To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(37)

Maisie was about to open her mouth, when the man shook his head. “Go now.”

And as she ran down the alley and out onto Tottenham Court Road toward Goodge Street Station, Maisie could not help but wonder about Walter Miles. She had never seen him before, never noticed him coming or going—in fact, she assumed an elderly lady lived in the downstairs flat. Yet there was something familiar about him. And she knew very well the cause of his disfigurement—wherever she went in this time of war, there was always a reminder of the last, even if it was only the sight of Billy wincing as he stood up from his desk. She reflected upon her conversation with Sylvia Preston, and the terrible job assigned to her. And she wondered how another generation of men and women in years to come would have to fight a different battle every single day—a battle against a time that would not fail to mark them, inside and out, and would come back to haunt them at moments when they least expected it. But now there was one victim of the war she would do her level best to ensure would have only joyful memories to look back upon in the years to come. After leaving the underground station at Holborn, she all but ran to the offices of Bernard Klein.





Chapter 8




Maisie arrived at Chelstone later than she had hoped on Friday—her train pulled into the sidings several times to allow other trains to pass, and the journey was longer than usual, with a change at Paddock Wood instead of Tonbridge. She asked a station guard why there was a diversion, and was informed it was due to “extra trains coming up from the coast.”

Maisie’s father and stepmother were sitting at the kitchen table when Maisie entered the house.

“Maisie, did you walk all the way from the station? You should have said—I would have met you, walked back with you.”

“Not to worry, Dad.” She kissed him on the cheek, moving to her stepmother’s side for the same greeting. “How’s Anna? Is she feeling better?”

“I was just going to take up some warm milk for her—it’s on the side there, cooling. She’s had such a sore throat,” said Brenda.

“I’ll take it up then.” Maisie slipped off her jacket and placed it over the back of a chair. She turned toward the draining board where the red china mug filled with hot milk had been left to cool. Maisie took a spoon from the drawer, skimmed the skin from the top of the milk, and placed the mug on a saucer. “Is her honey already in, Brenda?”

“Oh yes—never forget the little one’s honey!”

Maisie smiled as she left the kitchen and made her way upstairs. The door to Anna’s room was ajar, so before stepping in, Maisie peered around. The child was awake, lying on her side and looking deep into the eyes of Emma, the orphaned Alsatian Maisie had rescued following the untimely death of the dog’s owner. Emma’s chin was resting on the counterpane while Anna was running her fingers through the dog’s ruff. But Anna was yawning, her eyelids growing heavy.

“I think it’s time for a little girl called Anna to have her milk and go to sleep,” said Maisie.

Anna turned, and held out her arms to Maisie. “Auntie Maisie, Auntie Maisie—I’ve still got measles!”

Emma wagged her tail and came to Maisie, who patted her in greeting, and pointed to the rug at the side of the bed. The dog turned and lay down, nose between paws, watching her young mistress.

“Here you are.” Maisie held her palm under the cup while Anna lifted it to her lips and drank the milk in just a few gulps. “Someone was thirsty,” said Maisie as she took the cup with one hand, and placed the fingers of the other to the child’s forehead to feel her temperature. “How are you feeling now, my love?”

Anna shrugged. “I think I’m getting better, but Auntie Brenda says I have to stay in bed for a bit longer. Emma said so too—she likes to sleep here.”

“Emma said so?”

“Yes she told me this morning that we should stay in bed another two days, to catch up on our sleep and be strong for Lady, when I can ride again.”

“Well, I think Emma’s quite right—she’s a very intelligent dog.” Maisie stood up and placed the cup on a wicker side table. “Would you like me to read a story?”

Anna nodded.

“Just for five minutes, then I’ll tuck you in. You’ve got a special visitor coming tomorrow.”

“Who?” said Anna, giggling already.

Maisie was pleased to see the girl in good heart, in spite of her appearance—dark blue smudges under her eyes, flushed cheeks and scabby spots on her face and hands.

“Your favorite young man—Tim.”

“Tim! Tim’s coming?”

“Yes, Tim’s coming tomorrow.”

The child looked at her dog, then at Maisie. “Emma says we will be ready to get up tomorrow—we’re both over the measles.”

Maisie laughed and reached for Anna, feeling the comfort of the small body pressing into hers. “I didn’t know dogs could get measles.”

“Oh they can,” said Anna. “Emma said she had measles when she was a puppy, but she’s felt a bit bad since I got them.”

Maisie looked down at the dog, who had lifted her head as if to check her young charge. “Well, let’s see how you’re both feeling tomorrow. Now, how about that story?”