“What can I do for you, Maisie?” He took his seat.
“It’s about the Bank of England. Do you think you could find out if there have been any attempts to mount a robbery—I’m thinking of the transportation bringing notes of currency from Hampshire into London.”
“I can find out.”
“And I know I’ve asked this before, but I assume every precaution is taken to reduce the risk of such an attempt.”
“I have been informed that it is so.” He took a sip of coffee, then replaced the cup in the saucer, returning it to the silver tray. “What do you know, Maisie?”
“I am not sure—it’s pure speculation, really. But I would advise extra precautions for the next week or so. I think the risk of a criminal act has passed, but one cannot be too sure.”
“Have you alerted the police?”
“The police need evidence, Lord Julian, and I don’t have any at the moment. All I have is a series of observations. But the real crime I’m concerned about is not one of theft, but of fraud. And I believe it has to do with the War Office.”
Lord Julian raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. “Go on.”
“How does a business land a government contract in a time of war?”
“Pretty much the same procedure as when the country is not at war, though with a few degrees more secrecy. Companies are invited to tender their estimates for work or supplies, and also provide references to support their work. The government does not necessarily award a contract based upon price, but other aspects of the supplier’s credentials are taken into account—delivery record being of prime importance.”
“I see. And how does a business become known to a government department? Previous work? References from another source?”
“Both of those might be the case, and of course sometimes the principals in the business receive word that there is a contract to be awarded, and they request to bid along with everyone else.”
“I suppose no one would admit if there were some degree of . . . of—”
“Would that American word graft do? Is that what you’re looking for?” Lord Julian sighed. “Interesting that here the same word means hard work.” He shook his head. “I can’t say corruption doesn’t happen, and in a time of war, especially, it could be seen as a treasonable act, given that it undermines the integrity and therefore strength of government. It diminishes us all.” Lord Julian held Maisie’s gaze. “You would tell me if you had knowledge of such an act.”
“It’s down to evidence again, Lord Julian—and making the connections between people I’ve met. I don’t want to point a finger at the innocent.”
Maisie looked out of the window behind Lord Julian. “Oh, here’s Rowan now.”
“Don’t dare leave before seeing her. This business with Tim, you see . . . we’ve become very fond of the boy, and when we heard what had happened, it brought back such memories of . . . well, you know.”
“Yes. I do. There’s always something to remind us of James, isn’t there?” As Maisie turned to leave, she noticed a uniform laid out on one of the leather armchairs. “Lord Julian—the uniform? Is it yours?”
“’Fraid so. Our newly formed Local Defense Volunteers unit. And I seem to have been volunteered in my absence to be the figurehead of the Chelstone brigade! Seriously though, with the threat of invasion, and with our proximity to airfields and being between London and the coast, it’s a case of every man being called upon to bear arms to protect the country—and as the prime landowner in this area, I have a responsibility to do what I can. We’ve a good number of men in the village and beyond who fought in the last war, and of course some who cannot fight in this one, so it’s time we all stepped forward to do our bit.” He smiled, shaking his head. “Rowan thinks it’s terribly funny, seeing as I was last in uniform a good few decades ago, and rarely even lift my gun to go after a pheasant now—though with this rationing business, I might sharpen my eye on bagging a few. Anyway, they’ve already started calling us the Home Guard, which I think sounds more like a shield you put in front of the fire to stop sparks catching the carpet.”
Maisie laughed. “I am sure you’re the very best leader they could hope to find anywhere—a catch indeed.”
Lord Julian placed his hand on Maisie’s shoulder as they walked to the door. “Let’s hope we can catch the odd German parachute-landing in a field, eh? That’ll show them what we’re made of!” He took a deep breath, and a wave of gravity seemed to envelop him. “Maisie, I know I can tell you this in confidence, but it’s important for us to consider the possibility that we may all have to move—and in a hurry. The fall of France does not augur well for us, and the prime minister is ordering authorities in Kent and Sussex to prepare for complete evacuation in the case of imminent invasion. It obviously hasn’t come to that yet, though children are already being evacuated from certain coastal areas—but we must be prepared.”
With Anna now almost fully recovered, Maisie relented and agreed it would be perfectly all right for Frankie to take her down to the stables to groom Lady, her pony, though she cautioned against tiring the child.
“We’ll have no backsliding,” added Maisie, smiling as she waved to her father as he led Anna by the hand, along the path toward the stables.
Brenda put the kettle on the stove and sat down at the kitchen table, patting the place opposite.
“You’ve not yet told me what Mr. Klein wanted to see you about,” said Brenda.
Maisie rubbed her forehead, her mind still lingering on the conversation with Lord Julian. “Just a few minor points.”
“Minor?” said Brenda.
Maisie avoided Brenda’s gaze. “They prefer to approve adoptions where married couples are concerned, not widows, or spinsters, and definitely not bachelors.”
“But you are already her guardian—her grandmother signed the papers.”
“Guardian in a limited capacity—there was no time for Mr. Klein to prepare the documents required for full guardianship, so my standing is as a sort of temporary guardian with a responsibility to place Anna in a good home.”
“This is a good home,” said Brenda. “The very best for Anna.”
“Don’t worry. All is far from lost, Brenda,” said Maisie. “The new stricter adoption laws on the books for ratification were canceled when war broke out, so there are avenues remaining to me. And the local billeting officer has commented in her report that it might be difficult to place Anna elsewhere anyway, given her parentage—which really means her coloring. Then the problem of her father came up, Maltese Marco, who came and went out of Anna’s mother’s life before she was even born. So, as I said, there are avenues—I have great faith in Mr. Klein. I just have to be patient.”
“So, the war that brought us Anna could be the war that helps keep her with us.”
Maisie nodded. “I really do hope so, Brenda. But I’m almost scared to imagine it.”
Brenda reached for Maisie’s hand and held it tight. “It’ll all come right, love. I believe it will all come right.”
By every canon of military science the BEF has been doomed for the last four or five days. Completely out-numbered, out-gunned, out-planned, all but surrounded, it had seemed certain to be cut off from its last channel of escape. Yet for several hours this morning we saw ship after ship come into harbour and discharge thousands of British soldiers safe and sound on British soil.
Maisie had read enough, so she folded the copy of the Manchester Guardian and placed it where she had found it—on the seat next to her, discarded by a previous passenger. The train began to slow, signaling that the last stop—Charing Cross—was only a few minutes away. She opened the Daily Herald, this one left by a woman who had been sitting opposite her, until departing the carriage at Waterloo. She glanced at the front page headlines, and turned the page, where a smaller lead caught her eye.