To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(40)
“And what about the proximity of the coast, and navy in Southampton and Portsmouth—to say nothing of the air force and army in the area.”
“Our forces are in position due to the threat that has come from across the Channel since before Roman times—even the Vikings came around to the south coast!”
Maisie nodded, thoughtful. “The War Office and Threadneedle Street are therefore close.”
“Very.” Lord Julian looked toward the door, as if he expected someone to be there, listening. He lowered his voice; Maisie had to lean forward to hear. “The Bank of England liaises with the War Office to ensure that any special notes required for military purposes are supplied in a timely fashion and—again—under conditions of absolute secrecy.” He paused, and looked out of the window, raising his hand as he smiled into the distance. “There’s Rowan—I must be quick. She knows you’re here now, so she will be bursting into the room in a few moments.” Another second’s pause. “There has to be a supply for operations such as sabotage, intelligence, and for our airmen who may find themselves in enemy territory after being shot down. They must have local currency with them, and we also have to pay the troops from our colonies—in which case it behooves us to have currency issued by British Military Authority, and in some instances those words are printed onto the currency. You will find there are notes available in sterling denominations that will never be available to the British spending public.”
Maisie leaned back. “I had no idea.”
“Nor should you have an idea—it’s a matter of the security of our sovereign land.”
“I have too many questions for the moments we have left to ourselves.” She bit her bottom lip. “But regarding another matter, I have the serial number here, of a type of paint used to render airfield buildings safe from fire. Could you find out more about it?” Maisie took the note from her pocket and passed it to Lord Julian. “If possible, I’d like to know whether it’s passed any tests for safety. And who manufactures it—where it’s from.”
“I will see what I can find out, Mai—”
“There you are! Darling Maisie, where have you been?” Lady Rowan Compton had not knocked before entering, and walked with as much speed as she could muster, now that the arthritis in her hip was becoming more troublesome. She was accompanied by a spaniel and a Labrador retriever, both dogs bounding into the room in a direct line for Lord Julian.
“Rather busy this week, Rowan. You’re looking well—is your hip feeling better?”
“Oh, let’s not get boring and start talking about health.”
Lord Julian moved to stand to allow his wife to take his seat, but Maisie came to her feet.
“No, please—Rowan, I am just about to leave, so please take this chair.”
Lady Rowan sat down with a loud sigh, and rested her cane alongside the chair. “Growing old is not for the faint-hearted, Maisie. Mark my words.” She rested her hand on her chest and caught her breath. “I wanted to ask you if you would come up to town with me tomorrow morning—for the service at Westminster. George can drive us up.”
“Of course—Tim will be here to keep Anna amused, and while she’s asleep, my father will keep him busy. And I can drive you up to town, if you like. I left the Alvis here and I will need it during the coming week—you might have to come back on the train though, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all. And George will pick me up at Tonbridge so I don’t have to shilly-shally around waiting for the branch line train down to Chelstone. I quite enjoy the train, so it will all be perfect! I’ll be ready to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
Maisie waited on the platform, stepping back as the train from Tonbridge pulled into the small branch line station. Doors began opening and a handful of people stepped out of the train, as others waited to board. She looked both ways along the platform, to no avail. Tim was not among the passengers now holding out their tickets as they walked toward the stationmaster, who greeted everyone by name. Steam punched out from the locomotive, and as the guard stepped forward with his flag, raising his arm and blowing his whistle to signal the train’s departure, Maisie turned to leave the station.
“Someone missed the train?” asked the stationmaster, touching the brim of his peaked cap.
“Yes—my friend’s son. He’s sixteen now, and I think he’s old enough to look after himself, but I still worry.”
“Coming in from Charing Cross, changing at Tonbridge was he?”
Maisie nodded. “He’ll probably be on the next one.”
He pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat, extended the chain to better see the dial. Maisie knew the stationmaster would have been aware of the correct time to the second but seemed to enjoy wielding his watch with a certain flourish. “The platforms are a bit packed on that line up from the coast toward—there are men coming back from France, you see, and the seats are taken until the next train comes through. Some of them are in a bit of a state—they’ve got the WVS out there handing tea in through the windows as the trains pull in so the lads can get something down them. I heard they’d handed out a few hundred sarnies in just a couple of hours this morning.”
“Knowing Tim he probably rolled up his sleeves and got stuck in to help,” said Maisie. “He can’t wait until he’s in uniform.”