who stood before Maisie had her blonde hair pulled up in a kerchief and wore a blue boiler suit, but no shoes. The boiler suit was cinched at the waist with a belt of a different shade, as if the woman were trying to grasp a last vestige of femininity while wearing men’s clothing. She was about thirty-five years of age, and before speaking, she took a cigarette from her mouth and blew smoke upward. She tapped ash to the side, just missing the step.
“Whatever it is, love, I don’t want any—I can barely make ends meet as it is.” She stepped back, ready to close the door on Maisie.
“Mrs. Firmin? Mrs. Firmin, I am not selling anything—I wanted to speak to your husband.”
“I can’t pay you back, whatever it was for—and if you want to speak to him, you’d better know how to get to the other side, because he’s not on this one anymore.”
“I’m so very sorry—and I am not looking to extract money from you. Could you spare me a moment or two?”
“What do you want?”
Maisie looked around at other houses on the street. “Probably best not to speak on the doorstep.”
The woman sighed, stepping inside and pulling back the door for Maisie to enter. “You can come in, but you take me as you find me. I don’t have time to run around with a duster and broom, and it’s all I can do to get a line of washing done these days.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Firmin.” Maisie stepped into the passageway, noticing a broom leaning against the wall with a small pile of debris behind it, as if someone had started sweeping the carpet and then abandoned the job.
“Might as well go into the parlor—on the right, first door. Don’t breathe in—I think it was last cleaned a month ago, and what with the railway, all you get is dust everywhere. I bet they have dirt from Lewisham landing in snooty Mayfair, the way things are going.”