To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(47)
Maisie turned to Douglas. “I think you ought to get her that gin and tonic, Douglas—she is about to start shouting, then she’ll break down.”
Priscilla slammed down the telephone receiver just as Douglas began walking toward the drawing room.
“Can’t he bloody see that when I say I need a drink, I need one! My son has gone off on a boat in the middle of the bloody Channel when, for all I know, his brother is in a piece of tin over his head taking his life in his hands trying to stop the German army—”
“Pris—Priscilla! Stop!” said Maisie, standing in front of her friend. “Stop this right now—we have to think clearly, and Douglas had every right to listen to the call because Tim’s his son too—not just yours.”
“But what can I do? How can we stop him?” She began to cough, tears streaming down her face, her eye makeup running across her cheeks. “It’s happening again. My history is repeating itself—I’ll lose them like I lost my brothers in the last war, all three of them. Dead. Where’s Tarquin.” She turned to call up the stairs. “Tarq! Tarquin! Come down now!”
Douglas emerged from the drawing room, a full glass of gin and tonic in his hand. Priscilla’s husband had lost an arm during the last war, and walked with a pronounced limp. He struggled to manage his cane and Priscilla’s drink—but his voice was strong.
“Stop! For God’s sake stop and think, darling! Tarquin is not at home. If you remember, Elinor was here and has taken him out—they’re not due back yet. You can leave a note for them. Now then, first we should find out if we’re completely wrong and Tim has just gone for a sail, or if he’s really made for the French coast. Indeed, he could still be hiking across Romney Marsh.”
“Well, of course he’s gone to France, Douglas—of course he has,” said Priscilla.
“Maisie?” said Douglas, as he handed the fresh cocktail to his wife.
“I’m inclined to agree with Pris.” She sighed. “I know very little about nautical maps, but I have an ordinary map, one that includes the coast. I’ve had a look at it, and I suspect that, if Tim and his friend have indeed answered the call for seagoing craft, they would not have joined the flotilla in Ramsgate—I am sure the authorities have carefully registered boats they wanted to requisition. I imagine Tim and Gordon would have made their way out into the Channel and slipped in with other vessels.”
“Oh hell! I don’t know where to go, or what to do! But I know I can’t stay here and just worry until he walks through the door—or until there’s a policeman on the doorstep telling me he has bad news,” said Priscilla, her free hand on her forehead, as she lifted the glass to her lips and took several generous sips.
“There’s little you can do, Pris—but if you must be on the move, perhaps you and Douglas should go down to Ramsgate, and ask questions—someone might have seen them. And if they come in, you can stop them.”
Douglas cleared his throat. “Maisie—you go with Priscilla. I will hold you up if I go.”
Maisie watched as Douglas looked away in an attempt to control his emotions. She turned to Priscilla, who was staring at her husband, her own eyes filled with tears.
“I think you should discuss the situation,” said Maisie. “You might hear from the Sandersons soon in any case—and all the worry might be for naught. If it is, then it’s my fault, for which I am incredibly sorry—but I listened to Tim when he arrived at Chelstone yesterday, and he was full of what he had seen at Tonbridge station, as early evacuees from France were traveling through. In any case, I’ll go and make ready to leave.”
Maisie turned away, though as she reached the threshold she looked back to see Priscilla take her husband’s outstretched hand.
“Oh Tim, you young fool,” she whispered as she ran down the steps.
Fifteen minutes later, Maisie had counted her petrol coupons and gave thanks that she had enough fuel in the tank to get to Ramsgate, though not enough for the return journey—and there was likely no petrol to be had on a Sunday. As she was loading a small overnight bag into the Alvis, Priscilla came running toward her along the street.
“Bea Sanderson telephoned. They’ve been in Reigate with friends for a Friday to Monday, but they’re on their way back now. They’ve checked with a friend who lives close to where their boats are docked, or kept, or slipped—or whatever it is they do with boats—and yes, it transpires that Gordon and a friend who happens to fit Tim’s description went out for a sail early this morning and have not come back. But here’s the thing—they took the larger of Jerry Sanderson’s boats, the one that Gordon is not allowed to take out. Apparently Gordon and Tim usually go out in the smaller sailing yacht, but this is the larger motor yacht. He assures me that the boys are quite capable of taking her into the open Channel, but she’s forty-five feet, and worth a fortune. He seemed more worried about the yacht, though Bea is beside herself—like me.”
“Priscilla—I think you and Douglas should go to Ramsgate. He shouldn’t be left here to feel he’s not playing a part while his son has put himself in the path of danger. You must be together.”
“But Douglas doesn’t drive, and if I get behind the wheel, I know I will kill us.”
Maisie shook her head and took a moment, stopping Priscilla from speaking by holding up a hand. “I have another idea. Though Billy doesn’t have a motor car, I know he can drive now, because he’s had a friend teach him. I’ll see if he’ll take you—in fact, I think he’ll jump at the chance because his son is with the expeditionary force and he will want to keep himself occupied, doing something useful. I’ll telephone him now.”