To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(17)

Maisie’s thoughts darted from one question to the next, as if she had skimmed a stone across the realm of possibilities, and was now watching ripples of suspicion form around the contours of information she had gathered so far. She checked her watch again—a wristwatch given to her by her late husband, James Compton—and looked up at the darkening sky. One more telephone call before she made her way back to the farm. She dialed the operator, gave the number, placed the requisite number of coins in the slot, and waited until she could hear the ring, and then a voice on the line.

“Partridge residence.”

Maisie pressed button “A” to release the coins and begin the call. “Elinor—Elinor, I recognized your lovely Welsh lilt. Is Mrs. Partridge at home?”

“Oh hello, Miss Dobbs—I mean, Your Ladysh—”

Maisie cut off the boys’ nanny before she completed the little-used title bestowed upon Maisie on the day of her marriage to James.

“I have to be quick, Elinor—I’m in a telephone kiosk in Hampshire, and I only have a few coins on me. Is Mrs. Partridge there?”

“You just missed her. She’s taken the boys—Tim and Tarquin—out for supper.”

“Is anything wrong? I received a message that she was out of sorts.”

“It’s Tim—giving her a bit of trouble again. As you know, he’s not been quite the same since Tom joined the air force, and he can’t seem to wait until he gets his turn when he comes of an age to be called up. Too keen to join the navy, that one. But it won’t be long, the way things are going—and more likely, he’ll have to go where they put him, which might be right into the army.”

“He does seem to be causing Mrs. Partridge some grief, and he has a sharp tongue on him when he likes, I know that.”

“He’s too much like his mother—quick with the wit, but it can cut like a knife when he wants it to. Between us, she doesn’t like it because she knows where he gets it from.”

“Oh dear. I’ll be back in London soon—tomorrow afternoon, hopefully—and I can usually get Tim to wind his neck in.”

“He listens to you, Miss Dobbs.”

Maisie was anxious to end the call, but was curious too.

“And what are you doing back in London, Elinor? I thought you were being sent somewhere with the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry.”

“Oh, a couple of days’ leave, and some, you know, special training.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Hmmm. Must go now, Miss Dobbs. Bye!”

“Bye Elin—” Maisie pulled the telephone receiver away from her ear and held onto it for a second before returning it to the cradle. Elinor could be a bit of a chatterbox, so it was not like her to end a telephone conversation first. Indeed, Priscilla had once observed that in the midst of a conversation with Elinor one felt rather like an insect caught on sticky flypaper. The boys no longer needed a nanny, but she was so beloved, the family couldn’t imagine letting her go.

After war was declared, Elinor had enlisted for service. During her years living with the family in France, she had acquired an admirable proficiency with the French language, and now thought she might be able to use her skill in war work. Priscilla and Douglas made her promise she would come “home” whenever she was on leave—her room was kept ready for her return, and she had her own key

Maisie left the telephone kiosk and returned to her motor car. The late May sun was now low in the sky, and darkness would come quickly. As she passed the cottage occupied by Doreen’s aunt, she noticed the drawn blackout curtains, so not even a sliver of light could be seen.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re back, Miss Dobbs.” Mrs. Keep was wiping her hands on her apron as Maisie gave a quick knock at the back door of the farmhouse before turning the door handle to enter. “That road is a bit bumpy and I was worried you’d lose your way if it got too dark.”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Keep—I don’t like driving without a light to guide me, so I kept my eye on the time.” As she spoke, Mrs. Keep turned away from her and lifted the corner of her apron to her eyes. “Mrs. Keep—is everything all right? Aren’t you feeling well?”

The woman turned to Maisie. “It’s the news. They think we don’t know what they’re talking about, the way they give it out. But most of us have lived through one war and we know the newspapers and the wireless people are using words that mean other things. The army is in retreat in France—they told us three days ago that the Germans had broken through allied lines, and now they’re reminding us that they did the same in March 1918, and we still won the war. They’re not saying, but I reckon our boys will get stuck—and they’re telling us about it a bit at a time so when the truth really comes out, no one is shocked. That’s what my Bill thinks, and he was in the army.”

“Oh, Mrs. Keep—you must stand tall, remain strong.”

“Oh I know and we are strong. But we’ve two boys and we think they must be in the thick of it—we don’t know for definite, and it’s not as if you can ask the army. Bill’s just gone out to check the sheep—we’re lambing now, you know. Really, he wants to get out of the house, away from the waiting.”

Maisie stepped to stand at the woman’s side, and put an arm around her shoulders. With her free hand she pulled back a chair from the table and seated the farmer’s wife, passing a handkerchief taken from her pocket. “I’ll put the kettle on.”