“Is he drawing up papers so you can keep me?”
Maisie knelt down at the side of the bed and held Anna’s hand. Emma, who had been lying close to the door, raised her nose.
“What made you say that, Anna?”
The child looked into Maisie’s eyes. “Because you want me. That’s what nanny said, before she went to heaven. She told me that everything would be all right, because the lady wanted me.”
Upon reaching Hastings at ten o’clock the following morning, Maisie parked the motor car close to the Stade, the shingle beach that was home to the town’s fishing fleet. Most had returned home with the morning’s catch several hours earlier, though one of the heavy clinker-built boats had just been winched ashore.
“Wait a moment, Pris—I won’t be long,” said Maisie as she took one of several bottles of water she had packed in the motor car, and walked across the shingle to speak to a fisherman. He was standing to one side, his waxed overalls and jacket sodden and stained, his face and hands black with oil and sweat. She uncorked the bottle and passed it to him. He nodded his appreciation.
“You’ve come back from Dunkirk, haven’t you?”
The man drank several mouthfuls and nodded again.
“I wonder if you could help me. My friend’s son and another boy went out in a launch—a forty-five-footer. They’ve not come in, and I wondered if—as you were making your way back—you saw a vessel returning in this direction. She’s usually moored at the harbor in Rye. So not far.”
He shook his head, took one more long draw from the bottle, and wiped his mouth against his sleeve, spreading another line of oil across his cheek. “Can’t say as I have, love.” The man leaned back against the boat behind him, and sank down to sit on a mound of nets. “Sorry. We only just came in.” He raised the bottle as if in a toast. “Much obliged to you. Much obliged.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you—for going over there.”
“It was terrible. Never get the pictures out of my head. Never. Once seen, never forgotten.” He closed his eyes.
Maisie moved to walk away, then heard the fisherman speak again. “Just because I never saw the boat, don’t mean it weren’t there.” He sipped more water and nodded toward the boat that had just been winched in. “It was all I could do to get us back here, what with her taking on water. Didn’t like to leave, because there’s still more to bring home. Brave boys. All brave boys. And your lads might’ve been out there. I just never saw ’em. ’Twas all I could do to see my way home.”
“Thank you, sir,” she called out, raising her hand to bid him farewell again.
“Now Rye,” said Maisie as she reached the motor car and opened the driver’s door.
Priscilla took one final draw on her cigarette—this time without the holder—threw it down and ground it into the dirt with the toe of her shoe.
At Rye there was no sign of the Cassandra, but as Maisie and Priscilla left the motor car to walk across to the harbor, a member of the local constabulary approached to query Maisie’s authority for running a motor car, and also asked to see her motor spirit coupons and both their identity cards. They complied with the request.
“All looks in order, madam. But I wouldn’t chance another run in that motor car—and I hope you’ve got a full tank there because there’s not much to be had at the petrol stations.”
“Yes, fortunately—and my vehicle is going into storage tomorrow. We just had to make this last journey along the coast, looking for my friend’s son.” She explained what had happened with Tim and his friend Gordon.
“Oh yes, know the Cassandra—and now I come to think of it, I’ve seen those boys before, taking out one of the father’s boats. Got a veritable fleet, the Sandersons. Sailing family through and through.”
Maisie was aware of Priscilla’s mounting frustration, as her friend tapped her foot and folded her arms.
“Here’s my telephone number, Constable,” said Maisie, handing the man a calling card onto which she had written the Dower House number. “I know you’re a very busy man, but perhaps someone could place a call to me should this particular member of the fleet return.”
He nodded and placed the card in his breast pocket. “Right you are, madam. I’ll keep an eye out. So, you said you’re making your way along the coast.”
“Yes, we are,” interjected Priscilla. “It stands to reason my son and his friend will end up somewhere between here and Ramsgate, so we’re on our very own personal patrol to find them.”
The man smiled, as if to mollify Priscilla, then turned back to Maisie. “Drop into the constabulary at every town, madam—tell them you’ve already spoken to me, Constable Sheering, from Rye. We’re all doing what we can for the boys coming in and the boats that bring them, so my colleagues along the way will give you a hand, and if they can, they’ll let you know if he’s come in.” His eyes met Priscilla’s once again. “Your son and young Gordon are courageous boys, madam. They’re made of the best of us all.”
“Yes, quite,” said Priscilla, who turned and walked away.
“Her other son is in the RAF, so she’s not herself,” explained Maisie, as she watched Priscilla light another cigarette.
“Didn’t think so,” said the constable. “I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”
Maisie nodded, thanked the man, and walked back to Priscilla.
“Sorry about that,” said Priscilla. “I could just see us tearing along the barbed-wire-wrapped coast—Dymchurch, Hythe, Folkestone, Ramsgate—having these little chats with policemen and old salts along the way and getting nowhere fast. Finding out absolutely nothing while my son could be dead somewhere!”
“I just told that man a terrible lie, Pris—I told him you weren’t being yourself, but really I should have said you are being exactly yourself! The first fisherman had just returned from Dunkirk, having saved heaven knows how many lives, and that constable is going to look out for Tim. We will find him, but we won’t find him in an instant!”
“I should have let you do this alone, but I could not sit still. Just could not sit still a minute longer.” She folded her arms.
“Then let’s get on our way.”
They were silent along the route, stopping in Dymchurch and then Hythe.
“Never mind water and a bottle of ginger beer each, why didn’t I think of bringing a flask of something to soothe my nerves? That was a huge error on my part,” said Priscilla, lighting up another cigarette, then extinguishing the lighted end with her thumb and finger, and throwing it out of the open window. “I should probably slow down with these things—luckily I’ve got a stash, but they’ll go on ration, and—”
“Oh dear, I wonder what he wants?” Maisie looked into the rearview mirror, at the police motor car gaining on her, bell ringing. The driver had opened his window and was waving at Maisie to pull over.
“I’m not surprised—your foot turned into lead as we left Hythe,” said Priscilla.
Maisie maneuvered the motor car to the side of the road. Both women once again took out their identity cards. The police vehicle stopped in front of them, and the policeman in the passenger seat left the motor car and walked toward Maisie.
“At a rough guess, I would say you’re about to go to Holloway Prison,” said Priscilla.
“Oh, Pris, give it the elbow!” said Maisie. She opened the door and stepped out, ready to meet the policeman at her full height.
“Miss Dobbs?” said the policeman, as he approached. He bent down to look at Priscilla through the open window. “And Mrs. Partridge?”